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

[GreggHL]

Ghost's eye glows, a beam of white shoots out, and a wall of metal rises up between them and Lytek. Behind it, they can hear him scratching on the walls.

"Lytek!" Five stomps her foot, speaking with the authority of someone under five feet tall. "Conduct yourself in a manner befitting a god of your rank!" She looks up, at the ductwork. "Iti! Close the vent!"

Ghost flickers but does not vanish. The eye goes wide. Most likely in panic.

"Uh. Uh. You don't have subspace in this place for some reason. I can't disappear." The scratching on the wall becomes pounding. Ghost turns to the others as Kiddo snaps out of his daze and stands up. "I have the feeling that if left alone, that guy's going to get his hands on me."

"He's going to get more than his hands on you if given the chance." Turncloak sips his coffee. Loudly.

"This feels so weird." Star folds her arms, tapping her chin. "Is it weird? If Lytek got his hands on him, would it be weird? Like, leave the room, don't speak of it weird?"

"He's been having a good year," Wandering Horizons observes, "I mean, outside of the six months Autochthon took over his workshop. But mostly a good year."

Ghost turns to Turncloak. He is the edgiest of them, and therefor most likely in charge. "I will answer any and all questions you have if you keep that man away from me."

Turncloak nods. He gestures to the others, a grandiose gesture of opening the floor to questions. A sigh when none of them start, their attention focused on the wall as it drops, Autochthon walks over, and grabs Lytek by the head before inserting a spike into the god's forehead.

"Alright, I'm going to regret this, but let's start. Our Exaltations were created by Autochthon." He points at the brass man as he then begins nerding out with a now up to date and not dead Lytek. Five shouts out a thanks for calming Lytek down. "What are your origins?" Turncloak asks.

Kiddo scratches the back of his head. "Yeah, I'm curious on that, too. We've spent so much time with me getting killed that I haven't had the chance."

Ghost tips forward and back. Like a nod. "Mm. Well…I was created by my creator. She has many names, but we mainly know her as the Traveler. We're called Ghosts before we're given a name, but since I'm apparently the only one here, I'm just going by Ghost."

"'Ghost' has local connotations," Five observes, turning from the nerding out session back to the discussion at hand, "Spirits incapable of moving on due to regrets."

"That is not me."

Turncloak nods. "Right. So, Autochthon tried to contact someone called 'the Gardener' and that lead to you ending up here. Can you describe what the Traveler looks like?"

Light projects from Ghost's eye. It forms into a hologlyphic image, of an immense white sphere, hovering over a city. Autochthon squeals louder. Not in the sort of way that one would from, say, sufficient invasion, but from absolute, uninhibited delight.

"Boss?" Turncloak asks.

"That is the Gardener!" Autochthon walks over, dragging Lytek with him, "That is one of her Joutens! I knew they were alive! This is proof positive!"

"Kind of small for a Primordial," Wandering Horizons mutters.

"A what now?" Ghost asks.

Everyone opens their mouths to explain, but the Great Maker is louder. Essence shapes into forty two impossible shapes, all of them of mind bending beauty and complexity, which shall not be described for the sake of sanity.

"In the Beginning," the Great Maker declares, "There was us. The Primordial Host. Titanic beings of concept and principle. Together, we created Creation itself, around a work of singular perfection. Before the War for Heaven, one of our number left- my most favorite kin. The Principle of Competition, Conception of Games, the Sisters Forever in Opposition, the Gardener and the Winnower."

The shapes focus on two shapes- a sphere and half sphere. Two sisters. A figure of white and black. "They had left for the Far Chaos, and after the War, where my kin were either dead, disgusted with me, imprisoned, or all of the above, I sought them out but they had traveled beyond the Faraway. Until a recent sojourn to Creation allowed me to understand that what you refer to as 'Universes' are similar enough to Elsewhere that-"

The Great Maker proceeds to explain the principles of the experiment in detail and the eyes of everyone present glaze over. Ghost briefly falls asleep, waking with a start before it can hit the ground.

"-and thus, a success!"

Turncloak gives Autochthon two thumbs up. "So, what do we do with you?"

Kiddo and Ghost glance at Lytek, who is still salivating. They turn back to Turncloak.

"I think it'd be a good idea to work with you."

Star raises a hand. "So, does anyone have a problem with us going around with a naked Exaltation? Anyone?"

"I'm not naked. I have a shell."

Star pinches the bridge of her nose. "Oh, yeah. It's going to snark at us any chance it gets, we're going to have to protect it, and Lytek's going to be hounding us."

Five walks over and pats Star on the arm. "Think of it this way. This will allow you to share your discomfort with everyone else. Isn't that what your caste does?"

Star thinks for a long moment, and her face turns sour. "…I accidentally did my job. Fuck!"

Turncloak was, for his part, completely all in on this. Maybe out of scholarly interest. Maybe for the sake of annoying people. Maybe because he was trying to pick up a new pet.

Who knows?

 

[GreggHL]

Also, would like to point out- there are several things in this that may contradict established lore in Destiny. This is a novelization that is starting with events from around a year and a half ago, and;
1) Lightfall established a lot of new stuff
2) Bungie can sometimes suck as storytellers.

So there's that.

 

[frozenchicken]

So basically, everybody in Destiny except the Cabal and maybe the Vex are going to war in support of different aspects of the same entity.

That's a hilariously stupid and stupidly hilarious situation. I love it.

 

[v31]

Honestly works pretty well with a bit of massaging of the lordle of both.

 

[GreggHL]

Nazri.

Nazri was, in plain enough terms, the leader of the 'Do your fucking jobs' faction among the Sidereals. A man from a now erased part of the South, with dark skin and bereft of any hair on his head or face, he held court and meetings upon a boat in Yu Shan's main harbor, where he would sail when he had no work to do.

Needless to say, that is not often.

Today, Nazri had a guest with him. A young man with red hair bound up, bare chest showing rather impressive muscles, loose pants and fine boots, wearing a golden vest and with a red staff propped up against the wall. His face is pensive, more pensive than those that knew him ever saw.

Star walks up to Little Beam, hand on his arm, then pulling him into a hug.

"Hey, you okay?"

Little Beam rubs the back of his neck.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's complicated."

"Do you need to speak to your support network, Little Beam? I can fuck off." There is a pause from everyone looking at the speaker. At Five. "That is the appropriate vernacular, correct? I have heard it used on multiple occasions."

Turncloak stares at her. He says nothing. Wandering Horizons pats her on the shoulder.

"That depends on the context, Fives," he says, and slumps into one of the deep seated chairs in front of the desk.

Nazri clears his throat. "If we could take our seats, please?"

Five sits down. Star gives Little Beam a kiss on his forehead and then plops down into a seat, looking serious and focused. Turncloak takes a seat after getting a cup of corrosively thick coffee. It is posslbe that no one has any idea where he found the coffee, or the cup. Kiddo just stands, as there are no empty seats.

"Your name, please?" Nazri asks.

"Kiddo. That's Ghost." Ghost bobs up and down.

"He is a chosen of the Gardener and Winnower," Five clarifies.

Nazri blinks. He may be getting too old for this ship. Reaching into his mahogany desk, he takes out a fist sized gem and holds it out. Sensing the purpose, Kiddo walks over, and touches the hearthstone. "Do you agree to not reveal anything said in this room to anyone outside of it?"

"I do."

The gem flashes, and Nazri puts it away. Somehow there is now a comfortable, woven chair behind Kiddo, which he sits in.

Nazri speaks. "Over the last month, we have been confirming things with our agents in Hell, and with Yu Shan's ambassador in the prison of the Yozi. As well, we have been observing movements of assets, and we have confirmed our suspicions."

He folds his hands on the table.

"The Reclamation has begun."

"Reclamation?" Kiddo asks.

Nazri nods. "At the end of the Primordial War, the Primordials who surrendered were turned into the Yozi, mainly by the selective pruning of their third circle souls. However, the Five Score Fellowship decided that some of these souls were too powerful and useful to destroy, and were Terminal Sanctioned, converting them into artifacts."

Nazri does not notice Star and Wandering Horizons lightly sucking their teeth at mention of a decision made by all hundred Sidereals.

"At the end of the First Age, these artifacts were lost, and the Yozi seek to reclaim them."

"They are now operating with a plan of action," Five observes.

"So they're after the things," Wandering Horizons says with a sigh, "How's gathering those gone? We've kinda been distracted."

"We have multiple teams scouring Creation to attempt to retrieve them." Nazri taps a button on a device in the middle of his desk to display a crown of some sort- angled and sharp like thunderbolts. "This is the Crown. We know it is in the territory of the South, in the territory of the Children of the Sun, and we believe it is in the possession of their god."

Five raises a hand. "Which Deva does the Crown correspond to?"

A translucent, prismatic spider rests on Star's shoulder. She listens to its report.

"Uthwai, the King of Fables. Before his Terminal Sanction, he was the 23rd soul of Oramus. I have permission to deploy Little Beam with you because of the god. We do not know much of the Golden Gladiator, as their records are sealed by the Maiden of Secrets."

Star nods. "Why is Little Beam coming with us? Outside of, you know…" She mimes something exploding. Something big.

"I'm forbidden by the Unconquered Sun from approaching this god by myself," Little Beam explains, "However, this is a loophole, so I'm traveling with you."

Turncloak stares, mid sip. "Why has the Sun forbidden you?"

Little Beam shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe because I hatched on one of the plateaus? I asked him, and he said the reason's sealed by Jupiter."

Turncloak makes a general I'm sure that won't bite us in the ass later noise. He turns back to Nazri. "I need to do research before we depart. At least, I need to read up on Uthwai."

Nazri grunts an acknowledgement. "At least you will need time to craft Resplendent Destinies. Also, do not put on the crown. Like all the Deva artifacts, it is a powerful artifact with unknown effects. Treat it like you would the Eye of Autochthon."

Wandering Horizons keeps his arms crossed. "Any word of resistance in that area? Expected issues?"

"Unsure," Nazri responds, hands folded, "The Children of the Sun are odd. Mostly Dragon Kings, some humans. There may be an Infernal or more in the area. Heaven has been hands off with the Golden Gladiator because they haven't had any issues for the last fifteen hundred years."

"So we can expect the entire population to be dedicated to Yozi worship. Wonderful."

Wandering Horizons looks at Five and frowns. Kiddo just listens. "So what am I doing?" he finally asks.

"You're going to demonstrate what you can actually do!" Turncloak claps Kiddo on the shoulder. "Ever fight an Anglok before?"

"What's an Anglok?"

Turncloak smiles. It is not a pleasant smile. "You'll see."

 

[GreggHL]

Nazri: The head of the 'Do Your Fucking Jobs' faction of the Sidereals, Nazri serves as a frequent mission control for the Chucklefucks. He is their point man when it comes to directing them towards the artifacts of the Reclamation, and gives them occasional side jobs, like finding that fox spirit that got out of the rock prison on the Blessed Isle because damn it he put her there and he's going to make sure she stays there.

Logos: Animating intelligence of the Primal Forge and the constantly put upon assistant to the Great Maker. The Steve to Autochthon's Dr. Weird. Sadly, Logos is but a god, and thus cannot kill its creator.

Little Beam: The Son of the Unconquered Sun, which is kind of like saying you've beaten Battle Kid. It makes you special, but not unique. However, Little Beam is generally acknowledged as being the actual child, mainly because he is also supremely overpowered. The Chucklefucks- or in particular Star- tend to invoke him to solve problems, which then cause other, Little Beam shaped problems. Which can be easier or harder, depending. Generally laid back, a bit arrogant, and at one point captured and brought to Heaven the Eclipse caste that served the Perfect of Paragon because Star said something about getting her out of that situation.

Chejop Kejak: The Old Man. The Nineth Most Powerful being in Yu Shan. Not that bad a guy when you get to know him. He serves as mission control for supremely high importance missions- such as the one that sent the Chucklefucks into Autochthonia to make sure it didn't break through in a shadowland- or when his name comes up in the rotation. Constantly scheming, knows where the bodies are buried. Often serves as a Final Boss when the Sidereal hold a martial arts tournament.

 

[GreggHL]

It is a typical, beautiful day in Heaven. The air is crisp and cool, the Sun is high in the sky, and brass spiders drag unemployed gods into the air vents, declaring that the interviews will continue until the positions are filled.

There is a measure of preparation that goes into any Sidereal operation. Forms must be filed, artifacts signed out, bribes given, and starmetal harvested from gods who are too easy to bribe. Most important were Resplendent Destinies- astrologically built disguises that allowed Sidereals to work undercover, due to the fucksie wucksie that happened when they broke a Constellation during the Usurpation.

And so, a Gate in the South opens, a tunnel of adamant flanked by an arch of orichalcum and starmetal, allowing six to exit. Turncloak exits into what is, in his opinion, the largest concentration of Bullshit in Creation. He stares across at the endless sun and dunes and looks up at the sun. At some point, he just stopped caring, and does not visibly react when the Blind Muse, clad in full robe and turban, stumbles into him.

Five is several inches taller, her gossamer dress- the only good thing to come of Luna using her as a bludgeon on a Hanya- billowing out into proper desert garb. She has gained several inches of height, making her thin and willowy, and her skin is darkened into proper desert tones.

The Rising Smoke adjusts his ill fitting, stiff traveler's garb, muttering how it will all even out after the first seventeen miles.

Kiddo adjusts his wife brimmed cap, Ghost bobbing along. Little Beam just sniffs the air, turns, and hurls his staff into the distance.

"Why did you do that?" Turncloak asks.

"There was a charging Tyrant Lizard."

Five opens the pouch on her side, and one of her focals rises up. It glows faintly.

"There was a charging Tyrant Lizard," she corrects.

Ghost turns to Kiddo. "If you learned how to use a gun, you could do that too."

The group walks- the beating of the sun giving way as they begin following a path between plateaus, stopping just long enough for Little Beam to retrieve his staff from the forehead of a dead Tyrant Lizard. They would normally have to worry about navigation, but they simply had Little Beam do it. It was easy enough.

There may be consequences.

The sand gives way to an actual, roughly built path. Blank walls of the plateaus give way to carvings of ancient battles, pictographs of men, dragon kings, gods and demons and some things that are…harder to parse. Symbols with no meaning, at least not anymore. Five examines them, letting her focals float over and look over the details.

She sees a common element- a woman with hair like fire and golden armor. Going from dragon kings to arena to battlefield to things that defy description.

To Turncloak, they appear to be a life's story.

To the Blind Muse, they are completely blank as she has a blindfold on and can't see shit. But she does notice that Little Beam is…hesitant. Slower than normal. Examining the pictographs with careful eye, more care than he usually affords.

Kiddo looks below them and can, somehow, read the words underneath.

"So who is M R L?" he asks.

And then two towers of muscle and hide drop from the tops of the plateaus. They land with an explosion of sand, letting the dust settle and reveal them. Two Ankloks, immense creatures of muscle and horn, sharp toothed mouths open in perpetual grimace, and holding clubs of bladed stone stand before them.

"Greetings, travelers," the one on the left says, hands resting on the base of the club.

The Blind Muse curtsies. "Greetings. We are here to see the Golden Gladiator." Her voice is transcendent and angelic, perfect in tone and timbre.

The Anklok on the right lists up his club and points in the distance. "Beyond the valley is the ziggurat. Ascend, and if you will be seen, you will be seen."

 

[GreggHL]

The path leads to a great ziggurat. An immense layered pyramid of sandstone and orichalcum. From the looks of it, it is most likely a manse of some sort, a great geomantic center. The group is, at very least, impressed. Pyramids tend to be homes or tombs, and this looks more the former than the latter.

With great resignation, the group climbs the steps, save for Kiddo who is just happy to be there. The Rising Smoke takes up the rear, wanting to see how it plays out. It does not take long for them to reach the top, which has a tasteful temple made out of yellow stone with two pillars. Before the temple is a hearth and a stone bench, and on the bench sits a figure in golden armor.

Red hair spills out the back of the figure's horned helmet.

Turncloak looks away from Little Beam to regard the tableau before them. The temple, the hearth, the red haired figure. His eyes shift to essence Sight, and he glances back to Little Beam. He'd been mulling things over since Little Beam's attitude in the canyon, but the simple fact was that very little was known about the upstart god, and Turncloak knew even less than that.

The Blind Muse slowly begins to sing. The song is ancient, Old Realm littered, and full of wonder and beauty. As the song begins to rise, she throws back her hood, revealing glorious red hair and she begins to dance. A ritualistic dance, granted, but a dance to the beat of the song. As the song reaches its end, she falls to a knee and hits the final note, letting it resonate before silence is replaced by her breathing.

The Golden Gladiator laughs. It is the tone, tenor of the laugh that confirms this is a woman.

Even more so when she rises and pulls off the helm, revealing the face of a tanned woman with a battle worn face, her scars glowing gold.

"Finally, you've come."

Behind everyone, Turncloak glances at the Rising Smoke. It was an expression. It read we're gonna be here a while.

The Blind Muse quietly stands, drawing her hoot as she catches her breath. She keeps her head bowed and stays quiet.

The Gladiator gestures them forward. "I wondered how long it would take you to find a loophole in his edicts. But now, you're here. Your father forbade you from approaching me alone. So, you come with others. Step forward, Little Beam."

Little Beam does so. He cocks his head, and is the most sedate anyone present had ever seen him. Most reverent and polite, as well.

Turncloak considers the situation. Things are probably okay. From a tactical point of view, she's a god aligned with the Sun, after all. But still, Turncloak's job was, on paper, to be a bodyguard, and he was going to be wary.

"Who are you?" Little Beam asks.

The Gladiator smiles. Upon her forehead glows an after image, a remnant, of a sunburst.

"I am Merela, the Golden Gladiator, God of the People of the Sun and wife of the Unconquered Sun.

"And I am your mother."



Upon her declaration that she was wife of the Unconquered Sun and mother of Little Beam, some things became evident.

First, Five was no longer the shortest person. Even in her unaltered, short mode, Five realized that Merela would come up to her chin. This brings up questions. So many questions.

Logistics.

Positions.

She has seen the Sun.

The second is the sheer smugness coming off of Merela. None of this is helped by the crossed arms, the hair done in twintails down her back, and the almost cat like features on her mouth which make those present wonder if she is a Lunar.

The Rising Smoke lets out the longest, most exasperated sigh that has ever occurred. He now knows the Sun's Type, and thus lost respect for yet another nigh eternal institution upon which reality rests.

After long moments, Five raises a hand.

"While I admit to having no personal experience with the subject matter, I do have a basic understanding of biology. As such, I am forced to ask; how did it fit? Because calculations dictate difficulties."

The Rising Smoke turns to exit upon Five's question.

"It's like a baby's arm holding an apple."

The Blind Muse just rocks back and forth, disassociating. Little Beam goes pale.

"I will need time in the vats and a memory erasure module," Five muses.

Turncloak reaches a hand up to rub at the neatly trimmed beard…and sighs. One look at Merela's expression, after dropping that bomb on Little Beam, and he knows that they're in for a pain in the ass of the evening. He finds a pillar to lean against and gets comfortable.

The terms 'hung like a baby' and 'ten points, elevent inches' are bandied about by Merela. These moments give them such insights into the mind of the Unconquered Sun.

"Unrelated subject," Five asks. Pleadingly.

Little Beam sits on the bench, looking like he needs an adult.

"Right, business before pleasure," Merela says with a shrug, "What can I help you with?"

Five smacks her cheeks, trying to rid herself of these images.

"You are Merela. Former leader of the Solar Deliberative."

Hands on her hips, the golden armored woman nods. "That's correct. And don't worry, the magic only worked when I was alive."

"M R L?" Kiddo asks.

"Yep," Merela says, pointing at him, "My name was enchanted. Anyone who spoke it would love me and serve me faithfully. I was not the only one to do that."

Five taps her fingers together. "Why did you let things get so…bad?"

Merela pinches the bridge of her nose. "I think you over-estimate how much power I had. Also, consider what the Solar Deliberative was made up of."

They sit. Ankloks in aprons begin coming out with drinks. "Truth be told, we were a bunch of traumatized war veterans with too much power and too much free time. When Iggy declared me Queen of the Solars, that authority lasted until he went back to Yu Shan. And the stability lasted until that one asshole dropped dead of old age."

"In defense, he did kinda announce his favorite child after telling a lot of them they were all his favorites if they'd just go murder unmurderable things." The Rising Smoke crosses his arms, completely at terms once more with the utter dysfunction of the system, until the next time he can once again see how it can get worse.

Merela cocks an eyebrow. She makes a gesture and the Ankloks pour their drinks.

"You're not wrong. I wasn't the only one to kill a Primordial, but I was the one who was sleeping with the boss. So why are you here?"

Turncloak hates being the speaker for the group. But even more than the hate, he's beginning to think longingly of the silence of Oblivion as this scene drags on. The emotion is palpable in his tone and the expression on his face as he forces himself to be nice.

"Merela, Golden Gladiator, I am Turncloak and these are my associates. We've been sent to speak with you on behalf of Yu Shan. We're searching for an artifact that is in your territory, if not your possession."

Merela takes a drag of her stein. "Oh, so you want the Crown? Sure thing. Let me get it packed up for you."

She makes a gesture. "It's in the middle of the ziggurat. How are you guys with death traps?"

 

[Lagoon12002]

Oh dear god, that is horrible imagery. I like her though; very well-adjusted sounding, even if I don't know the source material well.

 

[Pyro Hawk]

You know, I can't help but wonder if the reason Merela is so seemingly chill, what with how fucked up Creation is in the 'modern' era is, is because she looks around and goes "You know, this reminds me of that time during the Primordial War. Even the whole 'most Solar Exaltations are trapped' isn't that different except for the fact it's only Solar Exaltations which were sealed away. Wasn't in the top ten most fucked up times so we don't need to worry too much, but it's really up there you know? And they managed to achieve this with minimal influence from the Greater Gods and 'Primordial Descendents'!"

 

[GreggHL]

Oh dear god, that is horrible imagery. I like her though; very well-adjusted sounding, even if I don't know the source material well.

Click to shrink...

Merela is a somewhat famous bit of backstory in the lore. She is a survivor of the Primordial War, lover of the Unconquered Sun, and is generally accepted as the Solar who killed the first Primordial to die in the War. She was a Big Deal, and also an illustration of why, just because you're an awesome soldier doesn't mean you're going to be a good ruler. She was given the Crown of Thunders, and her authority basically lasted until the Sun went back to Heaven, and she then spent about a thousand years building her own tomb.

You know, I can't help but wonder if the reason Merela is so seemingly chill, what with how fucked up Creation is in the 'modern' era is, is because she looks around and goes "You know, this reminds me of that time during the Primordial War. Even the whole 'most Solar Exaltations are trapped' isn't that different except for the fact it's only Solar Exaltations which were sealed away. Wasn't in the top ten most fucked up times so we don't need to worry too much, but it's really up there you know? And they managed to achieve this with minimal influence from the Greater Gods and 'Primordial Descendents'!"

Click to shrink...

Yeah, Merela doesn't have fond memories of the Solar Deliberative. She was done with their shit well before the Usurpation, and she will go into details of what happened during the Calibration Banquet.

 

[GreggHL]

The entrance to the Tomb of the Golden Gladiator was a surprisingly long spiral staircase which may actually bring them underground. Merela leads the way, still holding her orichalcum drinking stein. No matter how much she drinks, the liquid does not go down. Everyone else has similar cups, though not magical. Instead, a troupe of Ankloks have joined them to keep refilling.

The liquid is definitely alcoholic, and tastes of durians. Five's cheeks are already red just from having it near her face.

"Excuse us."

The Rising Smoke and the Blind Muse duck behind convenient columns. They come out as Wandering Horizons and Star of the Shifting Sky, respectfully.

Star gives Merela a pointed and ignored look, before wrapping her arm around Little Beam's. "Of course you're Sidereals," Merela says with a laugh, "Surprised they haven't read you in on me."

"What exactly would we be read in on?" Wandering Horizons asks. He picks up a pebble and tosses it on the pathway before him. Immense stone blocks smash out from the walls, crushing it.

"What really happened at the Calibration Banquet." Merela has a dreamy, far away look on her eyes.

"Is that why your records were sealed by Jupiter?" Little Beam asks.

Merela nods. She takes a torch from its wall sconce and holds it out. Kiddo just walks past and gestures to the floor. Ghost appears, a white light scanning over the floor, and there is an audible click.

"Trap disarmed. We're good to go."

"Neat," Merela says, and turns back to her son, "The reason my records were sealed is because of how I died. See, the official story is that all of us that were at the Banquet got jumped and killed by the Sidereals. The actual story is that I helped."

She takes another drag of her stein. The group stares at her.

"I feel I'm missing important information," Kiddo mutters.

"So in exchange for assisting the Sidereals, you were elevated to a god?" Five asks.

Merela laughs. It's not a particularly pleasant laugh. "I didn't assist them. When the ambush began, I realized we fucked up so much that the Sidereals had turned on us. So I went full Solar Hero on the rest of the Deliberative. I am proud to say my body count is higher than any single Sidereal. At the end, I stabbed myself in the heart, looked Chejop in the eye, and told him I was faster."

Five makes a mental note to ask Chejop about that.

"So how did you become a god, then?" Turncloak asks.

"I left behind a ghost." Merela shrugs, leading them past the crushing walls and towards a floor marked with irregular holes, "Woke up in the Underworld. When the Neverborn came with their offer, I told them to shove it. Tore a Nephrack's head off, shoved it down through the neck hole, out the ass, that sort of thing."

Turncloak nods. He had to admire her conviction. Probably the reason the Sun had a raging hard on for her.

"Eventually a Sidereal found me and made me a deal." She takes pebble and tosses it. The floors erupt in white flame. "Turns out the god of this area died in the Great Contagion, and they elevated me to godhood. Been here since."

Ghost floats over. A beam of white, and then a click. "There we go. Trap disarmed."

"That thing's a fucking killjoy, you know," Merela says, pointing at Ghost.

"Just because I can revive Kiddo doesn't mean I need to keep reviving Kiddo."

Merela shakes her head. She turns and points at Little Beam. "As for him; Carnival of Meeting, restroom in the Jade Pleasure Dome."

Little Beam goes paler. Even the Abyssal winces at that.

"I do not believe we needed to know that," Five states.

"First time we did the deed with him in human form," Merela adds.

"I reiterate that statement. Strongly."

Little Beam pinches the bridge of his nose. Star pats his arm.

"Look at it this way. At least you can tell your father you were the mature one."

"Gods, I was."

Merela leads them onwards. "So what are you, exactly?" she asks, looking towards Kiddo.

"Complicated," he says, "I'm a Chosen of the Gardener."

Merela cocks an eyebrow. "No shit. She's back? How are they?"

"They?"

"The Gardener and the Winnower," Merela says, "I never met them, but I did study up on the Primordials, just in case they ever returned."

Kiddo shrugs. "I don't think the Gardener's back. Apparently Ghost ended up here because of an experiment by someone named the Great Maker."

Merela laughs. Long and at length. "Holy shit. He's back."

She looks at the others. They all nod. Some of them with more hesitation than others.

"And I haven't heard of it? Either he has a minder or he's changed."

Five raises a hand. "One of my responsibilities is as a minder to Autochthon. I have received pointers and training from Bannery Bu."

"Do they pay you to do this?"

Five sighs. "Not nearly enough."

"Excuse the dried blood. It's how the Ankloks work."

At the sight of the corridor covered in dried blood, Turncloak nods. He likes what they've done with the place.

At the very bottom of the temple, they see the Crown. On the surface, it resembles the Crown of Thunders, while not being it. Mainly because the voice, the presence, they feel at the bottom of their souls.

The First Abyssal frowned at the voice. He didn't like voices in his soul that were not his own. He had experiences with this in the past. He was leery. Leery in the way that he was likely to open the doorway in his soul that ran directly to the Onceborn, and let these voices try that bullshit with them.

Star grits her teeth, leaning heavily on her staff as she trembles. She gasp, coughing up from some strain.

Five narrows her eyes. She feels the voice, but it finds no purchase against the harmonic growl that reinforces her thoughts. The mission comes first. Her gaze flickers at Turncloak.

"Cache egg?"

"Cache egg." Turncloak pulls out from his cloak the first sized egg, opening its maw and tossing the Crown into it. The device slams shut like jaws biting down. He puts it back in his coat.

======JOB DONE=====
(+2 XP)

 

[aledeth]

Remarkably smooth mission so far.

 

[GreggHL]

Yu Shan, the Celestial City. The air is crisp and cool, the weather is clear, and the streets are filled with a bevy of creatures human and otherwise. Immense throngs of gods, spirits, elementals, and the occasional Dragon King getting from place to place, Ooing and Ahing as the Moon sets and the Sun rises in the sky.

Then confused Ooing and Ahing when the sky turns a deep, pure blue, and starts reading letters in the language of Old Realm, followed by a list of names, long since deposed from the God City.

At the base of the Jade Pleasure Dome, center of Heaven, several squat beings of stone and beard stand in bewilderment at an open section of the immense arches.

"Look, I don't know what went wrong," one of them says, "The only one who feckin' understands the thing's the Great Maker, and figurin' out what went wrong means talkin' to the fecker!"

"Well if it's not working, it's not feckin' working," another excitedly declares, "And that means we need to get it feckin' workin'!"

"I'm not going to talk to the daft feckin' bastard!"

"Well neither am I!"

A perfect, short cough. A clearing of the throat. The Jadeborn turn to look up at the countenance of the Unconquered Sun. All four of his perfect arms are folded across his broad chest, and he inclines his head at the open panel.

"May I?"

"Be our guest, Most High," one of the Jadeborn says, and steps out of the way. The King of Heaven walks past them, reaches into the innards of the opening, and makes a handful of motions.

"There we go."

The sky flickers, and it is once more night, with the Moon high in the sky.

"Dammit Luna," the Sun says, and hurries back into the Dome.





Heaven is a city of bureaucracy. The very paperwork that forms the foundation of existence is written and filed there. Once the home of the very architects of Reality, it serves as the home of the Celestial Gods, maintainers and exemplars of very concepts. Great pagoda halls line the streets, made of Jade and sun-touched gold. Manses, seats of great power, serve as homes for those who inhabit this city.

One such manse is a palatial estate, built upon vibrant springs of flowing water, with great gardens maintained by an army of servants, well dressed gods constantly trimming bushes, cleaning surfaces, mopping floors.

It is in this estate that Kiddo is lead into a room, a wall of windows showing a scenic view of the great oceans of Heaven. The room contains a bed of fluffiest down comforters and soft pillows, chairs of finest leather, and a closet that seems to go into infinity with fine clothing.

"Anyway, this is my guest room," Star says, "You can stay here for now."

Ghost stares at the closet. It is not a walk-in closet. It is a hiking closet. White light scans over the aperture. It gives back readings. Readings that make no sense.

Ghost files away these revelations for later. During quiet times, wondering about the truth of the universe.

"This is amazing," Kiddo breathes, "And this entire place is yours?"

Star sips on the sugary concoction in the paper cup she has in her hand. She grabbed it on the way, from one of the coffee shops that have spread like cancer throughout Yu Shan. Each shop is the same type of building, their brass machines identical, their menus identical, manned by the same dead-eyed gods in green aprons. Yes, they may have started spreading with the return of the Great Maker, but no one has realized this, mainly because not many people are actually away Autochthon has returned to Heaven and by and large taken over Lytek's office, among other things.

"Yep," she says, "Got a good deal on it, was a bit run down. If you end up officially working for the Bureau of Destiny, they'll set you up with a Salary. Just don't spent too much of it in Creation."

Kiddo blinks. Salary? Not a word he is familiar with. "What would happen if I did that?"

"Worst case scenario is you completely disrupt the economy of Creation and possibly erase Creation from existence." Sip. "That's worst case, though. Most likely you'll just crash some economies and get fined."

He stares at her. She turns and starts walking to the door. "Anyway, you relax. I've got a meeting at the Cerulean Lute!"

She walks out, the door sliding shut behind him. Kiddo looks around the apartment, walking over to an amorphous, fabric covered blob near the table. He sits down and promptly sinks into it, feet dangling over the ends as the tiny little pellets inside hold his weight.

"Neat. Hey, is this the longest I've spent without dying?"

Ghost floats over. "Technically, that would be the years prior to me reviving you. Otherwise, yes. Yes, this is the longest you've been alive."

There is a long silence between the two. Ghost stares at his Risen. Kiddo just stares at the dangling chandelier above him. "So, what is the Traveler?"





Roughly two weeks have passed since the mission to retrieve the Crown. Missions are but one part of the lives of the Sidereals- much of their lives is spent assisting in the filing- and by assisting we mean being browbeated into doing the actual work- of the gods of Heaven. Sidereals, for all their power, are considered quite low on the hierarchy of Heaven. They are, however, excellent organizers.

When Wandering Horizons is not in Creation solving problems someone else caused, he is on committees.

Several committees in fact.

If one were to more scrupulously examine his methods, they would realize that this young Chosen of Endings puts himself on as many committees as he can, helping to organize them, to recruit for them, to balance out the number of Sidereals on every committee he is on. When a committee has a considerable number of his fellow Exalted, he encourages them into groups. Small groups. No more than five Sidereals per group.

If one were to notice this pattern, the question would become; Does he know something?





Six months ago.

The Seat of the Godhead, inside the Core of Autochthon.

The gaze of the Great Maker, washes over the assembled before him. Over the Sidereals. Over his Alchemical granddaughter. Over the Abyssal. Over his son, the Clay Man.

And the Core pulses, with a single thought.

"The Fuck is this?"

The two Sidereals, dispatched on this mission, to avert the disaster of the Great Maker returning to Creation in places of Death, feel the gaze intensify.

"That wasn't there when I left it! That fucking wasn't fucking there!"

Five glances at her two Vizier companions, and at the pulsing electric thought that is the true form of the King of All Craftsmen.

"Grandfather?"

"WHY IS THERE A DEATH CURSE ON YOUR EXALTATIONS?!"





As it turns out, the answer is YES.

 

[GreggHL]

As it turns out, the answer is YES.

But how much does he know?





Again, six months ago.

Still in the Seat of the Godhead, inside the Core of Autochthon, sometime past afternoon tea.

They stand before the simple and sublime beauty of the Core, the central soul of one of the few free Primordials. They feel its gaze upon them- the electric thoughts of the Great Maker, tingling upon their skin. It still sleeps, but Primordials do not slumber like mortals or even gods. They stand upon one of the many platforms that surround the electric thought that serves as the very heart of the Great Maker, as other platforms- inhabited by encounter suits and cat girls, wait their turn for directions.

The Thing in the Mountain hovers off to the side- also a Primordial, but weak. New. Still wet and new, still dreaming and forming itself.

A new Primordial, and one of the lost Primordials, and the Sidereals wonder how much paperwork this would entail.

And, oh yes, the Great Maker is ranting.

"THOSE PISSANT NEVERBORN!"

There is a general keening in the background. Like a siren.

The Clay Man rolls back and forth on his heels. Maybe he is disassociating. Maybe he is used to this.

Five clears her throat. "Grandfather?"

The sirens cut out.

"Ah. Yes."

The awareness turns back to them, focused.

For once.

Star gives the Core a little wave. She's thinking to herself about the paperwork situation. Her life flashes before her eyes, decades of her life taken by paperwork. What is it that this could mean? Would her children be doing this paperwork? Her children's children? She smiles, but behind that smile is a haunted look in her eyes.

Wandering Horizons pinches the bridge of his nose. Maybe the keening gave him a headache? Maybe he's thinking?

Turncloak just glances between the Sidereals, his niece, the progenitor of humanity, and the Core.

"RIGHT. So, you're all here, hello Kadamon you look well and I'm reasonably sure the HORRIBLE DEATH CURSE is a result of the NEVERBORN and I need to figure out if it's just the Sidereals. Who's the current God of Exaltation?"

"Lytek," Star answers.

There is a pause.

"He's still alive?"

Star nods.

"Wow."

Five innocently raises a hand. "Hatchi has designated him a 'Special Friend.'"

The Clay Man sucks his teeth. Last time that happened, it was a Raksha that got onto the island. They're still finding parts.

"As they should, if he's still the self-important pissant he was when I left-"

Turncloak clears his throat. "It isn't just the Sidereals."

The awareness of the Great Maker hyper-focuses on the Abyssal.

Turncloak has had the Neverborn focus their attention on him before. This isn't as bad as that. This is actually really great compared to that. But something about this attention feels both more real and more palpable, because the attention is still alive.

"All of the- that is, all of your Exalts were subjected to the Curse, Great Maker."

The Primordial makes a sound. A hng sound that echoes through the great world body.

"That explains a lot."

The awareness turns back to the Sidereals. "I see it. Feeding off of each other. Too weak to affect you right now, but…hm."

Wandering Horizons looks at Star, then at the Great Maker, and then at Star again. Star comes close to understanding. Very close. But the Curse is subtle.

It hides.

But Wandering Horizons realizes it.

Every time the Sidereals gather en masse to plan. Every time all of them plan out some grand fate for Creation.

"Oh for fucks sake!" He starts pacing in a circle. "I can't tell any of them! Ever! They'd have an out!" He scratches at his hair. "Fuck!"

Star looks at Horizons with concern. Turncloak watches him with a cocked eyebrow. Wandering Horizons has so far not given a single shit about anything so far. That he's agitated now has his attention.

The Endings looks at Star. "Okay. Let's say we started a taco cart."

"Following," Star blankly says.

"And it is a nice taco cart. It starts picking up, and we hire more Sidereals. You know what sounds like a good idea? Taking over the food cart circuit in Yu Shan. Maybe adding some drugs into the meat. And so we do, and now we need more Sidereals. And you know what sounds like a good idea now? Expanding it across Creation, and it goes so well that now we're hiring all the Sidereals. And know what sounds like a good idea? Overthrowing the Scarlet Empress and ruling the world. With our taco cart."

Star blinks. She opens her mouth. She looks like she has something to say, and closes her mouth. "That's…kind of a good idea," she whispers.

The voice of Autochthon echoes, like thunder rolling down a mountain.

"What's a taco cart?"

"It is a cart you get tacos from," Five answers, still staring at Wandering Horizons.

"What's a taco?"

"It is food you get from a taco cart," she responds.

The Great Maker is silent. Wandering Horizons is not.

"The point is, everyone decides it is a good idea. Everyone decides it makes so much sense."

"Like," Five thinks. Furrows her brow. "Like the Usurpation. That was all hundred Sidereals working in concert."

"Killing all the Solar Exalted, locking them in a box, and locking them away for fifteen hundred years," the Clay Man says with a nod.

Wandering Horizons places a hand on Star's shoulder and stares into her soul. "And we can't tell. Any. Of them."

Star blinks. "We can't. We can't tell any of them. We cannot. Do you know what a Sidereal would do with this information?"

Five stares at them. Turncloak has produced a thermos and is sipping coffee. "Pretend that I do not," Five offers.

"All my bad decisions?" Wandering Horizons shrugs. "Sorry, I've got a death curse. All my bad decisions from this point on? Not my fault. Got a death curse."

"I'm sorry, I'd love to sit on this committee," Star says, and shrugs, "But I can't. See, I've got a death curse."

They let that hang in the air. Star slowly reaches out, placing her hands on Five's arms.

"And nothing will ever get done. Ever. Again."





And so, Wandering Horizons does his part to mitigate the effects of the Great Curse- joining as many committees as he can, managing the numbers of Sidereals working together, and never telling a soul of what he knows. It can work- it will work- as long as no crises come to draw him away.

Which is why he is internally cursing right now. Sitting in the thatch chair, surrounded by his coworkers, while Nazri stares off into the middle distance.

"So," Nazri says, "The South has fallen off of the Loom."

Five raises a hand. "The South of…"

"The South. The Terrestrial direction," Nazri says.

Five lowers her hand.

"Oh."

 

[SCO]

I never liked the sideral great cure because it doesn't appear to follow the theme of the curse having to be a upgrade to be accepted by the exaltation. I can see it for lunars and solars, but not siderals, unless someone has a explanation?

 

[GreggHL]

I never liked the sideral great cure because it doesn't appear to follow the theme of the curse having to be a upgrade to be accepted by the exaltation. I can see it for lunars and solars, but not siderals, unless someone has a explanation?

Click to shrink...

I go by the belief that the Great Curse allows the Sidereals to be even more effective when working together, just in a 'We have solved poverty via giant starmetal ants' sort of way.

 

[Pyro Hawk]

The Endings looks at Star. "Okay. Let's say we started a taco cart."

Click to shrink...

Ah, Cerberus. Still giving after all these years. And for fucks sake, in Creation with Sidereal involved, it probably would become a Cerberus Taco Truck...

"So," Nazri says, "The South has fallen off of the Loom."

Five raises a hand. "The South of…"

"The South. The Terrestrial direction," Nazri says.

Five lowers her hand.

"Oh."

Click to shrink...

Well, that is, will be and probably was to cause it, a horrifically insane mess.

 

[Lagoon12002]

Ah, so it is a curse that produces death, created by a being associated with death. Was wondering about that. Quite nasty as well, but all the good curses are.

 

[GreggHL]

Ah, so it is a curse that produces death, created by a being associated with death. Was wondering about that. Quite nasty as well, but all the good curses are.

Click to shrink...

I'd say that it's a death curse because it was fueled by death- the Neverborn cast it in their final moments while they died and kept dying, and thus it is powerful enough to stick to the Exaltations.

 

[GreggHL]

Creation exists in five directions- the North, the land of the ice and snow. The East, which is the land of unkempt barbarian adventure. The West, mostly islands, archipelagos, and a mix of underwater ruins and piracy. The South, a land of desert sands, mystery, and an occasional lost superweapon that makes very large glass craters. Finally, the Center, the Blessed Isle and the Realm.

Each Terrestrial Direction leads to one of the Elemental Poles, and the Kami- the souls of Gaia- that maintain them. Each of them contributes to the overall stability and growth of Creation.

One of them is now missing.

Next to Five, Kiddo raises a hand. "I'm new at this. What exactly does this mean…?"

Wandering Horizons makes a sound like his soul escaping his body. Then explains. "The Loom is the system that the Pattern Spiders use to plan out the destinies of everything in Creation. As long as it's on the Loom, there's a plan. Things work like they should. Water flows downstream, air gets colder as you go higher up, world stays flat. That sort of thing."

"When something is off the Loom," Star continues, taking out a flipbook to show a knife-eared bastard with a smile and on a unicorn, "Such as when the Wyld gets involved, things get weird. Cats sleeping with dogs, waterfalls go up, fish forming self-perpetuating autocracies. That sort of thing."

Wandering Horizons continues. "Main way we have of knowing when things are going fucky wucky is through paperwork. Gods file paperwork in Creation, we get it in Heaven, everything gets filed. The South not being on the Loom means…now tell me what it means, Kiddo?"

Kiddo opens his mouth. Closes it. "It means the paperwork doesn't get filed?"

The three Sidereals in the room clap. Streamers fall out of the ceiling onto Ghost.



Chapter 3:

The Thing that Happened in the South



"We have eyes in the South. We've confirmed the South still exists, but it is no longer registering on the Loom." Nazri pinches the bridge of his nose. He's been doing this a while. He's been involved in this situation before they were called in.

"It still exists in its entirety?" Turncloak asks.

"The last time something of this magnitude happened was the Balorian crusade," Five states.

Star blinks, once. Thinking. Wandering Horizons mutters about how this isn't his fault, he filled out his paperwork. In triplicate, even.

"As far as we can tell, yes," Nazri continues, "We're having teams in the air map it to make sure nothing is missing. We can tell it still exists, but the Loom can't proceed it. The Pattern Spiders are stumped."

"What about the Pole of Fire?" Star asks, "Is it still in the loom?"

"We are getting reports from Hesiesh. We can confirm the Pole of Fire is still there." Nazri sighs, "Just, there is no known cause of why this happened. We do have a theory, though." He takes a deep breath, sighs, and continues. "Our best guess is that we have an interfering Mythos."

"Mythos?" Kiddo asks, sitting up a bit more straight.

Nazri nods, tapping his fingers. "The best guess the Spiders have is that something is taking the place of the Loom and overriding it. Another Mythos."

"A Mythos is the…thematic of a Primordial-class entity," Five explains, straight faced, "We are called here because the best case scenario is that Autochthon did something to cause this, and we are known to Autochthon."

"Known is a word for it." Turncloak frowns, then nods to Five. "Another Mythos? Wouldn't the Spiders just recognize Autochthon's?"

"Like Five said, the best case scenario," Nazri says, "And before you ask, we do have eyes on Hikensha. They are still in the Pole of Crystal."

Five relaxes. She doesn't want to get her new baby uncle/aunt/yes in trouble.

"They're a good kid," Wandering Horizons says, and frowns, "Whatever you want to classify a newly formed primordial as."

"Problems," Turncloak grumbles, "We classify them as problems."

"So not that much different from normal children except in scale?"

Nazri taps the controls for the hologlyphic projector he keeps on his desk. "Autochthon is our best case scenario. After that is another Raksha invasion, which we can mobilize for. Worst case scenario is one of the Yozi escaped. However, we also have leads we'd like to have you ask Autochthon about."

Kiddo raises a hand. Nazri turns to him, as do the others.

"There's a fourth possibility," he says, "Have they found anything like sudden climate changes, or gardens?"

Nazri nods. "We have. Why?" He purses his lips. "What is the fourth possibility?"

Ghost answers, this time.

"The fourth possibility," it says, "Is that it is the Traveler."

 

[Pyro Hawk]

... The paperwork is going to be so bad after this. And not just due to the fact everyone filling it out will be exceedingly drunk.

 

[BlackThief12]

Man, can't wait for the Sidereal's reaction to the Vex, they're going to scream "BULLSHIT!" at their ability... Unless they actually don't travel back in time.

 

[Engineer455]

Oh.
Oh no.
The Wager has been fucked with.
The Winnower isn't going to be happy about this.

 

[GreggHL]

Three months ago, a group of Celestial Exalts from Creation visited Yu Shan, and as is proper for a visiting group of Creation-side Exalts, they ended up shaking an institution that had existed since time immemorial.

This institution was Marilaq A'lam, Sister of Neomah and Emissary from Hell, delivering evidence of their espionage to Shining Barrator and clearing the way for her arrest. What followed was a pitched siege of the Embassy of the Yozi, climaxing in Marilaq's possession by the Ebon Dragon, and subsequently getting blasted in the face by a lance of holy light.

Since then, Hell has sent a new Emissary. The new Emissary from Hell is, of course, committing espionage, but at the same time is less of a headache for the Celestial Lions. Often times the new Emissary sneaks out of the embassy at night, finds ne'erdowells in the midst of their crimes, and leaves them captured in nets or hanging upside down from lamp posts for the Lions to find in the morn.

As it is, it is a lovely day in Heaven, and it is a very afternoon at the Bureau of Nature and Conservatory of Resplendent Diversity, and at a tea shop set up on an archway where gods who particularly piss off Luna are slowly lowered into the Clawstrider enclosure.

By and large it is considered the most romantic date spot in Yu Shan.

"Hatchi tells me I must subdue a female clawstrider in heat with my bare hands before she will teach me further techniques. I keep telling her she is not my instructor in the first place."

Five sits underneath an umbrella at a table next to Wandering Horizons. He nurses his cup of coffee, dark circles lining under his eyes. "She just wants to spend time with you."

Five stares blankly for a moment. Her expression falls. "Right. That makes sense. I will take her with me next time next time I visit Jast to check up on Shell."

"She'll like that." Wandering Horizons takes another long draw, draining the cup. He raises it slightly to try and catch a waitress's attention for his fifth refill. They have been here for a bit- Star had an emergency meeting at the Cerulean Lute, Turncloak went to check up on some projects, and Kiddo is currently being interrogated by Nazri about the possibility of a giant ball.

Their third for the afternoon approaches the table. A god of golden light shaped like a man. Lytek, God of Exaltation, pulls out a seat and sits down.

"Lytek," Five says, "Has a decision been made regarding the status of the Alchemical Exalted? We were wondering if they would be under your office, Parad's office, or a third office."

"I am presuming they would be under my office or directly subordinate to me." He sips his tea, nodding a thanks to the quick waiter. "I wouldn't know, however, as I can't use my office."

Five purses her lips. "Grandfather is still using it?"

Lytek fixes her with a stare. "Yes. He's still there. I just received an odd Zenith Exaltation, and put up it in the cabinet when he dropped out of the vent, commandeered my office, and commandeered the Apparatae."

Five nods. "I have a proposal."

Lytek pinches his nose. "We can't kill him."

Wandering Horizons twitches at the mentioning of proposals.

"You are a god of high rank," Five suggests, "Fund the construction of another office, with equipment equal to your own, and a shared workshop space between them, and offer it to Grandfather as a gift."

Lytek stares at her. He sighs with a nod. "He does technically have a workshop, but we want to keep it inactive as long as possible so Yu Shan doesn't panic."

The fourth arrives. Every coffee or tea shop needs an unnecessarily edgy patron, or else it wasn't complete. Hence, the Abyssal arrives and lowers himself into the creakiest, most antique chair at the table, in a manner they've come to learn is an enthusiastic greeting for the Chosen of the Void.

"Lytek. Five. Horizons."

Lytek favors the Abyssal with a nod. "All in all, his return has gone smoother than expected. He hasn't once projected his sigil onto the skydome. As well, belated thanks for the body of that Infernal you encountered prior to your sojourn to…there. Sadly, I cannot puzzle out too much about the Infernal Exaltation without it's equivalent to a Monstrance."

Turncloak had already started reading one of the books of heavenly law that he always seemed to have on him. At the mention of a 'monstrance', his head shot up. Then again, he knew little of the Chosen of Malfeas. "They have those?"

"In theory, yes," Lytek says, sipping his tea, "The Monstrance provides the Neverborn the ability to direct the Exaltations. The Yozi would need something equivalent, or otherwise their Exaltations would return to my cabinet whenever one of their Chosen dies."

Turncloak makes a rumbling sound. A curious rumbling sound. "You're assuming a good deal. It's true, the monstrance provides the Deathlords the ability to direct a Black Exaltation. But it's entirely possible that the Yozi broke something that disrupts their return."

Lytek ponders, visibly. "It would be possible. He would probably have a better idea, though."

Lytek sucks his teeth. "He is…rather keen on the idea of Exaltations carrying Primordial Charms. After several hours of ranting how the Yozi have, yet again, stolen his creations."

Behind Lytek, past the archway, the God of Lowering People into Clawstrider Enclosures is lowered into the Clawstrider enclosure.

Five offers up the rest of her croissant as a sacrifice.

"Don't mind him, Lytek says, "He was lowering gods without Luna's permission, and thus this is his penance."

Five's expression sours. "How rude." She eats the rest of the croissant herself.

"Right," Lytek says, finishing his tea, "Nazri forwarded some questions about the particular Zenith. I believe it would be best to talk to him about it, and I would like my office back. Shall we go?"

All things die, and that holds true as Turncloak kills his coffee and rises smoothly to his feet.

"According to the contract I've got with him, today is my day off. If I meet with him today it's going to add a day of PTO to use at my discretion. So yes, let's go."