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Ebeli Quest: How to Manage your Plot Devices and Save Creation

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[X] Do eeeeeeeeeeeeeeet.

I'm just sad that SV ate that post I made a couple weeks ago on Gaean themes; then I could make a joke about her bogarting Ramethus' needless antagonism and it would have actual grounding in the thread.
 
The only way Auto-kun calling Gaea out on being a hypocrite is going to end is on Gaea calling Auto on his stupid :V

[X] Do eeeeeeeeeeeeeeet.
-[X] Summon some popcorn.
 
And once again I am greatly saddened that we don't know about Devil Tigers. Those could have been a super-efficient argument for Gaea.
 
[X]Do eeeeeeeeeeeeeeet.
-[X] "So, you're going to blame Autochthon when its the Engine who's the threat. The Engine, who happens to literally and figuratively be an inverse of EVERYTHING Autochthon values and embodies. Fuck it, Autochthon do the thing."
 
Something to keep in mind; Why does Gaia hate Autochthon? Much of the reason she left, at least regarding Autochthon, is that she disagreed with his blood lust.

So the question is; does she had Autochthon because he wanted to kill the Primordials, or because he, the weakest Primordial, created something capable of killing Primordials?

After all,

That which is weak, dies. That which is strong, survives.
 
GreggHL said:
Something to keep in mind; Why does Gaia hate Autochthon? Much of the reason she left, at least regarding Autochthon, is that she disagreed with his blood lust.

So the question is; does she had Autochthon because he wanted to kill the Primordials, or because he, the weakest Primordial, created something capable of killing Primordials?

After all,

That which is weak, dies. That which is strong, survives.
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She hasn't accepted that cleverness is the greatest strength of the bunch yet.
 
GreggHL said:
Something to keep in mind; Why does Gaia hate Autochthon? Much of the reason she left, at least regarding Autochthon, is that she disagreed with his blood lust.

So the question is; does she had Autochthon because he wanted to kill the Primordials, or because he, the weakest Primordial, created something capable of killing Primordials?

After all,

That which is weak, dies. That which is strong, survives.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...

Reminds me of a story from another fiction.

Ever proud and boastful, Oblivion's Mad Prince stood one fifth day of mid year among the frigid peaks of Skyrim, and beckoned forth Hircine for parlay. The Huntsman God materialized, for this was his day, and the boldness of Sheogorath intrigued him.
Wry without equal, Sheogorath holds in his realm giggling loons, flamboyant auteurs, and craven mutilators. The Mad Prince will ply profitless bargains and promote senseless bloodshed for nothing more than the joy of another's confusion, tragedy, or rage. So it was that Sheogorath had set a stage on which to play himself as rival to Hircine.
Without haste, the coy Prince proffered his contest; each Prince was to groom a beast to meet at this place again, three years to the hour, and do fatal battle. Expressionless behind his fearsome countenance, Hircine agreed, and with naught but a dusting of snow in the drift, the Princes were gone to their realms.
Confident, but knowing Sheogorath for a trickster, Hircine secretly bred an abomination in his hidden realm. An ancient Daedroth he summoned, and imbued it with the foul curse of lycanthropy. Of pitch heart and jagged fang, the unspeakable horror had no peer, even among the great hunters of Hircine's sphere.
In the third year, on the given day, Hircine returned, where Sheogorath leaned, cross-legged on a stone, whistling with idle patience. The Prince of the Hunt struck his spear to the ground, bringing forth his unnatural, snarling behemoth. Doffing his cap, sly as ever, Sheogorath stood and stepped aside to reveal a tiny, colorful bird perched atop the stone. Demurely it chirped in the bristling gusts, scarcely audible.
In a twisted, springing heap, the Daedroth was upon the stone, leaving only rubble where the boulder had been. Thinking itself victorious, the monster's bloodied maw curled into a mock grin, when a subdued song drifted in the crisp air. The tiny bird lightly hopped along the snout of the furious Daedroth. Sheogorath looked on, quietly mirthful, as the diminutive creature picked at a bit of detritus caught in scales betwixt the fiery eyes of the larger beast. With howling fury, the were-thing blinded itself trying to pluck away the nuisance. And so it continued for hours, Hircine looking on in shame while his finest beast gradually destroyed itself in pursuit of the seemingly oblivious bird, all the while chirping a mournful tune to the lonesome range.
Livid, but beaten, Hircine burned the ragged corpse and withdrew to his realm, swearing in forgotten tongues. His curses still hang in those peaks, and no wayfarer tarries for fear of his wrathful aspect in those obscured heights.
Turning on his heel, Sheogorath beckoned the miniscule songbird to perch atop his shoulder, and strolled down the mountain, making for the warm breezes and vibrant sunsets of the Abecean coast, whistling in tune with the tiniest champion in Tamriel.
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Lore:16 Accords of Madness, v. VI
 
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    • [X]Do eeeeeeeeeeeeeeet.


    So,     she blames Autochthon for the actions of the Engine of Extinction, a being who is the thematic inverse of the Great Maker. A being who by its very nature is the opposite of everything Autochthon values and embodies. That's a special kind of stupid by your definition, so you can only come to one rational decision.

    Oh, she's all yours.

    My thanks, Sorcerer.

    The encounter suit disappears. Instead, something else...opens. The encounter suits serve as a conduit to Autochthon's Mythos, after all. He designed them as such, for his own courage, his own valor, was too diminished to allow him to interact directly with his peers.

    You see the concern coming across the Titan's face, and you realize that, since the encounter suits serve as a conduit, and Autochthon designed them, he would have indeed designed a method into them to open up the conduit more fully.

    And so, above, the darkness is illuminated by an immense, brass eye that shines like the sun.

    Gaia. Once again I am reminded that you are the youngest of us, for your actions are those of a child.

    Aw yeah, you think. He's pissed.

    "On a scale of One to Primordial War, how angry do you think he is?" you ask.

    Luna, to your surprise, laughs. "Five," Gaist answers. You hear crunching, and turn to see the diminutive brass avatar of the Ebon Dragon eating popcorn with a rapt look upon his face.

    "This is fucking amazing, and I didn't even have to do anything."

    He's got you there.

    This is the actions of your neverborn, Great Maker. Gaia's voice echoes like thunder. Like continental movements, the cracking of earth creating volcanoes.

    Then put blame where it is due. Blame Oramus, for his mad experiments creating the Well of Udr, and how the Engine gained access to this universe. Blame that Autochthon for charging into battle and dying. Because right now, the only ones who can stop the efforts of the Engine are the Celestial Exalted.

    The iris narrows. Starmetal plates along the pupil glow.

    The Celestial Exalted I created. Who you and the Incarnae empowered for the War in Heaven, which you sat out for its entirety.

    You shuffle over to Luna, clearing your throat. "You're standing on the sidelines for this?"

    "He's got a point," Luna says, stroking her beard, "Autochthon created the Exaltation, built a lot of shit for them, and directed the Jadeborn during the war. Gaia's contribution was basically telling five of her Kami to empower to Dragonblooded and then sitting it out."

    You nod. "So, Gaia's..."

    "Kind of chafed from all the sitting on the fence, yep." Luna reaches over, taking some popcorn from the Ebon Dragon. "This is gonna be cathartic or bloody and I can't tell what I want more."

    Your actions have always been those of animus and malice, Great Maker. Every time you have acted in recent times, it has been rashly. How is this different?

    Rashly? You see the spark of lightning along the plates of the brass eye. That hit a nerve. So quick are you to forget everything I have done. My actions have been rash. But they have been in response to abuse and neglect. How soon you forget the Bridge of Nowhere, which serves as your guide when you wander the Faraway. How soon you forget the humanity which served as the soldiers in the War in Heaven, who were made when the Primordial Host butchered my son.

    The pupil narrows. But the anger on his voice is not hot. Only steady. Calm. Cold.

    You have only known freedom and affection. I have known loss, and abuse. And in my rashness I have proven your themes wrong, and for that I apologize.

    Proven them wrong, Great Maker? I am curious how.

    There is a low, brass rumble. A laugh? A growl? Is there a difference?

    Perhaps the reason you hate me so. Perhaps just one. After all, I, sickly and mortal and dying, created the Celestial Exaltations. They draw upon the Void, which is embodied within my themes. Is it not that which would allow them to kill you if they were so emboldened?

    The brass eye narrows.

    That which is weak, dies. That which is strong, survives. The Exaltations are made by me. They draw upon my themes. The void, which allows them to end that which cannot die, comes from me. You believe me to be animus and arrogant, and I accept that. I have a right to be. I have a reason to be.

    Gaia is pointedly silent. The titanic face shows...consternation? Thought.

    Stop being a spoiled, petulant child. It is by virtue of you not taking a side during the War that you are not sent to your room. Have the Kukla remain asleep and give its location to the Sorcerer so she can do her fucking job.

    The titanic face of Gaia vanishes. But you can tell, at the depths of the gestalt, that there is agreement. You nod, and you receive revelation- an island volcano in the distant West. The location of the Kukla.

    "Niiiiiiice." The Ebon Dragon gives two thumbs up. "Now kiss."

    The brass eye turns to the Yozi, and the pupil narrows to a pinprick.

    Shut. Up.

    You concentrate, cup your hands, and channel your will through the spell. The gestalt goes to darkness, and then to light.




    You find yourselves in the now empty coliseum, empty save for you, for the encounter suit, and for Luna.

    Luna waves from her seat atop the coliseum, and moves, appearing in front of you.

    "So I'm not even mad."

    "That's...good." You glance, side to side. "How mad is Gaia?"

    "We'll find out." Luna grins, and as always you just can't read her. "He-" She points at Autochthon. "Has a point. She's a bit of a spoiled child on the Primordial scale, and there's a distinct lack of grownups to tell her that."

    "I will admit I enjoyed that far more than I expected," the Great Maker responds.

    Luna nods. She also narrows her eyes. "Am I going to worry about her getting impressed by you lecturing her?"

    "The themes of Gaia are of survival, struggle, and consumption. I am creation, recycling, and industry. We are so opposed in our mythos and methodology that no. Just no. To put it in a crude fashion that would put all ambiguity to rest- I wouldn't fuck Gaia with the Ebon Dragon's dick."

    "I would."

    You stuff the Ebon Dragon's prison back in your amulet. Luna waggles her finger, and you are back on your airship.

    [ ]Check on Ray and Shell and their search for the Eye of Autochthon.

    [ ]Head directly for the Kukla's prison.

    [ ]Write in.​
     
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    • [X] Check on Ray and Shell and their search for the Eye of Autochthon.

    Better to make sure Hunhow doesn't get a metaphysical hook into our Autochthon than double-check an unbound Primordial's work.
     
    Also, definitely liking your idea of Gaea being the least mature of the Primordials, @GreggHL - I may not agree with your interpretation of her themes, but you've portrayed that interpretation in a very well-polished manner.
     
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