To the Letter, Or, The Sidereals Deal with an Outside of Context Problem (Exalted/Destiny)

[GreggHL]

Despite it being the Clay Man's office, the Clay Man was among the people kicked out into the hallway. He leans against the white metal wall outside the large double doors, arms folded, wistfully reminiscing about his time as King of the Little People, humming what may be their national tune. You can hear the sounds of many demons using many cloths to clean the surfaces and make it presentable to the Lady Domine.

Shou finishes wiping the blood off his hair, while Kiddo finishes buttoning up his tunic. Noedumari simply rocks back and forth on her heels, a mix of horrific embarrassment and blissful afterglow.

Shou, despite being mortal, meets the gaze of the Elder Abyssal. Then glances downwards at the Thing That Is, which cheerfully waves at the mortal.

"So you've been taking care of my niece?" Turncloak asks.

"And you're the one taking care of my sister?" Shou asks.

The silence hangs between them. Turncloak nods and decides this one gets to live.

In the distance, they hear the rustling of paperwork, the ringing of a Gate opening in the middle of a highly populated area, and the muffled surprises of unenlightened mortals as they come face to face with Celestial Lions for the first time in their lives.

"Excuse us, Sidereals coming through."

Horizons and Star approach, Ghost bobbing up and down over Star's shoulder before zipping over to Kiddo's side. Star gives a random person finger guns.

"Sidereal," she says.

Ghost bathes Kiddo in Light. "Okay, that's…actually impressive. Really impressive. How?"

Kiddo gives his companion two thumbs up. Noedumari blushes. "Celestial Lions," she says, "I need to get back to Storage before they nail me."

She motions a mudra with her hands to send her an Infallible Messenger, and leans in to peck him on the cheek. "Door!" With that, she steps into the white opening and vanishes. Star gives Kiddo a crisp high five.

Five sighs, rolling her eyes. "Why are you here?"

Star shrugs. "I can't just want to check up on a friend?"

Five stares at her. Her foci float up to stare along with her.

"Alright, Horizons appeared in the middle of my Manse, told me Mnemon was right in front of you and Turncloak, and I had to check this shit out. Also, Ghost was missing his partner."

Turncloak raises two fingers. "So let me get this straight. You heard that my ancestor- who's disdain of the 'Anathema'-" He waggles his fingers. "Is so well known it may as well have Sidereal backing- was here. And you had to run out of Heaven, without even a Resplendent Destiny, because you wanted to see how bad this would go."

Star nods, sipping the surgary, pumpkiny, spicy concoction in her paper cup.

"I knew there was a reason I loved working with you," Turncloak says with a nod.

Horizons shrugs. "I am contractually obligated to see the end of all things. And you? I like you."

The doors unlock. One of the attendants of the Lady Domine, an old man with a white beard, a hood covering his features, stands with his hands folded in front of him. He allows them to turn to him first. He does not speak, waiting for them to notice. As they do, he scans over them, impassively.

"The Lady Domine is ready. The Arbiter of Il-Yeddo is asked to stay outside, as is the Enlightened Mortal. The others may enter."

Shou sighs, holding up his hands. "Alright. Five, I'll go check on Lani."

Five smiles, hugging her brother gently. "Thank you. I'll see you soon."

She walks in first, followed by Turncloak, Kiddo, and Horizons. Star stops at the attendant, and pulls up his hand. She shakes it, then pulls it into a fist bump, touches fingers, and then snaps her fingers into finger guns.

"Sidereal," she whispers.

The desk is moved to the side- or at least what remains of it. Bamboo mats have been laid out, and tea places set, along with cushions for everyone. Mnemon knees at the head of the low table, attended by two soldiers in Lamellar armor, standing on either side of her. She waits for you to enter and sit.

Her eye catches the Thing That Is. Her head tilts, and she stands, walking around the table, and with obvious curiosity she places her hand upon the top of the creature's head. The charm activates.

Understanding passes over the face of Mnemon.

Slowly, she pulls her hand away, meeting the gaze of the Thing That Is. She is silent, meeting its flat, round eyes.

"Poyo?"

Mnemon says nothing. She walks back to the head of the table, sits, and stares into her tea for long moments.

 

[Pyro Hawk]

For once, Mnemon does not want to know what she now knows I suspect.

 

[GreggHL]

Star pulls out a small egg- a cache egg as it were- and reaches in, pulling out a collapsed canvas chair. Snapping it out with one hand, she sets it down, leans back into it, and sips her coffee. Next to her, Horizons pulls over a chair from the side, scraping the legs on the floor the entire way. Turning it around, he sits on it backwards, arms draped over the back and staring at the Dynast.

This snaps Mnemon out of her contemplations. "And who are-"

"Sidereals," Star says, "We're here on Sidereal Business. So don't mind us. We're just Sidereals here, being Sidereals."

Mnemon's eyebrow twitches. "You're…you're just announcing it now?"

Star sips her drink. Loudly. "We're on vacation."

The eldest daughter of the Scarlet Empress stares at them. As if measuring the consequences of attempting to murder the two Sidereals. Right here. Right now. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and tries to pretend they are not there.

"So. First thing is first. Mnemon Harissa, my descendant, was the one who made me aware of the Clay Man's project several years ago and convinced me to fund this. I am the Clay Man's primary backer in this endeavor. As a result, Harissa keeps me aware of events on this island."

She measures her gaze at Turncloak, who has not touched his tea and is instead sipping coffee out of his coffee cup. "Such as her brother, who vanished decades ago as an Anathema, reappearing. But as one of the mysterious Abyssals we had heard about since the sacking of Thorns."

Turncloak raises a finger, lowering his cup down onto the table. "Correction. For a while I was the Abyssal. Don't blame me for the others, not my job the rest are idiots."

Mnemon cocks an eyebrow. "She also said that she can no longer say your original name. Even our records of it have vanished. I believe the process involved sacrificing it somehow, as if in a ritual?"

Turncloak grunts. Star loudly sips her drink. The Thing That Is eats a tea cake. "Similar. It's a Necromantic ritual which involved my name being sacrificed into Oblivion. I have notes, ifyou're interested."

Five glances between her uncle and the Lady Domine. This isn't what she was expecting. She was expecting a Wyld Hunt. More lasers, screaming demons, perhaps her Grandfather charging through the wall. Not polite conversations about Sorcery and Necromancy. Five sips her tea. Kiddo nibbles on a scone.

"Very interesting," Mnemon concedes, "Fascinating. I've not studied Necromancy as much as I would wish to. We must discuss this later."

The elder Dragonblooded sips her tea. Turns to Five. "Now. Yekkido Reigo. I have followed your development with some interest. House Mnemon is many things, but it is known for its organization, and one of the reasons for that is because I keep track of those descendants who show promise. I tracked Harissa's theories, and suggested to her employing Igaka. It was good to see that her theories regarding integration of Wyld and Humans via Neomah were correct, even if she hasn't stopped pining for the Clay Man."

Mnemon sighs, wistfully. "I swear, it's like she's a school girl."

Five blinks. She tries to keep from reacting to how much this woman knows about her mother, and whether or not her mother may be writing lurid fantasies involving her father. That would be gross.

"Question," Five says, raising a hand, "How much do you know regarding the situation with the Great Maker?"

"As the primary backer of Il-Yeddo, quite a bit. I am aware the Seal of Eight Divinities is broken, the majority of breakthroughs are off the coast of this island, the Great Maker is awake, and he at least speaks to your father. Hence why I am here." Mnemon sips her tea, as if for affect. "I am willing to put you in contact with a Jadeborn city in the employ of House Mnemon, but in return I will commission the Great Maker."

The soldier to Mnemon's left chokes. The other one does not react. Star loudly sips her drink.

 

[linkhyrule5]

I mean, I'm pretty sure nobody here but Mnemon is going to remember the Sidereals for very long lol. Ironically, Arcane Fate means that for a lot of purposes, going about undisguised is the best disguise you can get.

 

[GreggHL]

Deep within the Primal Forge, there is a chamber considerably larger than Creation. This is not a unique thing, what with the sheer size of the Forge, but this is big for a reason, as it contains at its center an immense, pulsating sphere of superheated plasma. The panels of the room absorb and reflect the near impossible heat, that melts metal, space, and time. The great sphere at the heart of the chamber, itself a dozen times the size of Creation, screams if one listens at the correct frequency. It provides a lovely ambience.

It is into this Star Forge, as Autochthon calls it, that raw material is poured from the reinforced, Adamant hopper directly above its pole. During the transit through the forge, the materials are vaporized, purified, treated. An approximation of Ligier's own forge, but more industrial. Faster. Capable of larger scale projects.

The current encounter suit sensibly has four arms and an orichalcum outer layer, though it trades in the rippling pectorals and abdomen of the Unconquered Sun for what the young people would refer to as a 'Dad Bod.' A slightly pronounced gut, much less definition, but much more fire retention. Four hands control the output, essence density, polarity, and gravitational focus of the Star.

It is relaxing. A repetition of motion, to provide focus in trying times. A better use of his time than finding one of more heavily armed Encounter Suits, marching across Cecelyne, and diplomatically requesting the Infernal and Suntarankal being remanded to him.

In the Encounter Suits, in this situations, he focuses his awareness singularly. It controls his rages. His grudges. It allows him to behave in fashions more human. It is therapeutic.

A noise catches his attention- he releases the controls, and the Essence Shiedling folds up around the Star Forge, polarizing and dimming the light to manageable levels. Steam wafts off the Encounter Suit, coolant flowing through the outer skin until it dims to polished gold.

Something lays on the ground. An artifice of some sort. It resembles an open pyramid, as if one took a pyramid and splayed it open from the top, like a flower, folding the apex open like a flower bulb. An eye, flanked by many other smaller eyes, rests at the center. Tendrils trail out the bottom, or at least the remains of them. The entire artifice must have been rendered non-functional by the heat of the Star Forge.

Autochthon reaches down and pickes it up, a hand coming up to stroke his chin.

"I have no memory of building this. Logos?"

A flap of the wall opens and reveals the brass eye.

"Great Maker, that is a Harpy."

Autocththon harrumphs. "Explain. What is a Harpy?"

"It is a semi-autonamous drone that I am using to update the current navigational maps of the Primal Forge. The passageway that this Harpy found has been logged to lead to the Star Forge, and maps will be adjusted to avoid accidents with similar scale automatons as to not reduce productivity."

Autochthon rubs his chin. "Innovative. I approve. Continue with the mapping, Logos."

The Encounter Suit's hand glows, incinerating the automaton, the Harpy. Exotic metals, some traces of heavy carbons, some unfamiliar compositions. Possibly combining semi-sentients? He pays it no mind. Logos explained what the automaton was, after all.

Logos would not deceive him.

Autochthon made them, and he certainly didn't make them with that sort of capability.

 

[Ardenzian]

This may end very badly

 

[GreggHL]

Five sips her tea. She sips it for long moments, both savoring the flavor and thinking through her answer, because it is considered rude to ask the eldest surviving daughter of the Scarlet Empress if she's lost her fucking mind. It is also very good tea, at least by Five's standards. But she is very young, and she is apparently negotiating a deal with Mnemon.

"Lady Mnemon, with all due respect-"

Mnemon raises a hand. "If this is going to be an explanation on how you know the Great Maker better than I and that I am making a mistake, you need to stop. Right there."

Mnemon's eyes glow faintly. "I have never had a conversation that included the words 'with all due respect' that actually included any respect. Choose your next words carefully."

Star loudly sips her drink, then munches on popcorn. Mnemon's eyebrow twitches. Horizons gets out of his seat, uncorks his flask, and offers it to the Lady Domine. She stares at him, and he shrugs, walking back to his chair.

"Apologies." Five considers her words. "Lady Mnemon, what do you want from the Great Maker? I have always been raised with the belief that in general, people from the Realm were more likely to seek the favor of Gaia or the Elemental Dragons. I appear to be mistaken."

The elder Dragonblooded's expression softens, ever so slightly. "You are not mistaken. It took years of research and effort to even figure out the name and nature of the Great Maker that the Jadeborn worshipped."

Five nods. "I imagine that was considerable effort. Grandfather did not leave much in the way of evidence in Creation."

Mnemon snickers. "He did not, no. The Jadeborn worship him in a ritualized fashion. Indirectly, praying to a concept rather than a being, which piqued my interest. They understood the concept of the Great Maker as a guiding principle for their culture, rather than a being that existed, to the point it may as well have been a metaphor."

Mnemon smirks, a knowing smirk. The knowing smirk of someone who has plumbed deep into wells of knowledge, may have drowned in them, and came away with only a minimum amount of brain damage.

"No, my breakthroughs came from demonology. You see, most demons of the First Circle have little in the way of memories. Hell is, itself, unforgiving. Some species, however, possess ancestral memory, passing it on from generation to generation."

Oh no, they think. There's two of them. If they have the chance, they do need to ask Ebeli what sort of relationship she had with Mnemon. All of them dread the answer.

"…and eventually I had a dozen of the Anules summoned, allowing me to compare their collective genetic memories of this Great Maker. The data pointed towards him being Primordial, kin to the Yozi, and creator of the Celestial Exaltations."

She spritzes a lemon into her tea and sips it. "Ah, there we go. I haven't really gone into that sort of line of thought in a while. Thank you for letting me indulge."

Five blinks. "So, what do you wish to commission the Great Maker for?"

Mnemon extends a hand. The soldier to her right hands her a scroll. She then pauses, and looks at Kiddo.

"Who are you, and why are you here?"

"I'm a coworker," Kiddo explains.

"Also, question," Ghost asks, "That charm you used on…that." Ghost veers towards the Thing That Is. "That's for reading the Essence of the being it touches, right? Do all Dragonblooded know it? Because that's the same charm Abeti used on us."

Mnemon's eyes narrow slightly. Her face becomes stone for a long moment. It is not to say that she composes herself, but more to say that no one present can notice her losing her composure, at least internally.

"It would be. I taught her that charm," she says, and turns back to Five, "I wish to commission the Great Maker to direct the Jadeborn in the repair and maintenance of the Realm Defense Grid. It is my understanding that the Great Maker was the original designer of the Realm Defense Grid, and thus most qualified to maintain it."

She hands the scroll to Five. "There are threats to Creation. You and I both agree on this. I would have its greatest weapon in working order to deal with those threats."

Five nods. "I will pass this onto my Grandfather with greatest haste. I cannot disagree with you on that."

Mnemon smiles. It is not a forced smile, but it is hard to read. "Excellent. I will send you a place to meet with the Jadeborn in one week's time. As agents of the Sidereals, I trust you will have little trouble in getting access to the Blessed Isle."

The smile vanishes. "You may go."

They are escorted out of the room by the soldier who was standing on her left. He says nothing, walking with them down the well-lit hallway, past the staring civillian employees of Il-Yeddo. It is a sign that the place has working infrastructure, as they do not smell like poop.

"I am still on leave," Five says, as they approach a T-section in the corridor, "I will go find my brother and Lani."

She walks down one direction, waving to them, before disappearing into a stairwell. The others turn, and find that the soldier has removed his helm. Revealing himself to be an old man with a white beard, a completely receeded hairline, vibrant green eyes, and his spear exchanged for a wrackstaff.

"What are you even doing here?" Chejop Kejak asks.

Star screams, hiding behind Turncloak. Horizons simply stares at the eldest of Sidereals. Turncloak sips his coffee, the Thing That Is finishing off a teacake.

Kiddo, completely unable to read the room and unafraid of death, answers.

"Our jobs."



End Chapter 9

 

[GreggHL]

The Blessed Isle. The Center. The landmass formed around the Pole of Earth, where Stoic Pasiap maintains the axis of stability around which all Creation is formed. It serves many purposes- a breadbasket to Creation, a point of singular stability, and a last stand against forces that would seek to destroy it.

It was on the Blessed Isle, as well, that one would generally find the Jadeborn. Born of the Pole of Earth, their cities lie underneath the Blessed Isle. It was for this that you have come to the Blessed Isle.

A week has passed since the meeting with Mnemon at Il-Yeddo. There was certainly no awkward meeting with Chejop Kejak afterwards, as he was never there. The lot of you approach a cave on the side of a hill on the southern coast of the Isle. Once again, none of you have bothered with Resplendent Destinies because you're not dealing with normal people, you're dealing with the Jadeborn. Five's foci lead the way, the seven diamonds leisurely scanning the environment, even as she takes up the rear. Mainly because she is young and she is not as physically fit as everyone else.

Star simply takes in the fresh air, as the weather is always nice on the Blessed Isle, almost skipping alongside the smallest member of the group.

"So what's the chances that the Light can fix the Great Geass?" Kiddo is asking the really uncomfortable questions. Ghost floats above his shoulder, plates rotating. "I read up on the Geass before we came here. I mean, it's apparently something spiritual, so it could be possible. Maybe?"

Turncloak pats him on the shoulder, walking past. "Ask them, first."

You approach the cave. Its roof juts out, like an overhand to protect from the weather. You question if it is natural or artificial. Man made would be a misnomer, as the Jadeborn are not human. Jadeborn made? Would that be the term? You are unsure. The cave is silent and still, the entry unguarded. The Abyssal raises a hand, open, and lowers the end of one of his staves.

Five's foci return to her. Kiddo unholsters his flamepiece. They nod to each other, and follow the Abyssal in.

The sound hits them the moment they cross the threshold.

Music, joyous and upbeat. Lights hanging over the expanse of the cave, from the very obvious, automaton-controlled bar to the gargantuan drill overlooking a seemingly bottomless pit on the other side. The walls are decorated- with stone reliefs of past battles, with racks filled with weapons and machines of all kinds, with the mounted heads of cthonic horrors.

At a table, playing a game they would later know as Foosball, four squat, stone skinned beings- three with beards, one without, look up.

"Oi!" one of them says, "Ye the Celestials Nemmy promised to help with the Darkbrood cullin'? Grab a beer and gear up! We're setting up to drop in fifteen!"

Turncloak stands in silence, staring at the Jadeborn. Then smiles, eyes closed behind his shades.

"And here I thought this was going to be a waste of my time."



Chapter 10:

Rock and Stone

 

[Thine Spree]

Rock and Stone to the bone!

Oh boy this story goes to all the fun places

 

[GreggHL]

"Dinnae fasht yerself, haud yer wheesht!" Holding a mug in one hand, radiating some sort of rainbow from the top, and a steam driven piston in the other hand, the bearded Jadeborn approaches Five. Her Foci rise up- possibly as a threat display, but mostly to examine the most likely drunk man who is a full head shorter than her.

"…you are a Jadeborn. I am Five. I am a Blessed of Kadmek."

The Jadeborn stabs the piston into the stone floor, taking out a hand-held plate and scanning it over one of her foci. "Oooo. Fit plippin glin tha' is."

He gives her a thumbs up, pulls out his piston, and wanders off to the bar. "That was an important conversation," Star says, patting Five on the shoulder, "What he said was important. I know it."

Five slowly nods, standing close to Star. For translation help, perhaps. These people worship her Grandfather. Ghost floats over to the weapon racks, scanning the wondrous and violent devices.

"Give me a minute. I've processed enough glimmer that I can add all this to the Inventory and we'll be good to go."

In a flash of light, one of the devices appears in Kiddo's hands. A long rod with some sort of torch at the end, a container of sturdy make twisted onto the side, and a trigger at the back. Kiddo depresses the trigger and it releases a gout of flame, all the Jadeborn cooing in awe.

The beardless one runs over to Ghost. "Oi! Can you make me one, to?"

"…okay, sure."

In a flash of light, the weapon- the flametosser, they would latter be told- appears in their hand. Seizing the one on the rack, they belt out a primal scream as they dual wield them. Ghost rotates their plates, and says nothing. For there is nothing that can be said in this situation. Nothing that can be even observed.

Ghost continues scanning in silence, repentant for their sins.

"So Nemmy said we'd be getting Celestial backup." The Jadeborn is apparently the leader, as his mining helmet comes to a higher point than the others and has a jade laurel. "Name's Polished Iridium. With me are Shining Bismouth-" He points to the one with the two flametossers. "Burnished Obsidian-" He gestures at the one refilling his beer, with the piston. "An' Sharpened Lapis." He points to the one at the table with the vices and grips that looks like it was lifted out of Lytek's office, polishing a sword that has teeth built into the blade.

Polished Iridium goes into detail about what his squad does, which has something to do with trains, tracks, and lots of Darkbrood which have to be culled. Turncloak does not listen, instead wandering over to Sharpened Lapis. The Abyssal is a craftsman and scholar- a scholar of instruments of death, and the weapon calls to him. Its vicious, metal teeth. The hum of the essence powered engine at the base of the blade. The simple workings of the reinforced Jade chain that are the key to the entire device.

"Fascinating," he says, "May I?"

The Jadeborn nods, handing the blade to him, handle first. He depresses the trigger, taking in, thrilling at the pull of the chain and the whirring of the blades. How the teeth move in perfect timing. How it would tear through armor, flesh, and bone as easily as heated soulsteel blades tear through freshly Exalted Abyssals who give him lip.

It is music. The hum is perfectly tuned. Its grind a joyous rhythm of chain on metal. The rattling of its teeth a focus upon which he could cast spells in a war zone.

Satisfied, he hands the sword back to the Jadeborn. At least, that is what he would insist he did, and that he did not almost botch the mission entirely by having three Jadeborn have to wrestle it away from him.

The red light mounted above the drill sparks to life and bathes the bar in crimson. "Alright Warriors," Polished Iridium bellows, "Grab your gear! Celestials, grab some weapons! We're prepping to drop!"

The drill opens up to ten seats- each with bars that come down across their chest, belts around their waist. Five finds herself sitting next to the drunk Jadeborn with the piston, who gives her a thumbs up.

"We nair t' Brood an' pippin!"

Five gives him a thumbs up. "Yes."

The drill shakes, releases, and descends into the depths.

 

[GreggHL]

The Darkbrood.

Driven underground by the Primordial War, none alive remember their creator. Denied the Sun, no one remembers what they were at their height. Some are discarded experiments of the Primordials- countless unique Behemoths that time and death have forgotten.

Some are entire races that fought for the Primordials during the War, driven beneath when their masters were imprisoned and then marked as Enemies of Creation.

Some were always there- origins forgotten or forbidden. Monsters of primeval time without origin or end, perhaps pre-dating the firmament itself. All of them wander the darkness beneath Creation, in perpetual war with the Mountain Folk.

In the distance, glittering gems of a city that predates the Exalted shine in the dark. These lands once belonged to the Maker's chosen- and they still do. Their eternal war is one they are not struggling with. Just, the immense mass of Darkbrood are currently gumming up the works of the rail network.

It is into this great mass of monsters, giants, and inky black squids that the drill falls. Dozens of them are crushed beneath its great metal weight. Dozens more swarm up the sides, before the ramp falls and crushes dozens more. Lasers carve a path on the ramp, followed by two bursts of flame, and naturally Turncloak is first to step out and survey the situation.

"Well this's a mess. Alright, here's what we're going to do-"

Sharpened Lapis leaps past him, screaming profanities, and dives chainsaw blade-first into the Darkbrood.

"Know what, not even mad," the Abyssal says, "Genuinely like that attitude."

He points to the city, in the distance. "So we have to kill a path to there, right?"

Polished Iridium pulls the cord on his essence cannon with a grunt. "Aye. Or at least thin the herd enough for the Trams! They can get through the rest by intertia!"

Five steps off the ramp. Well, off the ramp, and with the burst of blue flame from her feet, into the air. Lasers blast from her focals, carving swaths into the monsters. Turncloak sputters.

"Since when could you fly?"

"I had them installed during the vacation," she responds, "We have approaching titanic-sized life forms. Behemoth class."

Turncloak mutters under his breath. He steps off the ramp, tendrils of the Void extending from him, freezing the monsters who do not run and shattering them. He walks towards an immense, obsidian centipede, extending his staves from his sleeves, his caste mark bleeding freely.

The Alchemical lays covering fire. The Jadeborn are a practiced unit- two close combat, two artillery and support.

The Sidereals have taken Essence pistols and are keeping their distance, firing into the mob- so thick they are that they cannot miss, as Kiddo forms a maul of sunflame and swings, incinerating them by the dozens.

Five Exalted and four Jadeborn, they begin their swath of destruction. Their powers on full display. Their backs to each other. The Abyssal shouting orders. Most importantly, their defenses fully up- physical and mental.

This is going to be tricky.

Turncloak's right out. He's experienced, he's an Elder. He's been trained by Deathlords and at the knee of the Lion, and I know that sort of thing leaves you with a healthy paranoia for someone whispering in your ear. So no, he's right out, even if I could get past his defenses.

Star could work, but the Abyssal's watching her. Again, no. Also, would be out of character. She's flighty, she's happy. Her being focused on something would stand out.

Horizons has potential. But, I can get the idea he's run this sort of thing on his own. He'd recognize this sort of scheme. Always hate that, they always call you out and it's annoying.

I'm not sure about Five. The composition of her soul is fascinating but there's a chance I'd get lasered. Or I'd attract the attention of her grandfather. Or worse, her sisters.

Kiddo, on the other hand, looks to be wide open.

So, there is a little bit of motion. A flapping of dust-covered wings past his eyes, catching his attention to look at a shape in the middle distance and he says,

"There's some sort of war machine! Two hundred feet!" He swings the hammer, striking a centipede in two. "What is that?"

"It's a Strider!" Polished Iridium yells, "Clear us a path!"

I love it when a plan comes together.

 

[GreggHL]

About a soccer field away, give or take a field goal, there is a mostly empty cavern. It was filled with Darkbrood, the scurrilous and squamous masses of nature's botches, all making the low moaning noises of things that are denied the sun, grass beneath their feet, and working sewage systems. Was being the operative word, because a couple of days ago a certain prince and his wife emerged from the Underworld and, as they are wont to do, killed everything that moved.

It would sound romantic by the standards of most of the people in Creation, save for the fact that the Prince is a giant insect Prince radiating flame, and his princess is also an insect, floating off the ground, and her face is made of teeth. It is into this that she appears, materializing out of thin air and the flapping of wing dust. She is shorter than the Prince, taller than the wife, and her head wears a crown that blends into the exoskeleton that makes up her form, crafted into something resembling a matronly, welcoming woman of early to middle years.

The Prince glows brighter. He levels his Sword at her.

"Witch Queen."

His wife shrieks. Three Thralls- dessicated and skeletal- appear from the dirt.

"Say it louder for the people in the back, nephew. And Omnighoul, love the dress honey. If you go into the cavern behind me, you're going to die and it's going to hurt."

She has to speak plain with her nephew. Oh, she can manipulate him. She can manipulate everyone. It's a matter of knowing how to. It's not that he's stupid or simple, he's just not as philosophical as his father. The boy is focused.

"Do you threaten me, Witch Queen?"

"I warn you. This mythos has ways to cheat the Sword Logic, and you are unprepared for it. You are mighty, but might means nothing against Oblivion."

She really hopes she doesn't have to actually restrain him. She needs him alive, because she knows what happens if the boy dies. His father goes on a rampage, and if he dies in Creation then his father will destroy Creation with the same sort of effort a human destroys a slightly determined duck. She needs Creation for her plans. Well, most of her plans. Worse comes to worse she tricks him into cutting his way into another world and they lose track of him for a few billion years.

"Now, I have an idea," she says, floating over to him, walking across the dust and corpses, "It's a plan, and a real humdinger. Is it just the two of you?"

The Thralls beneath her hiss, but they know they don't count. The wife floats up, meeting her eyes, her own shrunken gaze deep within the recesses of her face.

"You know a place we can claim as our own."

A statement, not a question. He is smart, and he is tactical. He has his needs, and one of those is fortified positions. She'd say he's predictable, but not in a bad way. He's family, after all. She cups his chin and smiles, proud Aunt that she is.

"Yes indeed. Let me tell you about Sanctums."





The flametossers clear the way, driving off the Darkbrood. Five hovers above them, the blue lights of her focals thin. They serve as her eyes, her vision enhanced even in the darkness, and they allow her to see far greater than any mortal.

"We have large units approaching. Crustacean shaped. Roughly five yeddims tall. Six of them."

The flames scare off the skittering bugs and the squids. A hammer blow from Kiddo shatters a centipede. Ghost provides light, illuminating the kneeling giant. Turncloak whistles. "Okay, that's big. When you said 'strider,' I thought you meant 'Warstrider.'"

Polished Iridium snorts. "This isn't no fursuit for a Celestial who want to be a giant robot! This is a Strider! And it's intact, too!"

The Jadeborn walks over, tapping his fist over the ass of the giant. Something clicks and a panel opens. "In it's ass, everyone!"

They mutter about phrasing, climbing in. The four Jadeborn get to work, and with a bustle of activity and some drunken shouting, lights come on. The interior is immense- the chest, they think. An armored cavity of worked metal and reinforced glass. At the center are two stands, two platforms with braces for two people- places for their hands, their feet, their heads.

"Alright," Polished Iridium declares, "This is a Link-type Strider! Two of you Celestials are gonna take those platforms, and you're going to get in each other's heads to get this thing working!"

Turncloak immediately takes a step back, shaking his head. Five tilts her head. "This is a similar system to the Striders on Il-Yeddo. Father must have based them on this system."

Star pumps her fist in the air. "This sounds like a job for us!" She grabs Horizons by the wrist. "Let's go!"

She would regret this greatly.

 

[Ardenzian]

Prince

Click to shrink...

"Witch Queen."

Click to shrink...

nephew

Click to shrink...

Well this is gonna be a bit of a clusterfuck

Link-type Strider! Two of you Celestials are gonna take those platforms, and you're going to get in each other's heads to get this thing working!"

Click to shrink...

AAAAAaannnnddddd now there's Pacific Rim in on this

 

[GreggHL]

Hey, it's not hive involvement, especially the Hive Gods, if it's not a family matter.

 

[GreggHL]

None of the probes or other devices were invasive, thankfully. Wires that lead from the ceiling connected to a pair of helmets that went over their heads, transparent visors over their faces. Upon stepping into the foot rests, they locked into places and glowed, and the hand controls flickered, glowed, and detached to float up into their hands.

"Spiritual load of a Strider is too big for one person, even a Celestial," Bismouth explains, standing behind the two Sidereals and doing something with the console the two are connected to, "Piloting system's designed to link your minds and memories, allowing you to share the load."

"Reminds me of a Nephrack I once knew," Turncloak wistfully hums, sipping his coffee. He should call her, he thinks.

The standing braces connect to their backs, lighting up with yellow electricity. "So," Horizons starts, "How deep are we going into each other's heads?"

"Memories, conscious motivations, deep thoughts," Bismouth declares, "You're going to be connected on a deep, spiritual level! It's like a sorcerous ritual, enabled through artifice!"

The Endings glances to the side, to his bubbly, smiling partner. She bounces up and down on her heels, nodding to some invisible, only-heard-to-her beat. "Star?" he asks, "Are you sure about this?"

Star nods, fists and butt clenched. Her smile is tight, her eyes steely blue determination. "We can do this, Horizons! Through the power of our bonds! Start us up!"

The Jadeborn behind her shrugs and pulls the switch. Her vision turns white, then blue, then gray- so much gray. Gray as she falls back, not just into her own mind, into her own memories, but into her partner's. Gray as the sand beneath her feet, and the scroll in her hands.

In hands not her own, but the hands of a young man no older than thirteen summers, and open to reveal letters in blue ink. Before her, a portal of blue flame opens, swirls, and out steps a tall man of blue glass, shaking his his head with a tut tut tut. His audacious and fine jewelry shakes with every step, and he smiles, but it is not warm.

"I congratulate you, Vizier, on your moment of Fated Exaltation. Sad, though, that such a moment was fated to be upon you learning a Secret Known only to the Yozi."

Orabillis, the End of All Wisdom, seizes her by the head and hurls her into the sky, the flame consuming her as she screams and burns for a thousand years-

Star stumbles out of the door and into the carpeted hallway. The hotel she bought- that Horizons' past life bought. The one he/she got for a really good deal. Up in the North, near that Shadowland that was perfectly safe. She looks down to the axe in her hand, and looks down the hall to the twin girls in white staring at her.

"Hiiii?" she drawls out.

"Are you here to play with us?" the girls ask, "Forever and ever and ever?"

She shakes her head and runs down the hallway in the other direction- into the twisting, never ending hallway, where the walls cry tears of blood and the laughter of children dogs her every step. Where her own breathing becomes manic laughter. Where her own family becomes her prey on a mad hunt because all work and no play makes Star go crazy and she chases them, axe in hand through the maze hallways of the old building until she finds herself, so very tired and eyes heavy in the snow and falls asleep.

Meanwhile, Horizons finds himself standing on a well-manicured lawn, in front of a nice, pink house, where a shirtless Little Beam is mowing the lawn. Wordless, happy music plays in his ears, and everyone who walks by and greets him does so with a smile. They sip coffee drinks with spiced pumpkin flavoring, are dressed in sharp and pink, and there are birds chirping on every street corner.

"The fuck is this?"

 

[GreggHL]

None of the probes or other devices were invasive, thankfully. Wires that lead from the ceiling connected to a pair of helmets that went over their heads, transparent visors over their faces. Upon stepping into the foot rests, they locked into places and glowed, and the hand controls flickered, glowed, and detached to float up into their hands.

"Spiritual load of a Strider is too big for one person, even a Celestial," Bismouth explains, standing behind the two Sidereals and doing something with the console the two are connected to, "Piloting system's designed to link your minds and memories, allowing you to share the load."

"Reminds me of a Nephrack I once knew," Turncloak wistfully hums, sipping his coffee. He should call her, he thinks.

The standing braces connect to their backs, lighting up with yellow electricity. "So," Horizons starts, "How deep are we going into each other's heads?"

"Memories, conscious motivations, deep thoughts," Bismouth declares, "You're going to be connected on a deep, spiritual level! It's like a sorcerous ritual, enabled through artifice!"

The Endings glances to the side, to his bubbly, smiling partner. She bounces up and down on her heels, nodding to some invisible, only-heard-to-her beat. "Star?" he asks, "Are you sure about this?"

Star nods, fists and butt clenched. Her smile is tight, her eyes steely blue determination. "We can do this, Horizons! Through the power of our bonds! Start us up!"

The Jadeborn behind her shrugs and pulls the switch. Her vision turns white, then blue, then gray- so much gray. Gray as she falls back, not just into her own mind, into her own memories, but into her partner's. Gray as the sand beneath her feet, and the scroll in her hands.

In hands not her own, but the hands of a young man no older than thirteen summers, and open to reveal letters in blue ink. Before her, a portal of blue flame opens, swirls, and out steps a tall man of blue glass, shaking his his head with a tut tut tut. His audacious and fine jewelry shakes with every step, and he smiles, but it is not warm.

"I congratulate you, Vizier, on your moment of Fated Exaltation. Sad, though, that such a moment was fated to be upon you learning a Secret Known only to the Yozi."

Orabillis, the End of All Wisdom, seizes her by the head and hurls her into the sky, the flame consuming her as she screams and burns for a thousand years-

Star stumbles out of the door and into the carpeted hallway. The hotel she bought- that Horizons' past life bought. The one he/she got for a really good deal. Up in the North, near that Shadowland that was perfectly safe. She looks down to the axe in her hand, and looks down the hall to the twin girls in white staring at her.

"Hiiii?" she drawls out.

"Are you here to play with us?" the girls ask, "Forever and ever and ever?"

She shakes her head and runs down the hallway in the other direction- into the twisting, never ending hallway, where the walls cry tears of blood and the laughter of children dogs her every step. Where her own breathing becomes manic laughter. Where her own family becomes her prey on a mad hunt because all work and no play makes Star go crazy and she chases them, axe in hand through the maze hallways of the old building until she finds herself, so very tired and eyes heavy in the snow and falls asleep.

Meanwhile, Horizons finds himself standing on a well-manicured lawn, in front of a nice, pink house, where a shirtless Little Beam is mowing the lawn. Wordless, happy music plays in his ears, and everyone who walks by and greets him does so with a smile. They sip coffee drinks with spiced pumpkin flavoring, are dressed in sharp and pink, and there are birds chirping on every street corner.

"The fuck is this?"

Star Exalts. Her life becomes work. Ending lives, ending destinies. Until upon sneaking into a tower to poison a man who fell out of fate, she trips on spilled perfume, falls into a half foot pool of water, and drowns.

Star lives another life as a young child, unaware of the murderous intentions of her father. On a trip in a zeppelin in the High First Age, she marvels to him on how high up they are, yet puzzles to him how only one wingsuit is aboard for emergencies. When she turns, her father and the wingsuit are gone, and she is but alone.

Life after life after life Star experiences. She witnesses a life where a wrong turn to meet a functionary allowed a glimpse at the Games of Divinity. Where a left turn on the street lead to her being run over by Isu-Zu, the God of Interuniversal Travel, trapped on another plane of existence, and dying of dysentary.

She glimpses them all- herself, a younger, golden Turncloak, a floating blue Diamond, and Autochthon in his encounter suit. All of them are younger. All of them have long hair running to their shoulders, to contrast the short, neat hair on top. She- or he, as she sees Horizon's face- has a mustache that runs down their cheeks like rivers.

"Great meeting with you all," he says, "Now if you will excuse me, I have a hot date with Erembour, 'cause I'm going to be ending my dry spell."

And then, they dab.





Upon the southern edge of the Great Ice, the baby seals squeal and wallow and sun. So numerous are they that the very slopes of the ice have not the room for their round tummies and soft fur, and so more and more of them slide off and into the cold waters.

On ice floes and cold water, they continue to bob and float even as their numbers increase, the very west of the world forming more of them into existence upon the growing mountain of fur and joy. Squealing and screaming, young and innocent, they float upont he waters and slide upon the ice. Around them, the Orcas float, listlessly, their bellies long since full.





"Well, that plan's a bust," Turncloak drawls, "What's Plan B?"

Star weeps, tears streaming down her cheeks, rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around her knees. Horizons sits next to her, his gaze empty. He is still…working through what he saw. The broken, weird speech of everyone he encountered. The sudden appearance of babies. The carpets everywhere. The mysterious man in black who went around, collecting ghosts with a scythe and occasionally played Gateway with people. The lack of pool ladders.

Star turns to him. Her misery has decreased, ever so slightly. She looks like she has processed some of it.

"How do you function?" she quietly asks, barely above a whisper.

Horizons thinks on that for a moment.

"See, that's the funny thing…"

Kiddo vanishes his guns in bursts of Light, banishing them to Elsewhere. He steps into the footrests, pulling on the helmet. "Okay, so I don't have a lot of memories, so I should be relatively easy to do this with," he declares, "Who's volunteering?"

Without a word, Five steps onto the second platform. "Ready."

Bismouth pulls the switch.

They feel themselves falling backwards, falling into each other's minds. Not a lack of memories, either- rather than memories, they find themselves in darkness. In nothingness. Silent and isolated and floating in nothingness.

From the nothingness, from the meaningless, a gardener emerges.

She takes both of their hands in her own.

And from behind her, there is another. Whose voice is with hers, though far away.

Their eyes open, and the glass wall becomes transparent. The Jadeborn cheer. "We've got a connection!" Bismouth shouts, "Strider is activating! Giving you control of the weapon systems!"

Shaking off the dust and mold of ages, it rises. Vents of steam blast off the vines and moss. A visor of worked orichalcum shines, and fists large enough to smash armies clench. The Strider rises, facing down the Darkbrood horde, and with its first step smashes them by the dozens.

 

[Ardenzian]

Shaking off the dust and mold of ages, it rises. Vents of steam blast off the vines and moss. A visor of worked orichalcum shines, and fists large enough to smash armies clench. The Strider rises, facing down the Darkbrood horde, and with its first step smashes them by the dozens.

Click to shrink...

Okay so design wise, which Jaeger does it look like

 

[GreggHL]

Shaking off the dust and mold of ages, it rises. Vents of steam blast off the vines and moss. A visor of worked orichalcum shines, and fists large enough to smash armies clench. The Strider rises, facing down the Darkbrood horde, and with its first step smashes them by the dozens.

Its first steps shake the foundations and send the Darkbrood scattering. The Strider rises up fully, pulling back its arms. The plates on the broad chest open, and the implosion bows spark to life. Missiles fire out, exploding above the hordes, airbursts of Essence clearing a path. The orichalcum visor upon its massive head flickers, glows, and releases a scouring laser to clear the tracks of the fleeing beasts.

In the distance, the Giant Enemy Crabs approach, each the size of the Strider. It clenches its fist and within it forms a maul of sunflame the size of the Strider itself, gripping it with both hands. The torso spins fully, swinging into and through the carapace of the first two crabs, marching forward as a whirlwind of flame and death.

The flames clear and the torso locks in place. Surrounding the Strider are the corpses of seven crabs, and the Strider lifts its foot up, allowing the first of the trams to pass. Dismissing the hammer, it begins a brisk walk to the city in the distance.

Before igniting the jets on its feet and back and flying the rest of the way.





The borders of the City illuminate the gloom, floodlights and spotlights keeping the creatures of darkness away. The trams pull in through the city gates, Jadeborn workers dutifully unloading minerals and Darkbrood remains.

The Strider remains at the entrance of the City, kneeling. The four Jadeborn you traveled with lead the other crews in its recovery and maintenance. A dozen short men in metal armor and with very fancy spears that are most likely Essence Cannons meet you at the gates to escort you in.

Kiddo holds up a hand and Ghost appears, floating next to him. On his other side, Five walks.

"Everything okay, buddy?"

"Sorry. I was thinking about things since you made that connection in the Strider. You felt it too, right?"

"I did, too," Five says. Behind them, Star stumbles, leaning on Turncloak for support. Her eyes are still hollow, empty, wondering if she will ever feel joy again. "I felt a presence. Was that the Light?"

"It felt the same as what I felt when I decided to fight back against the Lunar," Kiddo says, "Not just the Light, but the thing behind the Light. The Gardener."

"The Traveler," Ghost says, bobbing up and down, but slowly, "Autochthon calls her the Gardener. I- and all Ghosts- know her as the Traveler. But I felt something…when you two connected, there was something else. Something that connected you two. It was distant, but it was there."

Kiddo nods. "The Winnower."

"The Darkness," Ghost states, "The Traveler's opposite."

Five tilts her head. Her focals tilt, as well. "But we know the Gardener and Winnower are two parts of the same being. Ghost, is this bad?"

Ghost is silent for long moments. Their plates rotate once, twice.

"I don't know. That's what I'm thinking about."

 

[Ardenzian]

I'd suggest playing Final Shape a bit before you go in depth with that

 

[linkhyrule5]

What I'm hearing here is that Horizons really needs to learn some Dodge Charms

(seriously a thousand years and he either never bought Duck Fate or never managed ~ten successes?)

 

[GreggHL]

They pass beneath a statue, towering as tall as the Strider. Polished stone and a golden crown, holding a hammer in one hand and a chisel in the other, his features angular, heroic, and perfect. Even at first glance, they recognize it, especially Five. "Is that your father?" Kiddo asks.

"The Clay Man was once King of the Jadeborn," she explains, "They still hold him in high regard."

They pass between two empty pedestals. Her focals flitter place to place, scanning. Interpreting. Ghost floats alongside one of them, before floating back to Kiddo.

"Weird. I don't see Encounter Suits."

They pass through the first set of gates, beneath two immense, mounted ballistas. The guards escorting them say nothing, marching in lockstep. In the middle distance, a tram carries the Strider, now on its back, past them.

"I am unsure how much Grandfather directly interacted with the Jadeborn," Five says, "My understanding is that he interacted with them from on high. Possibly this was before he did his work on his Fetich."

Her foci scan empty pedestals and bare walls. Barren floors in temples that they pass by. She furrows her brow, coallating data. The clues are laid out, possibly too obvious. They are not hiding this. But it would be rude to announce it.

"We are being watched," she says.

They walk through another gate and they notice it. Not just other Jadeborn on battlements, but free-floating metal probes on propellers, spacious in the sky. Following them from a long, but noticeable distance. A quick scan with her foci tell her they are artifact vision devices, linking up to other places. Possibly other places in this city, or other Jadeborn cities.

Turncloak grins, walking up next to her.

"Well, not every day the Princess makes a visit."

She sharply elbows him and he chuckles. She can't help but smile.

They pass through a final gate, and into an open coliseum. Turncloak grunts, wondering if this is going to be like one of those audiences with a Deathlord where they are actually going to try to kill you first and then say it was really a test after you just killed the Hekatonchire. Horizons makes a mental note of exits. Star slaps herself on the cheeks and snaps out her fans, in case she has to mindfuck someone.

Star arranges her foci like a crown around her head. She is the Princess, after all.

Before them rises a half circle podium, and on it are twelve places. On it rise twelve people- four of them squat and well dressed. Four them them armed and armored. Four of them thin and lithe. From on high, a spotlight illuminates one.

She is beautiful, like a jade statue brought to life, with a thin face and long hair in many braids, and tapered long ears and a wise smile. Her eyes are blue gemstones, or simply very blue, but Five cannot tell the difference. She extends a long fingered hand towards her, pulls her lips back into a smile, and speaks.

"Reigo. Daughter of the First, of Kadamon. Blessed of Kadmek. Princess of the Jadeborn. Emissary of the Great Maker. Welcome to Urvar."

Five bows respectfully. "I am welcomes. To whom am I addressing?"

"I am White Shale, leader of the Euceneme Council of Urvar."

White Shale. She recognizes that name from brief lectures by her father. "My father spoke of you. He would be overjoyed to find you are still alive after all this time."

White Shall, First of the Artisans, smiles warmly. "I am glad to hear it. My encounter with him was life changing. Life affirming. As I hope my encounter with you shall be. You are here on behalf of the Great Maker to find why he no longer hears the voices of his worshippers beneath the ground. Tell me, what do you already know?"

She feels the drones all pointing at her. Eyes throughout Creation, underneath Creation, judging her. She sighs. It's really obvious when she considers it.

"Through brief glances throughout Urvar, I saw that the statues, the altars, the trappings of worship have been removed. More importantly, removed recently. I can deduce that this was done eight months ago."

She folds her arms behind her, looking up at this woman who is, essentially, her eldest sister. "The Jadeborn had been monitoring the Seal of Eight Divinities, and stopped worshipping the Great Maker when the Seal opened. This was done to get his attention."

"Correct." The smile lessens on White Shale's face. "Did it truly take him eight months to notice?"

"I am probably more charitable towards him, as I believe he took eight months to overcome his own shame regarding his treatment of the Jadeborn to approach them."

That is a lie, she absolutely believes it took him eight months to notice they stopped praying to him. Or maybe less, but it took him longer to admit that it took him that long to notice.

Turncloak walks up next to her. "Just want to say, I can absolutely respect that level of spite."

Five elbows him in the ribs.

"In any case," Five continues, "Am I correct in assuming that the Jadeborn are open to resuming worship under certain conditions?"

The Artisan nods. Hands open, she gestures. The drones above reposition, many descending to illuminate her and Five. "We do not ask for much, and in fact, not for anything from the Great Maker himself. We simply ask for this."

Throughout the city, spotlights illuminate statues. Statues they had passed by. Statues of polished stone with a gold crown, so there would be no mistake.

"Return to us our king. Return to us the First, the Clay Man, so he may rule us once more. Have him come down here, to Urvur, our Mountain Home, to declare to us once more his subjects, and we shall once more worship the Great Maker."

 

[GreggHL]

I'd suggest playing Final Shap a bit before you go in depth with that

Click to shrink...

Funny enough, Bungie gave me a VAC ban from Destiny 2 because of an unrelated Risk of Rain 2 mod loader.

So I mainly get my story points from youtube.

 

[GreggHL]

At the heart of the Floor, initial interface layer of the Primal Forge, a cube rotates in and out of four dimensional space. It does this to monitor the reality it is currently running simulations on, probing minute changes in the laws of physics before proposing these patches to the Pattern Spiders. From every angle, the Cube looks the same- one face an eye, one face an array of diamonds, one face circles which somehow fit perfectly on the face yet leave no blank space, and the other faces ever-shifting thought pattern-diagrams.

It is not too abstract for an Encounter Suit of the Great Maker.

Autochthon is Primordial. However, he limits himself to better understand mortals, as he is mortal himself. Hence, when he hears the banging from the ductwork, he pauses the pocket universe and turns his attention away from it and towards one of the ventilation ducts leading to the forge.

The banging is fast. Erratic. Followed by muffled cursing, the dragging of fingernails along metal, and more swearing. Until, blue flame blasting out of her feet, Five blasts out of the ventilation work, rocketing up. She hangs in the air for a long moments before dropping, screaming, and halting her descent with her hand jets.

She drops onto her feet.

"I'm okay!" she announces, arms up. "I need to get the gravitic submodule installed."

She dusts herself off, straightening her dress. Her focals arrange themselves around her waist after a bit of shaky floating. "We're back," she says, "We've found the Jadeborn."

Excellent. What do those Languid Bastards want?

The voice is like thunder, rolling out of the clouds. She imagines this is the voice he uses when he is out gathering worship. Or relieving stress.

She rolls back and forth on her heels and the balls of her feet. "The negotiations went well, Grandfather. In fact, the Jadeborn do not want anything from you. According to White Shale, their nominal council leader, the Jadeborn will continue worshipping you in return for my father returning to them as their King."

The moment that leaves her mouth, the full attention of the cube focuses on her. Somehow, as if folding out of its higher dimensional space, as a immense, four-sided cross, its total eyes directed at her.

They

Want

WHAT

And then there's the keening in the distance. The siren sound of pure rage. Like when they told him about the Infernals. The cubes display new, exciting diagrams and blueprints. New theorems. Potential magical materials from genociding the Jadeborn.

"Grandfather?" The keening gets louder. Louder than when they told him that the Yozi had, once more, stolen his things. "Grandfather!"

The blueprints become worrying. Elaborate details of twisting flesh from bone. Of flensing. Of mote by mote. Of immense, endless cruelty. Five makes an executive decision. Her Foci rise up, above her head, pointing inwards. Essence gathers, connecting at a focal point at the center. She covers her ears, and the blast releases in a burst of white light and terrible sound. The din overtakes the keening, silencing it, and when Five looks back up the blueprints are gone. The Tesseract has folded back into a cube.

"Grandfather, talk to me, please."

The faces of the cube turn white. One face opens, releasing a brass ring, which floats over to her before it expands into a white, empty halo, and releases an encounter suit.

"They ask me to sin against my very nature," he says, his grill an angry, hot orange, "They would dare ask such a thing! Knowing what it would mean!"

Hands up, she approaches the encounter suit. The ranting, fists closed encounter suit. Gently, she takes one of his hands in her own. "I do not understand. Please, explain this to me. What did they do to anger you like this?"

The facet eyes fix her in place. The grill softens to a dim red. One of the fists opens and he rests his face in it, a long breath of smoke escaping his grill. "Your father is a part of me. He is of me. He is of my themes. I look like you, I act like you, but I am not you. I must-"

"Innovate?"

The Encounter Suit looks at her. The eyes rotate. "Yes! You understand! You do understand!"

Five nods. "I do. To an extent. I am not sure the Jadeborn do, though." She hums, patting his hand. "Stagnation. Is that it? A cosmic sin of Stagnation?"

The Encounter Suit nods, hurridly. "Yes. To do so is to invoke my antithesis. My death. Do you see why they offended me such? Do you see why I was enraged?"

He is known for carrying grudges. He seems to be carrying one right now. "I see. Still, we should talk with Father about this. He might have more insight. Or another solution."

Her grandfather huffs an acknowledgement. "Indeed. I will leave it to you. Alert me when you are with him."

The Encounter Suit vanishes, leaving her holding the brass ring.

 

[GreggHL]

In his office, the Clay Man looks over reports of property damage. Not of the Striders and Wyld Behemoths, but of one of his daughters, Kei, who had introduced an Autochthonian delegate to a concept called a 'Rage Room'. While the Alchemical in question had lowered their clarity significantly, but the owner of the produce market was horrified at the condition of his cabbages.

"At least it made money," he muses. He'll put her on Yu Shan rotation for the next cycle.

A point of light unfolds in front of his desk, opening into the getting-far-too-familiar triangular white opening of a Door. Out of it, Five walks out, on her own power, holding a brass ring.

The Clay Man stares at his youngest for a moment. "Visit go well?"

"Very well. White Shale sends her regards. The Jadeborn want you to return as their King."

Her father rests his face in his hands with a long, pained groan. "Those stupid motherfuckers."

The ring comes to life, wrenching out of Five's hand. It hovers next to her, the air in it turning inside out and depositing the Encounter Suit next to her. The tile cracks and Autochthon folds his arms, huffing. "My thoughts exactly! Wisely, my granddaughter dissuaded me from killing the Jadeborn to a man, but this situation must be resolved, Kadamon."

With a longer, more pained groan, the Clay Man leans back in his chair. Five glances between her father and grandfather. Especially as her father puts his feet up on the table.

"Okay. Did you give Five the lecture on why I can't go down and take the Adamant Throne again?"

The Primordial avatar is notably silent. The Primordial Behemoth removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay. So, I am, at the base of it, basically the eighth-and-a-half Divine Minister. I'm not actually part of his soul hierarchy, but close enough for tax purposes, which means I draw on some of his themes. Like innovation."

"You cannot lead the Jadeborn again because you've already done so, and that would be against your themes," Five observes, "The only way for you to do so would involve metaphysically severing you from Grandfather."

The Clay Man waggles his hand. "We can do that. We'd just need a Sorcerer. But yeah, if Dad tries to do something he's already done before, he absolutely botches it. Mnemon was smart when she contracted him to direct the Jadeborn in fixing the Realm Defense Grid. He's just providing the blueprints, not the work. He'd break it if he had to do it himself."

Autochthon harrumphs but does not correct his son. Five nods. "Then what would the correct resolution to this situation be? The Jadeborn wish to have their King returned to them in return for resuming worship of Grandfather."

The Clay Man takes a deep breath, holding it in, and exhales. He rubs his temples, staring up at the high ceiling of his office. "I can't bring them here," he says, "The Geass prevents them from living on the surface. There's also millions of them. What about curing the Geass?"

Autochthon raises a finger. "I have figured out a way to cure it."

"Without killing them all?"

Autochthon lowers a finger. "I have not figured out a way to cure it."

The two are silent for long moments. Five glances between the two. A focal floats over to read the damage report, her eyebrows rising at the damage estimates.

"I got it!" The Clay Man sits up. The Focal zips back to Five. He stands up, giving the Primordial and Alchemical two thumbs up. "You two head back. I've got this under control."





Deep beneath the earth, beneath layers sacred and profane, beneath the Imperial Mountain, and above the skies of the Urvar, the lights shine. Great magitech projectors buoyed upon legions of drones light up to create a great image that projects its twin above the Jadeborn cities beneath the continents of Creation. An image of a man, bearded, wearing glasses and a smartly fashionable uniform, his arms out and hands raised.

"My first-born children! I, your King, your Father and Mother, have returned! Hear me, and let your voices ring out! Praise the Great Maker!"

Throughout the dark reaches of the world, the voices of the Jadeborn- Worker, Warrior, Artisan- ring out as one. With fervor, with belief, with dogma.

"Praise the Great Maker! PRAISE THE GREAT MAKER!"

"Praise the Great Maker! I have returned to you after so long, my children, my loyal and wonderful subjects! I return not just with this proclamation, but with news!"

Next to him, Shou stumbles into the hologlyphic image, shoved in by White Shale. "Behold, my children! Shou! My son!"

The Jadeborn, all millions of them, cheer. The young man glances side to side.

"Your Prince!"

The cheers become louder. Shou pulls at the collar of his uniform, and waves.

"And now, your King!"

The cheers become deafening. Shou's eyes go wide and he turns. "Wait, what-"

But the Clay Man has already taken off running, and the crowd of Jadeborn charge into the hologlyph, pick him up, and carry him off to the Throne to crown him.

 

[GreggHL]

Upon a smooth rock outcropping, the moth watches the din of distant Urvar. The Jadeborn celebrate the crowning of a new King, and all is well. For them, it is the first time in thousands of years that all is well.

The moth flutters its wings and flies away, through the tunnels and small spaces of abandoned mines, past secret and dead hordes of dead darkbrood, past the mechanical precision of Vex frames setting up their cubes.

Past the floating Mind, half its form a negative photo, half its form still metal, directing the Vex on behalf of its Queen.

Til the moth is caught in two fingers and she shoves it into her mouth. She chews, thoughtfully, taking in what it saw, what it knows.

She nods, humming.

"I can work that in," the Witch Queen says, "Thought I have to say, the Clay Man's a bit of a dick."

Quria, Blade Transform, says nothing, staring impassively down at their master, Queen, and god.

She sighs. "I should have taken a conversation partner with me."





The boat is anchored in place upon the seas of Heaven. It is a nice day, and because the Sun is currently in the lead in the Games of Divinity, the sky is blue and it is bright. The ships captain is currently inside, hands on the table with a map unfurled. On it are two pins- one on a set of mountains in the South. The other on point uncomfortably close to the first pin, with a string leading from a point labeled PARAGON.

"And we're sure this intelligence is correct?" Nasri asks.

Across the table from him, Scarlet Whispers chews her nails. It is a nervous habit, but in this situation she has the right to be anxious. "I still have connections in Paragon and they sent the messages by Infallible Messenger. There were Anules whispering into his ear, and then he commanded the entirety of his army on a march."

The elder Sidereal sighs. Less out of exasperation and more out of expecting this. "That's smart. I have to admit it, that's smart. We underestimate how clever the bastard can be in this situation. And the Orb is exactly what he's been looking for."

The Eclipse nods, pacing. "And we're sure that the Orb, the Deva artifact, is the Orb of Peace and Order?"

"And the imprisoned Vantablack, Deva of the Shadow of All Things." Nasri folds his arms, stands up straight, and purses his lips. "So the Yozi have informed the Perfect of Paragon about the location of the Orb he's searched for his entire life. Which is one of the artifacts the Yozi are searching for, for their Reclamation. Which means this is going to be a gigantic clusterfuck."

"The Perfect's playing exactly into the Yozi's hands," Scarlet Whispers sighs, "I thought he was smarter than that. So what do we do?"

Nasri thinks on that for a moment. "I'm going to call in some people. I think we need to make his life interesting."



End Chapter 10