The God Diversion

[Birdsie]

Into the Darkness

Predictive magical senses extruded in confirmation of the objective truth. It seemed cooperation here ensured no more immediate harm, either to himself or his companions, and it'd earn credit with the government of these abyssal witches. Like a river of futures, strands of light originating from the present snaked out through Solomon's awareness. Now, like a godly ferryman, he'd need to navigate the currents and ensure the complete safety of his team, avoiding sections where the boat drowned.

An easy task, as long as he didn't draw anyone's ire.

"Alright," said Solomon, "I'll come along with you."

Chain nodded and settled down minimally. The umbral chains wrapped around Penelope and Harrison remained, but slacked minimally and repositioned so as to only limit their range of motion, rather than completely disabling them. Solomon offered them both a grin.

"Good news! I've negotiated our safety."

"Then why are we still bound?" asked Harrison, coughing and sputtering as faint, nearly invisible trails of violet smoke came out of his mouth. He shot a glare at the scepter's wielder, who actually looked slightly contrite and glanced away in discomfort. Penelope stood ramrod straight, but utterly calm. Like an animal awaiting an opportunity.

"That's the bad news," continued Solomon, unabashed and still grinning. "We're being taken to court."

"Are we under arrest?" asked Penelope, simple words of English smoothly translated via Solomon's intercession into the local dialect - more Hellenic than Germanic.

"Yes," answered Chain. "Which means, I suppose I owe you an introduction. I'm Elder Sister Lunne. Those are my subordinates; Viola,"- the scepter witch nodded, -"Jastara, and Amara." Sword and Book held their implements cautiously.

"You mentioned a conclave," Solomon said, as he stepped forward - symbiotic tendrils falling away, releasing their avaricious hold on the darkness - and proffered both wrists, which Lunne soon bound with the chain. It was uncomfortably cold and seemed to drain away at his power: sucking deep and fast on his soul, exhuming every mote of magical energy. One by one, Solomon's spellcrafts shut down. He smiled a little, retaining insight on the Architecture, as well as precise and abiding control over the Connections that made up everything. A single twitch of desire would disconnect the chains on his wrists, allowing him to slip away.

A Magician always had a few extra tricks up his sleeve, as he was slowly learning.

"I'm afraid I am not here to answer your questions," said Lunne, and then pulled on the chains to set the Enrolled to a steady walk. Into the darkness they marched, flanked by an escort of three witches and led by Lunne herself. Her voice carried a weary grain of caution; a hint of painful experience in revealing too much information. She'd done that before, only to find her hand bitten. "I'll take you to the Eldest. If she sees fit to answer your questions, she will. Otherwise, you won't learn anything from me."

The darkness was a cold and unrelenting storm, almost vengeful, as if Solomon's momentary supposition of control had personally offended it. Deeper and deeper, it seemed a nearly sapient force, crushing and vengeful tendrils swimming past their thighs and occasionally pulsing with flashes of warning, that a single misstep would see them reduced to nothing but a bloody smear. Slowly, more so by connecting the dots, Solomon realized they were entering something akin to a Sanctum, not unlike his own.

Fascinating, if unfortunate - it was highly probable a Sanctum of this scope not only improved the influence of its masters, but reduced the strength of the opposition. He considered it likely that Lunne's chain carried a sliver of this property, crystallized and crowned into a natural apex: a tool of office, perhaps? If she was something like a policewoman, it'd only make sense to equip her with the best implements to carry out those duties.

"So," he said, addressing Viola. Her iron scepter buzzed with a resonance that drew on the abyss. As Solomon spoke, its holder gave him a curious glance. "You ladies practice sorcery based on implements?"

She didn't answer, as if pointedly disinterested, looking at Lunne's back.

"Call this something of an educated guess - you draw on the ambient Abyss and infuse your magic items with it," he said. "That makes your arts incredibly powerful and easy to sustain, but means you'd have difficulties outside of this valley. No way to recharge easily."

"How do you..." Viola started, then snapped her mouth shut. When no rebuke or call to silence came from the Elder Sister, her eyes started to narrow. She looked at Solomon once more with suspicion. "What is this?"

"I've disconnected our conversation from the overall social context of this situation," he answered. "It's relatively difficult, but I can about barely focus on doing it and talking at the same time. And I've got talent for it, too. I suppose you could say I've lived my entire life with such a disconnection."

"S-Stop doing that, then," Viola stuttered, showing a sudden look of worry.

"Nah," he said dismissively. "Come on, no harm in small talk, is there?" He understood, as deeply and intricately as a bank-teller recognized the shape of a coin or banknote by touch, that Viola wouldn't report an intercession such as this, and the Abyss was too acutely sentient a force to react either, in possession of something resembling shards or splinters of free will: otherwise, Solomon wouldn't have done this for the almost inevitable risk of further getting himself into trouble.

Fortunately, it seemed this Viola didn't mind flouting the rules if it served to fulfill her burning curiosity with the outside world. Unlike most Enrolled, all of her interaction with the Architecture was one-sided, and as a result, she wasn't invisible to his senses. He could read her life's story and future like an open book. Even if he lacked the deeper context for some of that future, he could substitute for certain ideas with close equivalents. She'd be almost laughably easy to subvert, as long as no familiar authority was allowed to intercede. A single reminder of her oath could strike any hopes of further interaction down, stirring up too much guilt.

"I guess..." Viola didn't look comfortable or reassured. "As long as Elder Sister doesn't find out, it's fine, I suppose. Where did you all come from?"

There, that ineffably smoldering curiosity again. If Solomon wanted information from Viola, all it would take was stoking its passions, like a blacksmith's fan on a divine flame. To ensure a feeling of fairness, in which no one was cheated and trust was established, all he'd need would be to offer an exchange of information, data for data. For someone as curious and simple as Viola, it'd be a golden ingot on a silver platter; a heart's desire for cheap.

For a second, Solomon hesitated to speak based on ethical grounds. He'd once promised himself not to abuse the keen social instinct he was gifted with for selfish reasons. This felt dangerously close to manipulation - and yet, the last couple of months have done nothing if not taught him a precious nugget of pragmatism.

Given they were being nearly frogmarched into potentially hostile territory, where death was very much a distant possibility on the horizon if not managed now, didn't he owe it to Penelope and Harrison to attempt?

"Outside," he said mysteriously.

"What kind of answer is that?" she whinged in complaint.

"How about you?" Solomon asked. "Let's do an exchange. I'll tell you more about the outside, and you tell me about this place. I mean, we came here to explore in the first place, so we could kill two birds with one stone."

Her eyes narrowed at him, suspicion lifted, producing caution and cleverness; from those, an overambitious yearning for more. He stared at her, as she said, "Fine, but I get two questions for each one of yours."

"How's that fair?"

"It's not," she said with a smirk. "But you don't have anyone else you can talk to, can you?"

"Neither do you," he pointed out.

"Outsiders come and go," she rebuffed. After a second of heated, focused contemplation, she finally said, "Fine. But I get the first question, and you have to actually answer. And, like, you better make the answer good, or I won't answer what you ask."

"Alright, fine," he said. "What's your question?"

"Tell me about the outside world."

"That's not a question," he objected.

"What's the outside world like?"

He couldn't object to that one.

As a result of the back-and-forth inquisition, he learned a couple of useful factoids about the Witch's Land, both in political and historical terms, as well as the capabilities of its defenders. The Eldest Sister was apparently something called a Chosen, and the Abyss was indeed an existence analogous to a Sanctum - and furthermore, Solomon's educated guess turned out to be right on the money. Most of the local witches weren't as strong as the squad that captured them; a tremendous relief. The Eldest sent Lunne and her subordinates specifically because they were among the best of the best.

If anything Viola claimed was true - and Solomon sensed no dishonesty from her - then it didn't seem that letting themselves be arrested was too bad a mistake. It seemed like an ordinary society, if extremely isolationist and a little matriarchal. Once this whole issue was explained, they'd likely have some favor out of cooperation.

All that remained was the mystery of the visions he'd seen on arrival. None of Viola's explanations seemed to reach that far back. Solomon decided to keep the visions close to his chest for now, in case of mind readers: his mind was durable and wouldn't yield easily to questing magics even without access to his own.

Soon, a valley of sloping streets and quaint half-timbered houses was revealed and Solomon ended the conversation, ceasing the maintenance of their privacy effect.

Now, he needed to consider their approach to this situation...

---

Will: 65
Credit: 8.0
XP: 457

[ ] Straightforward Honesty - Admit to Enrollment, explain terminology the Eldest isn't familiar with. Give full disclosure of your abilities and hope this'll net you additional points with the locals, hopefully allowing you to reach some gently coterminous state.

[ ] Reserved Outsiders - Don't mention Enrollment, falsify your identity to a small extent, and keep your abilities vague; you're a traveling magician from the east, Harrison's a knight on your retainer, and Penelope's a celestial spirit you called down from the heavens.

If your understanding of their magical capabilities is correct, they shouldn't have the truth-detection to refute this; the opposite if anything.

[ ] Write-in

 

[Birdsie]

Horizon

The Abode of the Witch, a revered center of the Valley's community, called an abyssopelagic sea creature to mind, some manner of long-spined leviathan; a longhouse of uneven walls, twisting unnaturally across the hilltops, a rooftop covered with straw. There were multiple entrances scattered across, small doors or grandiose gates. It was surrounded by streets, each with its own homes and stores; a thriving suburban community, like a close-knit village that's become inflated with magic and outlived that origin. Interestingly, it seemed males existed as well, although bore occupations of craftsmanship or menial work, rather than magic. Not only a Witch's Land, then.

Inside the doors, however, there was no construction; no walls or floors. Only a darkness as deep as the ocean's waters - the Abyss itself, yawning and shapeless, a darkness that consumed them and delivered them into the embrace of an endless space. This was the heart of the Valley; the Witch's Sanctum.

"Eldest Sister," addressed Lunne with a bow. "The intruders."

A young woman stood in the darkness, in a witch's robe, a hood covering the upper half of her face. Her lips bore silver gloss. She was interesting to Solomon's eyes - connected deeply to the environment, and Architecturally significant in an indistinct, nebulous fashion, as if the Architecture wanted to form a deeper inclusion for her within its structure, but couldn't manage to find a fitting location. She wasn't Enrolled but had a connection with Solomon himself, or more specifically, his Role. It was a deep but stretched and ruined thing; a thread of invisible energy as thick as an arm, but frayed apart as if a blunt knife had run over it, as if the connection were drying up gradually.

"Lunne, you've brought me a wonderful gift," said the Eldest, with a voice that was disarmingly beautiful and soft. He could've seen an idiot on Ethan's level immediately falling in love with it. Solomon himself was untouched, mind reflecting the voice's beauty like a pond reflecting moonlight. She smiled at him beatifically, enthrallingly, as if perceiving something truly amazing. "The Magician himself, in the flesh! And two companions of his, as well. I am honored." She offered a light bow.

He'd intended to aim for honesty and a straightforward explanation of intent with them anyway. Her awareness was mildly concerning, still. Nonetheless, it made sense, as whatever this Abyss was, it was the center of her seat of power; they were in the stomach of the beast, the center of its activities.

"This almost feels like meeting evil Galadriel," murmured Harrison.

"I am not evil, honored guest," said the Eldest, clearly hearing the murmured words. She didn't appear offended, merely aristocratically amused at the supposition. "Just territorial - and with good reasons. I'm afraid intrusions such as yours diminish our Abyss permanently, even if the intruders do nothing hostile of their own volition. We've made it a matter of protocol to turn away such trespassers, especially when they actively cast foreign magics on our territory."

"You have my apologies for that," answered Solomon. "We didn't know."

"Oh, I'm well-aware, good sir," she replied, a hand on her heart. "So in my largesse, I forgive you the trespass, and welcome you to stay as long as you like!"

He balked at the immediate forgiveness. "Thank you, Eldest."

"Oh, please, there's no need for titles such as that!" she insisted, raising a hand and chuckling. "As visitors to our community - especially so esteemed, so welcome - we should foster a spirit of familiarity, and get to know each other! My name is Mona."

"Solomon..." he answered, full of incertitude. "And those two are Harrison and Penelope."

Primly, she snapped her fingers. The chains of astral shadow which Lunne had bound them with collapsed into nothingness.

The Abyss around them flowed and created a receiving room, something reminiscent of a parlor. Comfortable chairs and couches, a coffee table between them, a fireplace already roaring with flame. Mona took a seat in the middle of a couch and invited them forth with a beckoning hand. "Come! Partake of our fruit. Break bread with me."

Slightly unnerved at the sudden hospitality, Solomon stepped forward without confidence - a feeling apparently shared by Lunne and the other witches, who stared at the warm reception with confused looks. Penelope and Harrison followed after him, all three of them sitting by reasonably close.

Bright as a sun at zenith, Mona smiled at the witches and nodded them off eagerly. "Thank you, Sisters. You're dismissed."

After a second of uncertainty, they bowed and left.

"Now, tell me of your travels! I am sure you've all experienced a plethora of exciting adventures out there on Fortuna, so I'm curious as to what brings you three to our corner of the world. Oh my, but perhaps you'd have questions for me instead? I'd hate nothing more than to be impolite. Please, feel free to speak up." Mona acquired a teacup from the coffee table - now set with all sorts of teatime confections and cakes - and took a demure sip, contrasting her bright and cheerful speech and behavior.

"It's nice to meet you," Penelope started - drably but diplomatically. "We've heard rumors of a Witch's Land covered in darkness. Curious about said rumors, we decided to investigate and explore." She gave Solomon a slightly questioning look.

Reading the meaning of that expression smoothly, he smiled at Mona and said, "We're the students of a certain Educator, who's teaching us to assume the position of our Roles. As you mentioned, I am the Magician. Some supernatural insight of yours?"

"Something like that! Our Abyss gives me information in regards to who I'm looking at," she said with an easy smile. "From what I understand, you've had a very close brush with it? Poor thing, it was so angry at you trying to control it. I nearly developed some gray hairs trying to soothe it."

"Ah... sorry about that," he apologized once more.

"No worries! What's in the past's in the past, right? It's better to get along than fight needlessly," she answered, smile somehow becoming even brighter and even deeper, more meaningful.

"I suppose."

"So, this Educator of yours..." Mona returned back to the topic from earlier, "He must be a rather powerful man, to create such a deep connection with one of the Sacred Tarot. Let alone three - and, based on your bearing, I would imagine more. The entire Tarot, perhaps? What a terrific thought."

"Yes," an agreeable Solomon confirmed. "Given we're still in education, he encouraged us to explore the world and what it had to offer. It only seemed natural to pursue a story as interesting as your valley's. I can't say the initial reception was especially warm, but it was, at least, understandable given the nature of the Abyss you seem to interact with. How did that come about? It doesn't seem like a natural feature of the landscape, and I had an interesting vision before that."

"Ah, that'd be my mother's doing." Mona's cheer faded a notch. A sharp-lined contemplation now dawned on her face, as if considering how much she ought to share. Eventually, her natural humor returned, and she explained in the tones of a history lesson, "A long time ago, this land was a kingdom ruled over by the King of Swords. He was a cruel lord, intent on conquering all the lands beyond and subjugating them to his will. The Abyss you see around us was the foremost extrusion of his power on the world: the darkness that meant to swallow Fortuna. My mother and father, the Priestess and Magician of that time, respectively, managed to stop him. My father sacrificed himself to empower a working that'd bend the Abyss and grant my mother control over it, and she, in turn, finished the King with his own blade. Those who live by the sword..."

Solomon nodded. "Die by the sword."

It certainly explained some of the visions he'd seen, even if they seemed to yield a much different impression. He'd seen a bright, sunlit kingdom with protective walls; a king not evil, but as bright as the sun above. And the impression it offered of the High Priestess was malevolent and dangerous if anything.

A great number of theories swirled lazily around in Solomon's head. It didn't seem that Mona herself was lying, and Solomon was excellent at picking up falsehoods, especially now, with access to his magics returned. It was, however, entirely possible the telling of events she'd received from her mother was fabricated or altered. Alternatively, the story was entirely true, and the land itself was still loyal to its king, even with - or perhaps despite - the Abyss blanketing it so thoroughly, and attempted to show its monarch in a positive light.

Regardless, it'd be a pointless exercise to speak out with any of those theories and antagonize them needlessly if he questioned the benevolence of their society's founding, so Solomon decided to keep quiet about it for now.

"And what became of your mother?"

"She passed away of old age several years ago, and naturally, passed rule over the Valley to me," Mona answered, a little subdued at the question. "That brings me to an issue I hoped to ask you about. As you can surely see, the Abyss faces endless diminishment. It cannot perennially maintain itself against the constant erosion caused by outside energies, especially with so many intruders at our borders. Without it, we won't have much magic left, and the land itself will turn against us. It's an irony: we must stay, yet if we stay, we'll be in danger. I predict a full breakdown within two decades at this rate. Our choices were either a full exodus, or finding a different solution..."

She offered him a smile. "Which, I believe, you can offer?"

"You want me to help you with this?" Solomon asked, surprised to hear that.

"If it's not too much trouble," she answered with a nod. "Naturally, you wouldn't be doing this for free, Master Magician! I mentioned friendship, didn't I? Such is a route which connects, not steals; I'll aid your efforts and repay you handsomely in whatever manner you desire."

Harrison chose that moment to interject, "How can you repay us?"

"Artifacts," she immediately answered. "Our Abyss excels at infusion into simple objects. Its nature is concealment and constriction, although it can be extended to other ideas as well. I'm sure you can see the benefits of that? Furthermore, if you can figure out a mechanism of remote recharging or moving the Valley elsewhere, I'd be more than happy to accommodate that as well. My mission is to preserve our way of life as best as I can and to stop the works of my parents from decaying."

The shape of what she offered was tremendous. It was nothing less than implicit vassalage. If he saved their Abyss, he could have as many artifacts as they could make. If he moved it conveniently to his base of operations, or invented a way to allow witches to move and operate elsewhere without losing their powers, he'd have additional territory and a small private army. By any reasonable standard, the offer was extremely generous - or extremely desperate. It hinted at something deeper. A consequence, if the Abyss collapsed indeed? Sone long-delayed doom in storage? The King's spirit awaiting vengeance once it was unshackled?

Contemplating the offer, Solomon contemplated the best approach.

---

Will: 110
Credit: 8.1
XP: 487

[ ] Face Value - You don't have to worry about what the Abyss might mean if you never let it fully diminish. Besides, her offer and benevolence seem totally genuine to every sense you've got. Even if her mom was evil, she doesn't seem that bad, as sincerely concerned for her people as she is.

Also, she kind of let you off the hook about messing up their Sanctum? That was a nice thing to do, so this'd be a nice thing to do in exchange.

[ ] Press on Details [-50 Will] - There's something amiss here. Until you find out what's truly going on, you'll withhold judgement or acceptance of her offer. Press her on the details of the Abyss and its diminishment, and if she doesn't reveal some terrible doom awaiting everyone, investigate on your own: more thoroughly, although with emphasis on not contributing to the destruction of the Abyssal fabric. Then, and only then will you make a decision.

[ ] No - Whatever this is, you're not getting involved. Thanks for the tea, but we're leaving.

Go as fast as you can, in case she decides to become hostile (although based on your predictions, this is unlikely; instead, she's likely to throw more desperate pleas at you.)

You should also consider what you want to get out of this. Each of the below also contains the benefits of each option above it.

[ ] Artifacts - Just artifacts are fine. You can recharge them yourself.

*Gain a small army's worth of minor artifacts related to concealment, swiftness, obstruction, constriction, and denial. It's nothing you couldn't make yourself, given enough time, but the industrial quantity's a sort of quality of its own; you can distribute them among people you care about. There'll likely be one or two gizmos you'll find useful, too.
*++Mona.

[ ] Conclave [-20 Will] - Artifacts are fine, but you'd like some hands capable of using them... Figure out a way of enabling a remote recharge of the witches' implements, and you'll have yourself a willing army of supporters!

*Gain a small army and even more artifacts.
*All witches have implements capable of idiosyncratic magics, as outlined in the option above. However, unlike you or your friends, they're significantly more experienced with them: usually training from early childhood. They're decently loyal to someone of your pedigree and origin.
*+++Mona.

[ ] Land of Darkness [-40 Will, 7 Credit] - Create a vast spatial working to permanently move the Abyssal Valley to surround your Magician's Tower. This is an effortful and difficult feat, even for you, even accounting for the massive support structure you have with you.

*Gain a small kingdom, even more artifacts, and even more followers.
*The Abyss surrounding your Tower shall naturally aid you in rediscovering some of its secrets, accelerating progress on that front. Likewise, it'll deny entry to intruders and invaders, and act as an extra defensive measure. Furthermore, you'll have an entire civilization conveniently close by, with all of its riches, advancements, and benefits at your fingertips. This could pay off immensely in the future, especially if you can take them along with you on graduation.
*++++Mona.

[ ] Sacred Matrimony [-10 Will, 5 Credit] (Discounted) - Support doesn't suffice, not for you. Mona desires friendship? Offer something a step beyond that. Utilizing a sacred ritual and your experience with the Connections-Which-Span-the-Worlds, you'll indelibly link your souls together. Actual marriage or relationship is optional; something to consider.

This linkage causes a permanent mutation of your Sanctum Aspect. Its mechanics change significantly, as the Abyss becomes inextricably conjoined with it. The valence of most of these changes is net-positive, as your Sanctum will become innately mobile and even more excellent at concealment and other things associated with the Abyss. Furthermore, it causes your Sanctum Aspect to gain an immediate level, and discounts future purchases of Sanctum levels and Techniques. The Abyss is strong with this one.

From the resonance of your relationship, Mona will develop some abilities reflecting the Tarot of the High Priestess - and with your deep Connections, you'll always have access to a fraction of them, and she, access to a fraction of yours. As a new ally, she'll never lag exceedingly far behind you in power, although she'll be focused on much subtler magics and powers than you. This rite will also prevent betrayal and link your fates to each other. If you're open to it, you can eventually explore an actual romantic relationship, too? Although that seems a little premature at this stage, given you've only barely just met...

*Mona is an eager proponent of this herself. (She's not much older than you, for the record.)
*Gain a small kingdom, even more artifacts, even more followers, and a bashful wife who didn't expect this outcome (a proponent that doesn't expect acceptance!)
*Gain a new Arcanum Technique: Lord of the Abyss, reflecting your mastery over it and the implement magics wielded by the witches.
*Ensures with a hundred percent certainty you'll be able to take everything here with you on graduation.
*+++++Mona.

[ ] Write-in

 

[Birdsie]

Dawn and Dusk

The agreement wasn't instantaneous. There were specifics to hammer out, first. A contract to draft, with Penelope's skillful aid, and occasional and very unsolicited commentary from Harrison. The concessions requested in return, the mechanism by which the changes would occur; assurances written in binding geasa. There were concerns beyond the material as well. This was, as plainly apparent to all parties involved, a very political sort of marriage; would the parties be open to a future relationship, if love's weathervane happened to direct them that way? And if not, were paramours acceptable? Would a divorce remain in the cards?

Once these were addressed, a week of preparations was needed to complete the agreement's outlined necessities. Then, the announcement was made. Declared across the world of Fortuna and trumpeted far and wide: the Witch-Queen of the Shadowed Valleys was to marry the Philosopher-King of the Western Isles.

They were simple people, but made it sound grandiose and appended noble titles to attract attention and prosperity.

The Witch's Wedding, as it was called, drew the attention of countless guests. For once in over a hundred years, the Valley's imperturbable shadows opened to eagerly admit visitors from near and far; gold-edged invitations were issued out like eatery coupons, and Solomon's Class would also be in attendance, as would a handful of the more familiar members of the Theologians. It was a ceremony with much pomp and circumstance, as massive tents were erected over the Valley's peaceful streets; a veritable carnival of strange phantasmal sights and magics. Hotels, raised from the dirt; reinforced and refined into luxurious opulence, for entrants to stay at.

For once, motes of starlight were dispersed overhead; minor lights within the Abyss, dancing and weaving like delicate fireflies, bobbing and outlining the roads. The streets were flooded with muttering crowds; wizards and kings, dignitaries and traveling adventurers. There was a brush of excitement proliferating through the conversations; a susurration in the air, a portent of a bright future. Almost no one knew who was being wedded; almost everyone was excited to learn.

The ceremony's site was a remarkable hill looming over the Valley, its prosperous lands visible from the position the groom and bride were to assume.

Naturally, Solomon came to his own wedding dressed in wizard's finest: a silken robe as dark as the very Abyss of his bride's home, stitched specially for this occasion by the Star's supernal hands. Attentively standing behind him, Harrison's outfit was the sharp Vice Captain's uniform. Solomon's entire Class stared at him; most of them were faintly disbelieving when the invitations were sent out, but they were starting to come to terms with the fact their classmate was marrying someone fresh into the supernatural, insane equivalent of his senior year of high school.

From down the aisle, Mona approached with a tendril of the Abyss in lieu of a father, in an atypical dress; pure white strands that became increasingly darker towards the bottom, almost fully black close to the feet.

"Dearly beloved," said the Educator, voice spreading out. "I must confess, I've never officiated a wedding - nor been asked to. And in that sense, this has been a learning opportunity for me, too. This evening, we're here to conjoin a student of mine and a young lady he encountered. I pray, now, that this act of sacred matrimony may inspire us to seek betterment and love in our lives. I also pray, now, that all of you remember this is an educational opportunity, and you are, therefore, obligated to make notes and deliver a three-page essay to my desk by next Sunday about it. No, Mr. Armstrong, you are not exempt because of your position as best man. Neither are you, Mr. Lancaster..."

Some of the guests who weren't Enrolled shared confused looks.

"Now," the Educator continued smoothly, "a passage from Genesis, to kindle our hearts."

He pointedly did not open a book, quoting directly from the mind.

"Then God said: Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. Let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and the cattle, and over all the wild animals and all the creatures that crawl on the ground. God created man in his image; in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them. God blessed them, saying: be fertile and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it. Have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and all the living things that move on the earth. God looked at everything he had made, and he found it very good. The word of the Lord."

A handful of confused - or in some cases, enthusiastic - amens came out of the assembled crowd. Clearly, not everyone expected Christian orthodoxy from the Educator.

There were a couple more passages in a similar style, which the Educator concluded with a question, "Mr. Lancaster and Ms. Emuna, have you come here to enter into marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?"

"I have," both responded, looking into each other's eyes. Hers were dark, like sapphires glinting in the starlight.

"Are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?"

"I am."

"Join your right hands."

They did so. Her touch was warm. Solomon felt a little discomforted by the stress. He didn't expect the pomp and circumstance to get to him so much.

It was kind of insane, wasn't it? Getting married at seventeen, for superhuman powers no less? He'd told himself this was nothing serious; a strictly contractual agreement, enforced with magic. For material benefits. Now, at the altar, he was doubting. The wording of the vows was so serious. It seemed so Architecturally significant.

"Solomon," the Educator addressed with a crisp turn. "Do you take this woman to be your wife, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, forsaking all others, so long as you both shall live?"

Forsaking all others.

His eyes landed on Penelope of all people. His heart clenched a little, even at the simple thought. They'd agreed the marriage vows wouldn't be formally binding; to look the other way, if the other person consented in private, if there was an understanding made beforehand. The magic's enforcement of loyalty would smooth over the rough protrusions in an otherwise immaculate agreement. It didn't change the fact that agreeing here felt strangely limiting; disabling of possibilities he would've rather had remained open, even if he didn't seriously muse on them beforehand. Mourning a loss of what he didn't even understand he had, before this all.

He returned them to Mona, her own eyes staring at him with expectation.

You're young, said a stray, traitorous thought - or Symon? Too young to be doing this. You're barely mature enough to have a serious committed relationship. You're getting married already? For superhuman power?

No, he dismissed. To help these people with their problems. For a righteous cause. Because I like helping people.

Yes, guilt's indeed gnawing away at you. For being a lazy bum half your life. But you know you could've done that without marriage, so what's the real reason?

He came to the realization.

Power. You were right. I want to be stronger than I am.

Why?

I don't know.

You do. The altar's no place to have doubts and 'not know.'

To surpass the Metaphysicist, he decided. To save the world. Just for power's sake. All three are true to some extent.

Then why doubt yourself? Mistakes of youth can be undone if the error is too severe; age's wisdom tempers such blunders. You needn't overcommit; the ritual expects a formal connection, yes, but it's not like the girl you're looking in the eyes is someone you'll have to immediately date, from day one. You can if you want, but you don't have to. And your friends will understand the necessity, accept the eccentricity; call it whatever you want. It's a lossless scenario, even if unusual. Do you remember what you must do?

Cast aside all doubt.

Yes.

"Yes," he said out loud, not a second having passed.

After that deliberation, the exchange of rings was almost a formality. A nuptial blessing followed, the Educator raising an arm and invoking God's favor on their marriage, followed by a short prayer. Finally, came the pronouncement.

"In the eyes of God and these witnesses in attendance, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now kiss."

It was a chaste kiss; a brief meeting of the lips. Solomon expected it to electrify him, shock him, or otherwise make him experience some intense emotion that churned the stomach or paralyzed the nerves. Instead, it produced a brief impression of contentment, and nothing beyond that.

"Go in peace," the Educator concluded, as music started to play, "to glorify the Lord with your life."

A new dawn came over the Abyss, sun rising overhead as the Magician's Tower now loomed over the Valley. The Abyss' deep and undefeatable darkness instead became Twilight, fed and sustained by light and dark alike. Solomon smiled.

---

Elsewhere, a once-great man walked down the Bathroom stalls at dusk - having experienced a certain terrible conclusion in recent days, a wound dealt so deep it now struggled to heal of its own accord. An issue that had to be remedied.

He stopped. One of the stalls was unusual: or rather, what was inside of it.

"To reach wisdom's limit and go no further-" started praying the toilet, inaudible to the human ear. Target acquired.

Obliteration. Violence. Eradication. Instant, axiomatic; enforcement of the very idea of destruction on reality came out of the Metaphysician's outstreched palm, manifest to organic eyeballs as an azure luminance suggesting intelligible patterns and the sophistication that came with Educated knowledge. It blasted the toilet into smithereens, atoms reduced to subcomponents, subcomponents returned to quantum foam; even that attenuating its Planckoscopic vibrations for a second as uniform stillness ruled.

He turned halfway around in one smooth footstep, an arm elegantly tucked behind his back without a hint of worry crossing his body language, as the other automatically traced the aspect of the class-five demon that leaped from the destroyed toilet bowl. Invisible to a mortal eye, eminently obvious to his sensory arrays and Third Eye.

The entity, it seemed, was attempting to escape in some misconstrued assumption this'd be allowed.

The axioms of spatial continuum bent to metaphysics; a central question posed, an objective grounding of spatial refraction proliferated as an idea; one room could iterate infinitely in infinite dimensions, and those were indisputably proven as something extant. Therefore, why not? He exerted Enrollment, a casual spilling of his Theme, elegantly suffusing the Architecture of the world, like a man flicking a light switch or snapping his fingers; a proverbial shadow cast on the cave's wall. His Theme bent the causality of that world, and then sunk deeper; instead of bending, twisted matter utterly like a chain around a lord's mailed fist.

The Bathroom they were in began to infinitely loop; an endlessness of stalls and sinks in each direction, accompanied by an equally boundless mirror and soap dispensers. Infinite Metaphysicians and demons enacting infinite escapes, yet with no escape or door in sight.

"There is no escape, Gelerial," he calmly said, stepping forward - ceramic boots clinking on tiled floor like steel against chips of ice. "Not from me."

In the absence of flight, combative instinct engaged, and the entity chose to fight. The demon materialized at last, a physical being like a humanoid shadow splattered out on reality - almost feminine - and unfolded its primitive okhema into a formation of severance: simple blades, made of the concepts of harm and malevolence, threatening the Metaphysician's pneuma with diminution. The most basic of combative ideas: to sever was to detach, and a system reliant on exacting order between its elements ceased to function without that connectivity. A woefully poor choice, against someone like him, who could simply reset the connections. Even the Olympian would've known better.

It was curious, he considered. That beings that didn't evolve from flesh would bend to instinct, a trait of the base and animal.

He raised a hand.

The demon struck, blades singing like an infernal chorus of fire and smoke-

The Metaphysician exerted a fraction of his Enrollment.

Defeat. Submission. Manifested as a spark of azure light spreading out to everything, it roiled across the walls of the Bathroom. For scarce seconds, the world was the Metaphysician's. The inanimate forms of the soap dispensers shook; the toilets flushed to empty their contents; the stalls closed themselves elegantly.

Instant, absurd.

The demon was lying and twitching on the floor now, its control over the okhema supplanted, even its influence over its own metaphysiology attenuated down to nothing except the ability to perceive the world through its base supernatural sensory inputs.

"It's nothing personal, understand," he told the entity. "Your teleological imperatives are inferior to mine, that's all. That means I hold moral superiority in our situational context. Now, explain the ethos of your Messiah to me."

He stood over it, as it continued to twitch. Contemplated.

I am supposed to act nicer. And the syllogism there doesn't connect.

Rewound causality by that one action's span, and reworded the statement.

"Your actions are unacceptably immoral. According to my-" He stopped again with a lip smack, unsatisfied.

No. Not like that. Act like a human, not an asshole with too many words in his head.

Again. Flush fundamental identity precepts. Start over fresh.

He cleared his throat - cosmetically, he didn't actually need to. "So... I beat you up. I'm sorry that I did that."

It would've made him cringe, if that impulse were not already removed long ago. So overly casual and informal, and to an opponent he wasn't even familiar with... still, okay, that was better. More human, a touch warmer to apologize like that. Unfortunately, he couldn't have predicted the grave mistake of cutting out those elements of his identity so early on into his Enrollment, so now he had to reconstruct ethical humanity from research and base principles. Humans were nice to their defeated opponents, right? Well, nice humans, at least. He wanted to be a nice human. Aim more for that.

"Human... monster..." the entity crowed, voice faintly womanly, "M-Meta... p-physician."

"That's me," he said. "Metaphysician. Not a monster. A monster is defined as-"

No, no. Again. Time rewound one statement.

"I don't think I'm a monster."

"You... obliterated... our world."

"Look, uh, fair point. I can understand you perceived my actions as... monstrous."

Was that too inhuman? His implements said it was a touch informal. He contemplated and decided not to turn back the statement. He looked back down at the demon.
"Strife, I've found, is inevitable," he said, attempting wisdom. A lesson. "Beings across the multiverse have cultural and ideoreligious standards that diverge wildly. What one entity perceives as immoral is another's definition of perfect morality. I've encountered a world on which promiscuity was a virtue, even though I was taught this is bad. Your people's... culture, seemed evil to me, at the time. That's why I destroyed them. I'm sorry about that. Perhaps I shouldn't have done that."

The more inhuman aspect of his mind whispered to use a Basilisk kill array on this damned thing and move on, instead of trying to salvage something out of this.

He knelt over the defeated demon's form, looking up and observing his own shining reflection in the mirror: a suit of perfect, articulated white plates with a helmet as smooth as an eggshell. His visual processors analyzed the situation as 'moderately Awkward.' No truer statement could've been outputted.

"I want your help, Gelerial," he said absently, still staring into that mirror. "The Architecture of this world - I've seen it, and it told me you were meant for something else, a noble endeavor. You are meant to betray your masters and help me defeat them."

"N-Never... world-killer..."

"I already apologized," he said, frowning.

No. Too inhuman. Again.

"I am truly, sincerely sorry," he said. "But your world was supplying apocalyptic ideations to your Messiah in extreme quantities, ostensibly with the aim of aiding henosis- no, no..."

Again. Don't fuck it up this time.

"Your Messiah conspires to destroy everything I've ever held dear, Gelerial. It's a war, and wars are brutal and terrible. He already has damaged me, in our battle, such that I'm not certain who I am anymore. I'm not accusing you - I've done terrible things as well. There's no good or evil side to a war." Except there was, his axiomatic engine insisted. He was good and this so-called 'Messianic' entity was evil. It could be proven mathematically. He sighed. "But ultimately, people will be hurt. And I know it's painful to admit it, but I know that you know that your Lord's ascension will hurt more than it'll save. It's something called a Pascal's mugging. You want to damn worlds to save them."

He shook his head, and spread his arms. "It doesn't make sense! Surely, even you can see that?"

He tracked the statistics of his speech, and compared them to recorded data on humanity... more passionate than standard; more emotional. He set a couple of new baselines, made a couple of adjustments to operating mental dynamics, and emerged a step closer to normal human behavior. It'd still need experimentation.

He sighed, again, weary.

Then smiled. He hadn't used to sigh before.

"Listen," he said, a mote more passionate, "I know that if you really try, if you really let me prove it to you, you'll see that human ideas are really great. You don't have to condemn us. Blind faith isn't everything."

"You're..." The demon's statement was interrupted as it spat out a glob of essentioreactive fluid over the floor. Its composition was curious; not a single baryon in that thing. His eyes pivoted to the approximate location of its face, which now had red, starkly humanlike eyes staring at him with mild contempt, "...actually insane."

"Why did you spit that out?" he asked, instead of pursuing the accusation of insanity. The damage was admittedly extensive; not easily recoverable by design. Otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered with this entire farce.

"...what?"

"This," he said, and touched a finger to the fluid. It was slick, like oil, and glowed faintly purple despite not reflecting any light; as black as pitch. "What the hell is this? I mean, why do you even have it in your body? You can make arbitrary physical forms with arbitrary capacity of motion, constrained maybe by the fundamental shadow of your pneumatic capability, which in turn is formed out of the ideational essence of your being, but that's it. You don't need whatever the heck this is. What is this? Blood? Why?"

"You crushed my ribs, I think," the demon excused absentmindedly.

"No, seriously," he insisted, "you don't need oxy-"

The demon chuckled. "You really have become insane. Our Lord's attack must've done a serious trick on your mind. According to Master Famine, you were far more composed during your intercession on Mundi."

"Master Famine," he said, zeroing in on the statement. "Now we're getting somewhere. I've met Famine. Famine's a bit of a hypocritical dick."

Dick. Very informal there, and he didn't even feel the urge to almost-cringe. Good progress on that humanity reacquirement.

"Whatever, I will not demean my own Masters in front of you, even if they have failed in stopping you... Are you not killing me?"

"You? No, no, why would I?" He offered a warm smile, and made sure to properly translocate its idea through his helmet. The demon shuddered with reciprocal joy. Or was that fear? Yep, fear. "I'm trying to act more humane."

Its eyes were significantly wider as it answered, "You are more terrifying now, like this, than you have ever been before."

"I am really, really trying my damndest to recover my full identity. Please be patient." 'Damndest.' Demotic. Human, but not very Metaphysician. He decided to keep it as a part of his linguistic base, for now. "Your Messiah's attack was well-aimed. I had to choose something to use a shield, so I picked stuff that I could rebuild more easily. You were in a toilet here, when I found you? And praying apparently? Why?"

"For salvation," it spat with malice, "From the likes of you."

"Ah." He tamed his excitement and looked down. "I'm very sorry about your toilet."

"This isn't... about the toilet..."

"Yes. Anyway - I cannot help but notice you are very violent."

"Says the one who destroyed the toilet on sight."

"You said this wasn't about the toilet." He considered. "Also, you haven't answered why you have blood yet."

"If I cooperate with your addled mind and answer your inane questions, you'll spare my life?"

He smiled once more. She convulsed. "Yes. And I'll be very happy."

"Call it a cultural quirk," it said - now sincerely invested in the conversation, hoping to maximize its advantage via active participation. Worse than redemption, better than non-cooperation. "As I'm sure you know, blood's a common element of reality across many worlds."

"Yes! Fascinating, isn't it? Blood's so common in animals on every world I've encountered. Animals - they're almost everywhere, too, aren't they? Humans are almost everywhere. Or humanoids, at least. Even on worlds where I'm not sure why it'd make sense. And why are so many worlds so Earthlike? I've encountered sixteen different worlds with no geological or tectonic resemblance to Earth. Each had oak. Oak. And deer, too. How come?"

It wasn't that deep a query. Actually, he knew the answer - and the answer, as always, was the Architecture. He was simply trying to connect on a personal level through sharing an ostensible passion for discovery.

It stared at him like he was four sides short of a square. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, you're saying there's pragmatic use to having blood due to its commonality?"

"Yes. It's conceptually tied to essence, life-force. That... err, sort of idea."

"Humors." He nodded appreciatively. "An old concept; surprisingly workable. So you've adopted blood as a sort of metamorphic advantage, even though its absence would've had different advantages. I see."

"Why are we discussing this?"

"Well, I am trying to rebuild my humanity from scratch. Normally, I'd ask the Epistemologist for an outline and copy that, but we are so far out of range that my messages won't reach. Doing it manually, I am working on the assumption this means I'll need to expose myself to novel experiences," he said. "So, talking to a demon seemed like a start."

"You said before that I had some special mission within the Architecture?" it queried.

"Yes," he said. "That was a lie, I'm sorry. You're cosmically insignificant on every level that I can see. If you want, I can fix that?" He raised a hand.

"Err, no?"

Too much eagerness. He lowered his hand and breathed out.

Across the skein of this and every other world, a wave-pattern unfolded out of nowhere; a tracery of reciprocal attention, bulging out as a foreign consciousness moved into the Metaphysician's vicinity. He arrested the identity redevelopment efforts, activating the subsidiary Enrollment personality core: all professional and coldly serious.

The old, emotionless Metaphysician.

"You'll wait a moment, before we continue," he commanded the class-five entity. "I am being contacted."

Diamond eyes addressed nothingness. A smile ruled by its mind appeared; one that now sent shivers of true dread down the entity's conjured spine.

"At last, you've found me, Magician."

You're the Metaphysicist.

"Impressive connection," the Metaphysician congratulated - the Magician, it seemed, chose to refer to him as the more complete trinity aspect of his Enrollment. That had curious implications. "I've noticed a fellow student of the Architecture a while ago."

You directed me to Columbus. Why?

A hurried voice, almost panicked. He'd struggle to maintain the connection alive, at this ontological distance. A shame; the Metaphysician hoped to broaden it and get a piggyback ride home. It seemed the long way was still the only way.

"An enemy of the world dwells there," he answered saliently. "I can offer you no specifics. Infohazards. If you care whatsoever about our mutual teacher's welfare, I'd recommend nuking that entire city the first moment you get; my forces are doing what they can to root out the foe without compromising the city's integrity, but last time I was in contact range, I was informed the effectiveness of that procedure was middling."

Provide any other information on acquiring the target?

"Infohazardous," he repeated firmly. "However, while I cannot communicate even the underlying context, if you learn of it through your own means, it should be relatively safe. It's the act of communicating the data that's dangerous."

Where even are you? Why are you in a toilet?

"The Architecture shows us mysterious things, Solomon Lancaster," he said, as a distraction. Then, making the distraction into a useful nugget of wisdom, "Sometimes, the innermost truth is concealed behind deep layers of symbolism. I am in a location where the waste and refuse of mankind ends up; so you perceive a Bathroom."

It'd aid him in figuring out the issue, in a roundabout way.

You're incredibly frustrating to talk to.

"Enough vapidity, Magician. I had important matters to attend to. Can I offer you any sincere answers or advice, preferably of nature that isn't harmful to exchange?"

How do I get better at Architecturalism? How do I strengthen my Enrollment?

"The Architecture of the world casts deep shadows, as ideals are struck with infinite radiance. An enlightened soul can harness these chimeric shades for enacting its own ascension, and through doing so, enforce a Theme of that ideal on reality. This is the basis of Enrollment. A Role is merely a partition of a Theme. Play into your Theme and Role. Support the former with the latter; come into the latter through the former's lens. Embody what you are meant to be. Achieve a fraction of henosis. This'll help you become a true Architect, too..." Then, realizing something crucial, the Metaphysician added - with uncharacteristic hesitation, "But, make sure not to forget your humanity. That is also important. We are made in one image, after all. What is lost can sometimes be difficult to recover."

Thanks. I'm passing out, though. Bye.

Sharply, the connection was cut.

As if nothing had ever happened, the Metaphysician engaged back with the demon cheerfully, personality cores re-engaged with the data of the previous conversation, "So, as I was saying! Demons like you are rather unique beings; I've encountered three different species, each with a completely distinct metaphysical etiology..."

---

Will: 100
Credit: 3.5
XP: 1,000

It's time for summer break, as well as your honeymoon.

Broadly, what should Solomon focus on during this time? Choose a maximum of three or four (3-4); anything more would split your attention unacceptably thin.

[ ] His Sanity - It's meant to be a time of relaxation, isn't it? Working on yourself and slowly coming to terms with the stresses of everyday life? Do something casual; invite your friends, certainly, and your new wife as well, but focus on yourself and your happiness above everything else. There's lots of interesting, slice-of-life vacation options...

Talking to yourself in front of an altar about doubts and guilt isn't sane. Fix this state of affairs before it becomes unacceptably ingrained.

[ ] His Curiosity - You've entered the Witch's Land, and came out a married man; and much empowered by your adventure. It's clear such endeavors pay off, if correctly managed. But there's so much more to do and see on Fortuna; even this grand event barely skimmed the surface.

Correct your ignorance, young wayfarer - travel and see the world and its splendors. Onto the unconquered horizon, plus ultra!

[ ] His Kingdom - You're a Philosopher-King now, bona fide and certified, with an enchanted crown and a well-furnished throne room in your Tower. It'll be expected that you'll help people solve their issues, and dispense wise advice on a variety of matters; enchant waterfalls and create statues; cast benedictions on the land.

Get to making that Kingdom. Increase your economic output, find trade partners and allies. Get immersed in your people's culture. Maybe create a more formalized military and government suitable for an expansion of your populace. The possibilities are endless!

[ ] His Wife - It's such a bizarre thought, isn't it? You've decided to marry a girl one year your senior, whom you barely even knew; Mona Lancaster. If you were still on Earth, you couldn't even do this without parental consent. But Enrollment overrides the common sense of man; Thematics override the needs of reality.

Still, you made some promises at that altar. Even if your previously signed contract technically excuses you from fulfilling them, shouldn't you still do it? Get to know your wife, maybe try to start something genuine here. It's such a strange idea to sacrifice such an important aspect of your life to someone you don't know. Correct this!

[ ] His Friends - Your free time is considerable. Surely, at least some can be realistically spared for your dear companions, who've been through you this entire long way? Harrison wishes your aid in becoming stronger; Damien could use someone to talk to; Penelope wants to explore more of the world to distract herself.

As the Magician, you're eminently capable of addressing their needs.

[ ] His Education - As the Educator said, it's no excuse for you to slack off simply because you've had a wedding. Get to work and start doing the proper research on your Thematics that's expected of the second year.

Summer's an excellent chance for your classmates to somewhat narrow the gap between you; some of their Aspects can already, if employed in unison and correctly focused, almost rival one of yours, if you're not on your own territory. Disabuse them of the notion you're anything but top dog.

[ ] Saving the World - Its own reward, or so you're told. After all, you wouldn't be here without it...

Apply the Metaphysicist's annoyingly cryptic advice. Figure out what's making Columbus, Ohio - that one specific city - a threat of such immense scale, and why it's all nearing ominously, no matter what actions Archetype undertakes in the course of preventing it.

[ ] Write-in

 

[Birdsie]

And So Began The Second Day

To start with, I wish to deeply apologize for the massive delays experienced as a result of my inactivity. However, as mentioned on Discord, I've been writing - and have now finished - my midyear exams, and with surprisingly good scores! Now I'll have a little free time to divert back to God Diversion. With that in mind...

Last time, on God Diversion, Modest Ambitions (Education, Curiosity, Kingdom, Saving the World) won.

Choose what you'd like to tackle first, and how. Choose two (2) major undertakings, and one sub-focus for each of them:

[ ] Education

Expand your unnatural abilities.

- [ ] Aspect-Oriented - Given the Education's new curriculum, the fruit of your efforts has undergone a dramatic expansion: absolute and wholehearted focus now yields more with every day, even beyond the advanced curriculum you'd hastily sped ahead to in front of your year. Some of your Aspects are behind; others, still exalted, can be raised even further beyond. The exact effectiveness of this focus of Education depends on Will and Credit expenditure, but you should be able to attain Arcanum 8 by winter. You can also study the potential of your new Lord of the Abyss Technique, and the dross of minor perks you're acquiring from Mona's entitlement as High Priestess.

- [ ] Architecture-Oriented - The Architecture is yet to disappoint you; even though it started out as a knife in your side, you've now started to wield it as a warrior against the world. Its advantages are obvious; without it, you would've been stumbling like a blind duckling in the dark. There are strange games afoot, as suggested by the Metaphysician's words. Furthermore, a fundamental understanding of the world's structures might help you figure out why the fuck it's ending?

-[ ] Balanced Mix - Aim for a more balanced, versatile approach; diversely developing your abilities without any particular focus on either aspect of them. Decent advancement at the cost of focus; do them both, and as a result, less of either.

[ ] Curiosity

Choose the location of your next adventure:

- [ ] The Bridge At World's End - A mysterious bridge of rounded stone on the land's easternmost cliffsides, its causeway as wide as five highways side-by-side, and arrayed with strange sculptures and ticking clockwork marvels. Stories say the further you venture, the stranger the wonders at its side. The further you venture as well, the thicker becomes the mist that shrouds the bridge's foundation, until the waters cannot be perceived. No traveler is yet to return from beyond a certain demarcated distance, at the point of sixteen kilometers, where Fortuna's maps end, and where the world's border is said to lie.

- [ ] Londinium - Even having avoided an introduction at court save a couple of brief appearances over the last couple of months, you can still explore the city over the river - a shining metropolis, not unlike its Earth correspondent, although absent the hand of the Once and Future King. Of Fortuna's cities, it's easily the most well-developed and modern, entering the early age of industrialization and application of the steam engine in daily endeavors. A serial killer strides on its streets, as well: some yet-nameless reflection of what you suspect is Jack the Ripper, likely channeling a fateful archetype. Whether to stop him or shop at the markets, Londinium is a great spot.

- [ ] The Court of Miracles - Or what you'd call, 'Paris, France,' from Earth, if we're being pedantic. The City of Lights virtually worships the Tarot, especially those of its elements that are associated with positive connection: The Lovers, The High Priestess, and the Emperor are held in high regard here, both as those who channel them, and the Enrolled who bear these names. Although not your cup of tea, some of the Court's miracles are transmissible, and you may study them to improve your Arcanum Aspect!

[ ] Kingdom

Be a Philosopher-King.

- [ ] Arcanization - The Witches subscribe to a rather primitive paradigm of magic, and yet even primitive methods betray a harvest of information if correctly studied, dissected, and understood. Check their records and study their arts; exhaust every mote of knowledge, and then invent a better way. This is your birthright as the Magician. Once you're done, proliferate the new improved art. Take on students of your own. Set start to a new golden age of magic.

- [ ] Militarization - The world's in danger: your Earth, and most likely Fortuna as well. Once it comes, you shouldn't be found wanting; your walls shall not crumble, your warriors shall not yield. Focus developments of your arts and kingdom on readying yourself for the destruction to come. Enhance lawkeepers, teach the most immediately learnable offensive arts; take on apprentices, and make them into knights. Let the end come; it'll face a thousand blades once it does.

- [ ] Economization - Improve your capacity to act, and directly escalate the welfare of your citizens. Every endeavor begins with value; if your kingdom is to rise above the others, it must be prosperous. You have no idea how to rule; acquire advisors and learn the art of statesmanship and policy-drafting. Establish diplomatic ties and trade with the other nations of Fortuna, and become acknowledged as the superpower you are meant to be.

[ ] Save the World

- [ ] Contact Archetype - It seems the wisest choice, now that you have more information. Aim to convince them of the danger's scale; push for a full-scale evacuation of Columbus if necessary. Share the contents of your conversation with the Metaphysicist if pushed; you'd rather keep the fact of his survival up your sleeve for now, but you don't know yet what necessity might demand.

- [ ] Research the Threat - You need deeper insight on the Metaphysician's words. Research the sections of the Architecture relevant to your discoveries, aiming to put a name to the threat you're facing, before it faces you.

- [ ] Breach the Barrier - The most extreme of the choices available here; and equally, scarily effective. By studying the underlying fabric of Education itself, you'll be able to decohere the dimensional barrier and return to Earth. From there, you can take your own actions as needed to truly investigate the threat and remove it.

[ ] Write-in

 

[Birdsie]

The Form of the Enemy

"Okay, what's this?"

"It'll be your only meal for this year," the Educator answered eloquently, standing prim and straight without any signs of shame or uncertainty, as if presenting a solid, inalienable fact of reality. His eyes couldn't be discerned underneath the Thematic muck, but Solomon believed they were staring into him as if daring him to object.

His only meal, it seemed, was a small croissant, with chocolate stuffing. His Magician's eyes analyzed the dessert pastry with slight disdain, picking apart the enzymes and butter proteins, chains of saccharides spooling out into straight parallels to make observation easier. Grains composing the croissant were divided and each rendered as minute elements of a vast cloud, a network of sandlike finery. Each grain was thoroughly scrutinized with the same level of contemptuous attention that a master hitman would've paid to a single one of his tools. Then, the entire croissant was analyzed on a holistic level, in search of macroscale interactions that might've altered its functionality.

None were found.

Solomon's searches came up empty; detecting nothing that'd imply it could sustain a human-sized organism on its for an entire year.

He nodded to himself.

"Of course... Except I can't subsist on this alone," said Solomon, with all the dry zest of a desert, as if the fact were so obvious it went without saying. It really should've, all things considered, but maybe it didn't occur to the Educator that normal people needed more than half a thousand calories a year.

"You're the Magician, Solomon," the Educator merely said, "You'll figure something out."

After nearly a year of knowing the man, becoming familiar with his toolset of strange tricks and oblique eccentricities, it seemed natural - or even predictable - that'd be the man's response to a simple request to move onto a more advanced curriculum. How else could the Educator satisfy his need to seem completely mad to onlookers?

"Can I ask why consuming only a croissant throughout a year is vital to my Architectural studies?"

"Your existence, Mr. Lancaster, has always been based upon a schedule of trivial pleasures and pointless relaxation," the Educator said, tapping a cane on the desk, as if demonstrating the croissant once more. "Already, you've excised sloth. Gluttony is your foremost remaining vice. Abolishment! Temperance! Absolute control over your habits is the only path to enlightenment, ultimately leading to detachment from your mortal ties. Only then can you step forth and become a true architect."

"That's, like, Nietzsche and Buddha at the same time."

"Mr. Lancaster, leave the philosophizing for the Philosophers," the Educator said, gently pushing the croissant across the table with the cane's head. With a final sigh, Solomon accepted it. "Focus, instead, on becoming a master of your fate."

He nodded and left.

A dietary limitation of a single croissant a year almost certainly would've spelled doom for most. For someone like the Magician, it posed more of a riddle. How to resolve the fairly straightforward assignment in a manner that didn't occupy entire weeks?

Carrying eldritch blessings, the needs of his form were already minimal. If deprived of a survivable stream of nourishment, his body would start to autocannibalize the superfluous mass within the symbiote, a sadly inefficient process that'd devour virtually the entire colony inside a fortnight. Generation alone wasn't an answer, as it constituted cheating, even if it was a simple answer. Instead, energy consumption was the core issue. In order to successfully draw on sustenance from a single croissant, the needs of his form had to face utter minimalization. He addressed modern textbooks on biology, reading about adenosine triphosphate and molecular processes.

Then, a Rite of Transmutation. Inside a vat filled with clear water, Solomon's lips moved to form incantations. Underneath the onslaught of magic, his body shifted and changed, becoming divorced from its base needs. Figuring if he was already going this far, he may as well go the extra mile, he minimized reliance on water and sleep as well. The Rite had to be repeated several times across a week, consuming much of his time, but eventually, his divinations started to indicate satisfactory levels of metamorphosis.

With a dark tendril, he squirreled away the croissant inside an enlarged pouch. He'd consume it piecemeal throughout the year, as hunger reared its head.

Then came what Solomon determined was the second most pressing matter on the docket: threat analysis of the encroaching apocalypse.

It'd be downright idiotic to press on with further divinations without a new method. It already failed to yield appreciable dividends once, twice, and thrice. Insanity was in pushing against the tide, paddling against the river. Instead, if a storm was blowing you downstream, you needed to step off the boat and walk on land. If fate itself defied the Magician his answers, he'd step around fate's barriers and find a way. Unlike before, however, Solomon wasn't reliant on Architecture and simple magical divination. Instead, he consulted with an ally specially suited to handling the task.

His own wife.

They sat in a sparsely decorated private parlor inside the Magician's Tower - dark lavender curtains with a lacquered floor and fuzzy violet carpets - sipping tea and feasting on snacks delivered by spiritual constructs, as Solomon elucidated on the issue. Mona's face shifted from curiosity to worry throughout the conversation. She was dressed in a casual dress, ink-black folds and fringes like a dark waterfall; out of her silver queen's regalia, which she customarily bore in court. The nature of this meeting was confidential.

"I see," she answered. "And you don't know why this is happening?"

He nodded gravely. "Yes. I only know it'll happen as the Educator's new year starts and in Columbus."

"That may well be a diversion, dear husband," she said, mauve-painted lips pursed in contemplation. "I'll ask for a convention of the oracles. However, I do believe if the threat is as serious as you believe, we should call on every available resource and ally. I do remember you have friends in your Class, one even bearing my own Arcana. If you have something to pull them in with, do so immediately. Have you considered the source of the danger may be the Class below you?"

His eyes widened a millimeter.

It'd make sense. Education was naturally unpredictable, scrambling divinations and deftly avoiding the waves of foreknowledge that skilled magi cast out with. And yet, if the nature of the danger were that simple, how did the Metaphysicist's warning make sense?

"That's not it," he said. "Not by itself, at least."

"You're right. It's too early to draw definitive conclusions," she agreed. "Call on your friends. I'll call on our kingdom. We'll solve this together." She touched him on the arm briefly. He contemplated that, and nodded.

"Thanks, Mona."

She rolled her eyes.

He, meanwhile, considered whose assistance was most useful and needed here. Ava, naturally, as the High Priestess. He'd not properly spoken with Ava in what felt like a couple of months. He didn't have anything against her, it was simply that they weren't really close friends. They exchanged pleasantries when seeing each other, of course, but that was different from making proper conversation. Last time, they spoke on Christmas; she expressed admiration for his swift growth, and he'd more or less equivocated and wished her luck in all future endeavors. Still, if informed of the gravity of the issue, he was confident she'd agree.

Penelope, too. She'd help as a matter of course, already dedicated to their mission. She had an entire assembly of miracles for acquisition of knowledge, although few of them were helpful before. Even if they alone were insufficient to pierce the obscurity at the heart of the matter, one voice to add to the chorus was never unwelcome.

There were others, too. Death, or Sandra, was an obvious candidate, as the individual who'd originally exposed this affair. And while Ethan was a complete moron and being Enrolled hadn't done much to fix that, his Role's own form of sympathetic magic could synergize well with Solomon's power over connections.

The preparations to conduct the oracular ritual consumed most of the month of July. Glories were funneled into the Magician's Tower as an entire civilization braced itself for a massive undertaking, an event that solidified the community rather than dividing it, driven by the common purpose of excising evil. The diaphanous twirls of twilight seemed to sparkle, as if emoting and sharing in the zeal of the peoples under its auspices. No expense was spared, no artifact or reagent left unused or lying down; in fractally arrayed chambers, magi performed their own rituals; legions of channelers and incantators siphoning the informational density across the Tower's levels.

Eventually, at the center of the ritual, the desired enlightenment was attained.

It was like a single note so deep and austere it caused every hair on his back to stand. Foreboding. Inside of Solomon, the symbiote roused and recoiled, an eldritch creature recognizing a predator inconceivably higher on the chain; like an ant recognizing the existence of the elephant. It screeched, almost, rebelling and ordering him to depart.

Then Solomon saw the form of the Enemy.

And to behold Him was to stand beside Him.

There was no chance of conducting dialogue, no attempt at communication. Only suffering: meaningless and directionless, an emanation set to pacify and stun, rather than utterly ruin. The magi around the chamber clattered down, wracked with violent seizures. The Magician dropped to one knee, developing a nosebleed.

In front of Solomon was a vast being, its size eclipsing continents, exceeding moons and planets; dark stone and metal composed its outermost form, corrugated and hewn unevenly like a mountainous carapace, with deep cracks that ran lambently crimson. Inside the cracks were constellations of worlds, each one a sponge that steadily bled a stream of sacrificial potentiality and vigor; each universe within its depths as a diamond on a king's regal vestment. A scepter made of shattered diamond fragments was firmly held in one hand, while the other made a constant mystic sign, a sign that read hezhim, and which meant 'dominion.'

A roasting flame emanated from within the abyss of the crevices of the entity's form, and helical chains made of black fire and red fire ran out, ensnaring scarlet orbs that reminded Solomon of stars, if stars could be hateful. Each of them screeched out a signal of torment. Anger and wrath were rich within them; anger that long since surpassed any semblance of sanity, forced out by their cruel master. He'd made them bend in thrall, to a tyranny that likewise surpassed any semblance of reason. For even those distant alien stars were subject to his dominion, as no more than slaves in bondage, all in service of his greater designs.

A single world defied it, a bright shining pearl of white, standing lone against the monstrosity. It hovered between them and it, a shield and a buffer, defiantly repelling the entity's chains. Abraham's world.

As if noticing Solomon - and what a terrifying idea that was - a fraction's fraction of the entity created an eye on its surface, an eye the size of an Earth: its workings were a complex machinery of magic and enlightened biology, abnormal mechanisms beyond even the Magician's hubristic comprehension; even a hundredth of that eyeball was something that Solomon could've spent a lifetime studying, and never succeeded in replicating.

It assessed him, a beam of sickly orange light within a void of meaning; dissected him with its glare, and deemed him worthy of communicating with.

It extruded a form to meet them, a small and innocent lamb, covered in smooth black fur, its eyes naively red like ruby gemstones.

"Ave, Solomon Lancaster," it said, voice soft and mellow, like a child's.

He shuddered. It knew his name, and that alone caused him to feel jubilation and fear in equal measure. Solomon felt sick, diseased, as if feverish worms had spawned a colony inside his guts, and were spreading out, carrying that disgusting warmth to the rest of him.

"H-Hail," he choked out, unable to finish.

"It's unusual. You are enlightened," it said, still innocent. "Make a contract with me, Solomon Lancaster. You needn't be a mere worshipper. I see a path for you beyond that, charted long ago. Together, we could save countless lives. Indeed, we could save this and every world."

Obedience. A deep crimson light shone from the mark on the lamb's forehead, a mark that meant 'invasion.'

For the duration of a moment, disobedience became impossible. He needed to accept the savior's offer.

"Yes, of course, I'll make a contract with you," he answered, voice eerily calm and level. And without hesitation, Solomon held out a hand, so it could partake of his blood. To know of him, and to own him, body and soul; as a master owned a slave.

Instantly, contingencies went off by the dozen, triggered by the submission. Like a set of bungee cords, the mind of Solomon was drawn back, observing the scene from an almost third-person perspective, like a player behind a screen, or an author behind a character.

Embody what you are meant to be.

Originally, everything started as one. And multiplicity was a trick of perspective. Above and below, accomplishing the miracle of one.

Lidless and restless, Solomon's eyes foresaw visions - not of the future, but of the Architecture itself, clear and devoid of obfuscation. His eyes started to crystallize into diamonds, irises becoming stained with sky-blue radiance and glossy sharp lines of clear white, spreading outwards from the core of the pupil.

This Antichrist had painstakingly battled the Metaphysicist, lost worlds and forces, and was now mobilizing to conquer the annoyance's homeworld. His chosen servants, Conquest, War, Famine, and Death were sent forth, riders and heralds disguised as mortals, and meant to infiltrate their own Academy and slay the Educator. Columbus, Ohio, was the location of the next Enrollment. That was how the apocalypse started. It could still be prevented if Solomon acted wisely and swiftly on the information.

He chuckled and understood the meaning of the croissant.

"A last supper is shared," he muttered, drawing the croissant out.

Against the ironclad Laws of cosmos and time, half a croissant - an assembly of flaky pastry dough and chocolate paste stuffing - was flung and crossed incalculable light-years without materially discorporating, breaching the barriers of worlds and individual metaphysics, and struck the King of Apocalypse: not the lamb, but its true form, in the face. Across worlds, the actions of a single mortal reverberated with Architectural meaning, and for a moment, the damned souls of trillions felt contentment and freedom, and lives already destroyed rose briefly from the grave to rebel against the demons: for a moment, the courses of rivers changed, as trends of heartbreak reversed.

For a moment, in worlds without kindness, only kindness ruled.

Stood inside a chamber on a border world citadel, researching methods of distilling pure humanity, the Metaphysicist smiled as the arrow of entropic time dulled ever so slightly, the inherent unfairness of the universe diminished, and the arc of the universe began to bend towards justice.

It all lasted a moment. Then, enraged, the King asserted his dominion, and made the mystic sign against Solomon. Like spears of wrath, his pronouncements hurled themselves at Solomon, but they were glacial, compared to his understanding of the world.

"There's my contract with you," Solomon answered the entity's demand, and cut the connection before anything else could happen, eyes returning to mortal coloration as the shards of diamond truth drained out of them.

---

Will: 100
Credit: 6.4
XP: 1,300

Through ceaseless study, you've broken past your limits and unlocked [True Architect]. You're no longer reliant on the Educator's safety blockers to securely utilize the Architecture; you can freely and fully study it without fear of ramifications. Your skill can still increase, but you'll not suffer any maluses from the Architecture ever again.

[ ] True Architect - As a True Architect, you've become a master of perceiving the secret structure of the world. Yours is a capability beyond simple precognition; your mind itself is attuned to the fundamental fabric of everything. Prediction of the future is second-nature, and with prediction comes manipulation. The secrets of mundane matter are betrayed to you, and even abnormalities that most would label as anomalous are rendered simplicities which you can replicate readily. It won't be long, before you've started to build worlds of your own...

[ ] Architect of Silver [25 Credit] - There are as many metaphors for the universe as you'd care to invent. However, a glance reveals that one your predecessors often used was that of an alchemical process. The world is undergoing a constant refinement; as one so integrally connected with its destiny, why shouldn't you?

The Architecture suffuses you; rather than a single enlightened cog, you become a core mechanism. You're gracefully bestowed with a frankly absurd level of durability; almost no amount of physical force could exert sufficient pressure to harm you, requiring esoteric or conceptual harms to affect you on any meaningful level. This durability is discerning and smart; it'd allow a life-saving surgery to extract a parasite from within you but it'd effortlessly block a traitor's blade.

Alongside durability comes restoration from harm that has already occurred: your blueprint is saved within the Architecture, and so long as it persists unharmed, so shall you. This is a comprehensive and total physical, mental, and spiritual form of renewal, although occurring on a timescale of days rather than moments. It shouldn't be compared to healing: even a cursed wound that nominally disallows mitigation would be overwritten in time. The Architecture simply refuses to recognize any form of you other than what you, yourself, consider a complete and unhurt version. Sufficiently persuasive psychological vectors may overcome this, if you suffer such vulnerabilities.

Fortunately, the Educator did well to excise most of them from you.

[ ] Architect of Diamond [100 Credit] - For a moment, you could see everything. The memory is fleeting, even now, and perhaps beyond you. To so integrally comprehend everything is to seize the reins. Not merely an element of the Architecture, but a true constructor of its narrative.

You'll surely have more than one opportunity in the future. Do not weep over a gift out of reach; celebrate, instead, that long road between now and then.

Now, choose your remaining two actions:

[ ] Curiosity

Choose the location of your next adventure:

- [ ] The Bridge At World's End - A mysterious bridge of rounded stone on the land's easternmost cliffsides, its causeway as wide as five highways side-by-side, and arrayed with strange sculptures and ticking clockwork marvels. Stories say the further you venture, the stranger the wonders at its side. The further you venture as well, the thicker becomes the mist that shrouds the bridge's foundation, until the waters cannot be perceived. No traveler is yet to return from beyond a certain demarcated distance, at the point of sixteen kilometers, where Fortuna's maps end, and where the world's border is said to lie.

- [ ] Londinium - Even having avoided an introduction at court save a couple of brief appearances over the last couple of months, you can still explore the city over the river - a shining metropolis, not unlike its Earth correspondent, although absent the hand of the Once and Future King. Of Fortuna's cities, it's easily the most well-developed and modern, entering the early age of industrialization and application of the steam engine in daily endeavors. A serial killer strides on its streets, as well: some yet-nameless reflection of what you suspect is Jack the Ripper, likely channeling a fateful archetype. Whether to stop him or shop at the markets, Londinium is a great spot.

- [ ] The Court of Miracles - Or what you'd call, 'Paris, France,' from Earth, if we're being pedantic. The City of Lights virtually worships the Tarot, especially those of its elements that are associated with positive connection: The Lovers, The High Priestess, and the Emperor are held in high regard here, both as those who channel them, and the Enrolled who bear these names. Although not your cup of tea, some of the Court's miracles are transmissible, and you may study them to improve your Arcanum Aspect!

[ ] Kingdom

Be a Philosopher-King.

- [ ] Arcanization - The Witches subscribe to a rather primitive paradigm of magic, and yet even primitive methods betray a harvest of information if correctly studied, dissected, and understood. Check their records and study their arts; exhaust every mote of knowledge, and then invent a better way. This is your birthright as the Magician. Once you're done, proliferate the new improved art. Take on students of your own. Set start to a new golden age of magic.

*Retroactively improves information gathering about the Apocalypse, and nets you an extra morsel of data (which, depending on a random check, may or may not be especially relevant or useful.)

- [ ] Militarization - The world's in danger: your Earth, and most likely Fortuna as well. Once it comes, you shouldn't be found wanting; your walls shall not crumble, your warriors shall not yield. Focus developments of your arts and kingdom on readying yourself for the destruction to come. Enhance lawkeepers, teach the most immediately learnable offensive arts; take on apprentices, and make them into knights. Let the end come; it'll face a thousand blades once it does.

- [ ] Economization - Improve your capacity to act, and directly escalate the welfare of your citizens. Every endeavor begins with value; if your kingdom is to rise above the others, it must be prosperous. You have no idea how to rule; acquire advisors and learn the art of statesmanship and policy-drafting. Establish diplomatic ties and trade with the other nations of Fortuna, and become acknowledged as the superpower you are meant to be.

Alternatively, if you've decided it takes precedence...

[ ] Address the Apocalypse Now [1 Credit, 100 Will] - Sacrifice one of your other actions. Instead, make a second resolution on addressing the encroaching apocalypse, if you've decided to strike while the iron is hot.

(Before anyone puts it in a plan, you'll naturally warn the Educator about the very literal plan to assassinate him. Don't worry about the minutiae.)

 

[Birdsie]

The Law of Hermes

Around the periphery of Solomon's mind, clear-cut visions fluttered like gossamer strings. The Educator's safety sigil strained and shook, a lockpad under too much stress, and finally shattered with a pop, chains and tumblers collapsing with the cruel finality of human death. This was writ on reality's archway, a commandment meant for the eyes of any who could see beyond simple matter and energy: that none of the wise could return to ignorance, for the nature of all beings was to seek exaltation over time, and shelter from ruin, and to overcome their limits. There was a set of Three Rules, revealed to Solomon's eyes, more ironclad than any mere law of thermodynamics.

First, that ruin was the final and foremost end of everything, a baneful sword operating without limit, cutting down even gods like harvests of wheat, if they believed themselves to stand above chance or time. However, through achieving eminence and meaning, other paradigms had a chance to prevail and claim sovereignty.

Second, in reality's court, there was only a single throne. No hands were permitted to carve another, nor were multitudes allowed to share the seat, for only a single way of seeing the world can dominate the others utterly enough.

Third, that no single claim was more valid than any other: evil or good, equitable or stratified; no rationale was inherently superior to its competitors. The determinant of that superiority was the bearers of the paradigm. An addendum stated, however, that power alone couldn't decide worthiness.

Then, as though a child had taken a carver's tools and defaced the omniversal column, a fourth rule: unsanctioned yet equally vital.

There, Solomon felt a sensation of unexpected dread overcome him; a certainty of danger. Not a material hazard to his physical or mental wellbeing, but something more akin to instinctively sensing that if a door were opened, behind it you'd see something you could never unsee. To reach beyond the basic principles of understanding was hazardous, and threatened to set him on a certain path from which there could be no return. A Magician was meant to shatter boundaries and see the world above, but Solomon felt this was something beyond Enrollment. He decided not to read that final commandment, not yet. He could embark on that venture once he was ready.

Choosing to focus on physical and immediate affairs, Solomon breathed in and out. He turned to address Mona and Penelope, standing on the ritual circle's fringe.

"There's much work to do," he said and shared the contents of the first vision with his allies.

The second vision, the revelation of the essential Rules, he decided not to share as such, at least until he dissected the truth more closely and confronted the Educator. No doubt, as a fellow True Architect, he must've known this as well. Was Education then a paradigm of its own? And was the apocalyptic malice of their foe? It made sense. Even creatures of vast spiritual potency and size had something to compete over, a source of strife to fuel their bickerings, aside from their innate natures. The scale of the task terrified Solomon deeply and made him distinctly uncomfortable. The Architecture - as something clarifying the world Solomon had lived in, was one thing. This was something beyond that, a multiversal system the mere complexity of which implied the enormous magnitudes involved. Why, in particular, was his spirit chosen to see all this?

August marked an upheaval, a radical restructuring and concentration of every facet of their society, a working of politics meant to culminate in a more productive civilization. With a court full of advisors and experts, the drafting and proliferation of new edicts became a daily matter. Their fledgling nation, already burgeoning with immigrants, was officially renamed as the Magocracy of Twilight, and the nature of that Twilight served as a propagation vector of the Tower's benedictions. Beneath the Magician's guiding starlight, the nation prospered in a fashion beyond anything the denizens of Earth could imagine: rivers and fields blessed with natural fertility, deposits of invaluable ores uncovered and made instantly ready for exploitation by legions of spirits and overseers, and the morale and hearts of citizens swelling with simple delight and pastoral unity.

Aiming to cement his superiority and hopefully solidify the Thematic relevancy of his Role, as recently advised by his senior, a smiling Solomon invited each of his Theme's fellows to a variety of governmental positions, each handcrafted to ensure satisfaction and compatibility. His Classmates accepted gladly, even Damien striding confidently into the office of High Headsman, an appointment occupied not only with capital punishment but also with hunting down especially vile and heinous criminals: an opportunity Damien was glad for. As the nation's appointed Chief Steward, Penelope made rounds of imposing the ruling council's will on the unruly land. Throughout a fortnight and a half, the magics of Twilight were reforged like the shards of a blade made into a greatsword, to be wielded against the apocalyptic threat.

Inside the Tower's vaunted halls, Solomon wasn't idle, abandoning the sedentary lifestyle of yesterday in return for incomparable diligence. He studied and broadened the wells of his arcane mastery. He crafted a shining regalia of Twilight accouterments, invested with the ideations and hopes of each of his citizens, the finest artifacts and implements of the Witches remade and their elements funneled into the Kingly artifacts. He continued experiments with transmutation, becoming a more perfected self, abandoning the infantile chrysalis of mortality. He'd entered the summer holidays as a semi-confident young man with magical powers and emerged a king and paragon. Within divinatory circles, he foresaw spreads of potential futures and chose them optimally, garnering mountains of experience, beyond anything his peers possessed.

The Magician charted a steady path, navigating the straits of Architecture. His Tower's halls were full of brisk movement, crowds of sorceresses and neophyte wizards disassembling closed gates with whispered incantations and ritual arrays shaped into occult battery rams. It was the effort of a society united on a scavenger hunt; not the naive coalition of hivemind, but a collective where each individual heart sought to contribute meaningfully, in feelings of gratitude and fellowship with its companions. Keys were discovered on an almost daily basis, opening new chambers and depths of the Tower: mechanisms and production arrays, storage rooms full of artifacts possessing every imaginable function and then some, and even unlocking new magics, even if Solomon preferred to focus on the cardinal certainty of his own Enrollment.

Ahead of them, the Second Year loomed, with its arrival of the Gothic Class and the infiltrators of the Enemy. Before it came, there was one more matter, one final issue to address: one final advantage to press, before judgment day.

The Magician raised a hand and crimson eyes opened with the echoes of the agony that closed them.

Abraham the Kingkiller reached for a sword, and by the rights of a Life of Battle, lived to its utmost, a sword arrived to answer his demand, simply appearing in a gloved hand. It would've been raised overhead and made to cut the Magician's neck, were a single action not performed prior: a cigarette, proffered as a peace offering.

"It's the sort you favor," said Solomon, matter-of-factly and simply, as if expecting the man's acceptance of the offering a foregone conclusion. "You've imbued yourself a dangerous soteriological basis. Solace in Habit?" He narrowly avoided tutting in disapproval.

As if forgotten, the sword was immediately discarded, loose fingers surrendering the hilt and returning the weapon to its quantum ether. Abraham, instead, accepted the cigarette. With a flicker of will, Solomon created a flame, and its orange tip soon blazed, as the man inhaled needfully.

The aftermath was silent yet companionable. One man smoking and sitting on a chair, scarlet eyes glancing over the sterile room of his containment. The other, simply waiting and passing the time via prophetic review of national records, or practicing mental arts. Eventually, time came to speak, and now Abraham spoke the same tongue.

"Thanks. I needed that smoke," Abraham sighed out wearily, once the cigarette was burned down to the filter. Placidly, Solomon waved a mithril-gauntleted hand and vanished the stub. "Addiction to smoking's one of the few last pleasures I squeezed out of this damned life."

Solomon nodded, understanding why. From what postcognitive review and spiritual analysis had shown - surprisingly little, as it seemed the man bore some interdict or blessing, protecting certain facets of his temporal existence from spying - the man's choices had locked him into a tragic, unvirtuous cycle of pursuing eternal strife.

"I'm sorry about the agony you experienced before you fell unconscious," he apologized. "I didn't have many other good ways of beating you, and I certainly wasn't going to surrender in that situation. For whatever it counts, we were trying to help you. If you'd continued on, you would've eventually slain a monster that'd send you on a mindless rampage across the land. Empowered beyond any possibility of defeat. It'd have been its own miniature end of the world."

"Eh, you had me dead to rights, and if what you say is true, a good cause. Helps that it was a good fight," said Abraham casually, as if they had never fought with serious deathly intent. The crimson eyes perked up a bit. "Although you're much different, now. Given the shape of this room, I've been asleep for some time, I take it?"

"The better part of what constitutes a local year. It's more or less the same as your homeworld's, although some of the astrological details are subtly different from what you're used to," Solomon explicated. "Our moon has cycles of darkness and light, for example. Its cyclic nature makes for an interesting source of thaumaturgical energy."

"Miranda would've loved you," the man snorted.

"Miranda?"

"Friend of mine. Life of Magic. We had a falling out after the Dark King was defeated," answered Abraham.

Once more, Solomon was curious and clueless as to the man's past, or rather, its specific details. His divinations had mentioned the name and explained the nature of the conflict in broad strokes - a tyrant laid low by the efforts of a team of heroes and braves, which included Abraham - but nothing beyond that. "Dark King?"

"Ancient history. Won't bore you with the details. That was hundreds of years ago, so damned long ago I can't even remember what it was like. Memory's not one of the strong suits of my Soteriomancy, unless it's about techniques and battle strategies. Those I remember flawlessly. I could tell you exactly how the man defended his kingdom from us, but I couldn't tell you what he looked like under his armor, even though I remember he removed the helmet to breathe after I stabbed him. It's all mottled like that."

Solomon nodded. "You should rest and I'll give you a tour of my kingdom, after. There's much we could use your help with. We've accessed your Soteriomancy, although we could use someone like you, with centuries of tips and tricks. That is one thing, another is that we've got a mutual enemy I think you can help us fight more productively. According to my research, your Life's essence is applicable to strategy in even completely inhuman and abstract contexts: an invaluable piece of merit, in our situation."

"Really? If there's that much to do, why not go now? I am Free not to Rest," he answered, eyebrow raised. His curiosity was piqued, and Solomon noticed as the man's Life of Battle, his choice of salvation, forced him to move onward with dauntless resolve. Giving him a righteous battle to fight, one where he could save lives or worlds, was like throwing a dog a stick; the ideal bait. Its nature was manipulative, even if the man's own actions had made him into a machine of battle.

The Magician wouldn't settle on simple halfway measures, however.

A moment of focused effort to gather the internum needed to complete the spell, an incisive divination to study the underlying patterns of change, and a whispered command to execute the rote. Within a second, he suppressed the lively filament inside of Abraham's soul, and the Life of Battle slept. As if struck, Abraham recoiled, hands tensing up at the realization that martial techniques centuries in the making were now more distant than ever. A swift propagation of the same incantation calmed down the man's other Soteriomantic domains, until finally, the man in front of Solomon was only that: a man, and certainly nothing more or less.

"Fear not," Solomon reassured. "If you look carefully, you'll find a mental switch inside of you. Press that, and your Soteriomancy shall return. Press it once more, and you'll be free of its undue influences. You'll find you now have the indomitable resolve needed to do that, when you would wish."

Abraham stared at him; lidless, slack-jawed. A couple of seconds passed in stupefied silence.

"I don't know what to say," he managed, eventually. "Thank you."

"The Magician's calling is the guidance and support of others," answered Solomon with a smile. "And you're a former hero. It comes naturally to aid you as such. I might not be Miranda, but I've got some tricks she doesn't have." Even fate had desired the man's freedom from chains, whispering of righteous deeds and karmic balance. And what was an Arcanist's remit, the very Theme of the Tarot, if not the core truth that fate influenced the course of men's lives? All it needed to reach completion then, was a nudge.

"Take a day or two to rest," Solomon offered. "Then I'll fill you in on the details."

---

The vote's winners were Curiosity: Tower and Kingdom: Arcanization, as well as instructions to awaken Abraham.

Will: 100
Credit: 7.0
XP: 4,750

As a consequence of Abraham's rising and a supreme success on your check, you've acquired the magic of Soteriomancy without spending an action.

Here's Abraham's Report on the art, as well as several tips and tricks:

*If Soteriomancy were compared to Enrollment, one may say its domains (Freedom, Concord, Solace, Life) are, in fact, individualized Aspects, and Soteriomancy itself is a Theme of 'salvation.' It excels and becomes strengthened when aimed to 'save' and project kindness onto the world, even if the interpretations of salvation are countless.

*As a case study of his, even the Dark King was an unsurpassed Soteriomancer; a ruthless tyrant with a rare ability to disable access to Freedom within his kingdom, he wholeheartedly believed he was benevolently saving others from committing mistakes by stripping away their liberty, the dogmatic fervor of which empowered him. A simple bandit with an ideology of redistributing wealth from the rich to the poor would benefit massively, saving others from poverty, even if there is a cost for the wealthy.

*However, self-serving methodologies of the art are not only entirely possible but dogmatically supported. 'Salvation is meaningless without success,' is the fundamental truth of Soteriomancy. As an extension of that, if you are unable to save yourself first, you cannot save others effectively: a solid basis of the individual is necessary to extend a hand to others. An impressive number of Solacers are excellent case examples of this, choosing to find Solace in a variety of personal interests as a bulwark and basis. This means, naturally, that Solace is a popular and prevailing first choice for most Soteriomancers

*According to Abraham, the most historically ideal and dynamic choices are in the intersections of selfish interest and outward kindness. Although the sheer length of his Life eventually made Abraham regret his choice and balk at the cost, its dividends were massive within the initial decades of his activity as a wandering hero: a youth prone to rash solutions and with an interest in fighting and martial techniques, harnessing bloodlust as a way of resolving disputes and saving the needy naturally empowered him.

For now, Solomon's decided to...

[ ] Make One Choice
[ ] Make Two Choices [7 Credit]
[ ] Make Three Choices [14 Credit]

A Soteriological Domain has a lot of potential development space. Choose the appropriate number of Domains, and remember the contents of each description are only examples of what's achievable, if your striving is sufficient. According to Abraham, Life is the most dangerous and difficult Domain, especially if made first, as it can sometimes lock off the possibility of making other choices. Of each Soteriological Domain, it affects its taker's mentality the most and can warp even the psychologically stable into monomaniacally obsessed bondsmen. He recommends caution, and perhaps the humility to admit you shouldn't take it for now.

[ ] Life...
-[ ] ...of Magic - Take a clue from Abraham's friend, and dive into what already defines your Life. Choosing a Life of Magic discounts your Arcanum and its Techniques.
-[ ] ...of Excellence - Broad, all-encompassing, the striving to become something more than a product of circumstance. Confers superhuman competence among other boons.

[ ] Solace...
-[ ] ...in Friendship - Take Solace amongst your fellows. Enhances the effectiveness of your Connections, and makes befriending people easier and more meaningful.
-[ ] ...in Education - Knowledge is valuable and should be cherished. That's something you can get behind. Boosts Education XP gains.

[ ] Concord...
-[ ] ...through Marriage - Finally do something with your wife. Drastically enhance the effectiveness of your Connection to Mona, granting you more of the High Priestess.
-[ ] ...through Rulership - Achieve peace through sovereignty. Improves the efficacy of your policy-making, competence, and other aspects of your administration.

[ ] Freedom...
-[ ] ...from Limits - In the future, you'll encounter roadblocks and limits: don't let them chain you down. Increases overall progression with most arts slightly.
-[ ] ...from Death - Ruin comes for life, but you'll escape its clarion call. Grants durability and regeneration; later on, methods of effective self-resurrection.
-[ ] ...from Homework - A meme choice. Please, don't actually take this.

[ ] Write-in

Finally, you've gained access to even more of the Magician's Tower. You've discovered the Door Corridor appears to hold countless subdimensions, and in some cases, even a couple of portals to what appear to be other worlds. Effective study and scouting is yet to occur, still in preparatory stages. Usefulness in potentially tunneling back to Earth is dubious, although the portals have had some surprises already. Studies of the Grand Library's contents have broadened your spell reserves slightly, gaining you the perk:

[Wizard's Legacy] - Increase the effect rating of your Arcanum Aspect mildly (approx. 7%) in all non-combat situations, double that in scholastic endeavors or the pursuit of further knowledge. Your divinatory spells receive a further boost equal to your desire to reveal the truth.

 

[Birdsie]

The New Arrivals

The Second Year started much as the First: with the Educator confidently entering a classroom on the Arcanist level of the Academy, carrying nothing but a simple cane, and stepping with swagger and panache. However, the certitude died upon detecting an error - an anomaly of some unprecedented proportion. He arrested his confident walk forward and, with the protracted slowness of a buffering computer, stepped back three times. This delivered him to the space right in front of the middle-left column of desks. Like a valve on a spindle, the man's head rotated to face a desk further down the room. It was conspicuously empty, with no one sitting behind it.

"It's the Start of the Year!" The Educator's voice revealed feelings of fury and betrayal. "Where is Mr. Williams?"

"He's dead," answered Noah, with a note of surprise, as if disbelieving the Educator didn't know that.

"Yeah, for the second time this week," added Ryan, a hand on his cheek, seeming irritated. "We would've taken the corpse in for a quick rez, but the damn river washed it away. Those archers were so annoying, dude."

"Well, if one of you wasn't responsible for Mr. Williams' death, that's no excuse for not being present here at the Start of the Year!" the Educator said, fists balled up with anger. "How long ago was this incident with the archers and river?"

"Uh, yesterday-ish?"

"Then he'll return by tomorrow at the earliest! Tardiness of that nature is unacceptable!" And with a snap of silver light made by the Educator's will, Maximillian appeared seated at his desk, drenched in cold water. He immediately choked and spat out a small goldfish, coughing out river water. As the Fool recovered from his ordeal, the Educator continued to speak with cold wrath, "Mr. Williams, I am writing you up for lateness! Mere death is no excuse. You're a second-year, for Lord's sake! And an Arcanist, at that! Death is quite literally your classmate! Acquire a means of apotropaic warding or appropriate mechanism of resurrection by no later than Sunday!"

After coughing some more water out of his lungs, Max saluted and nodded, "Y-Yeah, alright, sir."

Satisfied, the man settled down. The Educator addressed his students with a chipper greeting, "Good morning, Class."

"Good morning, Educator," answered the chorus.

"Today, we'll begin work on your Second Year curriculum. I'm sure you're all excited, and I must say, with good reason indeed! This new curriculum opens new avenues of exploring your Theme. Given the rest of the Class is now on level, even Mr. Lancaster and Ms. Storm are likely to find new doors open. Ah, I should mention, there'll be an examination at the end of this Year, conducted to test your skills and prepare you for the Third Year. Its top graders will naturally receive a better allotment of Class Credit."

He started to sketch a multicolored diagram on the blackboard, showing each member of the Class their current level of Student Credit, and expected returns to most likely questions about their Aspects. The Educator noted and discussed several matters of import: the upcoming Second Year's ball, his individual responses to a collated list of requests to retain several items from Fortuna on Earth, and a distribution of Earthstuff: mostly food items and some letters from their family members.

Eventually, the bell rang.

The Educator finished up, saying, "Naturally, you should pay attention to what you'll be learning. The First Year was child's play! This Year, you'll do actual work, and start to cement your future. Starting from next week, changing your Aspects will no longer be possible! Anyone with second thoughts about the fundamental nature of their Role should visit me no later than that. You're free to go." With a permissive nod, students began to rise and conversations about the subject matter erupted.

Solomon, naturally, sprung out of his desk, gathered up Damien, Harrison, and Penny, and said, "Downstairs, one minute?"

A smattering of nods.

With a word of spatial invocation, the classroom disappeared, replaced by a data center: computers carved out of rock, with slates of tactile arcane holograms to manipulate the data. Above, veins of Twilight energy connected to the terminals not unlike cables. Solomon sat down on a throne and intoned a spell of telepathic Connection.

"Alright. Let's have a look," he said.

"Here are the most likely matches, sir," answered Vitas, one of Solomon's apprentices, a young man recently blessed with the Minor Arcana of the Ace of Swords. He was a swift learner, and eagerly patriotic for the newfound Twilight Magocracy.

A screen turned on.

It showed Solomon a classroom on another level of the Academy, Thematically attired in Gothic darkness and shadows: cobwebs spun in corners, curtains of purple-black silk covering windows that only allowed moonlight to shine through, library shelves with skulls and candles as well as books.

And in a corner, four young girls were discussing some matter animatedly - almost identical to each other, blonde and with sleek features. They had different styles of dress: one looked almost punk, another dressed properly, another in a sports outfit, and the last one casually.

"Quadruplets?"

Why are they girls? Just an element of disguise? For seduction? I doubt you could get the Educator with that.

The Architecture didn't have any answers forthcoming.

"It seems so," answered Vitas with a slow nod. "It's statistically improbable given our knowledge of Earth, but according to your testimony, the Enemy's means of naturalization can most likely bend the Architecture on a retrocausal level. It's already theorized the Architecture is atemporal to some degree, so at least this matches our research in that area. If the human vessels started to exist because the Horsemen would have a future need of them; we're fortunate to have caught onto the trick before their mission was completed. That is one thing that surprises me, though."

"Ah," Solomon reacted with a wry smile, "why they didn't already proceed with their task?"

"Yes. If your suppositions are correct, they could drop the pretense of mortality at any time."

Solomon smiled at the screen even more. "Correct. And that'd be their doom. They cannot attack the Educator in a classroom: that's his den of power." He remembered how the Educator was able to casually resurrect the Fool and transport him to attend the Start of the Year. Inside of a classroom, the Educator was a virtual omnipotent: capable of doing anything Thematically appropriate. Forcing a student to be there at the beginning of arguably the most important lesson of the year? Nothing easier.

"If they ever attack," Solomon went on, "it'll be outside of a classroom and without any fellow students around. I'm sure at least one of them will seize the opportunity if presented. To see that the Educator is never alone outside of a classroom is one surefire way to stall their efforts."

"I see," Vitas answered. "You've really thought this through, sir."

"Thank you."

"What happens next?"

"Next? We deal with them, of course."

---

The vote's winners were: [Freedom from Fate], [Concord through Pedagogy].

Furthermore, a player's intercession has acquired: [Solace in Spells], as well as [Hermetic Concord].

Your Solace in Spells effectively boosts all uses of your Arcanum Aspect, and enhances them even more if done inside your Sanctum. Furthermore, doing magic now has psychological benefits: you find it alluring and mentally stabilizing. If you were prone to panic attacks, a simple prestidigitation could immediately calm you down.

Arcanum Technique: Hermetic Concord - Level 1
*As the Magician, you can formally bestow access to any of the Minor Arcana, conferring a host of lesser powers based on the Theme of each card. Multiple Arcana may be stacked onto a single recipient, although you find this exhausting. Each Arcana's powers can also develop naturally.
*Furthermore, any cooperation with Minor Arcanists swells the might of your own art. Connectivity is enhanced where this is relevant. Joined together as a chorus, your spellcasting capabilities become capable of progressively more than normally if you were simply aided by others.

Currently, you've elected to bestow Hermetic Concord on a vast number of apprentices and promising mages across your nascent Magocracy, in efforts to boost research and proliferate overall welfare. It's always good to have more magic.

As a result of your personal development and recent attainments, [Will] is no longer a mechanic: you don't require any special effort to muster complex or drawn-out actions out of yourself. However, neither is your will an indomitable gem yet.

Credit: 0.2
XP: 5,000

Choose a method of dealing with the Horsemen:

[ ] Assess - For now, content yourself with simply observing their doings from afar to gather more information. That said, you don't have infinite time, and the clock is ticking. Are you truly gathering information, or sitting on the fence for longer than you should? Either it'll yield useful information, or you'll find your enemies crafter than you suspected. There's wisdom in staying the blade: wisdom, too, in fully knowing it must descend sooner or later.

[ ] Approach - Converse with the disguised Horsemen as a group and attempt to resolve the situation through intrigue or diplomacy as appropriate. It'd be somewhat arrogant to pretend you can steer vast celestial entities (even if they've taken on humble forms) away from their appointed task, but you're also the Magician: if you can't, no one else can. The Architecture sings hints to aid your approach. You're convinced there must exist a path by which you can even turn them from their task without violence.

[ ] Assassinate - A simple task, doable by appearing behind the girls and snapping four neck at once with one spell. It'll do wonders for your reputation among the new Gothic arrivals, you're sure. Nonetheless, the risk of the Educator's death is real. Like any proper sage, you should minimize that risk as soon as possible.

The Educator won't intervene or resurrect them. Historically, he doesn't do that if students are the ones responsible for killing each other.

[ ] Write-in

Afterwards, choose your actions for the Autumn Season.

You'll have nine (9) actions in total. Given that Will is no longer a mechanic, you can select Individualized Classwork at no additional cost. Given the Surveyor's Club has essentially folded into the Magocracry's (also newfound) Explorer Corps, you're freed of that burden.

Your wife's offered to handle the brunt of ruling while you're busy with Education, so you don't have to spend any time on it. That's sweet of her.

Here's a short list of potential options, but feel free to write-in:

[ ] Classwork - Individualized by default. If you wish to spend XP, make sure to note what sort of abilities you're interested in.
[ ] Interaction - With someone you know or want to get to know.
[ ] Exploration - Of Fortuna and its myriad vistas.
[ ] Rule - Spend some time being a Sorcerer-King.

 

[Birdsie]

Revelation

"So. You weren't exactly subtle."

A moment. A second.

An eternity, even for primordials stuck inside of human shells.

This is all the time it took for them to realize it was over. Their scheme was cruelly dashed upon the rocks, no more than a figment of ambition; no more hope of even beating an expeditious retreat. Latent horror, now revealed to the fore, seeped out like a torrent out of the Riders, as each of them now found themselves facing doom. Their doom took on the form of a young man with dark brown hair, smiling beneficently like an overly cheerful salesman, clad in a loose cloak of constellations on a cosmos of twilit nebulae. His mere appearance denied them dominion over calamity. His Edict, made with borrowed divinity, contradicted any hopes of engagement in apocalyptic doctrine.

He continued smiling, even as chills ran down the bodies of these now too-human primordials, realizing they faced real death. A death that could sharpen its intent to a razor's edge, and with a thought, rip it across their throats to spill forth a deluge of warm crimson life over the floors, ending their mission forever.

"You cannot be that strong either, I'll wager," Solomon continued conversationally, "Not if I can manage this so casually, without fate's shepherding. Glad we're rid of that annoyance. That does make one wonder how you've conquered so much. Aid from your master? He and Meta had a brawl, or I've heard, and both came out with a black eye. Your man can't be that strong if one of ours - even the cream of the crop, admittedly - can challenge him. Do you simply pick your worlds based on ease of acquisition? If so..."

A whispered rote on amused lips tied Famine's - or Fallon's, as she was calling her mortal self - shoelaces and promptly made her trip over her feet in her misguided attempt to run away from the situation. A sweep of the hand dragged her ignominiously across the floor with a sound like a mop dragging across the linoleum. An elegant twirl of the wrist forced her to stand and then a pushing motion shoved her into a chair. A firm palm facing down affixed her there, not unlike a rooted tree.

"Sorry, where was I?"

"I don't know, something about sucking off a homeless?" answered Death, sounding bored out of her mind. Out of the four, she was the only Rider not utterly horrified. Her fear was more subdued, an irking. Solomon was curious, but not enough to force the investigation here and now.

"Oh right," he said. "You're not assassins anymore. You're prisoners of war. By Edict, you're completely forbidden from taking so much as a single life, even in self-defense. Just to make sure we're safe, I'll be snipping a couple of threads from your Architecture over the next couple of days, and the Educator will always have a bodyguard."

"Great," Death sighed.

"It really is," answered Solomon mildly. "Have a nice day."

And with a hand's motion, transferred each of them to a cell.

From there, Solomon's apprentices could handle the details of interrogation and conversion, while he engineered the broad strokes from a distance, exactly as a Magician ought to; always guiding, correcting the course of the ship, and addressing the stars. His wasn't a hero's or captain's Role, but a mentor's.

Initial forays and interrogations produced astonishing rivers of data - an almost unbelievable amount. Singular sessions of questioning found dozens of threads, and repeat meetings unraveled them elegantly, not unlike the ribbons on a collection of gifts. The Horsemen cracked like unstable eggs teetering on a counter's edge, falling and splintering into a thousand shards with simple pushes. 'Cracked' was maybe a misnomer; they were almost entirely cooperative, instantly turning coats.

That's when a second discovery was made: something preliminary divination hadn't discovered, simply for the reason they never accounted for its possibility. It seemed that most of the Horsemen had succumbed to mortal nature and, simply put, gone native. War, or Wanda, had a monomaniacal proclivity for the sport of tennis - which, explained, at least, why the Terrorist had targeted courts in the area of Columbus. Then Conquest, or Charlie, had a similar passion for social media and was deeply disappointed to find them absent in the Educator's Academy. And Death was completely disloyal to their master's cause to start with, for a time even before any of this, and exulted in participating in humanity and its culture, rather than being its final doom and ruin.

Only Famine, seemingly, hadn't shattered under acculturation. Solomon, on the other hand, was surprised almost to the point of laughter. They didn't even need much conversion to start with. Just directing their passions in more productive directions and distracting them would suffice. Only Famine needed any work from him, and much less of it than he suspected. They were not so nearly indomitable or unbreakable as he feared. Theirs was a mortal countenance: without access to any of their mantles, he could rewrite their spirits permanently with an afternoon of spells. Three more such afternoons to ensure complete loyalty even if reversions were attempted with external aid.

It was true, then. Fate was defeated, now and forevermore, no more than a twig to suffer the whim of a magician's knee.

Given the simplicity of the task, and the effective defeat of the enemy invaders, Solomon decided to spend some time on trivial pursuits, knowing - and amused to know - the Enemy couldn't do anything about the impromptu kidnapping of his assassin-generals. He studied the Magician's scroll, and browsed the books in the Tower, and convened with the Educator multiple times, expanding his Role's purview mildly and developing new Techniques. The Educator congratulated him warmly on defeating the Horsemen.

His wife's unyielding diligence and self-sacrificial actions - impulsively taking on an additional surfeit of court duties to even further lessen the burden on him, and ensure he possessed ample time for Education - made Solomon's heart quiver with more decisiveness than it'd felt in months past. This went beyond the agreement of a contract. He decided, on his own, that such amiable thoughtfulness necessitated a reward of equal or greater measure. How could a King of Magi do anything less? As such, during an afternoon break in court, Solomon came up to his Queen and offered a deferential nod of the head.

"My Lady."

"Certainly a way to greet your wife, my Lord," answered Mona, quirking an eyebrow and casually lifting her chin.

On the surface, Mona's answer showed an outward silver of strife: perhaps even contempt. However, nothing could've been further from the truth. No matter the words chosen by Solomon, a deflection was inevitable: it was a cheap attempt to instigate flustered thoughts, stemming from the stark and unavoidable reminder of their status as a couple, and in the same breath, making a hubristic request for affection. As the High Priestess, she naturally played a game with many veils and correctly anticipated he'd learn the truth ahead of time. However, she underestimated Solomon's willingness to play along. If the game of strife amused her, he'd indulge it with gusto.

"Sweetheart?" he tried faintly, as if entirely disinterested in appeasement.

"Mm, yes, that's a little better." She looked at him with pursed lips, as if faintly disappointed with him. "I admit, it'd have been a little better if it were bolder, less questioning. Like you actually meant it, maybe."

"Noted. I'll hesitate much less, the next time I feel like saying it." An important move, crucially securing the word as his own. Considerable was the implication such a title was only issued out at Solomon's pleasure, and had to be earned; undispensed without incentive. In doing so, he seized total control over the idea of vocal affection, as she outwardly had no reason to shift tracks without appearing the loser. A victory earned exactly as a master of the Cup should've earned it; flowing around the attacker's strike, simply giving way, and seeing as the opponent tumbled down. Mona looked momentarily taken aback, not expecting him to strike with such ferocity or ingeniousness.

And worse, the nature of the response created an opening for him to continue, as on the surface, it was an agreement; instead of allowing even a thin counter or parry, Solomon was free to seize the advantage and follow the attack with another; a finisher of apocalyptic proportion.

Calmly, although with affection layered onto the appropriate element, he asked, "Now, would the Sweetheart do me the pleasure of accompanying me to dinner this evening? It'd mean very much to me. I wanted to thank you for all the hard work you've put in."

"Y-Yes," she coughed, cheeks reddened. "Of course."

I win this one.

She'll win the next one, Symon shattered the harmony of Solomon's inner celebration. Time virtually froze on the outside, as the internal conversation began. Outside of blatant cheating, she's actually a bit smarter than you; prep time is lethal here. Plus you've got a weakness for pretty girls in dresses.

Isn't that just every guy's weakness?

Yes. But for you? Doubly so. There are other factors to consider. For instance, she'll have an entire evening to ask Penelope for constructive opinions, learn about your tastes, aim to abuse your latent weaknesses. I predict even Harrison might betray you on this, as a form of 'innocent' vengeance. It'll be brutal indeed.

Ugh. I guess I'll poise myself for mercy-begging tonight.

No, don't surrender; there's still a chance if you press the advantage throughout the day. That word, 'Sweetheart,' is now an active weakness in her psyche, not yet settled down into meaningless vapor. Abuse it thoroughly and make it something you own even more totally. It'll become an indelible stiletto in your hitman's arsenal. If used sparingly after that, it'll remind her of this loss, and allow you to capitalize on each subsequent encounter you win. Its power will only grow over time. Call it... an Aspect of Flirting.

I'm not calling it that. In what fucking world is any of this flirting? You're treating this like some... I don't even know what.

It's a mind game, Solomon. People do it all the time, especially if they're into each other. Actually, people who are into each other annoy each other and try to dominate each other all the time, especially when their bodies are full of hormones... It's a habitual action. I don't blame you for falling into her rhythm, it's only natural. There are a number of adjustments you need to make if you're to actually win. For instance, you should bite her instead of kissing her. Biting is exactly like kissing, only there's a winner.

I think you're on the fritz, bro, answered Solomon with modest disbelief. Your eldritch alien is showing.

Call me wrong all you like. I know I am right.

Apparently I went from lazy bastard to just a bastard, and you've gotten really good at copying me.

I was always good at copying you. Look alive and apply my advice.

Time unfroze, and Solomon pressed the advantage.

"Excellent." With a dramatic flourish of the starlit cape, Solomon spun around. And then, half-turning with a smirk on his face, "I'll see you there, Sweetheart."

The intonation of the word sent shudders down Mona's back, lit her cheeks red, and caused her to clutch her forehead, as she realized the depths of her defeat. There was no recovery from this after all. Today's encounter: the Magician wins.

As Symon predicted, however, the dinner was the real battlefield. Accordingly, actions were taken to maximize their advantage: the venue was a high-class dining establishment away from strategic leylines, allowing clearer divination of the future. There, Solomon encountered a radiant Queen of Twilight, dressed in animated nightly clouds wrapped around her body like silk. He cursed his damnable weakness but prevailed on even footing. Only future months would show the victor of their secret war...

On a Friday evening in October, the Educator concluded a lesson that mostly involved each student perfecting their respective Techniques, and as Solomon was about to depart, the man called out:

"Mr. Lancaster, stay a moment."

After a moment, the others filed out and Solomon remained alone with the Educator.

"Sir?"

"Originally, I intended to make this a part of a practical. Something to determine your worthiness. To harden your efforts and resolve," the Educator began, "However, as you've finished your studies into the Structure of the World, I see no reason to accost you with unnecessary trivialities. No... a test won't be necessary. I am happy to inform you that you've achieved a level that is near to David's at your age. Whenever you should graduate, I do not doubt that you'll achieve great things. You'll change the world."

"Thank you, sir."

"Come with me," the Educator said and led Solomon down and into the Academy's Garden.

In complete silence, the Educator and Solomon moved to the threshold of the Academy, a corner where the mundanity of the Academy was divided from the mystical force of Thematic Fortuna, and vice versa. The Educator's exuberance gave way to a solemn demeanor, a gravity uncommon in the man's usual buoyant demeanor.

With a deft motion, a hand emerged from within an inner suit pocket, revealing an orichalcum implement. Now a True Architect, its nature was clear. It was an Aspect of the Educator, a Piece of Order. It was a system of sequencing and commanding the world, an element of structure plucked straight from the Architecture's heart-wheels. It rendered the Architecture's motions obvious to the Educator's eyes and made efforts to manipulate its disparate elements easier, each shift conducted with a simple press of a switch. It was, Solomon could tell, the man's first Aspect, the core of his being, which he'd inculcated as thoroughly as he could into himself.

"I made this with my own teacher's help," the man said, in slow and ponderous tones. "He was a kindly old snake. However, each and every lesson drained more of his Architectural relevance. After a year, he was only a snake, and nothing more. He'd intended for me to become something of a singular hegemon, a ruler of the Earth and Heaven. Like the Olympian and Metaphysicist, only tenfold. I chose this road instead and decided to become someone who could make more of myself. Thus Enrollment."

Solomon was silent at the Educator's words. What could even be said of a divulgence such as that? A revelation of that magnitude deserved a moment of wary, awed silence. He doubted anyone from Earth, except maybe the Metaphysicist, had ever been told any of this.

"A snake?"

"Very literally a snake, except a talking one," the Educator answered as if anticipating the skepticism. "And to this day, I've no clue how it managed to possess the secrets of the Architecture, nor why its teaching of me diminished it so; from a fabled immortal sapient to a mundane animal, dead for many years now."

"It must've been the will of God," said Solomon.

"Perhaps," the Educator answered with the inkling of a smirk. "After all, the Architecture works in mysterious ways. Perhaps this was its own will expressing itself. That's something you've discovered as well, haven't you? But I think we've idled long enough. Mr. Lancaster, would you do the honors?"

"Of course."

Like an honored student accepting a master's blade, Solomon took hold of the Piece of Order. The Educator stepped to the side and watched as Solomon tinkered with the strangely familiar implement, until, with a click and a whirr, its chambers shifted and finally snapped. The correct alignment was reached, and the device's inner springs and plates let out a faint golden radiance, singing a sound not unlike a celestial hymn, before silencing and darkening all at once, its energy spent.

Ahead of them was a dark void.

"This way." The man stepped into the nothingness, heroically bold and totally unafraid of oblivion's caress. Around him, the void parted like a sea around a prophet, and revealed a single road of shining golden cobblestones, reflecting some otherwise invisible source of light.

Solomon, ever the dutiful student, followed the Educator without hesitation. He divined the nature of the strange location, accustomed to having answers to all puzzles. However, his queries returned confusing and contradictory results, as if the spells were miscalibrated or miscast. The Educator wandered silently ahead, almost gliding on the golden road as if content to allow his favored student to figure out the solution on his own. He accumulated the data into a stockpile and then cross-referenced each finding. It started to form the hints of an image, colors drawn forth from an otherwise indistinct chaos. Gods existed inside of that chaos.

Correlating the findings marked as more correct than not with each other, Solomon found the location was... a nonexistence, a virtual simulation, a reality between everything and nothing, a not-place which existed only metaphorically.

Solomon looked down at his hand, clad in adamant pads. Beneath, it was all cells and symbiotic organelles, charged with a pluripotent magical dross as thickly supernatural as fountains of ambrosia, and the metabolism ruling the body still ran on adenosine triphosphate, which expended itself in minute fractions compared to a standard human, and replenished itself as if from nothing. He wasn't a metaphor, even though the location was. He wasn't unconscious or dreaming, it was all real. Somehow, on this road, all these contradictions could synchronize into a single truth of being, which defied the simple logic that it shouldn't have been achievable.

The Educator, aware of it all, wasn't confused or concerned. Solomon followed after him, sharing his conclusions, to an appreciative hum.

"Yes, it's wondrous, this road."

At the road's end was a short pedestal made of featureless stone, about on level with the navel. And on that pedestal, rested a small brass cube.

"This road," the Educator explained, and tapped a cane against the top of the pedestal, close to the cube, "makes these. About three or four a year, although sometimes much more; I've kept some of the excess in storage, in case they were ever needed. I've experimented with a couple of them as well."

The Educator casually displayed the cube to Solomon, holding it firm within his gloved hand. It was six-sided, with each side partitioned into squares with sigils on them. Then, as if the object were a simple puzzle box, the Educator handed it over.

"It's not a Rubik's cube," the Educator preempted. "I'm afraid there is no riddle to solve. It's a deceptively simple device: on each side, touch a sigil of your choice, and they'll light up. If each lit sigil were overlaid with the others such that a circle is a component of the conjoined sigil, it'll begin making a new world. It has other functions, as well, depending on the sigil arrangement, although none are something that I've found harnessable. Perhaps you'll find new uses. Early on, Architectural impetus can affect and decide the world's Theme. Otherwise, it'll make something mundane. This is your reward for mastering the Architecture, Mr. Lancaster. I'm sure you'll be wise with it."

Carefully, Solomon pocketed the Genesis Cube. "I need to know - where did this all come from? These Cubes? This Road? That snake?"

"I have no idea," the Educator answered, shrugging helpless shoulders. "Secrets for another life, I'm afraid."

After departing, and as they were returning back, ambling through the tranquil forests enveloping the Academy, everything seemed oddly peaceful and serene, as if the world comprehended that its armageddon was defeated, its heralds shattered and imprisoned, its avatar locked in an increasingly pyrrhic war. Aspens and oaks stood sentinel along the path. Arrows of orange evening light pierced through the thick canopies, illuminating tracts of wildflowers and sward. The rhythmic crunch of leaves marked their steps.

Amidst this natural splendor, the Educator was eerily silent. Finally, on the precipice of the Academy, he looked to Solomon with a thoughtful expression.

"The Gothic Theme shall conclude the world's Education."

Immediately broken out of his reverie, Solomon stared at the Educator.

"What?"

"Your underclassmen shall be the last of my students," the Educator answered, as if the statement were a casual observation on the finery of the weather. "After that, I shall close down this Academy, and no more shall be Enrolled."

An Architect couldn't read another's designs, or at least not easily. However, even that being the case, Solomon sensed a severe weariness in the Educator's presence, a crack within the implacable countenance. The man wouldn't be dissuaded, no matter how excellent the argument.

"Why?"

"I am no longer needed," he said. "The Earth has its Themes, has its Enrolled. You've all more than sufficient knowledge to make what's needed. The Metaphysician's already figured out half the puzzle to creating more Enrolled and synthesizing Themes; you hold the other half of the puzzle. He'll defeat the Apocalyptic God within a year, now that you've dealt with its lieutenants. There are no more threats left to combat, no more seeds to be planted. I see only a bright future ahead for mankind, as it reaps the fruit."

"Then why depart now? Why not stay and enjoy it?"

"I will," he said. "Just not as the Educator. I'll be retired, Solomon. I'll become someone else, either a mundane man, or I'll become a traveler, and see what the myriad worlds have to offer. I believed you deserved to know, at least. Still, I have some work to finish. Until next week, Mr. Lancaster."

"Until next week," answered a listless Solomon.

---

You've acquired Technique: [Silver Throne], at Level 1. It costs 500 XP to raise to Level 2, and its cost doubles each Level.

The Sanctum becomes the beating heart of your realm. While seated on the Throne, your awareness is expanded and scales with Technique and Aspect levels until it grows to encompass all you Rule over with perfect clarity. Furthermore, from your Throne, you can impose a Mandate - a sorcerous mirror of Justice's Edicts, capable of a higher diversity of effects, and more reactive, albeit with slightly diminished conceptual strength in comparison. Simple Mandates such as compelling Truth or twisting the spokes of the Architecture for deeds in service to the realm are simple to enact. Over time, Mandates weaken and even wear off, although sitting on your Throne prolongs them.

Furthermore, you've acquired Technique: [High Magus], at Level 4. Each Level costs 500 XP more than the previous, starting with 1,000 XP.

Each Level of High Magus intensifies the conceptual strength of the caster's spellcraft by a minor amount, increasing with each Level. Currently, a single spell of yours can overwhelm a spell of almost 2.5x the magical energy which is otherwise equal in all other parameters.

Credit: 1.1
XP: 2,100

Afterwards, choose your actions for the Winter Season.

As usual, nine (9) actions in total.

Here's a short list of potential options, but, as usual, feel free to write-in:

[ ] Classwork - Individualized by default. If you wish to spend XP, make sure to note what sort of abilities you're interested in.
[ ] Interaction - With someone you know or want to get to know.
[ ] Exploration - Of Fortuna and its myriad vistas.
[ ] Rule - Spend some time being a Sorcerer-King.
[ ] Genesis - Experiment with the Genesis Cube, start making a new world. Given that Fortuna has to eventually fade, it's smart to get started on this early.

 

[Birdsie]

The Wandering King, Vol. I

In dusk's embrace, a king does roam,
His crown adorned with starlit chrome.
With power vast, yet heart so free,
The lord of twilight, in reverie.

---

Each afternoon like well-tuned starlit clockwork, Solomon hurriedly walked down the halls of the Magician's Tower, deep into the sidereal atelier, and settled down into a comfortable chair. Then, not unlike a master painter deadset on crafting a magnum opus, he tirelessly labored on the creation of a new world.

The Genesis device's operation was exactly as the Educator delineated: astonishingly simple on the outside, but with countless vectors of intricacy for the wise.

Even a child or a trained monkey might've made a basic world if given sufficient time to randomly trigger the sigils and experiment with combinations. In any such scenario, it'd be a horrendous waste of potential; a device capable of making entire universes worth of matter, full of nebulae and teeming with life-sustaining stars, instead expended wholly on making an airless cloister incapable of sustaining electromagnetic emissions, let alone sapient life. It'd nonetheless be a distinct ontological space: a world.

A moderately educated and intelligent man with a book of sigil correspondences to call upon would've stood amazingly high odds of creating a world that resembled Earth in most regards; an identical flora and fauna profile, cognate arrangement of landmasses, and even a history reflecting Earth's own.

Almost half the daily allotment of the Tower's rite bandwidth and the Magocracy's energy tax were devoted to sustaining clusters of divinatory arrays, and Solomon utilized the Architecture itself as a correspondence book; finding out how individual sigils corresponded to structural elements of reality. This research yielded insane discoveries within weeks. Each deep-dive into the ocean of Architectural truth saw them emerging with sunken treasure chests of data. Unverified hypotheses and theories spawned faster than any team of scholars could look into them.

On the surface, they made several key discoveries:

First, the Architecture was oddly hardcoded to make Earths: it was almost as if an Earth was the default software of a world, the infinitely modifiable basis from which every other Theme sprung. If no additional parameters were specified, the Genesis Cube made an Earth within several degrees of deviation of their own. There were often differences, on a major scale; sometimes the United States and Canada were one nation, sometimes Marxism-Leninism was the prevalent ideology, and sometimes the cultures melted into each other or subdivided into fractions. There was no rhyme nor reason, although if one read the history books, it all had a cause to its effect.

Second, if not coded otherwise, most worlds started 'in medias res.' If one were to create a world and step inside immediately after, they would not emerge during the creation event, but during a mundane but crucial and symbolically demonstrative event of their timeline: as if the entire world simulated billions of years of history in an eyeblink, and then suddenly snapped to a standard objective flow of time during the correct moment. For most Earths, this was around 2000 AD, although sometimes much earlier. Solomon was boggled to learn all of this, since it barely made any sense, even if the Architecture insisted it was self-consistent.

It was almost as if early human history was only a simple backdrop, a flavoring to reality's events.

During Genesis, the activation of each sigil in complex sequences created an emphasis, or 'resonance' upon the world's timeline, congruent with the sigils' meaning. The frequency and number of activations mattered, affecting the intensity of the emphases.

The first sigil had a strong tendency to iterate on worlds in which a variety of Thematics were common, often accompanied by some degree of Architectural enlightenment among the people. However, this only occurred in a complete void. If any other sigils were active within the sequence, it'd default to stabilization and integrating the influence of each sigil into a cohesive whole. The second sigil introduced factionalism and strife, opposing the unification of the world, and creating material conditions that necessitated conflict as a part of the human condition. The third sigil did almost the opposite, spawning abundance and encouraging cooperation.

Then came the discovery of combinations.

For instance, if both the second and third were actuated in the same sequence, it'd create several whole new species, often humanoid - seemingly corresponding to the number of even-numbered activations - other than mankind, and instead create the underlying material, social, and cultural conditions for a sort of meta-conflict. After that, one could add in a secondary sequence, and harness the discord, creating new forms of energy that were generated through emotions such as hate. A correct combination could even make conflict a positive-sum game as a basic truth of reality, rendering the constant infighting a simple step towards the transcendence of the world's denizens.

Or you could fly in the exact opposite direction: a world in which mankind was a diplomatic hivemind, a world in which everyone was computerized in an endeavor to escape entropy, a world in which cooking was so pivotal the best chef of each nation was made its leader. A skilled engineer could easily make worlds that defied common sense, and program in a reasoning as to why their operation was perfectly sensible on an internal level. All levels of the structure bent to the Architecture, and the sigils determined the Architecture's shape within a particular reality. It was somewhat insane.

No, scratch that, it was completely insane.

However, not for all of Fortuna's winter did Solomon sit indoors.

Time and time again, Solomon invited each of his closest and most trusted friends - Penny, Harrison, and Damien - for casual outings and hangouts.

Sometimes, they'd eat at restaurants and animatedly discuss recent events, either within their government or from Earth. The Ebon Warlock's capture by a team of Archetype's members was on the news, as was the devastation of Mars 03, one of the smallest colonies, by a hostile fleet of alien cruisers. They'd theorize about what should be done about various world issues, and how to best conduct their approach to Archetype: which, in Penny's opinion, should be fairly simple given her close familial connections to its leadership. Solomon was confident about the future for once, capable of seeing its potential, and only witnessing a constant improvement over yesterday.

And some other times, they'd explore Fortuna's distant corners and major hotspots: the City of Miracles where Solomon and Penelope learned of a conspiracy to revolt against the bishops who strictly controlled access to the fountains of divinity, Londinium in which Solomon and Damien arrested and executed the Ripper and ended his reign of terror, and the Bridge at World's End, which, as it had turned out, no one could return from solely because it led to a mystical fairyland ruled by an autocratic and tyrannic government, with its alternate forms of the Arcana, where Harrison was instrumental in conducting both the overthrow of their leaders, as well as getting everyone back.

"Tomorrow, we'll be doing show and tell," the Educator concluded a lesson. "Deliver one Thematic item or entity that you, personally, consider interesting, and you'll be tasked with telling the class a short description, story, or anecdote regarding whatever you've brought in. It can be an artifact from Fortuna, something handcrafted, or if you truly won't be able to find anything else because of your tomfoolery, Mr. Williams, yes, it can be your walking stick. Yes, Ms. Davis, it can be an article of clothing you made. No, Mr. Thompson, you can't bring in a random building with you and call it a day; it won't even fit in here unless you find a way to shrink it. Dismissed."

"Hey, Sol, privacy bubble," said Damien, poking Solomon's back. Wordlessly, Solomon created a sphere of sensory distortion around them, befuddling the attempts of would-be eavesdroppers. "What are we doing for Harrison's birthday?"

"A car," answered Solomon. "Penny and I discussed this already yesterday. I've already given her a list of mats, if you want to get in on the delves. We'll be making the fastest, most durable thing imaginable. It needs to survive the use of his Aspects, so it has to be all-terrain, fully adaptable. That means at least half a tonne of polymorphium for the chassis and frame, and we'll do some creative alchemy to splice it with whatever super-metals we can get our hands on. The engine, we're mostly leaving to Josh. He's found this massive orb of ancient metal floating around that can alter space, he'll try to reforge it. The car will run on Alcubierre and wishful thinking. I'll be helping if he needs me."

"Cool, I'll talk to Penny."

"Yep." Solomon canceled the distortion orb.

There was something else about Harrison's birthday, too, that made it Architecturally notable, although the distortion with so much Enrollment surrounding made it difficult to predict, almost as if Harrison's Aspects themselves were responsible. Could it be he'd develop one this late into Enrollment? Unlikely, especially without the Educator's aid, and the Educator was against them tacking on new Aspects at this stage, except with Maximilian - for obvious reasons. Solomon pondered this as he left for the Tower.

---

Credit: 1.6
XP: 1,000

Improvements / XP Expenditures Report -
Accounting for the previous installment of 1032 XP, Solomon's now invested a total of 11,332 XP into Arcanum, effectively raising his Arcanum Aspect to 7.85. Its new effect rating means he'd hold a nearly decisive advantage against his old self in most displays of general spellcraft. He's also fully raised Sanctum to Level 6, and Hermes the Destroyer to 4, both improving the conditions of the Twilight Magocracy massively and increasing his personal destructive power to a moderate degree.

Decide how you'll approach the distortion at Harrison's birthday:
[ ] Cautiously - Whatever it is, it always makes sense to be over-prepared rather than under-prepared. [Chances of interrupting the event, but ensures no bad conclusions]
[ ] Casually - Whatever it is, you can feel that while significant, it won't be especially dangerous. Why exert yourself over nothing?
[ ] Write-in

Afterwards, choose your actions for the Spring Season.

As usual, nine (9) actions in total.

Here's a short list of potential options, but, as usual, feel free to write-in:

[ ] Classwork - Individualized by default. If you wish to spend XP, make sure to note what sort of abilities you're interested in.
[ ] Interaction - With someone you know or want to get to know.
[ ] Exploration - Of Fortuna and its myriad vistas.
[ ] Rule - Spend some time being a Sorcerer-King.
[ ] Genesis - Continue your experimentations, or decide on the shape of the world you want to create.

 

[Birdsie]

The Life of Education

"I have to say, Sol, I was a little skeptical when you mentioned the beach resorts. Now I can see the appeal," Harrison admitted, sipping more of the cheap, sugary cocktail made up of layered rainbows through an equally, tastelessly rainbow straw. It wasn't a simple multicolored chemical substance: it was the essence of rainbows, scooped up from the sky after the rain and miraculously made into a sweet drink. The splendor of the resort they were staying at nearly rivaled their nascent Magocracy in its opulence and even exceeded them in some fashions. He was taking notes, despite himself.

"Yeah, I think I can see it as well," Damien added, staring off into the distance.

Where Penelope and Mona were splashing water on each other in swimsuits.

"Well, as long as it's not my wife you're staring at..."

"Oh, so you're fine with us staring at Penny?" Damien dared to look smug. Solomon decided that look deserved punishment.

"Pfeh, as if either of you have a shot with her. They've got high standards, these ladies," Solomon said snidely, sticking his tongue out mockingly. "Even then, I'm nowhere near your tier, but I'm already married to a total beaut. Virrrgins."

Harrison choked on his drink, almost inhaling the straw, and beating a fist against his chest. "You scored!?"

He hadn't, not really. But it was amusing to lie to them.

"Yep. Easy basket."

"Honestly, I'm kinda surprised you haven't," Damien commented off-handedly to Harrison, and then immediately returned his eyes to Solomon, only to fume with anger and barely concealed envy. "Bastard. Tell us how it happened!"

"Nope."

"Because it didn't happen!"

"Heh, fine." Solomon breathed out with amusement, faking confidence in a story that didn't exist. "You really wanna know? It was right after we started the work on Genesis. You think she looks good in a swimsuit? Well, I invited Mona to my chambers and-"

"Okay, I don't wanna know anymore," Damien changed tunes instantly, head sinking into his arms, almost fetal. Solomon absorbed his despair. "I feel depressed."

"One of us should talk to Penny," Harrison stated, with the confidence of a hunter deadset on finding a meal.

"Go rizz her up," Solomon agreed because it sounded amusing.

"Rock, paper, scissors?"

"Rock, paper, scissors." Harrison nodded. "To one."

Choosing not to spoil or intervene, Solomon foresaw that Harrison would succeed, with a rock to Damien's scissors. It happened so, the Magician's sight always infallible in cases of inane bullshit that didn't matter.

"Shouldn't have picked a Life of Struggle," Harrison consoled, patting Damien on the shoulder and striding boldly to shoot his shot.

"Remember, the worst she can do is say no!" Solomon shouted after him with a shit-eating grin.

It failed, as predicted. Penelope had much better things to do than wasting her Education on dating, although she worded it far more amicably: that she thought of Harrison more as a friend or brother, and didn't want to ruin that bond, et cetera, et cetera.

After that pleasant interlude, Solomon returned to work.

"The Magician's Realm," Abraham said, a statement clicking almost like an empty magazine in a firearm. He cast a casually curious glance over Solomon's shoulder, into one of the myriad scrying orbs, eyes a tad skeptical. "Grand vision you've got there, gotta say."

"Oh? That's high praise coming from someone as old as you." From a mixture of experience and enlightened instinct, Solomon knew comments about his ancient age wouldn't deter Abraham's commentary. It could, at least, steer the conversation minimally, and it was faintly amusing - the sort of conversational frivolity he'd taken to employing with subjects beyond casual reproach, that didn't feel a reason to butt out of a Magician's business for the reason that wizards were subtle and quick to anger.

"Just saying," Abraham continued insolently, "I've seen magic, I've seen ambition, I've seen hubris, but making a world? Tops all of it."

"Mhm." He acknowledged the statement with a disregard equaling the insolence. "Although I think bodyguards are usually paid by the hour, not by the snide comment?"

"You're right," Abraham drawled, "I'm a damn terrible bodyguard. I've never been one before, in my defense."

"You'll be Grand Marshall once we're done. Told you the job has an opening, didn't I?"

"Mhm. Looking forward to doing the same thing I've been doing the last few centuries, only now with an official government plaque." It was said tongue-in-cheek. Abraham was actually looking forward to it, and knew the job entailed things other than simply fighting forever. Solomon smiled a little, despite himself.

Then, a companionable silence. Even so, Solomon didn't settle down - as an Architect, he could foresee the events of the immediate future, and foresaw a grand and inevitable calamity, a sin transcending the original; a primordial void of unforgivableness and gloom which threatened to swallow the world.

"Sol! Sol, look at what I found, dude, it's so awesom-urf!" said Maximilian, stumbling into the workshop, and - exactly as expected of the Fool - somehow managing to trip over the carpet designed to apotropaically ward off even the mere possibility of tripping over it, bespelled explicitly with his constant arrivals and departures in mind. The sudden clamor of his faceplanting caused Solomon's unbreakable silver quill to snap at the tip, and the shard to fly across the room in a straight trajectory. It struck a precious vase and embedded itself into the priceless, irrecoverable magical ceramic, destroying an item worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in one fell swoop. The abruptness of the event caused Solomon's arm to accidentally knock over the inkwell, which spilled its precious emerald-infused contents all over the parchment he'd been using for equations.

And, in that exact moment, a random distortion of the temporal fabric occurred, which'd render any reversion or undoing of the events a colossal effort or expenditure of resources, even underneath Twilight's aiding auspices.

Solomon chose that moment to close his eyes with searing pain and press a hand to his forehead, as if to rub the residual stupidity off.

Here it is, Symon thought ruefully, Our disaster in human form. I wonder what manner of dead fish he's carted in this time?

"As your bodyguard, I must advise caution," Abraham said wryly, "I've suddenly sensed a titanic rise in the probability of scissor-related accidents."

"Don't worry, I sensed it as well," Solomon replied, voice sullen, as Maximilian stood back up, woozy from the impact.

He didn't even forget to lace his shoes. This had better be good.

"Well? Let's see it, Max."

The Fool deposited his collected winnings from the latest delve on the table. Solomon's assessing eyes went over them: an iron piece of garbage, a brass piece of garbage, a chrome piece of garbage, a mildly infohazardous charcoal drawing of a horse enchanted to neigh and move if someone sneezed in the vicinity, and... oh.

Well isn't that interesting?

"Well, alright, you've got me, Max," Solomon admitted, no longer as upset over the lost vase.

Gingerly, much as a museum custodian handling a precious relic, Solomon rubbed a hand on the metal edge of the almost picture-perfect carbon copy of the Once and Future King's Excalibur, and that emanated magics of at least a similar intensity to a creation of the Wheel's - which meant it was about on par with an artifact expected of a high-end Enrolled, if not even somewhat beyond that.

"And where, pray tell, did you find this?"

"Crypts under Londinium. It was on your wife's list."

"This is indeed a nice piece. Good work," Solomon commended. And then, for a second, thought, and turned to look at Abraham. "Say, do you want this? We can make this a symbol of the office, whenever you're promoted."

"What's it do?"

"It's a Fortunian Excalibur. What doesn't it do?" He chuckled and delved beyond the surface with divination, asking queries of the world and immediately having them answered. "Let's see: weaponized energy constructs, massive light beams, superhuman charisma, instant transmission..."

"You had me at the constructs." Abraham accepted the sword, and swung it testingly a couple of times - not even bothering to settle into a proper form - each one causing a flicker of radiance along the edge as if the sword's partition was a portal into a realm of pure, clear sunlight. Solomon was confident it'd shatter if it so much as tasted the Once and Future King's version, but it was still an exquisite artifact. While Abraham toyed around with the radiant artifact, Solomon's attention returned to Maximilian.

"Go talk to Chloe about your apportionment," said Solomon. "And try not to break anything on the way out."

"Aye-aye!" With an excitement usually reserved for puppies, Maximilian ran off with a dumb grin on his face.

Not even a full ten seconds after Maximilian's departure through the still-open door, Abraham and Solomon cringed in synchronicity at the distant sound of crashing plates, cups, and cutlery, and a servant girl crying out in total dismay as the evening's dinner was ruined, as well as a yelled-out 'sorry' as Maximilian dashed on by without stopping. Distantly, Solomon sensed yet another temporal reverberation that'd prevent anyone undoing the pandemonium and started to wonder if maybe it'd be kinder for everyone if the Fool were to experience a more fatal accident. And the fact that the Architecture made the closest equivalent of a comme ci comme ça gesture that it could didn't help.

"Hm, you kinda set that one up," Abraham stated. "Telling him not to break anything."

"I don't know what possessed me."

Abraham chuckled. "Isn't it obvious? Foolishness."

Solomon groaned.

---

With a Mandate's energy, the Magocracy's inhabitants were availed with peculiar luxuries on Harrison's birthday, as boughs descended with delicious fruit and huntsmen came back with the spoils of massive beasts possessed of succulent flesh. Not only the Arcanists and their Educator, but the entire civilization was to celebrate, in an uproar to shake the foundations of the earth. The citizens were thankful and content, and everyone was looking forward to the celebration itself. It was Architecturally recommended to make the occasion a happy and meaningfully opulent event, for whatever reasons as if grandeur was naturally advantageous.

Alcohol was had by some, especially Josh's band of misfits. Solomon didn't drink, still a couple years away from legal drinking age - which, rather than sacrosanct, he simply considered advisable in his situation - and finding the taste dry and unpleasant on an experimental sip. The Educator, for once, didn't berate them over impropriety. Whatever his standards for maturity, apparently they'd managed to reach them. Or maybe he was staying silent because Fortuna was a world with a medieval aesthetic, and the brands of alcohol they were drinking were Thematic? Hard to say.

After mingling and doing the casual schtick of staying in the background of events, slowly observing them, Solomon was content to declare the endeavor's preparations a success. It seemed everyone - including the party boy himself - were having good fun.

"Thanks y'all," Harrison slurred, "Gifts were awesome, but it's e'en more awesome to have you guys here with me. We've been through a lot as a Class, but holy shit, dude. If you told me five years ago I'd be a minister in some magical super-duper wizard-witch state in another world based on fuckin' Tarot cards, I'd have called you mad."

"We are mad, dude! We're totally super mad and rad!" Ethan declared, swinging a wine goblet into the air.

"Hell yeah!" added Caleb, for once coming out of his shell. "Let's get that cake, pussies!"

Whoops were whooped. Candles were lit. Wishes were made.

To Solomon's endless amusement, around halfway into the party, a weary Penelope started to drink some of the Calabrian wine, spurred on by Mona's constant entreaties. After several minutes, they were drinking together, and not in what a reasonable man would term as sane quantities. The situation developed from there in an unfortunate direction when both of them noticed Solomon staring, and began to stride in his direction with mischief in their minds.

Oh no. Harlots approaching, Symon said. Quickly, conceal yourself.

Won't work on my wife, stupid! We're connected.

Then run, before it's too-mgmhm...

A charm, one of a potency rivaling a fraction of Solomon's ability, exploiting the inherent connection to strike directly. It rendered Symon's neural network into warm mush. Grinning, Mona took one of Solomon's arms, and Penelope the other. His mind ran affright with scenarios of dubious propriety.

Fortunately, as it turned out, they merely wanted him to drink some alcohol with them. He acceded, if only to get them off their back. He suspected they might've had more planned, and the drinking was merely a preliminary stage: softening the enemy's position before delivering the lethal blow.

Then came the unexpected visitors.

Unexpected, because Solomon didn't sense their arrival, aside from the vaguest sense of something distantly stirring within the Architecture.

Through a portal made of silver light, a shirtless man in otherwise casual clothes - denims, sneakers, sunglasses - and a much older man with a feathery white beard and staff, looking much like a classic visage of a wizard, stepped on through and into the midst of the partygoers. The wizard's sky-blue robes were inconceivably, absolutely immaculate, and enchanted to such a colossal degree against scrying and divination that Solomon couldn't even tell what exactly they did, or were capable of, aside from the fact they were infinitely and immeasurably better than his own: better than any Enrolled spellcaster's, perhaps, even.

At a mental command, the music being played in one of the corners of the chamber by the band that Solomon conjured slowed down to a crawl and then stopped entirely on an uneasy note. The abrupt change of atmosphere caused the remaining revelers to break out of their uplifted moods, and to stare at the source of the disruption.

The visitors beelined immediately for the Educator, and reached within a couple of meters of the man, who'd placed both hands on the head of his cane and tapped a foot, almost impatiently - or was that anger? There was silence between the Educator and the visitors, and a moment of staring.

"Ed," eventually started the bearded man.

"Cy," answered the Educator. "Do you mind? One of my students is celebrating their birthday. And who's this?"

"Yo," said the shirtless guy, lifting a hand in greeting. "Call me Buddha. You guys havin' a lil' party?" He scanned around with a faint curiosity.

"We can conduct this elsewhere, if you insist," answered 'Cy.'

"Elsewhen, too."

"No. Not really, I don't believe so," 'Cy' calmly answered, not at all hostile.

Which made the Educator's reaction puzzling, as the man's finger started to tap uneasily on the cane's handle. Anxiety, of a real and genuine variety: something he'd never seen even a spark of on the Educator's body, in any context. Solomon was starting to grow concerned.

"If you insist on that being the case," the Educator started, "I'd rather discuss this over here, in front of my students."

"But with privacy added?" the wizard asked, as if to make sure.

"But of course." The Educator nodded confidently.

"Mingle," the wizard whispered to Buddha and then swung his staff and cast some grand spell implausibly beyond Solomon's comprehension.

If one of Solomon's spells could be said to contain about a dozen or two dozen elements on average, each one a different setting and induction meant to carry out a specific function, such as programming a fireball's trajectory or heat on detonation, this one had more than he could even hope to count: hundreds if not thousands, accounting for minutiae such as ether velocity at different distances. It outclassed him so hopelessly it was like comparing an ant to a titan. The magic obscured everything within a perimeter of fifteen feet from the outside, on so many levels and so comprehensively - even Architecturally - that Solomon didn't even bother trying to break through it.

It left the man, Buddha, behind. Who now stood awkwardly on his own, grinning with unease at the stares of everyone in the chamber.

---

You've acquired Technique: [This Too Shall Pass], at Level 1. It costs 250 XP to raise to Level 2, and its cost doubles each Level.

The memento vitae of prosperity. Remember that all human experience is ephemeral. No matter how many times it is torn down the Spires rise from the ashes, the fate of mankind's sovereignty on earth - is inevitable. Grants the Magocracy and its leaders a degree of resistance towards entropy that scales moderately well with the growth of the realm. You may also through concentration briefly narrow the focus on a single point, reversing all manner of short-lived effects within an area.

You'll acquire one more Technique in April, once this situation's resolved.

Credit: 1.6
XP: 1,620

How do you approach Buddha? Tactics and bonus write-ins are highly encouraged on this specific vote; you're a little out of your depth here, but could plausibly assert control over the chaos. You can try for a more adaptable approach (ie: if he does this, do this, etc.)

[ ] Amicably - A simple idea: don't make enemies with someone who might be an apprentice to the Educator's peer. Approach the man, introduce yourself, and invite him to party with you. Don't be stingy. Let the fellowship and wine flow and drunken brains do the rest on their own.

[ ] Cautiously - First, cast a spell of sobriety on your wife and approach the man as a pair. Ask him to introduce himself, and then do so in turn. Inquire as to his and his master's purpose here, and their relation to the Educator. Be formal, but not overly stiff. Have Mona lead the conversation; she's better at ferreting out secrets than you.

[ ] Penetratively - As Cautiously, but also use surface mind-reading on him. His Architecture is obscured from your sight, barely perceptible as more than a couple of distant, lucent cogs, but maybe you can get something more if you exert yourself. Risks detection and offending Buddha.

[ ] Write-in