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

[GreggHL]

Normally, Five would be in the Salient to deal with the sort of shennanigans that a Solar Exalted and her Dragonblooded father would end up getting involved in. However, there were more important things to deal with. Five was, in fact, passed out on a couch in her office in the Salient, and hence why she was joining Turncloak, Star, Horizons, and Kiddo in her small form.

Mainly because the five of them were led into the Jade Pleasure Dome once more, and into the white room where the Sun is sitting at his simple desk. Turncloak's neck twitches as he gives the Sun his customary up-not do those he gives a shit about, but then he stops. It wouldn't be right to display that much emotion. But at the same time, he wouldn't want the Sun to think he is giving him the cold shoulder. Which he wouldn't do and he'd fight anyone who would imply otherwise.

He rubs at his temples with both hands, the bracelet on his left wrist shining gold.

"Most High," Five says with a bow, "Thank you for meeting with us."

Star bows, smiling. Horizons waves, sitting in the nothingness, while Sparklemuffin provides a bean bag chair.

Turncloak blinks. He finds himself locked between slugging Horizons for the lack of complete respect shown towards the Most High, King of Heaven, and protecting his comrade from any possible harm that may happen if he possibly offended the Sun. He also finds he wants to chuckle at the indifference, and at the Ghost providing seating, but cannot abide at being seen stooping to laugh at such base humor-

In one swift move he rips off the bracelet. "Nope, fuck that, point made, I'm done."

The Sun nods with a smile.

"Your point is completely and absolutely made," Turncloak repeats.

The Sun extends a hand, palm up. "The Ring, if you will, please?"

Star walks over, taking the white, blue etched ring from her toga and handing it to the Sun. He smiles, holding it between his index finger and thumb. He examines it studiously. Not like a jeweler. More like a traveler, seeing one they had thought lost so long ago.

"When the Exalted decided on the Devas to be destroyed at the end of the War, I understood why they chose Ruvelia and not Ligier. Ligier would raise an army to fight you, but Ruvelia would speak and an army would rise behind her. She was the more dangerous of them."

"That sounds familiar," Star observes.

"That sounds Solar," Horizons finishes.

The Sun nods. "Theion was Kingship incarnate, and as one of his Fetiches, Ruvelia embodied that. As his son, I too share those themes. As do the Solar Exalted, the Shining Kings. She was the part that welcomed the crushed rebellions back into the fold. The part that made them love the Holy Tyrant."

The Sun sips his coffee out of the orichalcum mug. Turncloak walks over, unscrews his thermos, and refills the Incarnae's cup.

"So you got the Ring from Luna, who had been keeping it for hundreds of years. What do you intend to do with it? We all know Malfeas will not rest until he has it."

The five look to each other. Sparklemuffin's plates rotate. Turncloak takes the lead. "In short, we need Ligier to work with Autochthon, and he has one price to do so." He turns to Sparklemuffin. "But I think you'll find the why to be a bit more compelling."

The eye of the ghost shines and projects the image. A simple link of Light, shared between source and receiver. Origin and shard. It forms the image of the great, marred sphere, hanging over the jungle-garden in the Floor of the Primal Forge.

The Sun absently sips his coffee. "The Gardener has returned," he says.

"And she has gotten her ass kicked," Turncloak explains, "She's still injured. The Great Maker needs Ligier's help to fix her."

"My grandfather is very determined to help her," Five adds, "He performed a…procedure, which we are still trying to understand, to call out to the Sisters. The Gardener responded and came to Creation to ask Autochthon for protection."

Turncloak nods, gesturing to his niece. "Having the Gardner, who is behaving really friendly, back at full strength wouldn't be a bad thing. Reason number two, though…" A pause. He thinks, sipping his coffee and collecting his thoughts. "As you are aware, Saturn has declared that some day the Yozi will be freed, as all things end. I am seeking to control this prophecy. Rather than wait for one of their machinations to come to fruition, I wish to rewrite the Surrender Oaths themselves. We have bargaining power. I need Ligier in my pocket to do this."

"And how would you do this?" the Sun asks, "Would you give him the Ring?"

"That would be a terrible idea as the moment he came into contact with the Ring, Malfeas would know where it is and send every demon in Malfeas after it." Turncloak shakes his head. "We're going to turn Ruvelia into a god."

The Sun blinks. He leans back. He makes a motion with his hand, slowly turning it. The Old Realm symbol for 'continue.'

"We've met Mitiera, in Ardurgia," Five explains, "We know that a Deva, even up to a Fetich Soul, can be severed from a Soul Hierarchy and become a god. We can turn Ruvelia into a god, reunite her with Ligier, meet his price, and-"

"Get him on our side." Turncloak gives two thumbs up with a nod. "So…"

The Sun tents two of his hands. You cannot see what he is thinking, you cannot see his reasoning. He is the Sun, and his face is unreadable.

He then tosses Star the Ring.

"You have my approval."

Star pockets the Ring, standing up. "Much appreciated, Most High. But that was easy."

"Most likely you will need the Maidens to reverse the Terminal Sanction on the Ring," the Sun continues, "The ritual to sever a Fetich from the Soul Hierarchy would be a direct Primordial work. A Solar Circle spell."

"We have a Solar Circle Sorcerer in the Salient right now," Five adds, "Currently talking with her father. Aurash will keep her there until we can talk with her."

The Sun smiles. "Then you have my approval. I completely endorse this plan."

 

[bdbooksrule]

Yeah, that would be the kind of plan the unconquered approves of

Edit:
That is to say, ambitious, audacious, reaching for an ideal, and extremely demanding

 

[GreggHL]

"Wait, wait. Hold up." Mnemon Ghennin, least favorite child of the Lady Domine, makes the T-sign with his hands, the Old Realm symbol for back the fuck up. "It's not my fault you Exalted Anathema. If you hadn't done something to attract its attention, you'd be a shoe-in for a proper Dragonblooded Exaltation. Your mom's the highest Breeding woman in Creation, and I'm no slouch."

Ebeli notices there's no heat in his usage of the term 'Anathema.' It's not an insult. Simply a dialect that comes from being raised in the Realm. No accusation or anger, just casual Exaltism, baked in. He's not a true believer.

Probably helps that he travels.

"Mitiera confirmed that the Solar Exaltation burned out the necrotic essence, and then there's my sister."

Stroking his chin, her hairless father knits his bald, shiny brow. Pensive, thinking. "V'Neef mentioned the triplets. Once. Then told me to say they were twins from then on in."

Ebeli sits up. Her staff hovers next to her. In case thwackings are needed.

"Explain."

He shrugs. "What am I supposed to say? We got matched up by the Lineage trackers, they said we'd have a good chance of any kids we had mattering. We spent a few nights together, V'Neef wanted some romance and a proper seduction instead of just wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am and out the door I go."

Ebeli does not shudder, as she is used to such frank talk about her own conception. Usually coming from her mother, but still.

"So I took her to a few dinners, a few gladiatorial shows. I put the polish on the trailing my old teachers gave me." He balls his fist and clears his throat. "We kept at it a few times until she could confirm she was with child, then she went back to her Satrapy and I went backt o mine. She sent me one missive after the birth about the three of you, and that one of you needed to be kept secret, and, well…"

He sighs, sitting back down across from her. "Shit, I'm not gonna lie. I'm still a little sweet on her. V'Neef's something else. Everyone knows that. So I kept the secret."

Ebeli nods. Once more, she resolves that she will have to yell at her mother. "So, what do you want to know about first, the source of the weirdness in the blood or my twin sister."

The taps the lip of an empty wine bottle against his chin. "The weirdness. If it's a problem I need to know. I do wantot know about your sister, but from what I'm hearing she's not a problem. So, priorities."

Ebeli stares, huffs, sighs, and puts it as succinctly as she can. "Our ancestor, twelve generations back, was part of a project by the Mother of Children to create a living being from what was believed at the time to be a Neverborn, That Which Persists."

Ghennin responds in the most sensible fashion.

"I don't like anything that you just said." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Is this related to Ardurgia?"

"Ardurgia was built over her tomb."

Her father groans, rubbing his forehead. "Creation's too big for these many coincidences. You just happened to end up there?"

"Pretty much everyone in my Circle is in some way related to the city. Except Spider, the Dawn Caste. She just saw the open area and decided she's going to make that a stronghold." Ebeli shrugs. "It was built under Calibration rules with the approval of Five Days Darkness. It's outside of Fate. The entire place is a weirdness magnet. Ligier got beckoned into the city three times, twice on the same day. Two of those times by the same person."

Ghennin sits upright. "He went back after, right?"

"The first time."

"He went back after, right?"

There is a knock at the door. Kind of a heavy one. "Is that Ligier?" Ghennin asks. She can't tell if it's fearful or anticipatory.

Ebeli gets up, walks to the door, opens it, and looks at the five people and one naked Exaltation standing behind it. "Hi…?"

"Before you leave," Five says, "We need to ask you for something…"



Chapter 19:

Accidentally-ing the Ebon Dragon

 

[Pyro Hawk]

Accidentally-ing the Ebon Dragon

Click to shrink...

I am not sure if this is All My Yes or Oh Fuck No.

 

[Marika Oniki]

I am not sure if this is All My Yes or Oh Fuck No.

Click to shrink...

As is common with the Ebon Dragon, almost certainly both.

 

[GreggHL]

Ghennin has been led off to be brought to Ardurgia, and Ebeli believes if she stays here long enough in the Salient, she won't walk in on her biological parents having animalistic make-up sex. It's not that it really bothers her- V'Neef is the most Wood Aspected Wood Aspect that ever Wood Aspected, it's just that the noise disturbs her when she tries to study. It's good to throw people she knows her Mother would bang at her- she spent the better part of a year trying to convince Prince Arvos to call her Mommy and that made things awkward until Abeti arrived and V'Neef gave her sister the blessing and they're talking.

"…so we need a Solar Circle Sorcerer," Turncloak continues.

Ebeli nods. "Okay. So, you can meet Ligier's price for working with Autochthon. Meaning-" She raises a finger. "You have Ruvelia. Did you fish her out of the Well of Udr or…?"

Turncloak sucks his teeth. Five rubs the back of her neck.

"Because any Demonologist who doesn't have the blinders on knows the only way Ligier will work with Autochthon again is if he gets reunited with Ruvelia. So how. Fucking how. Last I checked, dead is dead." She points. "Put your hand down, Kiddo. You don't count."

Star waves both hands. "I can answer! At the end of the Primordial War, all hundred Sidereals decided to use the other thing Terminal Sanction does and sealed away several Devas as artifacts!" She reaches into her toga and pulls out the ring. "Say hello to Ruvelia!"

Ebeli's eyebrow twitches. Horizons raises a hand. "One hundred Sidereals decided. I abstained," he adds.

Ebeli walks over to a chaise and sits down. She stares ahead- not as if she is considering, or meditating, just staring. Blankly.

"Anyway," Turncloak says, "We don't want Malfeas to order every demon in Hell to storm Heaven, so we need to sever this ring from the Soul Hierarchy before we ask the Maidens to undo the Terminal Sanction so Ligier and Ruvelia can have an amazing multicolor reunion in the skies above Ardurgia."

"And bang," Star adds.

Ebeli blinks. "You need a spell to sever the connection, right. I'll need three weeks."

"That's be excellent-" Turncloak sputters. "Wait, three weeks? Girl, this is a Solar Circle Spell. Those take months to make!"

The redhead rolls her eyes. "Look, they take months if you're working from first principles. I already have constructed equivalent rituals on the Terrestrial and Celestial Circles. I'm just extending this to a Primordial Soul Hierarchy. It's a matter of severing the connections between parent and child and that's easily scalable to this point."

Turncloak turns, pulls over another chaise, and sits down.

"Hold up, there's a story here."

A trio of oiled up Angloks come in with fresh tea and snacks, spreading them out. "Okay," Ebeli says, "So it started with the Doombaby."

The others pull over chairs to sit down.

 

[GreggHL]

"So, it was a year and a half ago. Faded Lotus had us investigate these dead villages north of Ardurgia, outside of the No-Fate zone, and figure out what was going on. That, and when we started investigating it, That Which Persists woke up and was very angry, so we needed to figure shit out post haste." Ebeli sips her tea. The Chucklefucks listen with rapt attention. "So we manage to track down the entire aura of death to this half a hut in the middle of nowhere, and inside we find a young woman and a baby. A Doombaby."

"The baby was killing those villages?" Sparklemuffin asks.

"It turns out that an Abyssal was going around the Scavenger Lands and getting women pregnant, and since the Neverborn take the creation of new life personally, these babies were basically gigantic Resonance pulsars. They killed everthing around them by just existing, and then themselves." Ebeli mimes the explosions of death with jazz hands. She gets the point across. "Song- the Doombaby- was the exception, as his mother, Jewel, had busted her ass so hard to keep him alive that she exalted as a Night Caste."

"That's horrible," Turncloak says. Balling his fist in front of his face, his brow knit and countenance conflicted. Very vocally he voices horror, because internally, he is reassessing his previous statements about how the new batch of Abyssals had run out of ideas and he's actually impressed. Not necessarily good ideas, but he's actually impressed that they've broken through the bottom of the barrel.

"So we were trying to figure out how to resolve this without killing the baby," Ebeli continues, "When I remember that, back when I was nine and Aunt Mnemon was raising me as a hostage, I saw a ritualistic equation in her drawing room on severing the metaphysical connection between parent and child."

Five raises a hand. "Why would Mnemon have that? Additionally, hostage?"

"House V'Neef was a rising power, it was agreed that there would be an exchange of children so House Mnemon didn't act against House V'Neef," Ebeli says, as if this was the most normal childhood ever, "As for the equation, Dragnblooded can exert supernational influence over their descendants using magic. Aunt Mnemon's always been suspicious of the Empress being up to no good."

She sips her tea again. Notices the slightly tense faces. "I know the Empress is missing. Mum told us after she arrived in Ardurgia."

Everyone relaxes. Star visibly exhales. "Scarlet Whispers is on paid time off," she explains.

"So I sent an Infallible Messenger to Aunt Mnemon, told her I needed to learn the spell to sever a bloodline, she thought she meant myself, I didn't correct her, taught me the spell and, whala!" Again, jazz hands. "Song was now a normal baby, not a Doombaby, and he and Jewel are now living in Ardurgia."

Turncloak coughs, raises a finger. "And the Abyssal?"

"To find out who he was, we used the Shadow Theft spell," Ebeli explains, munching on a cookie, "We kept the shadow. So, when you steal someone's shadow, they gain this compulsion to chase after the shadow. I gave it to Sondok, she put it in Ligier's treasury, he tried to break in, and he got beaten to death by the ten thousand Blood Apes that guard Ligier's treasury."

Turncloak nods, wiping a tear from his eye. "That's beautiful."

"He died like he lived," Five says, "Being beaten to death by demon apes."

Horizons blinks and sits up. "Wait, you were the ones to fix that? Faded Lotus was crowing about how his rainbow fixed that problem without killing any babies. You did that, with a spell?"

"I got praised by Faded Lotus," Ebeli say wth a smile and imperiousness. It runs in the family, after all. "Don't tell me the Sidereals would have actually killed an infant?"

"No," Star says.

"We'd get someone else to do it," Horizons clarifies, "Well, not directly. Usually through an enforced narrative where the hero has to choose between the death of everything they ever loved, and the death of this cursed infant."

The Endings sips his tea. Turncloak gives him an appraising nod.

"Anyway, the Celestial Circle version," the Abyssal asks.

"That was a few months later, during our first visit to Heaven," Ebeli explains, nibbling on a croissant, "See, the entire spell is about severing from source to progeny, correct? So, when I was getting the Soul's Price from Marilaq A'lam, it turned out what she wanted was freedom from the Yozi. So it was a matter of expanding the scope of the spell."

"The former Emissary from Hell," Star says, "She basically serves you?"

"More or less, and my orders are to behave and do what Mitiera asks." Ebeli sips her tea. "So, as we know, the difference between a Deva and a Demon is a Demon is part of a Primordial that accepted the Surrender Oaths. The difference between a Deva, a Demon, and a Spirit is the connections of Source and Progeny. So currently, Marilaq A'lam is a spirit, not a demon. Though she's still a Creature of Darkness because she's on the list."

Ebeli claps her hands. "Anyway! Does that answer the question? I can extend the spell to cover third circle souls and the Fetich, but I'll need a few weeks. I'll let you know when it's ready."

 

[Pyro Hawk]

This is going to go really, really strange. But hey, at least Little Sun (One?) hasn't been pulled into things yet.

 

[GreggHL]

Three weeks to construct a spell. Of course, life doesn't stop just because a Sorcerer was working. You had something else a long time coming. It did not take any convincing to work together on this task, and so-

The world flashes white. The interior of the Vats becomes a blank space.

You all feel the world dipping down, drawn down as you enter the unknown. There is no dissolution of self, no breaking of the sense. All of you appear as normal- Turncloak appears first, as this is his journey. The Sidereals next, as they are used to this. Kiddo and Sparklemuffin stand in the white.

"Reminds me of when we were in the Traveler," Kiddo muses.

He turns and stares at the immense blue octohedron, floating menacingly. "Hey, Five?"

"Ah, excuse me."

The Vessel form shimmers and becomes the five-foot tall, fleshy Five. "Novel," she says, "I should get Husk Sculpting Apparatus installed on my avatars."

Turncloak is less than chatty. He takes a breath and closes his eyes. He hears the screams around him- even in the white, blank space. Even in the emptiness. The Alchemicals explained the process thoroughly- you were going to interact with the first, superficial layer of her mind. The most important thing was to find and interact with the Mindsphere Guardian.

The Guardian, they explained, was someone the subject would trust to keep themselves safe.

The white fills in. A green field with the sun at perpetual twilight. A faint breeze blows through your hair like kind fingertips. You all stand beneath the shade of an elderly tree and resist the urge to lay down beneath it and sleep, never needing to wake up or do anything ever again.

The tree vanishes. A road intersects the field, well trod with wheels and hooves. A man stands on the road, arms out, hands bearing the golden gauntlets, the Smashfists he'd left behind. A man clad in an earthen coat going down to his knees, with a clean white tunic and brown pants. He is handsome, tall. Black hair corded into a long ponytail, eyes bright, skin dark and somehow still sun-kissed, and the Caste mark of the Twilight shines upon his brow.

Five glances between them. Her two Uncles. The man he was, and who he is now, and idly wonders if she will have to intervene.

Memories from before the Last Breath were hazy, disjointed things. Memories of another man, whose body the First Abyssal now walked in. The scent of flowers stunned him. Half remember, like a childhood dream. Then the smell of the old jacket. The oil of his old smashfists. He opens his eyes and stares at himself.

"Sojourn."

"Heaven's Sojourn, Guardian to Meridia's mind." The Solar looks Turncloak up and down. "Judging from this, she's not the only one with issues."

The sarcasm, apparently, was not sourced from the Abyssal Exaltation.

Turncloak bites back the most descriptive curse he can manage. "What's waiting for us here?" It was all familiar, but in a distant way. Even Meridia. Meridia. He knew the name in a distant way. It resonated deep in his mind.

"This level is the village," the Solar says, "It is the most superficial layer of Meridia's memories."

He turns and begins walking, and in the distance there is a village. Surrounded by a circle of walls, cut through by a river. A perfectly functional, idyllic village. One from his most distant, pleasant memories.

"Be on your guard," Turncloak says, "Princess Magnificent knew that the Boss had revived my wife as an Alchemical, and that means she had a spy in the Primal Forge."

The others follow a few paces behind. He grunts and continues. "To clarify, the spy was my wife's ghost. Not by her choice. The Deathlords control ghosts. But there's a good chance that there's still some influence from the Deathlords inside here, so keep a lookout."

Without another word, he, and his echo of happier times, leads them towards the memory of the village he called home.





Thataway likes Creation. That is what this place is called. Like many of their kind, they can get lost, and in getting lost, find their way to the Endless Desert, and then to the Brass City, but Thataway has shown the unique ability to find their way ever forward to other places. Where many of their kind would end up in the Forge, working for the very noble Prince with the magnificent abs, Thataway continued to press on.

Afterall, they wear their name with pride. Ever since they were born, they have searched. The first piece of advice they were given when they asked a Risen which way to look for their companion, their other half.

Thataway.

They have taken it to heart.

Or what is a heart to a Ghost.

The little Ghost with purple accented wedges on their shell found their way to Creation, after many years wandering the Demon City, finding their way out of it- as they continued thataway- and after five days across the Endless Desert- which was not very endless- they found their way to this lovely place where no one's shooting at them with wire rifles.

Days turned to weeks turned to months of wandering. Across burning deserts and green fields and lush wet forests. Thataway wandered but was not lost, because getting lost would send them back to the Endless Desert and back to the Demon City and they knew they were searching. Just like all Ghosts search.

Because Thataway could finally sense it. Finally feel it. After so very long, Thataway knew they were near.

And so, Thataway wandered into the old city, covered in overgrowth of vines and stone, of immense ziggurauts that dotted the skyline, of dim crystals that have not been lit for hundreds of years. They float over bones of both humans and other creatures, floating over feral, long necked raptoks which snap at them before retreating into the nearby woods.

Thataway pauses, and looks up at the ziggaraut at the center of the city.

"Wow that's so much blood."

Because it is. The ziggaraut is covered in blood. Like a blood waterfall. That's so neat.

They float up, drawn to the top. To the pool of blood at the very top of the structure, at the pile of bodies within the very deep pool of blood that flows outwards like an infinity pool. Where most would react with horror- especially those not familiar with the Dragon Kings- Thataway lets their plates spin before floating victory laps around the pool.

"Yes! Yes yes yes! Yes! Oh yes! Oh I wonder what you're like! Let's do this!"

The shell separates, floating out fully, suspended upon the full bubble of Light. It spins, faster and faster, and explodes outwards. Manifesting once more, Thataway floats over the pool, watching, waiting.

Until the Anklok breaks the surface, waist deep in blood, looking upon his hands, then looking upon the Ghost.

"Hi! I'm a Ghost, and I'm your Ghost, and you're a Guardian!"

"The Champion lives once again!"

At the base of the ziggaraut, dozens, hundreds of Ankloks have gathered, all as shirtless and bloody as the newly Risen. They raise their fists, roaring their prayers. "Praise the Sun! Praise the Sun!"

"Praise the Sun!" the newly Risen declares. Before driving his own fist into his chest, tearing out his heart, and incinerating it in a burst of sunflame. Before falling over dead into the pool of blood.

Thataway rotates their shell. "Oh neat! So you're going to be a Warlock!"

 

[Ardenzian]

Thataway rotates their shell. "Oh neat! So you're going to be a Warlock!"

Click to shrink...

Okay, so it's gonna be two Locals and a Expy

 

[GreggHL]

Okay, so it's gonna be two Locals and a Expy

Click to shrink...

To be fair, the Dragon Kings are the closest thing Creation has to Elves, so he fits the Awoken quota. So instead of being a Space Elf, he's a Dinosaur Elf.

 

[Ardenzian]

To be fair, the Dragon Kings are the closest thing Creation has to Elves, so he fits the Awoken quota. So instead of being a Space Elf, he's a Dinosaur Elf.

Click to shrink...

And in 40K terms we got a Exodite rather then a Craftworlder, got it

 

[GreggHL]

The village is lovely- even as they approach, they can smell it. Bread, freshly baked. Flowers of many varieties. The river that runs through it is crisp and clear. From the distance, on the hill overlooking, the walls are a dirty gray, sturdy stone. The houses are brick with wooden roofs. It was as if someone took the concept of 'village' and stamped it down.

"It is very nice," Five observes.

"Last I saw it, the forces of the dead had burned it to rubble and slaughtered every inhabitant save for me," Turncloak rumbles.

"It's where he spent his formative years after escaping the Realm when he Exalted as a Twilight," Heaven's Sojourn responds. Then sighs, shaking his head. "Look, you want to tell them or do I have to do it?"

"We can cut the shit, yes."

The other Turncloak, the Solar Turncloak, vanishes. "You saw through it in an instant, I know. But you were going to just let me keep up the act for the entire time, weren't you? Just to fuck with them? Or to fuck with me?"

They turn. The voice is similar, but fainter. Like an echo, a whisper. A Whisper. Sitting on a boulder that was not there before is a man with blue skin, shoulder length white hair, and in scarlet robes with a crimson breastplate. All seven Foci immediately target him and Kiddo has his flamepiece in hand, aimed at the man's forehead.

"Oh what the fuck," Star shouts, "That's-"

"Walker in Darkness, I know," Turncloak says, "I know. He was masquerading as me when I was a Solar Exalted, and he's not the actual Mind Guardian."

"I distinctly remember us all being told that he's dead!" Star snaps out her fans. "As in dead again! Because you killed him!"

The Walker in Darkness produces a potato from his robes and takes a bite out of it, thoughtfully chewing. "You want to tell them or should I-"

"Deathlords are hard to kill," Turncloak says, turning to the others, his back to the ghost, "I killed him and he's dead but there's more to it than that." He raises both index fingers. "So I killed him using a specifically modified version of the spirit killing charm, Ghost Eating Technique, which means I absorbed his Essence into my own. Which, if he was anything other than a Deathlord, would have been the end of it."

"Uncle, Walker in Darkness has been inside your soul since you killed him," Five says, "Consuming his Essence is how you acquired your Elder status despite being less than one hundred years old."

The former Deathlord points the half-eaten potato at the alchemical. "She gets it. The price, of course, was that after Turncloak ripped me in two and consumed my spiritual core, I still had enough left inside his soul that I can Whisper."

He takes another bite.

"He thought he was going more insane for the first few weeks after escaping. But, I'm not here to reminisce about-"

Walker doesn't get the chance to finish the sentence. At least, not before the Light enfused bullet from Kiddo's flamepiece strikes him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Followed by a discuss of Void energy smacking him in the face and knocking him off the boulder and onto his back.

Kiddo places his foot on the prone Deathlord's chest, letting the others gather around. "Yeah, my understanding is you're one of the people responsible for the shitshow that was his life," Kiddo says, nodding to Turncloak, "I'm not inclined to let you monologue. Why are you here, and then get back to your hole."

Walker in Darkness smiles. His teeth are black with tar. "I'll be brief. I haven't been around because I'm dead, and you've made a deal with the living side. So I've spent time on the dead side. You have no idea what is coming if you let the Great Maker die. And you made a deal with it."

The former Deathlord vanishes between tick and tock. Kiddo twirls Lumina and holsters it. "I understand Autochthon dying's a bad idea, but anyone want to read me in on how bad it is?"

"You made a deal with the Engine of Extinction?" Star asks, rolling the words on her tongue, slowly, as if trying to figure out if they are words that actually exist.

Five stares at her uncle as if he grew a second head. A second head that needs to be smacked, hard.

"It's complicated," Turncloak says, "When we were in the Pole of Crystal the first time, to make sure the Breakthrough happened in the Wyld, when Ku sent me and Trouble into Nullspace, it reached out to me."





Months and months and months before

Nullspace is a place of uncertain clarity and dreamlike mists. A place of broken dreams, like the Underworld. But more active. More nightmares. For the nightmares of Nullspace are the nightmares and fever dreams of the sleeping Great Maker, shunted off into this nightmare dimension so not to consume the humans who work tirelessly to keep his brass ass alive.

Surrounded by the oil and smoke of the failed dreams, Turncloak takes a breath. A brief reprieve in the slaughter. A brief moment that lets him roll back his shoulders and relax.

A brief moment which does not end.

A brief moment of weightlessness, hanging in the infinite arms supporting him. His eyes closed, he lets himself rest. He lets himself be supported. He lets himself be carried. He lets himself float in the kindness that moves him, that caresses him, that filled his lungs and mouth and ears and lets him know that the long struggle is over.

He can give her back to you, it says, in the voice of a kind mother long since gone, All you need to do is pledge to him and he will do it gladly.

Turncloak opens his eyes in the emptiness. In the comfort and warmth of the everwomb. Instantly activates his Sorcerer's Sight, and sees what speaks to him. It will stay with him for some time.





"Autochthon is aware of his other half," Turncloak explains, "He said that I made the deal with it, but since it's part of him he honors the deal. So here we are."

"You saw it," Five says, "You saw Grandfather's Neverborn?"

Turncloak shakes his head. "I can't explain what I saw. I don't even know what I saw. But I get the feeling the 'Engine of Extinction' is what Autochthon is afraid of what he'll become. When what's actually waiting in store is a whole different flavor of fucked up."

He waves his hand, and begins walking towards the village. "Come on, we've wasted enough time. Let's fine the damn Mind Guardian."

 

[Winged One]

Hm. I think he said the death inflicted on the Neverborn is an inferior imitation of what's going to happen to him, so maybe he'll reincarnate as a new mortal Primordial instead? I'm sure everyone would rather delay his death as long as they can, of course.

 

[GreggHL]

Hm. I think he said the death inflicted on the Neverborn is an inferior imitation of what's going to happen to him, so maybe he'll reincarnate as a new mortal Primordial instead? I'm sure everyone would rather delay his death as long as they can, of course.

Click to shrink...

Think of it this way.

The Neverborn are not meant to be. They are errors in the writ equation that is their primordial mythos.

Autochthon is mortal and therefor can die.

To call what happens after his death a Neverborn is a convenience.

 

[GreggHL]

The filter of the world is dreamlike, hazy. It reminds them of the Underworld, or the Pale Heart when they were inside the Traveler, save for the images not changing on a whim. There is a permanence here, because they are in someone's mind, not a mythos.

"The Autochthonians I speak with talk about roaming dreams in the Pole of Metal," Five says, breaking the silence, "Is it like that on Sol?"

Kiddo shrugs. He hasn't been to Sol.

"It isn't," Sparklemuffin explains, "The Traveler didn't create Sol, and Sol isn't their world body, so it wouldn't exactly be like Autochthonia. The Traveler protected Sol, but didn't really interact with it after the Collaspe."

Five tilts her head. "The Collapse?"

Sparklemuffin bobs up and down. The equivalent of a nod. "When the Traveler came to Sol, she transformed it forever. The human lifespan was tripled, uninhabited rocks turned to garden worlds, all sorts of wonders brought to light. But the Darkness came after it, and everything fell. A collapse, until the Traveler repelled the Darkness and fell into a deepl slumber. In that slumber, she created us. Those like me. The Ghosts."

Five nods, continuing to walk alongside the Guardian. Her uncle grumbles, as he normally does. "I think I know who the Mind Guardian is," he grouches, "Only one person. Her father."

Horizons sucks his teeth. "Oh yeah, the Blacksmith," he says, "That'd be it."

Star stares at him. She narrows her eyes. Then widens them. She raises a finger, then slowly winds her fingers around each other, before slowly nodding.

They walk into the village, past the perfect archway and onto cobblestone roads. "Meridia's father was the father I didn't have. I looked up to the man," Turncloak says, "He took me in when I was on the run from the Realm, made sure I got along with his daughter. Blessed out union. Didn't judge me for the glow of my caste mark."

Star stares at Horizons more intently. He shakes his head. Turncloak leads them by memory. Down the streets, towards the belching bellowstacks. To the man in a leather apron standing outside the forge. All of them recognize him, of course. Fate is a mythos, a construct. A veil over everyone's eyes.

Turncloak sees his father-in-law clearly. Very clearly.

Turns to Wandering Horizons. Turns to the Blacksmith.

Turns back.

"Okay," Horizons says, "So you can't be mad."

And, when Turncloak lunges at Horizons and throttles him, Horizons wheezes out only words that can make it worse.

"Nice grip you got there sport-"

As the rest of the Chucklefucks desperately try to wrestle Turncloak off the Endings.

 

[Pyro Hawk]

Okay, so I need to know just what the situation was there. Was this literally Horizons' current incarnation?

 

[GreggHL]

Okay, so I need to know just what the situation was there. Was this literally Horizons' current incarnation?

Click to shrink...

No, this would have been a previous incarnation.

Under a Resplendent Destiny.

 

[Ardenzian]

No, this would have been a previous incarnation.

Under a Resplendent Destiny.

Click to shrink...

To explain it better: Wandering's past life was Turncloak's dad-in-Law......under a Resplendent Destiny sure, but still kinda his baby girl regardless

 

[GreggHL]

To explain it better: Wandering's past life was Turncloak's dad-in-Law......under a Resplendent Destiny sure, but still kinda his baby girl regardless

Click to shrink...

However, due to it being under a Resplendent Destiny, it wouldn't pass a blood test, and could not be targeted with dynastic charms.

 

[GreggHL]

It took an uncomfortably long time to pry the Abyssal off of Horizons, but since this is all in the mind there was no real danger of his windpipe being crushed for real. In theory. Unless the Abyssals were that killy, which was not something anyone wanted to test out. Turncloak paces like a cat inside of a too large box- big enough for him to lie down in, too big for him to be comfortable in. Horizons sits on the anvil, as none of them have interacted with the Mind Guardian and everything is a sort of snapshot.

"You were my father in law? You're Meridia's father?"

Horizons waggles his hand. "I'm not that old. My past incarnation, under a Resplendent Destiny, was the father of your wife. So it wouldn't pass a blood test or one of those dynastic charms."

Turncloak stares at him. Measuring whether or not to use those charms that kill with a stare. "Why?"

"Because between the Usurpation and someone breaking open the Jade Prison, there were thirteen Solar Exaltations loose in Creation, and until you got turned into the First Abyssal, you were one of them." The Endings shrugs. "And some of us are subtler than the cult that Ayesha Ura runs in the South. We're Viziers."

"And we will, in fact, do Viziering," Star adds. Both Sidereals nod. Turncloak stares at them. Trying to figure out if 'Viziering' is a word, and once more considering whether or not to use that charm that kills with a stare.

"Look, if it makes you feel better you can call me 'Dad' again-"

The Endings doesn't finish the sentence before the Chucklefucks have to pry Turncloak off of Horizons again. Five, hands on her uncle's shoulders, walks him back a safe distance from the Endings. She whispers to him meditative mantras some of her contacts in Autochthonia have instructed her on, about being a cog in the machine.

"I'm-" Turncloak opens, closes his fists. Furrows his brow, his mind filled with great amounts of fuck. "This man was my mentor. My father in every way but blood. He guided me back from an abyss that I was dangerously close to. I've constantly underestimated you, Horizons. I've never thought that you, or any incarnation of you, would have had the potential to be such a guide."

He looks up at the Sidereal. Who is rubbing the back of his neck, shifting side to side.

"Horizons, the next words out of your mouth had better not be-"

"Look," the Endings says, "There's a script-"

Once more, the Endings doesn't finish the sentence before the Chucklefucks have to pry Turncloak off of Horizons. Kiddo sits between them, a Ward of Dawn keeping them a safe distance from each other. Sparklemuffin stares at both of them, judging them both equally.

"You died in my arms," Turncloak growls, jamming a finger at Horizons, "This village was my world! You were part of my world! And this is how I find out?"

Horizons nods, biting his lip. He doesn't have the heart to tell him that that incarnation got cycled out from the Resplendent Destiny shortly after the wedding, got replaced by someone else, and died in a boating accident. "I know, I know. This is hard. But it's not the only reason we were here. We were here to investigate the recurring Villages."

Beneath the shades, shadowed eyes narrow. "Recurring Villages?"

Star rolls her head back and moans. "Godsdammit what the fuck are we even paying Lytek for?" She places a hand over Horizon's mouth to keep him from digging deeper and points a finger at the Abyssal. "Okay! So, for the last seven hundred years and change, villages like this have popped up. Same layout, same levels of population, same general idyllic safety and peace. The get built over the course of a couple of generations, and then they get razed and sacked by the Dead, and everyone gets killed to a man."

Turncloak stands up straighter.

"This has happened before?"

"Yes," Star continues, "And guess what the common connection is."

"Past holders of my Exaltation."

Star nods. "Your past incarnations get lured here, and after a random period of time this village gets murdered, you die. Your exaltation goes back to Lytek, he cleans it, and sends it back out. Except this time, you didn't. You got turned."

The balled fists come loose. "You're telling me this wasn't random. This was planned. By the dead." The hands ball into fists. "By the Lion." His voice trembles. It always trembles at the name of his former master. But it trembles with fear and hate. "Why?"

Star shrugs. "We don't know. Could you be his reincarnation-"

Behind the shades, Turncloak's eyes go wide. "No. Not his. I'm a Twilight." He grinds his teeth hard enough to crack. Turning, he approaches, the Blacksmith and places a hand on his shoulder. "Father."

The Blacksmith smiles. He opens his eyes. He opens black eyes, and speaks with a voice that is not Wandering Horizons' or any past life's.

"My son."

His hand, clad in soulsteel, grips the back of Turncloak's head.

"How you have grown."

No longer a man. He is taller than a man. Much taller. A walking suit of superheavy Soulsteel plate. Eyes like dying suns. Skin of wrought chain mail. A cape of tanned flesh. A sword of screaming mania.

"You've made me proud. All this time I've been waiting for-"

The explosion tosses Turncloak free of the Lion's grip, shattering the illusion and returning the image to the Blacksmith. Tumbling to a stop, the Abyssal looks up at Kiddo, who reloads the one handed grenade launcher.

"Why were you letting him monologue?"

 

[GreggHL]

The scene played out. Of Heaven's Sojourn, Twilight Exalted, pursued by the Realm, wandering into the village, and over his way to the Blacksmith. The Blacksmith smiles to the young Solar, taking the man's hand in a firm shake.

"Nice grip you've got there, sport," the Blacksmith says. Wandering Horizons nods with a nostalgic smile. Turncloak refuses to look at the Endings. In the distance, they hear the commotion. The young woman with strawberry blonde hair, a piece of toast in her mouth, running through the streets. Late for her apprenticeship, from the sounds of her food-filled mouth.

She skids to a stop, between Sojourn and her father.

"Meridia, don't worry about it. We've got a new worker, this is-"

Sojourn pats her on the shoulder. Her eyes go wide, she turns, and she kicks him full force in the crotch. The Solar goes down, wishing for death, and the Blacksmith laughs while his daughter immediately both apologizes and pulls him over to a chair.

"She got that from her mother," Wandering Horizons says.

Star shakes her head. Turncloak refuses to acknowledge him. Next to him, Five lets her Foci rise and begin scanning the area, rising up for maximum coverage. "I am unsure if the Lion was the actual Deathlord or a pre-recorded message. I am scanning to see if there are other irregularities."

"Good." Turncloak stares at the first meeting of Meridia and himself. Younger. Brighter. Innocent. Behind his shades he still sees the remains, and the ghost chained in Soulsteel. He still sees this place, covered in gore. He still hears the screams.

Five reaches out and squeezes his hand.

"Uncle. There is something here."

Five walks, pulling him away. The others follow, away from the Mind Guardian, away from the scene. Towards the center of the town, where golden furred dogs play with children, where shops with fresh bread sell wares and a fountain has fresh, clean water for all surrounded by cobblestone bricks.

Standing by the fountain, untouched, unnoticed by the people of this idyllic village, there is a single, half mote of black.

Beneath it lies a parasol, embedded in the ground. Its webbing black, its ribbing gilded.

"It's not even subtle," Turncloak observes.

The Foci gather around Five. Sparklemuffin scans the parasol, before hissing and zipping back to Kiddo. "There is nothing about that thing I like."

"You shouldn't. It's the Umbrella of Discord. The personal weapon of Princess Magnificent." Turncloak circles the half mote. "A single mote of Essence. Cleaved in two. Placed in Meridia's mind. It shouldn't be possible, but here it is."

"How do you cut a mote in two?" Five asks.

"With Varan's Ruin." Turncloak reaches out and grips the mote. The world does not burn. It does not erupt in pyreflame. It does not die. Instead, it cracks and shatters like stained glass, and becomes a throneroom.

A great hall of obsidian stone that forms columns overlooking an army of breathtaking size, sconces lit by emerald flame.

Braziers burn black at the base of the great throne, and sitting upon it, the armored figure claps together his gauntlets.

"So, my boy. What have you figured out?"

"My Exaltation is the one that belonged to the Solar whose ghost became Princess Magnificent," Turncloak says, staring down the seated Deathlord. "And you set up these villages, time and time again, to turn that Exaltation black."

A low, rattling laugh. A voice of shaking metal. "Her keter soul and my efforts. That is close enough to how the Living would do so, wouldn't it? The result is the same. You."

A blink, and the Lion is amongst them. Directly in front of Turncloak, and it takes everything to not flinch. "I made you. I made you from her. In every way that matters, you are my son. And you shall make me proud."

 

[Winged One]

"My Exaltation is the one that belonged to the Solar whose ghost became Princess Magnificent," Turncloak says, staring down the seated Deathlord. "And you set up these villages, time and time again, to turn that Exaltation black."

A low, rattling laugh. A voice of shaking metal. "Her keter soul and my efforts. That is close enough to how the Living would do so, wouldn't it? The result is the same. You."

A blink, and the Lion is amongst them. Directly in front of Turncloak, and it takes everything to not flinch. "I made you. I made you from her. In every way that matters, you are my son. And you shall make me proud."

Click to shrink...

...this whole plotline started because you figured the Lion's character design looked a bit like Vader, didn't it?

 

[GreggHL]

...this whole plotline started because you figured the Lion's character design looked a bit like Vader, didn't it?

Click to shrink...

Partially that, partially having fun with the idea that the Lion was cursed to be in love with Princess Magnificent and she despises him.

So naturally, this was his solution.

Have a child with her.

This is kind of how the living doing it, right?

 

[GreggHL]

Nearby (relatively).

With a swift kick, the grate swings open and V'Neef shuffles out, yelping as she realizes out far down the fall is. She twists in mid air, feet facing the ground, and tosses a wire from her sleeve towards the loose grate. It catches, arresting her fall, and she hangs inches from the ground.

"Really should have anticipated that," she gasps. Cutting the line, she hops down the last distance, smoothing out her kimono and fixing her headdress. "I'm in the Forge, right? Autochthon's workshop?"

In the distance, she spots the white ball hovering over a jungle. She stares at it, and knows it is something far beyond her. Possibly one of the things that visits Abeti in her dreams. She waves. "Hello! I'm Abeti's mother! Do you know where the Great Maker is?"

From the distance- which is enough that V'Neef can't really tell what measurements mean as this entire place is flat and the horizon may as well be a suggestion- she can't tell if there is any response. She slowly lowers her hand, curling her fingers.

"I'm being awfully familiar with a Primordial. Is this what Ebeli is like?"

"Who?"

She gives off a brief meep and turns to her left. A Ghost- pure white- floats. Not a ghost as in a dead spirit, but a Ghost as in one of those probes. Of course, not realizing the exact nature of the big sphere in the distance, V'Neef would not realize that she Ghost is not, in fact, a Ghost, but in fact the Encounter Suit that the Great Maker had fashioned for the Gardener. That she was, in fact, speaking directly to the Primordial.

"Yes, hello," she says, bowing respectfully, "Hello, I am V'Neef of House V'Neef, and I am a friend of the Great Maker." Reflexively, like a well-honed muscle, she activates her entire suite of social charms. Making a good first impression. Making her smile just right. Having just the right angle to her bow. "I'm sorry for coming by unannounced, but I've just arrived. Is he in?"

The probe floats around her. The glowing white eye at the center does not blink, for it is but Light, and she feels its gaze upon her. "Friend?"

"I would like to think so. We've been talking quite a bit via dreams and I do have an open invite to visit his workshop."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Friend?"

V'Neef smiles. It isn't one of her show smiles or one of her gleaming smiles. It is a normal smile. She finds she can't…lie in front of this small thing. She shrugs, hands out. "I…well, I won't lie. The potential of safety was certainly a good reason to reach out. I have many people who would see me dead, or would use me for their own benefit, in Creation or Heaven."

She tries to avert the probe's gaze. Sighs. "Having him as a friend would make so, so many of them think twice. But the more time I spend with him, the more I-" She shakes her head. "I recognize trauma. I've been around it my entire life. I joke that I know how to handle him, because I can handle my sister, but it's not a joke."

The probe stares at her. The plates rotate, like they do on a normal Ghost. A sign that they are thinking.

"Why?"

"Because I've been around people like him my entire life, and I thought, why don't I just be nice to someone? Not expecting anything in return? Just, not ask for anything, not demand anything. Just be someone they can talk to and who can listen to them and tell jokes with and maybe, just maybe help them." She doesn't know when she balled her fists, or why she's saying this in front of this little probe. But she keeps going. "Because the more I learn about the real history of the world, the more I learn that people have been horrible to each other for no reason, and I might as well start somewhere, right?"

The shell rotates. The probe turns, and an arch opens. It is like a Door, but wobblier. Less defined, more flowing.

"There."

"Autochthon's through there?"

"Yes."

V'Neef bows with a smile. "Thank you."

She walks through. Immediately, the floor gives way. She should have asked more questions. She should have asked for clarification. She feels the electric thoughts making her hair frizz and the lights blurring her eyes, and the first thought going through her mind is,

Oh, so that's why he uses the Encounter Suits…