The Garden of Practicality
Realm of Ix Chel
Location: Mechanus
Ix Chel’s domain might seem an odd fit for a goddess of birth, weaving, and medicine, given Mechanus’s penchant for cold logic and unyielding structure. But there’s the rub, cutter: Ix Chel’s realm shows just how beautifully her divine practicality can blend with the forces of life. In her garden, everything serves a purpose, and yet, everything is alive in a way that really challenges the mechanised sterility of the plane.
First off, when you enter the Garden of Practicality, you won’t be greeted by the sort of tropical flora you’d expect the find on the Prime worlds the Maya tend to prefer, nor the earthburgs of Ysgard. No cutter, the plants here don’t just grow—they construct themselves, twisting and turning like gears, sprouting branches at regular intervals with mechanical precision. Picture a massive ceiba—it’s the tree sacred to the Maya folk, of course—but this one’s bark gleams like polished steel, and its roots burrow right through the cog beneath, intertwining with the machinery of Mechanus itself. It’s no mere tree, though; it’s a living loom, weaving webs of silver light through the air, the gossamer threads of life itself. And you might even spy Ix Chel, perched on one of the branches, her fingers deftly plucking at the threads, adding a stitch here, unweaving a tangle there, keeping the balance between life and the machine. Where here realm ends and the great planar pathway of Yaxche (called Yggdrasil by the Norse) is impossible to say, but it’s possible to slip from one to the other at this point.
The entire garden hums with a quiet hypnotic rhythm, with the soft whirring of gears in the distance blending into the the gentle ticking of clockwork plants. And that’s the thing about this place: it’s orderly, sure, but there’s nothing cold or lifeless about it. Each plant, every vine, every dewdrop serves a purpose. The vines here don’t just climb—they grow in patterns, spirals, and fractals, mimicking the designs of the Hunab Ku, the Maya glyph for the surge of energy that connects all beings. But unlike the sterile, perfect lines of Mechanus, the clockwork vines are organic, fluid—showing how life can still flourish within structure.
There are pools in this garden too—great reflective pools, like mirrors of obsidian, scattered across the landscape. They represent the cenotes of the Maya world, sacred water sources where lives are given and sacrifices made. But the waters of the Garden of Practicality don’t sit still. Every drop is alive with magic, shifting between states—sometimes liquid, sometimes gas, sometimes frozen, depending on the cycle of the gears beneath them. The water here heals, of course, it fixes, it restores, it makes whole, and always in the most efficient way possible. No excess, no waste. Everything’s about balance, efficiency, but also nurturing what must be nurtured.
The animals of the Garden reflect Ix Chel’s dual nature as well. Jaguar spirits prowl through the trees, but they move like clockwork, their steps perfectly synchronised with the ticking of the plane’s gears. These creatures aren’t feral, mind—they’re the defenders, the midwives of the clockwork forest, ensuring that life—and death—happen in their proper turn. Their claws can shred through both mortal flesh and malfunctioning machinery alike.
In the centre of the garden lies the Loom of Ix Chel. This vast contraption spins the threads of life and magic through Mechanus’s gears. It’s massive, towering above the trees, a fusion of organic material and clockwork, weaving destinies and futures in ways that are simultaneously structured and fluid. And here’s where it gets interesting: while most of Mechanus operates on pure, unyielding law, Ix Chel’s loom introduces just the right amount of chaos. Her weaving allows for flexibility within the structure—a little bit of room for free will, a touch of uncertainty that keeps life from becoming too rigid. It’s the perfect metaphor for her philosophy: life is practical, yes, but it’s also unpredictable. And that fuzzy border is where her magic happens.
Ix Chel’s philosophy of balance is all over this place. To her, there’s little separation between life and the mechanical—birth is as much a part of the cosmic machine as the turning of a gear. Everything here is efficient, but not at the cost of vitality. The garden itself breathes, and that’s the true wonder of her realm: she’s taken the rigid order of Mechanus and woven life into it, showing that even in the most structured systems, there’s room for growth, for birth, and something altogether new.
Source: Jon Winter-Holt
