That's a lotta quartz
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
[X]Find the Eye and the Jadeborn.
You would refer to the immense quartz structure as a Tesseract, as that was what it was. A higher dimensional cube folded out into three dimensional space, which would make sense if it was Autochthon's mythos having a panicked shitting over Creation. Your own observations concluded it was partially hollow. Not a solid structure, but a tower. Much like an insect farm, which when you consider what you know about the Jadeborn made a good amount of sense.
You stand on the bow with Autochthon, Ligier, and Ruvelia. You see brief sparks of gold and iridescence along the quartz tower, and you can conclude Ray and Shell are also within.
"So, you're sure it's a Jadeborn," you ask, "How could you hear it? Can the Eye hear?"
"No. Visual input only. I could hear her because she were praying to me in Rocktongue." The encounter suit paces back and forth, humming, steam wafting out of the grill. "Very clever, though. Finding the Eye and attempting to utilize it like such."
You nod. "Any specifics on what she was praying for? Was it a general offering of prayer or a request for something?"
The Great Maker stops pacing. He turns to you, and nods. "Translated; 'Great Maker, bless this, my work to remake myself as we once were, so we will be once more worthy of your guidance.'"
(Int+Lore, 12 dice, +6 autosuccesses, 11 successes)
"As we once were." You purse your lips, folding your arms. "The People of Adamant. Which I will admit is on my to do list for the time you're in my entourage."
You sigh, exhale. "Okay, let's get the question out of the way. How do we fix the Great Geass?"
"First, we would have to kill the Jadeborn."
You stare at the Great Maker. Ligier gives him a questioning eyebrow, and Ruvelia tilts her head. "You mean without genocide," Autochthon says, and huffs, "To be honest, I am not sure." He shrugs. He shrugs at the idea that the way he would fix the Great Geass is by wiping out the Jadeborn.
"What did you do to create the Geass?" May as well start with first principles.
"I broke their souls. Given, it was not done with forethought. And looking back, I had no intention of interacting with Creation again following the incident. But we must understand- my themes are creation. Not repair."
"You could probably repair it with Wyld shaping," Ligier says, idly buffing his nails, "The Jadeborn were calcified Raksha, so a solution would most likely include some sort of shaping."
Ruvelia takes Autochthon by the hand with a beatific smile. "Great Maker, perhaps you would tell me the story of the People of Adamant on this world?"
With that, you walk towards the steps to the lower decks. You have ideas- but before you board that quartz tower, you want to know all your options, and this would also lead to you answering some questions.
So you walk into the furnace room of the brass airship, where the dragon king meditates inside the open flame at the center of the engine. "Gaist, why does the Sun owe you favors?"
The Anglok grins, opening his eyes. He sits, lotus position in the flame, breathing it deeply. "What do you know of the ancient Dragon Kings?"
(Int+Lore, 12 dice +6 autosuccesses, 14 successes)
Ah. You raise a finger, and point at him. "You were an Olchilik." You tap your lip, pacing around the fire. "To one of the Sun's immediate subordinates, and that's why he owes you favors, right? Who was it? Nysala? Five Days Darkness? Someone like that?"
Gaist grins. He chuckles, low and amused. "I was Olchilik to the Most High. He who is now King of Heaven, when he was still King of Creation. The Unconquered Sun."
You blink. You don't even have to think about that. "That...shouldn't be possible."
"No one Olchilik could contain the power and glory of the Most High. So, four of us would volunteer. Mosok, Pterok, Raptok, and Anglok. Each of us would be Olchilik to one of His Virtues, and through us did he five times change the course of our civilization. Each time to do so without the eye of his Father upon him."
The flames around him seem to burn brighter. "We would not survive. Even divided, the power and glory was too much for our mortal bodies to contain. We would die, in revelation and sunfire, our bodies-"
"Offerings up to the Sun," you finish, "Like your hearts. But more." You hum. "Demons do something similar when their Yozi progenitor possesses them. I wonder if this was similar?"
Gaist shrugs. "For us, death is not an end, but a journey." He strokes the long scales of his jaw. "In return, he granted each of us a boon. Each time an Olchilik would give themselves bodily for him, he would grant us a boon."
"It was voluntary?"
He nods. "Even in death we would remember the flame. Each time, it was a different Mosok. A different Pterok. Twice, did the same Raptok serve."
You hum. You see where this is going. "You volunteered five times."
"I am Anglok." He pats his chest with his fist. "My heart beats with the zeal of a true disciple of the Sun. How could I not?" He laughs. "The Sun owes me three more boons. I called in one to be sent to Pangaea and aid Sky in his battle with the Worm."
Oh. Oh. "And you used another to be somehow metaphysically bind yourself with Sky's Exaltation."
Gaist nods. "During the primordial war, most of my people died. But I saw that the Exalted, the Chosen, would serve the Sun as I once did, as we once did. They would falter, they would fall, but they would be greater than we ever were. So after a few lives of thought and meditation, I asked the Sun to allow me to guide the first of his Chosen. At that time, that Exaltation was the keter soul of a wandering swordmaiden named-"
"Swallowtail Rainstorm."
"One of the times I served as Olchilik was when the Most High rallied my people to war against the Primordial Host. The Chosen, fighting alongside the Chosen." Gaist grins. "You want me to call in another of my boons?"
You shrug. "I don't think it would be useful for this, actually. But we're about to storm a tower that has the Eye of Autochthon in it."
"Ah. That thing." Gaist sighs. "I warned him."
You shrug, and file that question for later.
"We're going after the Eye first, then finding Ray and Shell. So, better get ready."
Entering the tower, you found your way barred by puzzles. Logic and illogic, clever and inventive. You've spent enough time around him, studying him, that you could tell Autochthon was kind of giddy at the prospect of so many puzzles, and so you let him solve them.
You took yourself, Sky, Autochthon, and Ruvelia. As well as quite a few immaterial blood apes, just in case. Ligier and Gaist waited onboard the airship- Gaist would use his own connection to Sky to keep track of you while monitoring the tower for signs of your friends. Ligier had the orders of incinerating the tower if things went to pear-shaped.
It took several hours, and several dozen rooms filled with puzzles, traps, work shops, art reliefs, and other such things, but Autochthon's connection with his eye was- if not one of control- one of familiarity. He could see out of it, and hence he could find it.
So that is how you end up in an immense room at the heart of this quartz tower, and at the center of the room itself you see it. A bras sphere, made of smaller and smaller, finer and finer brass rings. Hologlyphic constructions surround it- ever moving, ever thinking. Ever angle viewed is the same one, and you know it is indeed channeling his mythos.
"There it is. Yes. Right middle, third row down."
"What?"
The Great Maker scoffs. "You believe my world-jouten has only two eyes?"
The encounter suit lumbers forwards, towards the quartz web of altered reality that surrounds the Eye of Autochthon. He makes it a few steps before a bold of lightning strikes the floor in front of him. He stops, looks up. As do you.
"Halt!"
At the top of the webbing, there stands...yes, a Jadeborn. But you've only encountered the workers, before. The small ones. This one is as tall as you. Lean and thin and beautiful, in articulated alloy armor and holding a long lance glowing with electrical essence.
"Hello," Autochthon says with a wave.
"Hi," you say, walking over next to him, and point to the suspended sphere, "That's the Eye of Autochthon. Did you lose control over it?"
The Jadeborn narrows her eyes. "What do you know about the Eye?"
"Quite a bit," the Great Maker says, "As I am Autochthon."
Silence hangs over the chamber for long moments. She responds in a way which is sensible, given the circumstances.
"Bullshit."
[ ]Reassure the Jadeborn that no, this really is Autochthon and he's working for you.
[ ]Use Autochthon as a distraction and grab the Eye.
[ ]Write in.
You would refer to the immense quartz structure as a Tesseract, as that was what it was. A higher dimensional cube folded out into three dimensional space, which would make sense if it was Autochthon's mythos having a panicked shitting over Creation. Your own observations concluded it was partially hollow. Not a solid structure, but a tower. Much like an insect farm, which when you consider what you know about the Jadeborn made a good amount of sense.
You stand on the bow with Autochthon, Ligier, and Ruvelia. You see brief sparks of gold and iridescence along the quartz tower, and you can conclude Ray and Shell are also within.
"So, you're sure it's a Jadeborn," you ask, "How could you hear it? Can the Eye hear?"
"No. Visual input only. I could hear her because she were praying to me in Rocktongue." The encounter suit paces back and forth, humming, steam wafting out of the grill. "Very clever, though. Finding the Eye and attempting to utilize it like such."
You nod. "Any specifics on what she was praying for? Was it a general offering of prayer or a request for something?"
The Great Maker stops pacing. He turns to you, and nods. "Translated; 'Great Maker, bless this, my work to remake myself as we once were, so we will be once more worthy of your guidance.'"
(Int+Lore, 12 dice, +6 autosuccesses, 11 successes)
"As we once were." You purse your lips, folding your arms. "The People of Adamant. Which I will admit is on my to do list for the time you're in my entourage."
You sigh, exhale. "Okay, let's get the question out of the way. How do we fix the Great Geass?"
"First, we would have to kill the Jadeborn."
You stare at the Great Maker. Ligier gives him a questioning eyebrow, and Ruvelia tilts her head. "You mean without genocide," Autochthon says, and huffs, "To be honest, I am not sure." He shrugs. He shrugs at the idea that the way he would fix the Great Geass is by wiping out the Jadeborn.
"What did you do to create the Geass?" May as well start with first principles.
"I broke their souls. Given, it was not done with forethought. And looking back, I had no intention of interacting with Creation again following the incident. But we must understand- my themes are creation. Not repair."
"You could probably repair it with Wyld shaping," Ligier says, idly buffing his nails, "The Jadeborn were calcified Raksha, so a solution would most likely include some sort of shaping."
Ruvelia takes Autochthon by the hand with a beatific smile. "Great Maker, perhaps you would tell me the story of the People of Adamant on this world?"
With that, you walk towards the steps to the lower decks. You have ideas- but before you board that quartz tower, you want to know all your options, and this would also lead to you answering some questions.
So you walk into the furnace room of the brass airship, where the dragon king meditates inside the open flame at the center of the engine. "Gaist, why does the Sun owe you favors?"
The Anglok grins, opening his eyes. He sits, lotus position in the flame, breathing it deeply. "What do you know of the ancient Dragon Kings?"
(Int+Lore, 12 dice +6 autosuccesses, 14 successes)
Ah. You raise a finger, and point at him. "You were an Olchilik." You tap your lip, pacing around the fire. "To one of the Sun's immediate subordinates, and that's why he owes you favors, right? Who was it? Nysala? Five Days Darkness? Someone like that?"
Gaist grins. He chuckles, low and amused. "I was Olchilik to the Most High. He who is now King of Heaven, when he was still King of Creation. The Unconquered Sun."
You blink. You don't even have to think about that. "That...shouldn't be possible."
"No one Olchilik could contain the power and glory of the Most High. So, four of us would volunteer. Mosok, Pterok, Raptok, and Anglok. Each of us would be Olchilik to one of His Virtues, and through us did he five times change the course of our civilization. Each time to do so without the eye of his Father upon him."
The flames around him seem to burn brighter. "We would not survive. Even divided, the power and glory was too much for our mortal bodies to contain. We would die, in revelation and sunfire, our bodies-"
"Offerings up to the Sun," you finish, "Like your hearts. But more." You hum. "Demons do something similar when their Yozi progenitor possesses them. I wonder if this was similar?"
Gaist shrugs. "For us, death is not an end, but a journey." He strokes the long scales of his jaw. "In return, he granted each of us a boon. Each time an Olchilik would give themselves bodily for him, he would grant us a boon."
"It was voluntary?"
He nods. "Even in death we would remember the flame. Each time, it was a different Mosok. A different Pterok. Twice, did the same Raptok serve."
You hum. You see where this is going. "You volunteered five times."
"I am Anglok." He pats his chest with his fist. "My heart beats with the zeal of a true disciple of the Sun. How could I not?" He laughs. "The Sun owes me three more boons. I called in one to be sent to Pangaea and aid Sky in his battle with the Worm."
Oh. Oh. "And you used another to be somehow metaphysically bind yourself with Sky's Exaltation."
Gaist nods. "During the primordial war, most of my people died. But I saw that the Exalted, the Chosen, would serve the Sun as I once did, as we once did. They would falter, they would fall, but they would be greater than we ever were. So after a few lives of thought and meditation, I asked the Sun to allow me to guide the first of his Chosen. At that time, that Exaltation was the keter soul of a wandering swordmaiden named-"
"Swallowtail Rainstorm."
"One of the times I served as Olchilik was when the Most High rallied my people to war against the Primordial Host. The Chosen, fighting alongside the Chosen." Gaist grins. "You want me to call in another of my boons?"
You shrug. "I don't think it would be useful for this, actually. But we're about to storm a tower that has the Eye of Autochthon in it."
"Ah. That thing." Gaist sighs. "I warned him."
You shrug, and file that question for later.
"We're going after the Eye first, then finding Ray and Shell. So, better get ready."
Entering the tower, you found your way barred by puzzles. Logic and illogic, clever and inventive. You've spent enough time around him, studying him, that you could tell Autochthon was kind of giddy at the prospect of so many puzzles, and so you let him solve them.
You took yourself, Sky, Autochthon, and Ruvelia. As well as quite a few immaterial blood apes, just in case. Ligier and Gaist waited onboard the airship- Gaist would use his own connection to Sky to keep track of you while monitoring the tower for signs of your friends. Ligier had the orders of incinerating the tower if things went to pear-shaped.
It took several hours, and several dozen rooms filled with puzzles, traps, work shops, art reliefs, and other such things, but Autochthon's connection with his eye was- if not one of control- one of familiarity. He could see out of it, and hence he could find it.
So that is how you end up in an immense room at the heart of this quartz tower, and at the center of the room itself you see it. A bras sphere, made of smaller and smaller, finer and finer brass rings. Hologlyphic constructions surround it- ever moving, ever thinking. Ever angle viewed is the same one, and you know it is indeed channeling his mythos.
"There it is. Yes. Right middle, third row down."
"What?"
The Great Maker scoffs. "You believe my world-jouten has only two eyes?"
The encounter suit lumbers forwards, towards the quartz web of altered reality that surrounds the Eye of Autochthon. He makes it a few steps before a bold of lightning strikes the floor in front of him. He stops, looks up. As do you.
"Halt!"
At the top of the webbing, there stands...yes, a Jadeborn. But you've only encountered the workers, before. The small ones. This one is as tall as you. Lean and thin and beautiful, in articulated alloy armor and holding a long lance glowing with electrical essence.
"Hello," Autochthon says with a wave.
"Hi," you say, walking over next to him, and point to the suspended sphere, "That's the Eye of Autochthon. Did you lose control over it?"
The Jadeborn narrows her eyes. "What do you know about the Eye?"
"Quite a bit," the Great Maker says, "As I am Autochthon."
Silence hangs over the chamber for long moments. She responds in a way which is sensible, given the circumstances.
"Bullshit."
[ ]Reassure the Jadeborn that no, this really is Autochthon and he's working for you.
[ ]Use Autochthon as a distraction and grab the Eye.
[ ]Write in.
