To the Letter, Or, The Sidereals Deal with an Outside of Context Problem (Exalted/Destiny)
- Thread starter GreggHL
- Start date
- Crossover
Behold the Zohar! The one from Xenogears at least.Zohar Modifier?(Can't just look it up because internet's been very bad today)
End Chapter 5
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
The white disperses and becomes the sand dunes once more. The monolith evaporates, slowly. Its motes of Essence drifting in the hot wind. On the soft sands, the two Sidereals lie, side by side.
"I wanna go home," Star moans.
"Can't. South is still disconnected," Horizons moans back.
Ebeli, Turncloak, and Five sit on the hard sandstone in front of the dissolving monolith. The first creation of the Maker disintegrates behind them. The sorcerer leans on her staff, the Abyssal leaning on his hand, and the granddaughter of the King of All Craftsmen watch and stare.
"So," Ebeli finally asks, after long minutes, "Is that good?"
Turncloak shrugs. Five bites her lip, tilting her head from one side, then the other.
The three of them stare at the Encounter Suit, which itself stares at the luminous figure, released from its prison since the beginning of time. What was said, what was exchanged, none could say. Only that it was silent. Only that the Encounter Suit was still occupied by Autochthon. Only that he did not move. Only that he simply stared.
I will go, the Storyteller says, I have been extended an offer. Much shall return, but some shall stay, for some have sought meaning. It would be kind to give it.
The figure glows, brighter. Losing definition.
And is then gone.
One of Five's foci rise into the air, a beam sweeping in a circle to confirm locations. Satisfied, she hops off the sandstone and walks to the Encounter Suit. "Grandfather, we're going to retrieve Kiddo, Scarlet, and Lani from Ebeli's camp. Once we do, can you use the Eye to reconnect the South to the Loom?"
It takes a moment, imperceptible from mortal perspectives, for the Great Maker to respond.
"Yes. Of course. The Shining Answer has also fulfilled your request. It has allowed an aspect of itself to remain, and is currently in Yu Shan conversing with the Emerald Mother. Good work, all around."
Five smiles. She pats his hand, not truly understanding how much he appreciates such things, and begins jogging off to the dunes.
=======JOB DONE======
(+2 XP)
That night, in a tent insulated from the chill of the Southern night, V'Neef Abeti sleeps. Her sister returned, exhausted. Which itself was somewhat concerning- she's known Ebeli to go days without sleep, researching demonology, trivia, or anything that caught her interest. But next to the exhausted, passed out Twilight, Abeti sleeps, and because they are both asleep, there is no one to see the mark of blood, shaped like a kiss, appear on her forehead.
And Abeti is standing knee deep in blood and flesh. Once more in the World, and beneath the gaze of the Maw made of Teeth.
My child
My survivor
My blessed champion
I am coming home
In the deepest layers of the Primal Forge lies a sphere. Its access is forbidden, even to Logos. Its Pocket is below even the layer of Dreams. But it is a sphere- made of purest Adamant, mined from countless calcified Unshaped and failed Worlds, strung with starmetal to allow purity of thought.
It is created in imitation of the Godhead, the seat of the Core within the Worldbody Autochthonia. It is here that the Great Maker will retreat when he needs to think.
To look upon the Shining Answer is to receive the Shining Answer. It is the Answer to the most important question; "What must I do?"
The Great Maker looked upon the Shining Answer and he received a vision.
A regal throne.
A hammer in one hand.
A scepter in the other.
A crown of brass upon his brow.
His imprisoned kin, kneeling before him, and acknowledging him as their King.
End Chapter 5
"I wanna go home," Star moans.
"Can't. South is still disconnected," Horizons moans back.
Ebeli, Turncloak, and Five sit on the hard sandstone in front of the dissolving monolith. The first creation of the Maker disintegrates behind them. The sorcerer leans on her staff, the Abyssal leaning on his hand, and the granddaughter of the King of All Craftsmen watch and stare.
"So," Ebeli finally asks, after long minutes, "Is that good?"
Turncloak shrugs. Five bites her lip, tilting her head from one side, then the other.
The three of them stare at the Encounter Suit, which itself stares at the luminous figure, released from its prison since the beginning of time. What was said, what was exchanged, none could say. Only that it was silent. Only that the Encounter Suit was still occupied by Autochthon. Only that he did not move. Only that he simply stared.
I will go, the Storyteller says, I have been extended an offer. Much shall return, but some shall stay, for some have sought meaning. It would be kind to give it.
The figure glows, brighter. Losing definition.
And is then gone.
One of Five's foci rise into the air, a beam sweeping in a circle to confirm locations. Satisfied, she hops off the sandstone and walks to the Encounter Suit. "Grandfather, we're going to retrieve Kiddo, Scarlet, and Lani from Ebeli's camp. Once we do, can you use the Eye to reconnect the South to the Loom?"
It takes a moment, imperceptible from mortal perspectives, for the Great Maker to respond.
"Yes. Of course. The Shining Answer has also fulfilled your request. It has allowed an aspect of itself to remain, and is currently in Yu Shan conversing with the Emerald Mother. Good work, all around."
Five smiles. She pats his hand, not truly understanding how much he appreciates such things, and begins jogging off to the dunes.
=======JOB DONE======
(+2 XP)
That night, in a tent insulated from the chill of the Southern night, V'Neef Abeti sleeps. Her sister returned, exhausted. Which itself was somewhat concerning- she's known Ebeli to go days without sleep, researching demonology, trivia, or anything that caught her interest. But next to the exhausted, passed out Twilight, Abeti sleeps, and because they are both asleep, there is no one to see the mark of blood, shaped like a kiss, appear on her forehead.
And Abeti is standing knee deep in blood and flesh. Once more in the World, and beneath the gaze of the Maw made of Teeth.
My child
My survivor
My blessed champion
I am coming home
In the deepest layers of the Primal Forge lies a sphere. Its access is forbidden, even to Logos. Its Pocket is below even the layer of Dreams. But it is a sphere- made of purest Adamant, mined from countless calcified Unshaped and failed Worlds, strung with starmetal to allow purity of thought.
It is created in imitation of the Godhead, the seat of the Core within the Worldbody Autochthonia. It is here that the Great Maker will retreat when he needs to think.
To look upon the Shining Answer is to receive the Shining Answer. It is the Answer to the most important question; "What must I do?"
The Great Maker looked upon the Shining Answer and he received a vision.
A regal throne.
A hammer in one hand.
A scepter in the other.
A crown of brass upon his brow.
His imprisoned kin, kneeling before him, and acknowledging him as their King.
End Chapter 5
Oh, so The Great Maker is going to become the Omnissiah or Primus?
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Honestly, from the stories of him eating the Era'teen world when they pissed him off, he has a few Unicron elements going for him as well.
Fair. I am hopping that we see more Destiny stuff in the future.
Chapter 5 Opening; Shit's Fucked; Ghost has Friends
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Despite being 888 miles above sea level, the air is seasonably warm. The Gate opens, the three golden Lions stepping out and huffing the air. They flank Kiddo and Ghost, Kiddo adjusting the heavy gauntlets of his lamellar armor, before forming a spear out of nothing and resting it across his shoulders.
"When you want to return, burn a prayer strip to Shining Barrator," the Lion to his left rumbles, "The Gate doesn't move. We'll keep it open for three minutes. If you're not there, we close it."
"Got it," Kiddo says with a nod, "Ghost, objective?"
Ghost's eye glows. From Kiddo's perspective, a ruin in the distance illuminates. Behind them, the Lions turn, walking back into the Gate, which snaps shut. Kiddo begins walking, Ghost floating alongside him.
A ruined city. Not just ruined- flattened. Shattered. What remains are barely foundations. Bricks atop other bricks, the incline of the smoothed ground like walking into a crater.
"So. At some point we need to go to Hell. Because there are Ghosts in Ligier's workshop."
"I think we'd need an invitation. Nazri wants us to investigate the ruins of a treasury, right?"
Ghost bobs up and down. "According to Nazri, that treasury held the artifacts the Yozi are seeking as part of the Reclamation. During the Usurpation, this city- Meru- was directly hit by the Realm Defense Grid, and as a result the artifacts were scattered throughout Creation."
Kiddo grunts an acknowledgement. He opens a hand and the spear vanishes. He closes it, and a flamepiece appears. A gift from a recent acquaintance. 'Like a gun' was Ghost's assessment. At least he hasn't shot himself. Yet.
"Anyone here would have been completely obliterated, right?" he asks.
His eyes dart to a loose stone. One that has begun to shift. Shake.
"From what I know about the Realm Defense Grid, yes."
"We're not alone."
It was with an air of solemness that you were all summoned to the Violet Bier of Sorrows, led by a scarab beetle down stone passageways marked with the well-appointed finery of austere funeral rites. Turncloak has been here before- one of his main contacts in Heaven is in this place. The others have not.
You are led into an office that resembles a tomb, where everything is stone and steady, where the beautiful carvings are permanent and still, and the masks upon the walls are of ages long past.
A larger scarab bedecked in jewelry approached and bows, standing before the petrified wood desk.
"The Masque of Repose shall be with you in five minutes," they say, "Take your seats. You shall be served."
The four of you sit on stone seats which are somehow wonderfully comfortable and more scarabs come out, serving tea and biscuits. As the three hundredth second passes, the stone doors behind the desk opens and a god with the face of a golden funeral mask walks out. His robes are long but end exactly at the floor. He is the mirror of an entombed king.
This is his office.
"Turncloak, I thank you for coming. As I do Reigo, Wandering Horizons, and Star of the Shiftless Sky. There is chaos in the holdings of Walker in Darkness and the Green Lady has requested immediate extraction."
Five pulls a pocket atlas out of her bookbag. Sees the Walker's holdings are disturbingly close to Great Forks.
Turncloak rises with a respectful nod of his head, and the others are visibly concerned because he is showing actual deference to a god. There is also a pause before he responds. Not hesitation. But gravity.
"I greet you, Masque of Repose. This is unexpected. Is she asking for me, or just for aid?"
"Naru-O has confirmed via the cipher that she sent that this is the actual Green Lady who has requested extraction, and not a cover identity," the god says, and pauses, "And no. She has not asked for you by name. I am assigning Turncloak in particular because you are familiar with the departed Walker's territory. We also require clarification of what this chaos is."
Horizons raises a hand, swallowing a biscuit.
"On a scale of 1 to 10, how much shenanigans can we expect?"
"It's the Underworld. Eleven. If not twelve," Turncloak says, managing gravitas.
"Fifteen." The Masque opens a solemn scroll, reading off the missive. "Oblivion has come to the territory of the Walker. All consuming. All destroying. Unstoppable. Unyielding. I request immediate extraction. My mission is over."
Turncloak broods. It is his default state of being.
"You have clearance for any resources you require," the Masque adds, "As well as pertinent information needed for this mission."
The First Abyssal coughs. "You all need to know something important, before we venture into that territory. There's information that's been kept…quiet. That will be pertinent. Walker in Darkness has been dead for two years now. Nearly three. This is most likely related to what is going on down there."
Star raises a hand.
"I thought he's been dead for, like, two thousand years."
"He was a ghost," Five clarifies, "Do you mean dead again. Re-dead? Unghosted?"
Turncloak stares at them for a long moment, and then allows himself one dry chuckle before nodding. "Permanently destroyed. I should have specified. Hun and po. He is no more, and his territory was left to the wolves."
Star makes an understanding sound. Horizons sips his tea.
"I can confirm," the Masque adds, "Turncloak permanently destroyed the Deathlord prior to being allowed into Yu Shan. It was one of the reasons Lytek and the God of Narrative Causality sponsored him. It was also the reason I requested Turncloak- as he was the one who destroyed the Walker in Darkness, and he has on-the-ground knowledge of his territory."
Turncloak nods an acknowledgement. Star again raises a hand. "What's stopping the Green Lady from just moving to Creation and just, you know, sprinting for a Gate?"
The Masque of Repose thinks of that for a moment. You think, at least. He is wearing a mask. "I am unsure. Most likely, this is why she is requesting extraction. I can only guess, but I believe that the reason she is requesting extraction is because she cannot get to Creation on her own."
Star nods. She counts off her fingers.
"So," she says, "To be clear, we're heading into the Underworld, a place horribly marred and devoured by Oblivion, led by the man who caused it by killing the guy who ran it, to find a deep cover agent who cannot leave it for whatever reason, and probably going to find two or three other Deathlords in the process. Am I missing anything?"
Turncloak mentally calculates, tries to figure out if this is his fault. He realizes it is, and takes pride in it.
"This will be considered time and a half," the Masque declares.
Chapter 6:
The Thing That Is
It has been two weeks since the South was reconnected to the Loom. The life of an agent of Heaven, even of an unofficial one, tends towards sudden bursts of activity followed by lots of paperwork. That he could appreciate the necessity of logistics had ingratiated Kiddo with Horizons and Star, who taught him how to sign things in triplicate, and Ghost had introduced them to a skill called 'Copy Paste.' Star declared Kiddo was welcome to stay at her manse for however long he wished, and was her favorite person ever.
"I think we should burn the prayer strip and run," Ghost whispers.
The cement wall is one of the few pieces of rubble that they could hide behind. The heavy hiss in the air comes in time with the flaming wheel, its eyes looking in every direction, its rings rotating around a central, invisible point. The threadbare roof of the bunker rumbles with its passing and Kiddo loosens his hold on the flamepiece as it passes.
"What was that," he asks.
Ghost's plates rotate. "Okay, according to my contact in the Loom, that was Ophanim, a Behemoth who used to be the Warden Soul of the Empress. Which I have no context for."
Kiddo nods. He then turns to Ghost.
"You have a contact in the Loom?"
"I don't need to sleep. Also, the Pattern Spiders are really curious about how things work where I'm from, and it's a mutual exchange of information."
"So, you're friends with the Pattern Spiders?"
Ghost bobs up and down. Kiddo considers that. Works his jaw.
"Good for you, buddy."
"When you want to return, burn a prayer strip to Shining Barrator," the Lion to his left rumbles, "The Gate doesn't move. We'll keep it open for three minutes. If you're not there, we close it."
"Got it," Kiddo says with a nod, "Ghost, objective?"
Ghost's eye glows. From Kiddo's perspective, a ruin in the distance illuminates. Behind them, the Lions turn, walking back into the Gate, which snaps shut. Kiddo begins walking, Ghost floating alongside him.
A ruined city. Not just ruined- flattened. Shattered. What remains are barely foundations. Bricks atop other bricks, the incline of the smoothed ground like walking into a crater.
"So. At some point we need to go to Hell. Because there are Ghosts in Ligier's workshop."
"I think we'd need an invitation. Nazri wants us to investigate the ruins of a treasury, right?"
Ghost bobs up and down. "According to Nazri, that treasury held the artifacts the Yozi are seeking as part of the Reclamation. During the Usurpation, this city- Meru- was directly hit by the Realm Defense Grid, and as a result the artifacts were scattered throughout Creation."
Kiddo grunts an acknowledgement. He opens a hand and the spear vanishes. He closes it, and a flamepiece appears. A gift from a recent acquaintance. 'Like a gun' was Ghost's assessment. At least he hasn't shot himself. Yet.
"Anyone here would have been completely obliterated, right?" he asks.
His eyes dart to a loose stone. One that has begun to shift. Shake.
"From what I know about the Realm Defense Grid, yes."
"We're not alone."
It was with an air of solemness that you were all summoned to the Violet Bier of Sorrows, led by a scarab beetle down stone passageways marked with the well-appointed finery of austere funeral rites. Turncloak has been here before- one of his main contacts in Heaven is in this place. The others have not.
You are led into an office that resembles a tomb, where everything is stone and steady, where the beautiful carvings are permanent and still, and the masks upon the walls are of ages long past.
A larger scarab bedecked in jewelry approached and bows, standing before the petrified wood desk.
"The Masque of Repose shall be with you in five minutes," they say, "Take your seats. You shall be served."
The four of you sit on stone seats which are somehow wonderfully comfortable and more scarabs come out, serving tea and biscuits. As the three hundredth second passes, the stone doors behind the desk opens and a god with the face of a golden funeral mask walks out. His robes are long but end exactly at the floor. He is the mirror of an entombed king.
This is his office.
"Turncloak, I thank you for coming. As I do Reigo, Wandering Horizons, and Star of the Shiftless Sky. There is chaos in the holdings of Walker in Darkness and the Green Lady has requested immediate extraction."
Five pulls a pocket atlas out of her bookbag. Sees the Walker's holdings are disturbingly close to Great Forks.
Turncloak rises with a respectful nod of his head, and the others are visibly concerned because he is showing actual deference to a god. There is also a pause before he responds. Not hesitation. But gravity.
"I greet you, Masque of Repose. This is unexpected. Is she asking for me, or just for aid?"
"Naru-O has confirmed via the cipher that she sent that this is the actual Green Lady who has requested extraction, and not a cover identity," the god says, and pauses, "And no. She has not asked for you by name. I am assigning Turncloak in particular because you are familiar with the departed Walker's territory. We also require clarification of what this chaos is."
Horizons raises a hand, swallowing a biscuit.
"On a scale of 1 to 10, how much shenanigans can we expect?"
"It's the Underworld. Eleven. If not twelve," Turncloak says, managing gravitas.
"Fifteen." The Masque opens a solemn scroll, reading off the missive. "Oblivion has come to the territory of the Walker. All consuming. All destroying. Unstoppable. Unyielding. I request immediate extraction. My mission is over."
Turncloak broods. It is his default state of being.
"You have clearance for any resources you require," the Masque adds, "As well as pertinent information needed for this mission."
The First Abyssal coughs. "You all need to know something important, before we venture into that territory. There's information that's been kept…quiet. That will be pertinent. Walker in Darkness has been dead for two years now. Nearly three. This is most likely related to what is going on down there."
Star raises a hand.
"I thought he's been dead for, like, two thousand years."
"He was a ghost," Five clarifies, "Do you mean dead again. Re-dead? Unghosted?"
Turncloak stares at them for a long moment, and then allows himself one dry chuckle before nodding. "Permanently destroyed. I should have specified. Hun and po. He is no more, and his territory was left to the wolves."
Star makes an understanding sound. Horizons sips his tea.
"I can confirm," the Masque adds, "Turncloak permanently destroyed the Deathlord prior to being allowed into Yu Shan. It was one of the reasons Lytek and the God of Narrative Causality sponsored him. It was also the reason I requested Turncloak- as he was the one who destroyed the Walker in Darkness, and he has on-the-ground knowledge of his territory."
Turncloak nods an acknowledgement. Star again raises a hand. "What's stopping the Green Lady from just moving to Creation and just, you know, sprinting for a Gate?"
The Masque of Repose thinks of that for a moment. You think, at least. He is wearing a mask. "I am unsure. Most likely, this is why she is requesting extraction. I can only guess, but I believe that the reason she is requesting extraction is because she cannot get to Creation on her own."
Star nods. She counts off her fingers.
"So," she says, "To be clear, we're heading into the Underworld, a place horribly marred and devoured by Oblivion, led by the man who caused it by killing the guy who ran it, to find a deep cover agent who cannot leave it for whatever reason, and probably going to find two or three other Deathlords in the process. Am I missing anything?"
Turncloak mentally calculates, tries to figure out if this is his fault. He realizes it is, and takes pride in it.
"This will be considered time and a half," the Masque declares.
Chapter 6:
The Thing That Is
It has been two weeks since the South was reconnected to the Loom. The life of an agent of Heaven, even of an unofficial one, tends towards sudden bursts of activity followed by lots of paperwork. That he could appreciate the necessity of logistics had ingratiated Kiddo with Horizons and Star, who taught him how to sign things in triplicate, and Ghost had introduced them to a skill called 'Copy Paste.' Star declared Kiddo was welcome to stay at her manse for however long he wished, and was her favorite person ever.
"I think we should burn the prayer strip and run," Ghost whispers.
The cement wall is one of the few pieces of rubble that they could hide behind. The heavy hiss in the air comes in time with the flaming wheel, its eyes looking in every direction, its rings rotating around a central, invisible point. The threadbare roof of the bunker rumbles with its passing and Kiddo loosens his hold on the flamepiece as it passes.
"What was that," he asks.
Ghost's plates rotate. "Okay, according to my contact in the Loom, that was Ophanim, a Behemoth who used to be the Warden Soul of the Empress. Which I have no context for."
Kiddo nods. He then turns to Ghost.
"You have a contact in the Loom?"
"I don't need to sleep. Also, the Pattern Spiders are really curious about how things work where I'm from, and it's a mutual exchange of information."
"So, you're friends with the Pattern Spiders?"
Ghost bobs up and down. Kiddo considers that. Works his jaw.
"Good for you, buddy."
The Underworld; It Hungers
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Mirrors crack, silver tarnishes, water boils. You transit into the Underworld- a reflection, dreamlike, of Creation as it was. The gray skies of the Shadowland become dusky and thick, the ground beneath you giving like sponge. The Antisun, Ixion, hangs low in the sky.
The Walker's holdings were called the Ebon Spires of Pyrron, and Turncloak knew them as grand spires and great towers. He expected to transit you so you could view the departed Deathlord's fortress.
It is…not in good shape.
One of the towers is completely collapsed.
Half the fortress is gone.
As if something has taken a bite out of it.
Turncloak merely whistles, dragging a hand down his mouth and chin. "I did not do that."
"Ominous," Star says with a nod, "Not the result of…a grand battle with the Deathlord?"
"I snuck up on him, ripped him in two vertically, and consumed his Essence. Then I got the fuck out of there." He nods. "This is a thing."
A battle has taken place in the great fields before the Ebon Spires, and no side won. War machines strewn through the horizon. Necromechanical siege weapons lain on their sides, their weapons splayed, their wheels crushed.
Great animated beasts of Primordial times, bisected and hollowed.
Skeletal armies numbering in the millions, shattered and scattered. Forts cleaved in two from tower to base.
To Turncloak, it is disturbing because he does not recognize this battle. It was new. He was not here for it, and still something had done this.
"Looks like Nexus after we asked Little Beam to help," Horizons mutters.
Star surveys the devastation, shaking her head. "Why so much war for an empty land?"
"Those that pass hold value in this landscape. It holds value to their lost lives. Memories, like smoke and rain." Turncloak's words are distracted as he takes it in, surveys it, his caste mark bleeding on his forehead. "This is all about remembering, the inability to move on. It's why they're ghosts in the first place."
A foci turns, a faint laser light pointing to the distance. What Five notices is the lack of Essence. Whatever destroyed this army consumes their Essence as it does so. Which makes what she sees stand out more.
She points.
"Abyssal Exalted, two hundred meters, moving away. Capable but not powerful."
Turncloak snaps his head around, eyes narrowing. He frowns. "A young one." He exchanges a glance with Star. "Five, what do you mean by moving away?"
Five's senses zoom in through her foci. A cloaked man in light black armor and a cape running from the battlefield, towards the supposed safety of the half-eaten fortress. His arms pumping, his shuddering breathes. He is terrified.
"He's running scared from something," Five elaborates.
Turncloak gives an almost bored snort. He leans against the femur of a broken war machine.
"Star, go talk with him."
Star gives two thumbs up.
And then she's gone. She appears next to the Abyssal, running along at his pase. "Hi! How are you? Is everything okay?"
The Abyssal screams, stumbling to the side, losing their footing, and promptly sharting themselves.
"It wasn't me! I didn't do it! I was just there! I couldn't even stop it!"
Star skids to a stop, looking to the side and wrinkling her nose. She gives a sympathetic woof, waving her hand and squatting down. "Hold on hold on. Didn't do what?"
They are surrounded, on all sides, by ruined battlements and half-towers of lost ages. How many are there? Does it matter?
"It came here and the Nephrak spoke of it and Typhon decided it was weak and attacked it and then it all went to shit!"
The Abyssal grabs at his chest. He is young, and pale. More pale than an Abyssal would normally be. Black eyes wide, blood tears of terror running down white cheeks. "I'm the only one left! I saw them all fall to it! The Nephrak sang in joy! The others- the others screamed! I could only run!"
Star nods. She is trying to not freak out.
"Okay. Okay. What, exactly, is it?"
"It is Oblivion! Void Incarnate! It is absolute destruction! It cannot be stopped, and it is coming for us all!"
The Abyssal tries to scramble to his feet. "The Hekatonkhire came for it and I saw it fall! None of us are safe!"
Star stands up, reaches out a hand to him.
"Can you describe it in anyway or are you just assuming a thing which causes rubbing, which doesn't actually eat it up, which doesn't really sound like Oblivion-"
"It is behind you!"
"-Like a shadow that comes and…" And she turns around with a blink.
What Star sees-
Is skin.
Flawless, beyond reason.
Stretched too thin, without blemish, without wrinkle, without fold, like drumskin.
A face without feature.
Simple beyond childlike.
She stares into the Void and the Void stares back with innocent eyes.
And it breathes in.
Turncloak does not look bored anymore.
"What the fuck is that," he mutters.
Five stares at it. She reaches up and taps her focal. In the distance, they watch the Abyssal, screaming and vanishing into the Void, before the creature is gone, into the dreams and shadows. Star walks up behind her compatriots, rocking back and forth on her heels.
"So, that's not the result of you killing the Walker, right?" Horizons asks.
"No," Turncloak breathes.
"I'm just asking, because, you know, no one's killed one."
"I was in a hurry, but no. I didn't see that."
Five taps her focal again, staring at it. Then turning to the battlefield. Then turning back to the focal.
"It's Oblivion, apparently," Star finally manages, "According to the Abyssal. Who just got eaten. So, now that we know what's happened, who's voting to leave that thing the fuck alone?"
Star shoots up a hand.
"It's my Uncle!" Five finally sputters.
The other three turn to her. Star pushes through the Abyssal and the Endings and cups Five's face.
"I will buy you another Clawstrider if you say that's on your mother's side." Star meets the shorter girl's gaze. "Lie to me if you have to."
Five shakes her head. "It's-The Essence is configured like my Father's. Just, with…with the Void. A mix of Grandfather and the Void."
Silence hangs over them. Terrible, terrible imagery. Five voices a theory.
"Turncloak, I think we know how Grandfather got your tether from the Neverborn, now."
The timeline matches up. Autochthon did say that he 'probed the depths of the Void' to retrieve Turncloak's leash. Apparently he enjoyed it.
"Well," Horizons says, "Look at the bright side. At least he got laid."
The Walker's holdings were called the Ebon Spires of Pyrron, and Turncloak knew them as grand spires and great towers. He expected to transit you so you could view the departed Deathlord's fortress.
It is…not in good shape.
One of the towers is completely collapsed.
Half the fortress is gone.
As if something has taken a bite out of it.
Turncloak merely whistles, dragging a hand down his mouth and chin. "I did not do that."
"Ominous," Star says with a nod, "Not the result of…a grand battle with the Deathlord?"
"I snuck up on him, ripped him in two vertically, and consumed his Essence. Then I got the fuck out of there." He nods. "This is a thing."
A battle has taken place in the great fields before the Ebon Spires, and no side won. War machines strewn through the horizon. Necromechanical siege weapons lain on their sides, their weapons splayed, their wheels crushed.
Great animated beasts of Primordial times, bisected and hollowed.
Skeletal armies numbering in the millions, shattered and scattered. Forts cleaved in two from tower to base.
To Turncloak, it is disturbing because he does not recognize this battle. It was new. He was not here for it, and still something had done this.
"Looks like Nexus after we asked Little Beam to help," Horizons mutters.
Star surveys the devastation, shaking her head. "Why so much war for an empty land?"
"Those that pass hold value in this landscape. It holds value to their lost lives. Memories, like smoke and rain." Turncloak's words are distracted as he takes it in, surveys it, his caste mark bleeding on his forehead. "This is all about remembering, the inability to move on. It's why they're ghosts in the first place."
A foci turns, a faint laser light pointing to the distance. What Five notices is the lack of Essence. Whatever destroyed this army consumes their Essence as it does so. Which makes what she sees stand out more.
She points.
"Abyssal Exalted, two hundred meters, moving away. Capable but not powerful."
Turncloak snaps his head around, eyes narrowing. He frowns. "A young one." He exchanges a glance with Star. "Five, what do you mean by moving away?"
Five's senses zoom in through her foci. A cloaked man in light black armor and a cape running from the battlefield, towards the supposed safety of the half-eaten fortress. His arms pumping, his shuddering breathes. He is terrified.
"He's running scared from something," Five elaborates.
Turncloak gives an almost bored snort. He leans against the femur of a broken war machine.
"Star, go talk with him."
Star gives two thumbs up.
And then she's gone. She appears next to the Abyssal, running along at his pase. "Hi! How are you? Is everything okay?"
The Abyssal screams, stumbling to the side, losing their footing, and promptly sharting themselves.
"It wasn't me! I didn't do it! I was just there! I couldn't even stop it!"
Star skids to a stop, looking to the side and wrinkling her nose. She gives a sympathetic woof, waving her hand and squatting down. "Hold on hold on. Didn't do what?"
They are surrounded, on all sides, by ruined battlements and half-towers of lost ages. How many are there? Does it matter?
"It came here and the Nephrak spoke of it and Typhon decided it was weak and attacked it and then it all went to shit!"
The Abyssal grabs at his chest. He is young, and pale. More pale than an Abyssal would normally be. Black eyes wide, blood tears of terror running down white cheeks. "I'm the only one left! I saw them all fall to it! The Nephrak sang in joy! The others- the others screamed! I could only run!"
Star nods. She is trying to not freak out.
"Okay. Okay. What, exactly, is it?"
"It is Oblivion! Void Incarnate! It is absolute destruction! It cannot be stopped, and it is coming for us all!"
The Abyssal tries to scramble to his feet. "The Hekatonkhire came for it and I saw it fall! None of us are safe!"
Star stands up, reaches out a hand to him.
"Can you describe it in anyway or are you just assuming a thing which causes rubbing, which doesn't actually eat it up, which doesn't really sound like Oblivion-"
"It is behind you!"
"-Like a shadow that comes and…" And she turns around with a blink.
What Star sees-
Is skin.
Flawless, beyond reason.
Stretched too thin, without blemish, without wrinkle, without fold, like drumskin.
A face without feature.
Simple beyond childlike.
She stares into the Void and the Void stares back with innocent eyes.
And it breathes in.
Turncloak does not look bored anymore.
"What the fuck is that," he mutters.
Five stares at it. She reaches up and taps her focal. In the distance, they watch the Abyssal, screaming and vanishing into the Void, before the creature is gone, into the dreams and shadows. Star walks up behind her compatriots, rocking back and forth on her heels.
"So, that's not the result of you killing the Walker, right?" Horizons asks.
"No," Turncloak breathes.
"I'm just asking, because, you know, no one's killed one."
"I was in a hurry, but no. I didn't see that."
Five taps her focal again, staring at it. Then turning to the battlefield. Then turning back to the focal.
"It's Oblivion, apparently," Star finally manages, "According to the Abyssal. Who just got eaten. So, now that we know what's happened, who's voting to leave that thing the fuck alone?"
Star shoots up a hand.
"It's my Uncle!" Five finally sputters.
The other three turn to her. Star pushes through the Abyssal and the Endings and cups Five's face.
"I will buy you another Clawstrider if you say that's on your mother's side." Star meets the shorter girl's gaze. "Lie to me if you have to."
Five shakes her head. "It's-The Essence is configured like my Father's. Just, with…with the Void. A mix of Grandfather and the Void."
Silence hangs over them. Terrible, terrible imagery. Five voices a theory.
"Turncloak, I think we know how Grandfather got your tether from the Neverborn, now."
The timeline matches up. Autochthon did say that he 'probed the depths of the Void' to retrieve Turncloak's leash. Apparently he enjoyed it.
"Well," Horizons says, "Look at the bright side. At least he got laid."
- Location
- Queensland, Australia
... Era'teen? Not familiar with that and I can't dig up the connection.
Also the connection between the Pattern Spiders and Ghost is cute. I wonder just how much stuff the Pattern Spiders got out of that data dump, because I can't help but feel like there is a lot of 'auto-reset upon Essence Disruption end' alterations that could allow them to make.
Basically the whole 'Gravity means things fall down. Gravity is naturally occurring (if guided by these Gods who are willing to adjust it if you ask/bribe/threaten appropriately) and so, when whichever Asshole Essence Wielder stops the Essence Effect messing things up, we no longer need to go and sort out the knot caused because it automatically unravels itself' thing coming from it. And hey, there's a handy-dandy filler-in for Essence User with Paracausal Effect/User they can cross-reference with to make constructing the index easier.
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Back in the Times of Primordial Glory, a race called the Era'teen stumbled upon Autochthon. Because they used technology, they worshipped him and for a time they got along well.
Then they tried to enslave him.
With technology.
The result was the first known instance of Soulsteel.
Kiddo's still being chased; Highly Efficient Delivery
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
The worst part of being chased by a Behemoth made of interlocking wheels covered with eyes that are on fire in a city that was directly hit by the Realm Defense Grid during the Usurpation is that there aren't a lot of places to hide. The slightly intact building served for a while until one of the eyes caught a glimpse and the place got leveled, and there was an uncomfortable amount of time before Ghost could revive him, which lead to them climbing onto the mostly standing remains of a orichalcum lighthouse and Kiddo flattening his back against the sunlamp.
"Okay." Ghost appears next to him. "Explain to me why we're not burning the prayer strip and running for the Gate?"
"Ophanim's loose and firing on anything that moves. Meaning anything that either climbs up here or goes through the Gate's in danger. Problem is, we don't have anything that can actually kill it."
He pats his hands on the worked metal wall, working a panel open. He pulls out a coil, examining it.
"Okay. That's heroic. That's good. What are you doing?"
"Trying to work up a sacrifice. Noedumari's still in the Forge, right? She might be able to get us something to do the job."
The plates around Ghost rotate. "Actually, I can do that. The Pattern Spiders taught me a spell for contacting the Forge."
Kiddo turns to his companion, shoving the coil back in. "A spell?"
The plates rotate closer. Perhaps that is the Ghost equivalent of being bashful? "They inducted me- I think that's the word- into Weaving. It doesn't work exactly the same way, but they're very good teachers! Really good!"
Kiddo stares for a moment.
"Good on you, buddy."
Noedumari has been having a good two weeks. Judging from the responsibility, the amount of prayer she is receiving, and the scope of her tasks, she is pretty sure she outranks Lytek, and she is certainly not letting that go to her head. Stepping down one of the differentiated material blocks, she walks down the stairs towards the bouncy floor of this wing of Storage, where the Minotaur- as the larger bipedal platforms refer to themselves as- waits with a metal tablet.
"Okay," she says, taking the tablet, "That's the Orbs unattuned and organized. Great work. Do we have estimation on the Immatizers?"
The Minotaur clicks. It gives out an estimation. Multiple different time estimates, due to their differing view of time due to their native usage of the Third Excellency. Which is much faster than she could do on her own.
"Great!" She hands the slate back. "I'll leave you to it!"
The Minotaur vanishes in a flicker of light. Noedumari nods, hands on her hips, looking out upon Storage. The Vex have moved in and have been hard at work- the constructs they have built have made channeling the ambient essence incredibly efficient and increased the workflow of the waldos significantly, and the additional portals they have built have allowed more Vex to enter, increasing the workforce even more.
What is interesting to her is how fast they are- once they got the okay from Logos and her to start working, they started retroactively working. Apparently from the moment they showed up, they could use some version of the Third Excellency to constantly reset their actions until their structures pretty much built themselves.
It was pretty awesome, she thought.
"Noedumari, is this coming through?"
She turns to her right. Ghost hangs in the air in front of her, but translucent and blue, like a hologlyph. She takes a step back, tilting her head from one side, then the other.
She pokes the image and it ripples. "Huh. Hi, Ghost. What can I help you with?"
"Great. You're in the Primal Forge? We're in the ruins of that city on top of the Imperial Mountain and we're being chased by a Behemoth named Ophanim. Does the Forge have anything that can at least contain it?"
Noedumari raises an eyebrow. Then she smiles, and with one hand on her hip, gives a thumbs up with her other hand. "Give me a minute. I'll open a Door and get it to you."
The image of Ghost disperses and she places two fingers in her mouth and whistles. With a distortion of space, the immense form of the Vex Mind appears, and upon brass metal waldos lowers a device into her waiting hands. It resembles an Essence Cannon, yes- save for the rings at the end, rotating around a pulsing black orb, the ivory stock carved with viridian runes, and its trigger built for longer hands.
<<Ophanim;91;4;3;latency>>
"Good work." Ninety one minutes of searching total , four uses of the Third Excellency total, three seconds actual. "I'll deliver it. You guys are lifesavers."
Next to Kiddo, the triangle appears, glows, and expands into a glowing corridor. In it, Noedumari appears, holding in her hands a gun. "Hey hey," she says, "So Ophanim? According to records, he was the Warden Soul of the Empress of Existence, who used to be one of the most powerful Devas in existence. No wonder you're having trouble."
She hands the weapon over to him. "Behemoth Attunement Restraint," she explains, "Aim it at the Behemoth, pull the trigger, wait for the rings to align, release. It'll store it in the matrice and you're good."
Kiddo grins and laughs. "You're a lifesaver. I owe you dinner."
Noedumari blushes, backing into the tunnel, which closes.
Ghost stares at him.
"Did you just flirt with her?"
Kiddo hefts up the weapon. "Of course, I did. She's pretty and I used to be a Dragonblooded, remember?"
"Okay." Ghost appears next to him. "Explain to me why we're not burning the prayer strip and running for the Gate?"
"Ophanim's loose and firing on anything that moves. Meaning anything that either climbs up here or goes through the Gate's in danger. Problem is, we don't have anything that can actually kill it."
He pats his hands on the worked metal wall, working a panel open. He pulls out a coil, examining it.
"Okay. That's heroic. That's good. What are you doing?"
"Trying to work up a sacrifice. Noedumari's still in the Forge, right? She might be able to get us something to do the job."
The plates around Ghost rotate. "Actually, I can do that. The Pattern Spiders taught me a spell for contacting the Forge."
Kiddo turns to his companion, shoving the coil back in. "A spell?"
The plates rotate closer. Perhaps that is the Ghost equivalent of being bashful? "They inducted me- I think that's the word- into Weaving. It doesn't work exactly the same way, but they're very good teachers! Really good!"
Kiddo stares for a moment.
"Good on you, buddy."
Noedumari has been having a good two weeks. Judging from the responsibility, the amount of prayer she is receiving, and the scope of her tasks, she is pretty sure she outranks Lytek, and she is certainly not letting that go to her head. Stepping down one of the differentiated material blocks, she walks down the stairs towards the bouncy floor of this wing of Storage, where the Minotaur- as the larger bipedal platforms refer to themselves as- waits with a metal tablet.
"Okay," she says, taking the tablet, "That's the Orbs unattuned and organized. Great work. Do we have estimation on the Immatizers?"
The Minotaur clicks. It gives out an estimation. Multiple different time estimates, due to their differing view of time due to their native usage of the Third Excellency. Which is much faster than she could do on her own.
"Great!" She hands the slate back. "I'll leave you to it!"
The Minotaur vanishes in a flicker of light. Noedumari nods, hands on her hips, looking out upon Storage. The Vex have moved in and have been hard at work- the constructs they have built have made channeling the ambient essence incredibly efficient and increased the workflow of the waldos significantly, and the additional portals they have built have allowed more Vex to enter, increasing the workforce even more.
What is interesting to her is how fast they are- once they got the okay from Logos and her to start working, they started retroactively working. Apparently from the moment they showed up, they could use some version of the Third Excellency to constantly reset their actions until their structures pretty much built themselves.
It was pretty awesome, she thought.
"Noedumari, is this coming through?"
She turns to her right. Ghost hangs in the air in front of her, but translucent and blue, like a hologlyph. She takes a step back, tilting her head from one side, then the other.
She pokes the image and it ripples. "Huh. Hi, Ghost. What can I help you with?"
"Great. You're in the Primal Forge? We're in the ruins of that city on top of the Imperial Mountain and we're being chased by a Behemoth named Ophanim. Does the Forge have anything that can at least contain it?"
Noedumari raises an eyebrow. Then she smiles, and with one hand on her hip, gives a thumbs up with her other hand. "Give me a minute. I'll open a Door and get it to you."
The image of Ghost disperses and she places two fingers in her mouth and whistles. With a distortion of space, the immense form of the Vex Mind appears, and upon brass metal waldos lowers a device into her waiting hands. It resembles an Essence Cannon, yes- save for the rings at the end, rotating around a pulsing black orb, the ivory stock carved with viridian runes, and its trigger built for longer hands.
<<Ophanim;91;4;3;latency>>
"Good work." Ninety one minutes of searching total , four uses of the Third Excellency total, three seconds actual. "I'll deliver it. You guys are lifesavers."
Next to Kiddo, the triangle appears, glows, and expands into a glowing corridor. In it, Noedumari appears, holding in her hands a gun. "Hey hey," she says, "So Ophanim? According to records, he was the Warden Soul of the Empress of Existence, who used to be one of the most powerful Devas in existence. No wonder you're having trouble."
She hands the weapon over to him. "Behemoth Attunement Restraint," she explains, "Aim it at the Behemoth, pull the trigger, wait for the rings to align, release. It'll store it in the matrice and you're good."
Kiddo grins and laughs. "You're a lifesaver. I owe you dinner."
Noedumari blushes, backing into the tunnel, which closes.
Ghost stares at him.
"Did you just flirt with her?"
Kiddo hefts up the weapon. "Of course, I did. She's pretty and I used to be a Dragonblooded, remember?"
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Remember, the sexual preference of the Dragonblooded is "Now."
Green Lady; It Gets Worse
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
"Gods I hate it down here," Turncloak mutters.
A chill wind has picked up, carrying with it the faint whispers of a thousand thousand murdered orphans. Turncloak has pulled up his scarf, Five has her hands over her mouth, Star hides behind the Abyssal, and Horizons simply walks beside him because he is already dead inside.
The breeze of despair passes and Five chokes out the edge. "Is it always like it down here?"
Ixion passes over, marking the time with its screams. Turncloak nods with a sigh. "Alright, so we want to avoid the…thing…if we can help it. Last time someone killed Autochthon's kid, he took it badly."
"Probed the depths of the Void," Five states. She shudders. "I will need time in the Vats to remove that image from my mind."
Star shakes her head. "We just use alcohol for that."
Turncloak folds his arms. "I…would know more of it, first." It's clear from his expression that he knows the words are crazy talk. "Though I don't expect the three of you to do something quite that stupid. Our priority is the Green Lady."
Horizons rubs the back of his neck. "We're assuming it hasn't…" He mimes sucking up something. Possibly through a straw. Star shudders and smacks his shoulder.
Turncloak stares. "Let's try asking her." A brief circumspect examination of their surroundings- which is almost entirely dead trees- and a splash zone, and he casts Infallible Messenger.
"Your request has been answered, and support is near the Ebon Spires of Pyrron. Send your response to Perfection in the Turning of Alabaster to Ebony. And what the Hell is going on, if you have the Inclination."
And the cherub is off. Star reaches into her dress- which has pockets- and takes out a cup containing a sugary concoction she got before leaving Heaven, sipping it gingerly.
A golden cherub appears next to Turncloak, with a voice that he recognizes. He was at the wedding.
"I await at the shadow of the southern most spyre for you. I will fill you in there."
It vanishes, and Turncloak jams a thumb at the remaining spire. "Green Lady's waiting for us at the last remaining spire. Seems she's taking cover or…some shit. Shall we?"
On the way to the spyre, you spotted another creature. Its face stretched across its torso, eyes flat against its skin. Its arms, like ropes of flesh with long, rubbery fingers brushing the ground. Its bare feet, flat against the smooth soil. Its mouth, a straight line. A dead leaf upon its head its only adornment.
A glance told you that this was a creature of murder, and you hurried on, especially when you heard the slurping sound in passing. Surely that creature had met its end at the hands of the Great Maker's newest spawn.
In the shadow of the sole remaining spyre of the Walker's fortress, you find a young woman- you can't tell with Exalted- sitting on the ground with several crates of booze, a pillow to sit on, and several packs of scrolls which are most likely made of human leather. She has a green crown on her head, a heavy cloak over her, pale skin, and is draining a bottle of what you can guess is 190 proof.
"Turncloak, glad you made it."
Turncloak nods a greeting. "It's been a while. How was the honeymoon?"
"It was at the Mouth of Oblivion."
Turncloak sucks his teeth. Five, next to him, lightly elbows him. "Elaborate?"
"The Walker in Darkness, seeking to make sure that I was the most loyal to him, held an elaborate wedding ceremony," the Green Lady explains, "Turncloak was in attendance. My husband then whisked the two of us away to the Tombs of the Neverborn. Where we consummated."
She takes another sip of her booze.
"Did the Neverborn give commentary?" Turncloak asks. Five elbows him again. He does not respond, possibly as a show of dominance. "Anyway, the…thing walking around. Can you elaborate on what exactly happened?"
The Green Lady pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. "Sorry if I'm disjointed. I'm still getting out of my cover identities." She huffs, resting her head against the stone. "So. Mask of Winters sent us to secure this area a week ago. Me, and five of his Abyssals. One of them, Typhon, ran into it first. It was minding its business."
Turncloak nods, arms folded. Behind him, Star and Horizons have started looking through the scrolls. "Minding its business…how exactly. Standing in place? Wandering the landscape? Eating ghosts?"
"Mainly wandering around and looking for food. Typhon, being an assclown, swung at it with his axe. It took exception to that." For emphasis, she takes another sip of her drink.
Turncloak runs a tongue over his teeth, mirrored shades looking over the ruins of the fortress. He was agitated. He didn't like going 'home,' and this whole plane of existence was one big return to one very shitty home. He didn't like being here in particular. Didn't like the voice in his mind, muttering and whispering, disjointed memories that were not his own distracting and confusing him, and he was trying very hard to not let that particular agitation show.
"Winters is trying to take this region. Figures."
"Good luck with that, half his Abyssals are in that thing's stomach. I think it's a Behemoth of some sort."
Star peaks her head over Turncloak's shoulder. "Better than that. Autochthon's back and he fucked a Neverborn. That's the result."
"It's worse." They turn to Five. "The concentration of Oblivion that the creature possesses suggests that it is not a…Neverborn that is the creatures second parent. Rather that it is Oblivion itself."
She balls her hand and coughs. "As in, the Great Maker would have had to-" She mutters unintelligibly. "With the Mouth of Oblivion."
There is a long, pregnant silence. The Green Lady finishes her bottle. Turncloak stares straight ahead, and wonders if this is the worst thing he has ever heard.
"Any hole's a goal," Horizons says with a nod.
Star smacks him on the arm.
A chill wind has picked up, carrying with it the faint whispers of a thousand thousand murdered orphans. Turncloak has pulled up his scarf, Five has her hands over her mouth, Star hides behind the Abyssal, and Horizons simply walks beside him because he is already dead inside.
The breeze of despair passes and Five chokes out the edge. "Is it always like it down here?"
Ixion passes over, marking the time with its screams. Turncloak nods with a sigh. "Alright, so we want to avoid the…thing…if we can help it. Last time someone killed Autochthon's kid, he took it badly."
"Probed the depths of the Void," Five states. She shudders. "I will need time in the Vats to remove that image from my mind."
Star shakes her head. "We just use alcohol for that."
Turncloak folds his arms. "I…would know more of it, first." It's clear from his expression that he knows the words are crazy talk. "Though I don't expect the three of you to do something quite that stupid. Our priority is the Green Lady."
Horizons rubs the back of his neck. "We're assuming it hasn't…" He mimes sucking up something. Possibly through a straw. Star shudders and smacks his shoulder.
Turncloak stares. "Let's try asking her." A brief circumspect examination of their surroundings- which is almost entirely dead trees- and a splash zone, and he casts Infallible Messenger.
"Your request has been answered, and support is near the Ebon Spires of Pyrron. Send your response to Perfection in the Turning of Alabaster to Ebony. And what the Hell is going on, if you have the Inclination."
And the cherub is off. Star reaches into her dress- which has pockets- and takes out a cup containing a sugary concoction she got before leaving Heaven, sipping it gingerly.
A golden cherub appears next to Turncloak, with a voice that he recognizes. He was at the wedding.
"I await at the shadow of the southern most spyre for you. I will fill you in there."
It vanishes, and Turncloak jams a thumb at the remaining spire. "Green Lady's waiting for us at the last remaining spire. Seems she's taking cover or…some shit. Shall we?"
On the way to the spyre, you spotted another creature. Its face stretched across its torso, eyes flat against its skin. Its arms, like ropes of flesh with long, rubbery fingers brushing the ground. Its bare feet, flat against the smooth soil. Its mouth, a straight line. A dead leaf upon its head its only adornment.
A glance told you that this was a creature of murder, and you hurried on, especially when you heard the slurping sound in passing. Surely that creature had met its end at the hands of the Great Maker's newest spawn.
In the shadow of the sole remaining spyre of the Walker's fortress, you find a young woman- you can't tell with Exalted- sitting on the ground with several crates of booze, a pillow to sit on, and several packs of scrolls which are most likely made of human leather. She has a green crown on her head, a heavy cloak over her, pale skin, and is draining a bottle of what you can guess is 190 proof.
"Turncloak, glad you made it."
Turncloak nods a greeting. "It's been a while. How was the honeymoon?"
"It was at the Mouth of Oblivion."
Turncloak sucks his teeth. Five, next to him, lightly elbows him. "Elaborate?"
"The Walker in Darkness, seeking to make sure that I was the most loyal to him, held an elaborate wedding ceremony," the Green Lady explains, "Turncloak was in attendance. My husband then whisked the two of us away to the Tombs of the Neverborn. Where we consummated."
She takes another sip of her booze.
"Did the Neverborn give commentary?" Turncloak asks. Five elbows him again. He does not respond, possibly as a show of dominance. "Anyway, the…thing walking around. Can you elaborate on what exactly happened?"
The Green Lady pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. "Sorry if I'm disjointed. I'm still getting out of my cover identities." She huffs, resting her head against the stone. "So. Mask of Winters sent us to secure this area a week ago. Me, and five of his Abyssals. One of them, Typhon, ran into it first. It was minding its business."
Turncloak nods, arms folded. Behind him, Star and Horizons have started looking through the scrolls. "Minding its business…how exactly. Standing in place? Wandering the landscape? Eating ghosts?"
"Mainly wandering around and looking for food. Typhon, being an assclown, swung at it with his axe. It took exception to that." For emphasis, she takes another sip of her drink.
Turncloak runs a tongue over his teeth, mirrored shades looking over the ruins of the fortress. He was agitated. He didn't like going 'home,' and this whole plane of existence was one big return to one very shitty home. He didn't like being here in particular. Didn't like the voice in his mind, muttering and whispering, disjointed memories that were not his own distracting and confusing him, and he was trying very hard to not let that particular agitation show.
"Winters is trying to take this region. Figures."
"Good luck with that, half his Abyssals are in that thing's stomach. I think it's a Behemoth of some sort."
Star peaks her head over Turncloak's shoulder. "Better than that. Autochthon's back and he fucked a Neverborn. That's the result."
"It's worse." They turn to Five. "The concentration of Oblivion that the creature possesses suggests that it is not a…Neverborn that is the creatures second parent. Rather that it is Oblivion itself."
She balls her hand and coughs. "As in, the Great Maker would have had to-" She mutters unintelligibly. "With the Mouth of Oblivion."
There is a long, pregnant silence. The Green Lady finishes her bottle. Turncloak stares straight ahead, and wonders if this is the worst thing he has ever heard.
"Any hole's a goal," Horizons says with a nod.
Star smacks him on the arm.
The Race to the Bottom
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
"Okay," Star says, closing and packing a scroll and sliding it into the box, which may be made of human leather, "How is this our problem?"
"It has at least the remains of five Abyssals and it's going to be my going home present to Lytek," the Green Lady explains, stretching her arms above her head, "To be clear, it would also be irresponsible to leave it down here, because if we leave it alone it's probably going to eat Sijan."
Two focals return to Five. She waits a moment, and a third returns, and she nods. None have been eaten.
"Okay," Star continues, "What about the Abyssals inside it? Five didn't see the Exaltation escape when it ate the runner, so either it's doing something really fucky or they're still alive."
The Green Lady nods. "True. They're all Abyssals, so they'd know Necromancy. Nothing comparable to Turncloak, though."
"Preach," the elder grunts.
"So we can send an Infallible Messenger to see if any of them are alive," the Green Lady continues, "And if we get a response swearing vengeance and making groaning noises about the glory of death, well…"
There were many reasons Turncloak left the Underworld. Least of all were the quality of the company.
"They really haven't gotten any more competent since I left," he mutters, "Fine. Give me their names. It'll be worth it, only if they know what's waiting on the other side of that thing."
"Typhon, Seven Deadly Instruments, Orphan of Fifteen Mothers, Black Clouds Under Darkened Skies, Blackened Skies of Everlasting Snowfall."
Turncloak and the Green Lady share a long, silent stare. Horizons leans in.
"Do we have to call them?"
Turncloak's groan starts in his toes. This is not worth his time. "Deathlords really haven't gotten any more creative in my absence, have they?"
A skeletal horse trots by, breaks its leg, and catches fire. None of them pay attention. "Were they in a contest with each other?" Five cautiously asks.
The Green Lady shrugs. "As Ghosts, the Deathlords aren't creative by nature, no matter how many calcified Third Circle Souls the Neverborn shove in them. That's what the Abyssals are for."
Five puffs herself up a little. Her foci hover around her brow, to form a crown made of spikes. Or a tiara. Made of edge. "Behold, for it is I, the Blackest Black to Ever Blacken the Black Night!"
"Prioress, loaned out to the Dowager."
Star leans against a dead tree that has a corpse hanging from it, resting her face in her hands.
"No, really," the Green Lady continues, "Blackest Black to Blacken the Black Night, Midnight Caste. Technically belongs to the Prioress of Bloody Sands, loaned them out to the Dowager so the Shoat would have some stabbing practice."
Horizons shakes his head, wondering if he should use charms in these circumstances. Ones that will remove him from this situation, or perhaps simply remove Five's ability to speak and further embarrass herself.
"No, Five. No. I'll personally ask your Grandfather to give you an attitude adjustment. Literally."
"You may be the Star of the Shifting Sky, but between the Stars is nothing but Black!"
Five is giggling. It is easy to forget that, despite looking like a girl in her mid teens, Five is actually younger than that. Much younger. And probably has been adversely affected by spending so much time amongst this assholes.
"Between the Stars is Nothing But Black, Daybreak Caste, Lover Clad in Rainment of Tears," the Green Lady says, with complete and utter disinterest. One must wonder what names she has heard.
Turncloak simply shapes the cherub, staring at it for a moment, and says with a regretful sigh, "Blackened Skies of Everlasting Snowfall," It sounds like his tongue is bleeding from saying that name out loud, "Perfection in the Turning of Alabaster to Ebony stands in the blasted plains of Pyrron. And that if he or she should respond, or have a companion respond, so that we can get them out of that thing unless they like Oblivion that much. And tell them that they fucking owe me."
The cherub flits off. Five is continuing.
"…what about 'The One Who Sees Doors and Wishes to Paint Them Black?'"
"Lion," Turncloak groans, "He had me try to teach the little shit Necromancy. I was so glad when he died."
Five sighs, the foci returning to her waist. "I see that originality, like everything else, is truly dead in the Underworld."
Behind her, skeletal rabbits drag down skeletal nights. All of them erupt into pyreflame.
"Perfection in the Turning of Alabaster to Ebony." Horizons points at Turncloak, and takes a step back.
Turncloak just groans. "Look, I was the first, okay? And maybe the Neverborn never stopped to ask if making their chosen out of fuckups was a good idea or not."
Surprisingly, a cherub appears next to Turncloak's ear. He rolls his eyes. "They're alive, they murdered Typhon for being a fuckup, and they're all fans of me. Gods fucking dammit, if any of them call me Senpai I'm going to burn this place to the ground."
He turns to the Green Lady.
"So how do we catch it?"
"It has at least the remains of five Abyssals and it's going to be my going home present to Lytek," the Green Lady explains, stretching her arms above her head, "To be clear, it would also be irresponsible to leave it down here, because if we leave it alone it's probably going to eat Sijan."
Two focals return to Five. She waits a moment, and a third returns, and she nods. None have been eaten.
"Okay," Star continues, "What about the Abyssals inside it? Five didn't see the Exaltation escape when it ate the runner, so either it's doing something really fucky or they're still alive."
The Green Lady nods. "True. They're all Abyssals, so they'd know Necromancy. Nothing comparable to Turncloak, though."
"Preach," the elder grunts.
"So we can send an Infallible Messenger to see if any of them are alive," the Green Lady continues, "And if we get a response swearing vengeance and making groaning noises about the glory of death, well…"
There were many reasons Turncloak left the Underworld. Least of all were the quality of the company.
"They really haven't gotten any more competent since I left," he mutters, "Fine. Give me their names. It'll be worth it, only if they know what's waiting on the other side of that thing."
"Typhon, Seven Deadly Instruments, Orphan of Fifteen Mothers, Black Clouds Under Darkened Skies, Blackened Skies of Everlasting Snowfall."
Turncloak and the Green Lady share a long, silent stare. Horizons leans in.
"Do we have to call them?"
Turncloak's groan starts in his toes. This is not worth his time. "Deathlords really haven't gotten any more creative in my absence, have they?"
A skeletal horse trots by, breaks its leg, and catches fire. None of them pay attention. "Were they in a contest with each other?" Five cautiously asks.
The Green Lady shrugs. "As Ghosts, the Deathlords aren't creative by nature, no matter how many calcified Third Circle Souls the Neverborn shove in them. That's what the Abyssals are for."
Five puffs herself up a little. Her foci hover around her brow, to form a crown made of spikes. Or a tiara. Made of edge. "Behold, for it is I, the Blackest Black to Ever Blacken the Black Night!"
"Prioress, loaned out to the Dowager."
Star leans against a dead tree that has a corpse hanging from it, resting her face in her hands.
"No, really," the Green Lady continues, "Blackest Black to Blacken the Black Night, Midnight Caste. Technically belongs to the Prioress of Bloody Sands, loaned them out to the Dowager so the Shoat would have some stabbing practice."
Horizons shakes his head, wondering if he should use charms in these circumstances. Ones that will remove him from this situation, or perhaps simply remove Five's ability to speak and further embarrass herself.
"No, Five. No. I'll personally ask your Grandfather to give you an attitude adjustment. Literally."
"You may be the Star of the Shifting Sky, but between the Stars is nothing but Black!"
Five is giggling. It is easy to forget that, despite looking like a girl in her mid teens, Five is actually younger than that. Much younger. And probably has been adversely affected by spending so much time amongst this assholes.
"Between the Stars is Nothing But Black, Daybreak Caste, Lover Clad in Rainment of Tears," the Green Lady says, with complete and utter disinterest. One must wonder what names she has heard.
Turncloak simply shapes the cherub, staring at it for a moment, and says with a regretful sigh, "Blackened Skies of Everlasting Snowfall," It sounds like his tongue is bleeding from saying that name out loud, "Perfection in the Turning of Alabaster to Ebony stands in the blasted plains of Pyrron. And that if he or she should respond, or have a companion respond, so that we can get them out of that thing unless they like Oblivion that much. And tell them that they fucking owe me."
The cherub flits off. Five is continuing.
"…what about 'The One Who Sees Doors and Wishes to Paint Them Black?'"
"Lion," Turncloak groans, "He had me try to teach the little shit Necromancy. I was so glad when he died."
Five sighs, the foci returning to her waist. "I see that originality, like everything else, is truly dead in the Underworld."
Behind her, skeletal rabbits drag down skeletal nights. All of them erupt into pyreflame.
"Perfection in the Turning of Alabaster to Ebony." Horizons points at Turncloak, and takes a step back.
Turncloak just groans. "Look, I was the first, okay? And maybe the Neverborn never stopped to ask if making their chosen out of fuckups was a good idea or not."
Surprisingly, a cherub appears next to Turncloak's ear. He rolls his eyes. "They're alive, they murdered Typhon for being a fuckup, and they're all fans of me. Gods fucking dammit, if any of them call me Senpai I'm going to burn this place to the ground."
He turns to the Green Lady.
"So how do we catch it?"
Behemoth Catching; Treasury; Nothing Happened
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
"And here we see a flaming wheel in its natural environment. Look at its majestic girth, its perfect circumference, its immense number of eyes. The color of its fire indicates it is a healthy male, and as this is the breeding season, we may see it soon approach a female Eye Wheel on Fire, to spin up against it to produce more, smaller, wheel cubs."
Ghost turns to Kiddo as he adjusts the sight on the supposed device that will solve their problems. The plates slide close to the glowing eye, as if in concern or skepticism.
"Were you narrating? Like this is a nature documentary?"
On one knee, the Behemoth Attunement Restraint propped on the remains of the wall, the unaware eye-ring-on-fire in the distance, Kiddo turns to his companion.
"…I guess so? Is that weird?"
"…for a Guardian, no. It's reassuring, actually."
Kiddo nods.
"What's a nature documentary?"
"Long story because I'm not sure you have cinema. But that's besides the point. What do we do-"
The orb at the center of the barrel shines. The rings that serve as the receiver spin. A new ring appears around the Behemoth in the distance and it is none the wiser, before it spins once, twice, thrice, and collapses in on itself.
The weapon glows, and from the barrel a small brass and black sphere drops into Kiddo's hand.
"Neat." He holds it out to Ghost, and it vanishes into their Inventory.
He then holds out the Behemoth Attunement Restraint, which also vanishes into their Inventory. "We'll give that back when we get back to Yu Shan," he says.
While a sprawling city in its heyday, the ruins of Meru were directly struck by the Realm Defense Grid, and were mostly leveled. Hence, using a fun Titan trick, it was easy enough to get to the Vault, and that is why Kiddo hurled himself like an electricity covered missile at the site that once held the transformed Devas of the imprisoned Primordials.
Landing neck first and hopping back to his feet, Kiddo makes a gesture. Ghost reappears, flying over to the large crater that seems to be gouged into the otherwise flat plane of the former city.
"Want to hear my theory?"
"That this was the direct target?" Kiddo asks.
"Yep. Lots I'm going to…hm. So let's see. I can use the Essence and mix it with my Light to shape a snapshot. Hold on."
And then the crater around them fills with a translucent image. Not of a vault, though. No great doors, no glass cases.
A display hall.
Pedestals, stretching as far as the eye can see.
On each is a different artifact. He recognizes the Crown from when they went to the Dragon Kings, and as he walks he passes the other pedestals. Trophies of a victory over impossible odds. Overthrowing the Perfect King Who Cannot Fall. Of killing that which Cannot Die.
He counts twenty one pedestals. Each artifact is unique. He sees a simple wooden cup overflowing. An orb, the size of a child's fist. A sword, broken into nine pieces. A gauntlet with slots for six gems.
But what stands out is one of them, standing apart from the others. A single pedestal, at the center of this display. A pedestal higher than the others, under an Adamant skylight. Upon that pedestal is a Ring. A ring of White Jade, and into it is inset letters of Old Realm.
Kiddo leans in to examine it.
"The Hope that makes the Burden of the Crown Light," he says, "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," Ghost says, "But if it's standing apart like this, there's a reason."
Kiddo thinks, passing his hand through the image of the ring. What Nasri read him in on. "These are Devas. Subsouls of the Primordials before they became Yozi. The Solar Deliberative displayed them like trophies. Why?"
"It was a long, hard war. The Spiders told me stories. I can't blame them for wanting to take some pride."
Ghost flits around to each pedestal. Taking snapshots, images of each artifact. "Nasri will love this," they say, "At least we'll have an ID on each one. Though, being directly blasted like this means they could be anywhere."
Kiddo nods. He mouths the words he saw on the ring. Narrows his eyes. "They spoke Old Realm, right. How do you say that in Old Realm…"
He says the words in the old, original language.
"Oh. Oh, I know what the Ring is."
In the North, far to the North, past what most would call civilization, there exists the Great Ice. It is a vast plane, leading to the Pole of Air, and as its name indicates, it is but that.
Ice.
Ice and Air, as far as can be. A great sheet of ice, sterile and lifeless. As one approaches the Elemental Poles, the nature of Creation reflects a purity of the elements, and Air is no different. Air is the element of Cold and Chill, and so the Great Ice is hundreds of miles of pure cold leading to the domain of the Evertempest home of the Kami of Air.
It is here that bored gods report ever that the ice is still frozen, that there is no life, and that nothing ever happens.
As it ever has.
As it always will.
It is on the Great Ice that the great mountains of Ice form great valleys of Ice that do not protect from the chill, for all on the Great Ice is frozen and sterile and cold.
It is on the Great Ice that on one particular spot, a shadow begins to fall.
The ice cracks.
From the lifeless nothing, a sprout emerges.
Ghost turns to Kiddo as he adjusts the sight on the supposed device that will solve their problems. The plates slide close to the glowing eye, as if in concern or skepticism.
"Were you narrating? Like this is a nature documentary?"
On one knee, the Behemoth Attunement Restraint propped on the remains of the wall, the unaware eye-ring-on-fire in the distance, Kiddo turns to his companion.
"…I guess so? Is that weird?"
"…for a Guardian, no. It's reassuring, actually."
Kiddo nods.
"What's a nature documentary?"
"Long story because I'm not sure you have cinema. But that's besides the point. What do we do-"
The orb at the center of the barrel shines. The rings that serve as the receiver spin. A new ring appears around the Behemoth in the distance and it is none the wiser, before it spins once, twice, thrice, and collapses in on itself.
The weapon glows, and from the barrel a small brass and black sphere drops into Kiddo's hand.
"Neat." He holds it out to Ghost, and it vanishes into their Inventory.
He then holds out the Behemoth Attunement Restraint, which also vanishes into their Inventory. "We'll give that back when we get back to Yu Shan," he says.
While a sprawling city in its heyday, the ruins of Meru were directly struck by the Realm Defense Grid, and were mostly leveled. Hence, using a fun Titan trick, it was easy enough to get to the Vault, and that is why Kiddo hurled himself like an electricity covered missile at the site that once held the transformed Devas of the imprisoned Primordials.
Landing neck first and hopping back to his feet, Kiddo makes a gesture. Ghost reappears, flying over to the large crater that seems to be gouged into the otherwise flat plane of the former city.
"Want to hear my theory?"
"That this was the direct target?" Kiddo asks.
"Yep. Lots I'm going to…hm. So let's see. I can use the Essence and mix it with my Light to shape a snapshot. Hold on."
And then the crater around them fills with a translucent image. Not of a vault, though. No great doors, no glass cases.
A display hall.
Pedestals, stretching as far as the eye can see.
On each is a different artifact. He recognizes the Crown from when they went to the Dragon Kings, and as he walks he passes the other pedestals. Trophies of a victory over impossible odds. Overthrowing the Perfect King Who Cannot Fall. Of killing that which Cannot Die.
He counts twenty one pedestals. Each artifact is unique. He sees a simple wooden cup overflowing. An orb, the size of a child's fist. A sword, broken into nine pieces. A gauntlet with slots for six gems.
But what stands out is one of them, standing apart from the others. A single pedestal, at the center of this display. A pedestal higher than the others, under an Adamant skylight. Upon that pedestal is a Ring. A ring of White Jade, and into it is inset letters of Old Realm.
Kiddo leans in to examine it.
"The Hope that makes the Burden of the Crown Light," he says, "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," Ghost says, "But if it's standing apart like this, there's a reason."
Kiddo thinks, passing his hand through the image of the ring. What Nasri read him in on. "These are Devas. Subsouls of the Primordials before they became Yozi. The Solar Deliberative displayed them like trophies. Why?"
"It was a long, hard war. The Spiders told me stories. I can't blame them for wanting to take some pride."
Ghost flits around to each pedestal. Taking snapshots, images of each artifact. "Nasri will love this," they say, "At least we'll have an ID on each one. Though, being directly blasted like this means they could be anywhere."
Kiddo nods. He mouths the words he saw on the ring. Narrows his eyes. "They spoke Old Realm, right. How do you say that in Old Realm…"
He says the words in the old, original language.
"Oh. Oh, I know what the Ring is."
In the North, far to the North, past what most would call civilization, there exists the Great Ice. It is a vast plane, leading to the Pole of Air, and as its name indicates, it is but that.
Ice.
Ice and Air, as far as can be. A great sheet of ice, sterile and lifeless. As one approaches the Elemental Poles, the nature of Creation reflects a purity of the elements, and Air is no different. Air is the element of Cold and Chill, and so the Great Ice is hundreds of miles of pure cold leading to the domain of the Evertempest home of the Kami of Air.
It is here that bored gods report ever that the ice is still frozen, that there is no life, and that nothing ever happens.
As it ever has.
As it always will.
It is on the Great Ice that the great mountains of Ice form great valleys of Ice that do not protect from the chill, for all on the Great Ice is frozen and sterile and cold.
It is on the Great Ice that on one particular spot, a shadow begins to fall.
The ice cracks.
From the lifeless nothing, a sprout emerges.
The Creature; Simple Terrible Truth
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
"Seven Heartbeats of Life's Last Note."
"Day Caste, Silver Prince. I'd tell you something about them, but there was absolutely nothing exceptional about them. At all."
The Green Lady had figured out the migration patterns of the Spawn, and so they had decided to track it down. While doing so, Five pressed her luck. Continuing to probe the depths of edge that were possible Abyssal names.
"Final Gasp's Echo Which Sing's a Life's Story and Ends."
"Daybreak, Eye and Seven Despairs. Kept Exalting and dying, and being forced to take the same name. Last I checked it was four times and the longest one lasted a year and a half. He thought it was hilarious." Turncloak takes a long sip from his canteen. "Eye's got issues. So many issues."
They sit on a rock outcropping that looks like stone but has human faces, locked in rictus grins. Behind them, Horizons and Star are pointedly not taking part in the conversation and pretending they do not know them.
"Name That Sounds Like Lotus Blossom," Five offers, going for something both non-edgy and low effort.
"Midnight, Bishop. Stuffed them back into the Monstrance until he took a proper name. Came out as Blossom That Bleeds Over the Wound of the World. Got eaten by a Hekatonchire. Everyone laughed."
Five furrows her brow. She shifts her lips side to side. Raising one eyebrow, lowering it, then the other. Surely there are depths of stupid that the Underworld does not sink. Surely the great threat to Creation is not the naming equivalent of a circular saw.
She snaps her fingers.
"Killfuck Soulshitter."
Turncloak turns to her. "No shit! You know about her?"
Five blinks. "I'm sorry-"
"Dusk Caste, Walker. Actually an eight year old girl in a Necrotech Warstrider. Last I checked she was driving a Soulsteel plow up and down the Traveler's road near Whitewall, knocking people into the Fae Courts and Shadowlands."
Turncloak wipes a tear from his eye.
"Gods I'm proud of her."
Five cannot tell if he is messing with her, and that troubles her greatly. From below the outcropping, the Green Lady has set up a picnic- mainly a cake, a bottle of juice, and tea cakes. She is sitting on a pillow, waiting.
One of Five's foci returns.
"It approaches," she states.
She descends, as do the others, climbing down through variety of charms or just dropping, and watch as it approaches. Its perfectly symmetrical form shimmers in Ixion's ill light, it waddles like a duck with a higher center of balance.
Upon approach it notices you. With flat eyes and childlike curiosity, making noises that belay intelligence without language. Like a combination of so many child-creatures. The whining of puppies, mewing of kittens, chirping of birds, mixed as if in a blender.
Innocent eyes are focused upon the treats, then upon you. You wonder if for the same reason. It walks with the gait of a floating sphere, and you appreciate it is bigger than a child. It comes up to the waist of an adult. Or up to Five's chest.
Star keeps her distance. It almost ate her. She did not want to invoke any feelings it may or may not have.
Turncloak eyes the creature with a mixture of caution and curiosity. This was a spawn of the Void itself, after all. Much in a manner he was. Within it were contained multiple deathknights, or possibly just a portal to their place of containment.
He wondered if there was a connection between them. A tether. Familial? Like between himself and Squiggles?
The creature stops and looks at you all. The maw shifts, without teeth. Eyes flat against its face widen like discs, bereft of blood or color. A limb, boneless, rises to wave back and forth. Shimmering like rubber.
Five gives a tiny wave back. It would be rude not to.
The creature charges towards the cake, and the Green Lady twists the ring on her right hand. The magical circle forms, activating her Ring of Return, and you all vanish, returning to Yu Shan.
======JOB DONE======
(+2 XP)
Once the behemoth had been convinced to…release…the Abyssals, there was a matter to be dealt with.
Today, Autochthon's preferred Encounter Suit is an immense brass caterpillar that is entertaining several Pattern Spiders at a tea party. The fate spiders were enjoying themselves, munching with golden mandibles on tea cakes and chatting with their grandfather, trading gossip while on break.
It was an excellent morale building exercise, and so none truly notice when the two Sidereals, Abyssal, and Alchemical kick open a vent and drop in, accompanied by the creature, which waddles along.
Five stands at the base of the short table, standing a bit taller than the spiders. She takes a moment, and then gestures with her hands wide at the creature. As if to display it. "What the fuck."
The spiders turn. After a moment, the caterpillar turns, lowering the teacup. "Ah, hello Granddaughter! Would you like to join us?" After a moment, he sees. "Oh. Oh my. This is unexpected! Very unexpected!"
Turncloak takes a moment to digest the scene before him. Star takes an offered teacup and sips. Horizons takes an offered teacup and adds something strong from a flask into his. "Yeah Boss," the Abyssal adds, "What the fuck is this?"
He gestures to the creature, and then makes a mollifying gesture. "No, no buddy, you're fine. I just want an explanation." He may in fact see kinship with it. Both creatures of the Void. Both things that should not be. Both things that make Abyssals wet themselves.
Leaning in, Autochthon rubs his suspiciously hairy chin, humming. "Interesting. I honestly did not expect to see it again after my initial foray into the underworld. Curious, curious. How did you encounter each other? And this is rather interesting and new, I must admit."
Turncloak frowns. That wasn't an answer. That was very much not an answer. That was as not-an-answer as it could have been.
"We found him roaming around Walker's former domain."
"Most fascinating. And fully aware? Fully sapient? Very impressive!"
The creature makes a sound in agreement, but gods help you if you can understand what it means.
Turncloak stares at the Primordial and wonders what the consequences would be if he just…but no. Not worth it. "You…really thought through this solution before you made it happen, huh?"
He wonders if he can make a Divine Minister of Reading the Room spawn in Autochthonia. Or Divine Minister of Sarcasm. He needs to try harder.
"Truly, it was not designed to continue functioning after its initial purpose, no. However, the Void itself is somewhat unpredictable."
The facet eyes of the Very Long Great Maker glance between you and the creature. The creature waves at the Primordial.
"I sense a larger question at play here. Before we go further, what do you think this is?"
Five shudders. "My uncle."
The facet eyes rotate. "Ah."
There is a deep breath, followed by a smoky laugh. "No, no dear Granddaughter. This is not my child. One does not probe Oblivion without precaution."
The caterpillar raises a wagging finger.
"This is my protection."
The creature makes a sound of cooing understanding.
Slow, disturbing realization comes to the four of you. Five slowly nods. "I am going to go to the Vats to remove this memory from my mind."
Star places her cup down. "I'm going to go drinking to do the same."
Horizons was never there in the first place.
"Huh," Turncloak says. He wonders what a mixing of Creation and Oblivion would be like. Comes to the conclusion he's pretty much the same. "So, no reason it can't stay with us, right?"
"Its purpose to me is fulfilled, Turncloak. You may do with the Behemoth as you will."
Turncloak grins and turns back to the creature. "What do you say?"
The maw moves, and the creature responds with acceptance and agreement.
"Poyo!"
"Day Caste, Silver Prince. I'd tell you something about them, but there was absolutely nothing exceptional about them. At all."
The Green Lady had figured out the migration patterns of the Spawn, and so they had decided to track it down. While doing so, Five pressed her luck. Continuing to probe the depths of edge that were possible Abyssal names.
"Final Gasp's Echo Which Sing's a Life's Story and Ends."
"Daybreak, Eye and Seven Despairs. Kept Exalting and dying, and being forced to take the same name. Last I checked it was four times and the longest one lasted a year and a half. He thought it was hilarious." Turncloak takes a long sip from his canteen. "Eye's got issues. So many issues."
They sit on a rock outcropping that looks like stone but has human faces, locked in rictus grins. Behind them, Horizons and Star are pointedly not taking part in the conversation and pretending they do not know them.
"Name That Sounds Like Lotus Blossom," Five offers, going for something both non-edgy and low effort.
"Midnight, Bishop. Stuffed them back into the Monstrance until he took a proper name. Came out as Blossom That Bleeds Over the Wound of the World. Got eaten by a Hekatonchire. Everyone laughed."
Five furrows her brow. She shifts her lips side to side. Raising one eyebrow, lowering it, then the other. Surely there are depths of stupid that the Underworld does not sink. Surely the great threat to Creation is not the naming equivalent of a circular saw.
She snaps her fingers.
"Killfuck Soulshitter."
Turncloak turns to her. "No shit! You know about her?"
Five blinks. "I'm sorry-"
"Dusk Caste, Walker. Actually an eight year old girl in a Necrotech Warstrider. Last I checked she was driving a Soulsteel plow up and down the Traveler's road near Whitewall, knocking people into the Fae Courts and Shadowlands."
Turncloak wipes a tear from his eye.
"Gods I'm proud of her."
Five cannot tell if he is messing with her, and that troubles her greatly. From below the outcropping, the Green Lady has set up a picnic- mainly a cake, a bottle of juice, and tea cakes. She is sitting on a pillow, waiting.
One of Five's foci returns.
"It approaches," she states.
She descends, as do the others, climbing down through variety of charms or just dropping, and watch as it approaches. Its perfectly symmetrical form shimmers in Ixion's ill light, it waddles like a duck with a higher center of balance.
Upon approach it notices you. With flat eyes and childlike curiosity, making noises that belay intelligence without language. Like a combination of so many child-creatures. The whining of puppies, mewing of kittens, chirping of birds, mixed as if in a blender.
Innocent eyes are focused upon the treats, then upon you. You wonder if for the same reason. It walks with the gait of a floating sphere, and you appreciate it is bigger than a child. It comes up to the waist of an adult. Or up to Five's chest.
Star keeps her distance. It almost ate her. She did not want to invoke any feelings it may or may not have.
Turncloak eyes the creature with a mixture of caution and curiosity. This was a spawn of the Void itself, after all. Much in a manner he was. Within it were contained multiple deathknights, or possibly just a portal to their place of containment.
He wondered if there was a connection between them. A tether. Familial? Like between himself and Squiggles?
The creature stops and looks at you all. The maw shifts, without teeth. Eyes flat against its face widen like discs, bereft of blood or color. A limb, boneless, rises to wave back and forth. Shimmering like rubber.
Five gives a tiny wave back. It would be rude not to.
The creature charges towards the cake, and the Green Lady twists the ring on her right hand. The magical circle forms, activating her Ring of Return, and you all vanish, returning to Yu Shan.
======JOB DONE======
(+2 XP)
Once the behemoth had been convinced to…release…the Abyssals, there was a matter to be dealt with.
Today, Autochthon's preferred Encounter Suit is an immense brass caterpillar that is entertaining several Pattern Spiders at a tea party. The fate spiders were enjoying themselves, munching with golden mandibles on tea cakes and chatting with their grandfather, trading gossip while on break.
It was an excellent morale building exercise, and so none truly notice when the two Sidereals, Abyssal, and Alchemical kick open a vent and drop in, accompanied by the creature, which waddles along.
Five stands at the base of the short table, standing a bit taller than the spiders. She takes a moment, and then gestures with her hands wide at the creature. As if to display it. "What the fuck."
The spiders turn. After a moment, the caterpillar turns, lowering the teacup. "Ah, hello Granddaughter! Would you like to join us?" After a moment, he sees. "Oh. Oh my. This is unexpected! Very unexpected!"
Turncloak takes a moment to digest the scene before him. Star takes an offered teacup and sips. Horizons takes an offered teacup and adds something strong from a flask into his. "Yeah Boss," the Abyssal adds, "What the fuck is this?"
He gestures to the creature, and then makes a mollifying gesture. "No, no buddy, you're fine. I just want an explanation." He may in fact see kinship with it. Both creatures of the Void. Both things that should not be. Both things that make Abyssals wet themselves.
Leaning in, Autochthon rubs his suspiciously hairy chin, humming. "Interesting. I honestly did not expect to see it again after my initial foray into the underworld. Curious, curious. How did you encounter each other? And this is rather interesting and new, I must admit."
Turncloak frowns. That wasn't an answer. That was very much not an answer. That was as not-an-answer as it could have been.
"We found him roaming around Walker's former domain."
"Most fascinating. And fully aware? Fully sapient? Very impressive!"
The creature makes a sound in agreement, but gods help you if you can understand what it means.
Turncloak stares at the Primordial and wonders what the consequences would be if he just…but no. Not worth it. "You…really thought through this solution before you made it happen, huh?"
He wonders if he can make a Divine Minister of Reading the Room spawn in Autochthonia. Or Divine Minister of Sarcasm. He needs to try harder.
"Truly, it was not designed to continue functioning after its initial purpose, no. However, the Void itself is somewhat unpredictable."
The facet eyes of the Very Long Great Maker glance between you and the creature. The creature waves at the Primordial.
"I sense a larger question at play here. Before we go further, what do you think this is?"
Five shudders. "My uncle."
The facet eyes rotate. "Ah."
There is a deep breath, followed by a smoky laugh. "No, no dear Granddaughter. This is not my child. One does not probe Oblivion without precaution."
The caterpillar raises a wagging finger.
"This is my protection."
The creature makes a sound of cooing understanding.
Slow, disturbing realization comes to the four of you. Five slowly nods. "I am going to go to the Vats to remove this memory from my mind."
Star places her cup down. "I'm going to go drinking to do the same."
Horizons was never there in the first place.
"Huh," Turncloak says. He wonders what a mixing of Creation and Oblivion would be like. Comes to the conclusion he's pretty much the same. "So, no reason it can't stay with us, right?"
"Its purpose to me is fulfilled, Turncloak. You may do with the Behemoth as you will."
Turncloak grins and turns back to the creature. "What do you say?"
The maw moves, and the creature responds with acceptance and agreement.
"Poyo!"
Mic Drop; End Chapter 6
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Days pass.
The first sprout grows into a tree.
The tree bears fruit, which becomes seeds.
Around it grows flowers.
The Ice cracks and the flowers bloom.
Life.
Life begins.
Beneath a canopy of green.
Leaves follow, arching towards.
Sprigs through the sterile ground, spreading from a single point.
The Great Ice begins to bloom.
It will take some time before it is noticed in Heaven.
For the gods, simple beings of ice and air, have come out of their Sanctums on the Great Ice.
They stand in this burgeoning, tiny garden.
Take in the warmth as it spreads.
They say nothing.
They cannot speak, only stare.
Straight up, at the shadow over them.
Of the scarred, blemished white.
End Chapter 6
The first sprout grows into a tree.
The tree bears fruit, which becomes seeds.
Around it grows flowers.
The Ice cracks and the flowers bloom.
Life.
Life begins.
Beneath a canopy of green.
Leaves follow, arching towards.
Sprigs through the sterile ground, spreading from a single point.
The Great Ice begins to bloom.
It will take some time before it is noticed in Heaven.
For the gods, simple beings of ice and air, have come out of their Sanctums on the Great Ice.
They stand in this burgeoning, tiny garden.
Take in the warmth as it spreads.
They say nothing.
They cannot speak, only stare.
Straight up, at the shadow over them.
Of the scarred, blemished white.
End Chapter 6
- Pronouns
- He
Is the Traveler here?
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Ball is life
Well then, The Gardener has arrived, maybe looking for their wayward ghost?
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Possibly with all the Sidereals being stuck in the door as they all charge through, yes.
Because a Primordial in Creation is very bad for the Loom.
Chapter 7; Flashback; The Wife
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
The Vats are a complex within the Primal Forge. Due to the nature of the Elsewhere pocket the Great Maker constructed for his workshop, its distance from the Doors that lead to the Floor is fifteen times the length of Creation, but are accessed using a tram that trades distances for actions in a narrative. It is similar to the process one would use to travel great distances in the Faraway, and is certainly not something one would want to think about, as that would imply the Great Maker routinely uses Unshaped as architecture inside the Forge.
Due to the not-exactly-parallel passing of time within the Primal Forge compared with Creation, the Vats serve as an occasional, emergency training ground for Sidereals prior to the return of Autochthon. With the current situation, they also provide as a maintenance bay for Five and her sisters, when they are in Heaven.
The Vats themselves are relatively simple- glass cylinders, built into the walls of an otherwise spotless room, its walls and ceiling a pleasant soft blue and its mechanics hidden behind whatever material serves as the surfaces.
Turncloak is here, today. He places a hand against the wall, trying to figure out what it is. It gives to the touch, so it isn't metal. As a Midnight Caste, craft comes naturally to him. Usually edgy and sharp things, but still. There is a scientific curiosity to this.
Five is in her Vat, the glass glowing and opaque as routine maintenance is run. New Charms installed, some things upgraded. He walks past hers. Past the other empty vats- there are enough here for all her sisters, because he has to admit, the Great Maker is an indulgent grandfather.
Enough for all her sisters plus one, because he notices there is another Vat, on the far end of the facility. He walks over, his curiosity getting the better of him, and peers in. The Vat is occupied.
A woman is in there. Amber, curled hair falling around her face. Eyes closed, but he knows the color. The face he held in his hands. The lips that had that…very clever smile.
That face that tormented him in the Monstrance until he gave in.
Months ago, in Nullspace, he fought nightmares. Endless streams of poisoned consciousness while the others made their way to the holding facility of the Ishvara.
In the depths of the Madscape that served as the fever dreams of Autochthon, he was embraced. Something found him, something enveloped him. In a single, perfect moment, he was no longer tormented, no longer…done.
It was a spring field with the sun at twilight and the wind in his hair and he never had to do anything ever again.
He can give you back what you lost, the voice said, like a lost, kind mother, He can restore what you were.
All you need to do is swear to him.
Turncloak snaps back. He looks to his side. The single orb, a moonsilver iris dilated, held by a waldo next to him.
"…I see you're fulfilling your end of the bargain, Boss," he finally says.
"Yes," Autochthon says, "I assure you, it will succeed. When I created the first Alchemicals, my Eight Heroes, I did not create them as they were. With your wife, Meridia, however. Her memory will be restored. Her personality will be intact. This will be new."
"You've never done this before," Turncloak says.
"Indeed. My purview aligns to it quite well. The body will be finished in one months time. Please acquire her ghost by then."
The waldo retracts, and Turncloak is left alone.
Chapter 7:
Insert Ominous Title
Due to the not-exactly-parallel passing of time within the Primal Forge compared with Creation, the Vats serve as an occasional, emergency training ground for Sidereals prior to the return of Autochthon. With the current situation, they also provide as a maintenance bay for Five and her sisters, when they are in Heaven.
The Vats themselves are relatively simple- glass cylinders, built into the walls of an otherwise spotless room, its walls and ceiling a pleasant soft blue and its mechanics hidden behind whatever material serves as the surfaces.
Turncloak is here, today. He places a hand against the wall, trying to figure out what it is. It gives to the touch, so it isn't metal. As a Midnight Caste, craft comes naturally to him. Usually edgy and sharp things, but still. There is a scientific curiosity to this.
Five is in her Vat, the glass glowing and opaque as routine maintenance is run. New Charms installed, some things upgraded. He walks past hers. Past the other empty vats- there are enough here for all her sisters, because he has to admit, the Great Maker is an indulgent grandfather.
Enough for all her sisters plus one, because he notices there is another Vat, on the far end of the facility. He walks over, his curiosity getting the better of him, and peers in. The Vat is occupied.
A woman is in there. Amber, curled hair falling around her face. Eyes closed, but he knows the color. The face he held in his hands. The lips that had that…very clever smile.
That face that tormented him in the Monstrance until he gave in.
Months ago, in Nullspace, he fought nightmares. Endless streams of poisoned consciousness while the others made their way to the holding facility of the Ishvara.
In the depths of the Madscape that served as the fever dreams of Autochthon, he was embraced. Something found him, something enveloped him. In a single, perfect moment, he was no longer tormented, no longer…done.
It was a spring field with the sun at twilight and the wind in his hair and he never had to do anything ever again.
He can give you back what you lost, the voice said, like a lost, kind mother, He can restore what you were.
All you need to do is swear to him.
Turncloak snaps back. He looks to his side. The single orb, a moonsilver iris dilated, held by a waldo next to him.
"…I see you're fulfilling your end of the bargain, Boss," he finally says.
"Yes," Autochthon says, "I assure you, it will succeed. When I created the first Alchemicals, my Eight Heroes, I did not create them as they were. With your wife, Meridia, however. Her memory will be restored. Her personality will be intact. This will be new."
"You've never done this before," Turncloak says.
"Indeed. My purview aligns to it quite well. The body will be finished in one months time. Please acquire her ghost by then."
The waldo retracts, and Turncloak is left alone.
Chapter 7:
Insert Ominous Title
- Location
- none of your business
Well on the plus side of things, The Traveler's relatively chill so.....