The challenge of terraforming is finding a balance between artistry and scale.

There are neoplanets out there where every perfect fjord is hand-modelled, every forest uncannily beautiful and every hill precisely honed for a pleasant stroll in the afternoon sunshine, but that sort of work requires a multi-generational effort of geo-engineering guilds, operating from close orbit.

Yet bashing a few rocks together doth not a New Eden make.

Every planet you’ve set foot upon has been crafted with compromise, with unique, bespoke points of interest set amidst a general background of procedural ecologies rugged enough to obscure rough edges with natural growth and erosion and all the other little processes that make a world feel lived in.

And when you’re painting with a broad brush and an advanced suite of matter-reconfiguration nanobots, you can do so from the comfort of home.

But no matter how many lightyears separate artist from canvas, it’s still your intent which crafts a desolate dustball into a vibrant world.

It’s still your will which tempers the solar winds and guards the nascent atmosphere from the excesses of the void.

And when your transport arrives after all those months of nearlight travel, and the warmth of the attentuated sunset rests upon your brow, you’ll see your work and know that it is good.