Strong Personalities
Omake
Nysela was too immaterial and alien to the mortal form, too perfect and generally immune to mortal frailties to pick up the discomforts such creatures physically manifested. Her wounds were as much matters of an irreconcilable concept or intruding belief into her metaphysical structure as they were bruised meat or broken bones. Or - perish the thought - leaking ichor from a punctured skin. It was rare verging on impossible for one such as her to become diseased or experience more than distaste at spoiled food, should she care to eat (and choose to consume something not wrought of quintessence, once it became available once more). Many of the concerns fleeting mortals had did not apply to such as her - neither burning sand nor freezing gale were cause for discomfort should she elect not to feel it, such was the right of her station and craft poured into her form.
This did little to stop her from having a headache. Her peer spirits were....strong willed, at times and required the application of directed discourse to encourage their efforts or reign in excesses of enthusiasm. It was a boon to have such as Little Beam and Final Hymn of Judgement along this excursion, both for lending their occasionally sonorous voices to subordinate spirits when more gentle guidance was a more imperfect tool and to have some of her more enthusiastic subordinates not left alone to cause mischief in Teteocon-in-Waiting due to a lack of oversight and guidance. She could rely upon those Children of the Wind who aided her to keep any errant fires from becoming out of control 'ere her return from this campaign.
The diplomatic efforts with this 'Imperium of Man' were...strenuous. The valor they display against Wyld-tainted monsters was undisputed, but their compassion was...lacking, to speak of the sacrifice of worlds of souls as though a bid in a Gateway match. Her beloved would never had stood for such, and so mustn't she, yet she could but guide their path to wisdom and virtue, not force it upon them. Free Will had much to answer for sometimes.
Of greater concern was the constant suspicion the diplomatic party was under. Every meeting was armed, every observation questioned, every offer was treated as though it was a dagger at the heart of their realm. Even an offer of a meal was taken as a suggestion of forcing poison upon the dignitaries and only reluctantly accepted....with strenuous sampling of all provided delicacies and a stomach pump a near certainty for the Imperial dignitaries afterwards. This was a people for whom trust grew in a barren field. The difference in the cold hatred in Imperial eyes towards Dragon Kings and the relations she saw between the Scaled Ones and the humanity of Creation was...sad. Both had suffered from horrors beyond their comprehension, but in Creation Man had other species to help them when they suffered, had the Lords of Creation and the Chosen of the Gods to protect them from errant Behemoths, or the dissolution of fire or savage self-propelled plagues tear through populations.
Here, now? 'A logical argument must be dismissed with absolute conviction', 'blessed is the mind too small to doubt', 'an open mind is as a fortress with its gate open and unbarred'. The task to bring the Imperium to virtue will be no simple one, but a worthy goal all the same. As self-evidently worthwhile as to cleanse and purify the wound in reality that was the Eye, though perhaps not as straightforward.
The goddess returned to her office-sanctum, a modest shrine near the central altar of her lord-beloved's temple, and willed a modest amount of the Mead of Eternity to appear in her hand. She needed a drink after the day's discussions with the Lord-Admiral and Inquisitor. As she rested herself behind the baroque mahogany-and-rose-marble table she turned to her inbox to do what she could to keep small fires back home from becoming large fires.
Transcripts of matters of concern prayed to her, either by administrative clerics or by some direct petitioners willing to put in the effort to perform the rites necessary to send messages directly to her instead of the far more accessible squadron of secretaries both along for the expedition and back at Teteocon-in-Waiting. The first message was a warning to her, in comparatively straightforward language, of incoming petitions from Intrepid Lotus and One-Thousand Gardens who were 'at it again'.
Already suspecting the substance of the incoming petitions if not the precise shape, the seniormost divinity in the Tokati pantheon delved deeper into her limited supply of divine alcohol to fortify herself with the anticipation of what was to come. The two Dragon Kings - currently both Raptok, currently both master artificers, both always brilliant at whatever they chose to do, both ever in competition with the other. If Lotus said night followed day, Garden would - outraged and smug - declare day followed night just to continue a quarrel whose beginning neither knew the beginning of but each insisted the other began out of pettiness and spite.
The Dragon Kings were exemplary servants of her beloved, but for every ten stories of generational friendships or love affairs, you get a pair of Anklok who'd kill each other in a duel over something incredibly banal, hatch as young Pterok in the same hatchery and immediately begin stealing fish from one another.
Strong. Personalities.
The next two letters were what Dautless Bell had warned her about - two exemplary petitions with magnificent calligraphy that, were they of some other task, were they from some other petitioners, she may have been tempted to keep as the works of art they clearly were - one written upon purest ricepaper with abyssal squid ink prepared with the finest hints of black jade dust mixed in and with the barest hint of perfume, the other with golden ink mixed only at high noon and placed upon indigo silk woven in pleasing patterns. Both salutations were nigh identical, neither actually mentioning the other by name or implication.
Lotus spoke of the creation of a mighty spear of legend, whose potency would create an echo the likes of which would emulate the manse-temple to the Maiden of Endings' own hearthstone. The ability to follow through with their claims was questionable - doubtful in someone who had accomplished less with more than they - but promised to be a truly impressive addition to the arsenal of the Realm once completed. All they required was access to certain rare materials, a half dozen hearthstones from Saturn aspected manses of the second coil (or a like number of Hesiesh aspected manses of the third coil) all easily obtained from manses on Tokat, permission to make use of 'workplaces appropriate to the task' - clearly meaning the Basilica of Regal Artistry - and a truly staggering amount of orichalcum that, unless she was not informed on recent advances in the production of Holy Gold, would beggar the Realm's production for years.
In the other missive, Garden suggests a 'humbler' approach; merely creating a large Collar of Clockwork Diligence...a staggering seven and a half leagues across. Her suggestion emphasized the proven nature of the design, its ability to be reused for 'like creatures' and the opportunity to instruct apprentices, as well as including a modest poem alluding to how each of the Lumina were once monsters and after persuasion became loyal Solar servants.
Of course. The news of the Void Kraken will have reached Tokat by now, wouldn't it? Such a potent beast would be a near irresistible trophy to either crafter, being able to claim that they had bested such a creature through their works would be literal lifetimes of achievements with which to hold over their rival's head in every argument they had.
Nysela had a monstrous headache, and almost wished it was because of the cheer-forsaken Humans.
Nysela was too immaterial and alien to the mortal form, too perfect and generally immune to mortal frailties to pick up the discomforts such creatures physically manifested. Her wounds were as much matters of an irreconcilable concept or intruding belief into her metaphysical structure as they were bruised meat or broken bones. Or - perish the thought - leaking ichor from a punctured skin. It was rare verging on impossible for one such as her to become diseased or experience more than distaste at spoiled food, should she care to eat (and choose to consume something not wrought of quintessence, once it became available once more). Many of the concerns fleeting mortals had did not apply to such as her - neither burning sand nor freezing gale were cause for discomfort should she elect not to feel it, such was the right of her station and craft poured into her form.
This did little to stop her from having a headache. Her peer spirits were....strong willed, at times and required the application of directed discourse to encourage their efforts or reign in excesses of enthusiasm. It was a boon to have such as Little Beam and Final Hymn of Judgement along this excursion, both for lending their occasionally sonorous voices to subordinate spirits when more gentle guidance was a more imperfect tool and to have some of her more enthusiastic subordinates not left alone to cause mischief in Teteocon-in-Waiting due to a lack of oversight and guidance. She could rely upon those Children of the Wind who aided her to keep any errant fires from becoming out of control 'ere her return from this campaign.
The diplomatic efforts with this 'Imperium of Man' were...strenuous. The valor they display against Wyld-tainted monsters was undisputed, but their compassion was...lacking, to speak of the sacrifice of worlds of souls as though a bid in a Gateway match. Her beloved would never had stood for such, and so mustn't she, yet she could but guide their path to wisdom and virtue, not force it upon them. Free Will had much to answer for sometimes.
Of greater concern was the constant suspicion the diplomatic party was under. Every meeting was armed, every observation questioned, every offer was treated as though it was a dagger at the heart of their realm. Even an offer of a meal was taken as a suggestion of forcing poison upon the dignitaries and only reluctantly accepted....with strenuous sampling of all provided delicacies and a stomach pump a near certainty for the Imperial dignitaries afterwards. This was a people for whom trust grew in a barren field. The difference in the cold hatred in Imperial eyes towards Dragon Kings and the relations she saw between the Scaled Ones and the humanity of Creation was...sad. Both had suffered from horrors beyond their comprehension, but in Creation Man had other species to help them when they suffered, had the Lords of Creation and the Chosen of the Gods to protect them from errant Behemoths, or the dissolution of fire or savage self-propelled plagues tear through populations.
Here, now? 'A logical argument must be dismissed with absolute conviction', 'blessed is the mind too small to doubt', 'an open mind is as a fortress with its gate open and unbarred'. The task to bring the Imperium to virtue will be no simple one, but a worthy goal all the same. As self-evidently worthwhile as to cleanse and purify the wound in reality that was the Eye, though perhaps not as straightforward.
The goddess returned to her office-sanctum, a modest shrine near the central altar of her lord-beloved's temple, and willed a modest amount of the Mead of Eternity to appear in her hand. She needed a drink after the day's discussions with the Lord-Admiral and Inquisitor. As she rested herself behind the baroque mahogany-and-rose-marble table she turned to her inbox to do what she could to keep small fires back home from becoming large fires.
Transcripts of matters of concern prayed to her, either by administrative clerics or by some direct petitioners willing to put in the effort to perform the rites necessary to send messages directly to her instead of the far more accessible squadron of secretaries both along for the expedition and back at Teteocon-in-Waiting. The first message was a warning to her, in comparatively straightforward language, of incoming petitions from Intrepid Lotus and One-Thousand Gardens who were 'at it again'.
Already suspecting the substance of the incoming petitions if not the precise shape, the seniormost divinity in the Tokati pantheon delved deeper into her limited supply of divine alcohol to fortify herself with the anticipation of what was to come. The two Dragon Kings - currently both Raptok, currently both master artificers, both always brilliant at whatever they chose to do, both ever in competition with the other. If Lotus said night followed day, Garden would - outraged and smug - declare day followed night just to continue a quarrel whose beginning neither knew the beginning of but each insisted the other began out of pettiness and spite.
The Dragon Kings were exemplary servants of her beloved, but for every ten stories of generational friendships or love affairs, you get a pair of Anklok who'd kill each other in a duel over something incredibly banal, hatch as young Pterok in the same hatchery and immediately begin stealing fish from one another.
Strong. Personalities.
The next two letters were what Dautless Bell had warned her about - two exemplary petitions with magnificent calligraphy that, were they of some other task, were they from some other petitioners, she may have been tempted to keep as the works of art they clearly were - one written upon purest ricepaper with abyssal squid ink prepared with the finest hints of black jade dust mixed in and with the barest hint of perfume, the other with golden ink mixed only at high noon and placed upon indigo silk woven in pleasing patterns. Both salutations were nigh identical, neither actually mentioning the other by name or implication.
Lotus spoke of the creation of a mighty spear of legend, whose potency would create an echo the likes of which would emulate the manse-temple to the Maiden of Endings' own hearthstone. The ability to follow through with their claims was questionable - doubtful in someone who had accomplished less with more than they - but promised to be a truly impressive addition to the arsenal of the Realm once completed. All they required was access to certain rare materials, a half dozen hearthstones from Saturn aspected manses of the second coil (or a like number of Hesiesh aspected manses of the third coil) all easily obtained from manses on Tokat, permission to make use of 'workplaces appropriate to the task' - clearly meaning the Basilica of Regal Artistry - and a truly staggering amount of orichalcum that, unless she was not informed on recent advances in the production of Holy Gold, would beggar the Realm's production for years.
In the other missive, Garden suggests a 'humbler' approach; merely creating a large Collar of Clockwork Diligence...a staggering seven and a half leagues across. Her suggestion emphasized the proven nature of the design, its ability to be reused for 'like creatures' and the opportunity to instruct apprentices, as well as including a modest poem alluding to how each of the Lumina were once monsters and after persuasion became loyal Solar servants.
Of course. The news of the Void Kraken will have reached Tokat by now, wouldn't it? Such a potent beast would be a near irresistible trophy to either crafter, being able to claim that they had bested such a creature through their works would be literal lifetimes of achievements with which to hold over their rival's head in every argument they had.
Nysela had a monstrous headache, and almost wished it was because of the cheer-forsaken Humans.
