"You see, somebody decided during my creation that it was more important that I have a natural antipathy for religion than that I have proprioception."
Much of the Emperor was engaged with his son Sophos, but one thread of the chorus of his mind fixated on one particular detail. His thoughts were as ever beyond mankind, factual and multilayered in a way that only the most brilliant of poets and madmen could hope to approach, but if one were to simplify them so that they could be mostly understood, they would be as such.
The fuck does he
mean he doesn't have proprioception!? He needs that! His physical imperfection was supposed to be a missing limb! Something narratively important
and easily rectified! He had hunted down an Aeldari wondersmith for her hands! Every aspect of his dexterity should be flawless!
(Honk)
The thought was foreign, a small mimetic flourish woven into an encounter, an intrusive thought timed to emerge in this exact situation. There was exactly one being in the galaxy who could do that to him. That,
fucking CLOWN! She had not been some dominion misery tourist! She'd been one of
his! He had put a harlequin's hands into his son! His horror was strangled well before it made it out of the deepest depths of his soul, but quite suddenly his son made much more sense. He could only hope that the clown's joke was concluded, and that no more mischief would come of this.
Achoo!
The Eldar woman sniffed and looked up from her paperwork.
"Someone important is thinking of me."
Around her, the rest of her troupe reacted with appropriate dramatic flair.
"Fetch me my mask, my cape and my silliest hat!"
With a shake of her shoulder she shed her dull robes, striping down her simple body sleeve. strutting towards the bolthole's door as her troupe clad her in her extravagant costume in a long practiced maneuver. With a confident stride she slipped her feet into her highest heels, she dipped her head as two of her stage hands struggled to lift the massive feathered hat onto her head. With a click the cape of many colors was affixed to her shoulders.
Her senior most aid approached, holding her mask reverently before sliding it onto her face. With a dramatic pose she engaged it, the mask melded seamlessly with her face before fading from view, becoming a secret joke between her and her god. Unseen by any other, unless it would be funny.
"I go now to meet my destiny! For the fate of the galaxy! For the future of our people! And most importantly of all! Seeing how much we can annoy Goldilocks!"
With a dramatic flourish, her cape flew from her shoulders before exploding into a swarm of holographic flowers and she was gone.
The woman before Sophos was strange, clearly inhuman yet standing in his home as though she was supposed to be there. She wore a strange bodysuit, covered in diamonds of alternating purple and white, golden accents adorned her joints, and atop her head was the most ridiculous hat Sophos had ever seen, the massive millinery pulling his eyes away from the equipment schematics he was working on. It was a series of nested gears, each ticking along in sequence, its axis appearing to be a miniature copy of Olympia's star. As the gears turned, making the bells adorning the teeth jingle a somehow coherent tune, Sophos realized he was looking at a clockwork rendering of the Olympian system. Each version in every timeline, had the relative positions of the worlds correct down to the micrometer.
"Son of the Anathema, Void Tyrant of Olympia, I come to discuss urgent and weighty news."
Clearly, if she'd somehow managed to get into his private quarters on the
Manifold Dawn.
(Stop. Think. Where are you?)
He was… on Sedna? But he'd been negotiating with the Rogue Traders on Terra…
Timecheck. Prime: 418. Aleph: 742. Vet: 396. Gimel: 67. Daled: 825…
And yet in every single instance, every location and perspective, this woman was standing right in front of him, waiting for a response.
"...who are you?"
The woman responded with an elaborate bow, "I am Valua Gift-Giver of the Aeldari, Crafter, Fool, Priest, Harlequin and Troupe Master of the Stagewright Troupe, but I repeat myself." she rose easily despite her comically impractical…
glass (why?) shoes.
Sophos thinks about what the Emperor had told him.
THE AELDARI THOUGH BROKEN AND SCATTERED
THE AELDARI ARE A MINOR ISSUE CURRENTLY
THE AELDARI ARE A SPLINTERED PEOPLE
Absolutely nothing of any use. He thinks about his experiences with strange, inhuman-looking women (Crystial and Tiamat), narrows them down to the experiences that have anything in common with this one (Crystial), and decides that he's not going to get anything
else of any use from trying to ask for clarification.
"Why are you
here?
For a second, she merely stared at him, and then she burst into motion. Holographic curtains rising around her as her location across the timelines scattered and then, she… began to monologue? No, not monologue - she was responding to
herself. It took him seconds to realize what he was looking at, she was putting on a play with each timeline version of her playing a different character.
The play was short, but if anything more confusing as a result. The cultural assumptions were entirely wrong. It took him time to realize that mountains were not rulership, but divinity. His new-found knowledge of ancient history helped him put it together, somewhat. The idea that horse nomads inhabiting plains were common, and seemed to be the dynamic the play assumed everyone knew? He was still not sure if the reference to those who spoke from the mountains were supposed to be gods or kings, but the general events of the play were comprehensible
enough. The last fragmented remnants of an ancient and mighty kingdom seeking an alliance with a barbarian warband? Some new city? He was not quite sure what "khan" meant, but the idea of the old and broken seeing to ally with the young and rising was clear. The foe was… vague, and steeped in too-foreign symbolism. It seemed to be monstrous, rather than merely men, but he remained uncertain.
She looked at him expectantly.
Harlequin and Troupe Master of the Stagewright Troupe
…he felt as though his eyes opened again. This was not a window into one foreign culture, but two. One that had been put on display, and a second that
was the display, itself. Or perhaps it was the culture superficially shown that was meant to act as the display for a culture of artists.
What forces would demand such a culture of obfuscation, however?
…a life among those who needed their lessons but would reject them, perhaps.
Fool, Priest
Was it not known that in some courts, the only one who could criticize the Tyrant without fear of reprisal was the hokan, whose wit was barbed in iron and whose criticisms were veiled in humor? For such a mode to become the default method of interaction… had he any less control over his body, he may have shuddered. The implications were painful to consider.
"I…
believe that I understand what you wish to convey. A proposal of alliance, if I read your writ right. But I prefer to make my agreements to proposals explicitly stated. You need not wreath your intentions in symbolism and story; I wish only to deal fairly with you, and ensure there are no misunderstandings. I am no Judge, to punish you for saying things I do not wish to hear; there is nothing to fear here from speaking straightly."
For an instant so small, even Sophos barely caught it, her control seemed to break, and she seemed to show an unguarded expression of shock… but then the mask slid back on, as she became indignant.
"Safe? You think I speak as such because I am afraid of you? Truly you are your father's son to speak as such to the priests of the Laughing God." she let out a haughty sniff
Fool, Priest
...
this was why he was studying
diplomacy in one instance. To not make mistakes like
this when interacting with unfamiliar cultures.
Damnit.
He raised his hands gently in front of him. "My apologies. I got caught up in a train of thought and neglected to consider anything else. I mean no offense."
He wracked his brain for a suitable manner to apologize.
...no. Without knowledge of her culture, any attempts in ways that would come to his mind would be shots in the dark at best. There was only one correct way to do this.
"What would be the proper manner by which to make amends, here? I do not wish to assume more than I already have."
"Ah, well intentioned ignorance? You are indeed his creation but perhaps not his Son then."
She began wandering, the various instances of her weaving together into an oddly intricate pattern. "Half an insult, half an attempt at kindness. A full apology would be entirely wrong, I would owe you half an apology back, and I don't think you'd know how to make change."
While she was correct, in that he had no idea what 'half an apology' could possibly mean, Sophos was pretty sure this was a joke at his expense.
"Ah! Of course! A double or nothing! I shall wager my half apology against a similar boon. So tell me, Sophos of Olympia, Son of the Emperor and heir to his horrors, what would you bet against half a sorry?"
This was almost certainly a test, and he was certain he was already in the process of failing it. Seriously, what in the depths of Tartarus was 'half a sorry', and how did one bet against it?
He tried to focus on one of the woman. Time was…
blurring, in ways he was quite certain the relic he had been provided was aggressively not meant to operate, but he managed it.
She was grinning.
…this wasn't a test. It was a set-up. It was a
joke. Of
course.
He straightened up, put on his most serious face, and exaggeratedly stroked his nonexistent beard.
"
Ah, and once more you set about speaking in circles, circuitous courses carrying us ceaselessly in orbit or orderly expression, ever in sight, ever out of earshot. I do so
wish that we might have an
ounce of
clarity."
"Clarity then? Hmm, a fine wager but not quite half an apology, perhaps two thirds." She made a show of pondering "then I shall balance the scales. Should I win I shall make a request with all the obligation of your misstep behind it, should you win I shall be clear, but make the same request with only what weight you feel it deserves. A fair wager to my ears, what of yours?"
Sophos sighed in a dramatic fashion. "I
suppose such stakes sound sufficiently square. Might I merit material particulars per the preferred nature of favor, or must I make marked time 'til this wager's waged 'er way?"
"It shall be up to you to weigh those scales, so shall we begin? I believe it's known as šarraḫūtu among your people? You will say something, and I will say something that can defeat it, and so it goes round and round until one of us stumbles."
He knew of no such game by the name, but perhaps that was, itself, the point. He belonged to more than only Olympia now.
But if there were an answer to 'what bests what'? Well, there was already one such question troubling him. And, frankly, he was quite certain it would be both an intelligent and entertaining start to the game.
Putting on an exaggerated stature of imperialism, and an expression of one too clever for his own good, Sophos asks, "What warrior, we request, repels the Rangdan?"
She gave him a look of amusement before she began to, dance? Weaving amongst her various selves song the timelines in a chaotic swirl, and then with a scream of rage fell into a vicious military cadence.
WAR RAGE
STRENGTH
HATE DEATH
Her absurd hat shifted, rising above her and becoming a rendition of Olympia gone mad. The stars choked with defense stations and fleets, worlds visibly crumbling as more and more was torn from them to feed the endless appetite of the military. Flashes of light as fleets fought pointless battles for the sake of battle. A society consumed utterly by the military and drowning in rage.
Sophos was almost physically pushed aback. This was- this was not at all what he had thought this would be.
This was
horrifying.
(Fire and spice and copper and
blood blood blood-)
Sophos took a breath, and the fundament of the universe held him.
Sophos released a breath, and once more he stood firm.
The fires of war were fueled by all those touched by them, and they consumed friend and foe in equal measure. But to attempt to quench them wholly was folly, for it only took one side's desire to keep it alight.
To be measured in all things… the star that spun above him shone, trying to radiate intent.
"Wisdom." The wisdom to know what is right, to know what is true. To do what must be done without forgetting what
should be done.
Valua reeled back, all instances of her, and began to hum. A strange discordant tune as she began to sway and twitch and dance, first in a spiral, then in a square then a circle then, seeming to change style between each step, and then she spoke. From a single thought came a hundred thousands words jumping over one another concepts and names and warnings and more besides. It was only Sophos' impossible sense that he could make out clearly a handful of constants among the cacophony.
[change,{Consuming Hope(MADNESS) Confusion} Ambition]
Once more the diorama of Olympia atop her head shifted. A dozen space elevators sprouted from Olympia, each a new and better version than the last, yet each seeking to replace the others; new orbitals flicked into being only to be abandoned, half completed, to begin a new and better version; a dozen projects of impossible scope cluttered the very sun, crowding each other out. Fleets disintegrated into chaotic mobs as tactics and classes were abandoned mere days after their adoptions. A society became a mad endless churn where today was swallowed forever by an ever distant tomorrow. Change for change's sake, taken to such an extreme that nothing would ever actually be accomplished. It was horrifying, yet something of it was familiar.
This one… this one just made him
mad.
After all, he had already been spending years beating this particular form of idiocy out of his gene-sons.
True change - true accomplishment, true
improvement - required
direction. This,
chaos was no better than Olympia's old stagnation - was worse, perhaps, for it drove itself backwards rather than merely remaining where it could reach. He could
see, in the dance, promising opportunities abandoned for short-sighted advancements, all as the foundation swiftly rotted, all attention pulled away from it to tend to vanity projects driven by pure ego.
(-probably mostly wanted to show off the new things she could do-)
He was disgusted. It was a mockery of improvement, without any care to protect the essentials.
And with that, he knew his answer.
"Structure." To protect what must be, such that what could be may be built. A memory of today, so that the tomorrow we wish for may truly dawn. To not only blaze a trail that others can follow, but to tend it and ensure it remains, to bring the heights we aim for into eternal reach.
Valua responded with a bow, and for a second he thought she was conceding, but then, she once more began to move. A slow, repetitive dance, looping through the same motions again and again, somehow feeling like it was dragging on for hours in mere moments. Each repetition a bit slower, a bit sloppier, a bit less impactful. The clockwork rendition of the Olypmia system stuttered, and ground to a halt as its gears rusted, and then Valua opened her mouth in a long low moan…
R
Y
T
The orbitals above the worlds rotted to nothing, for why maintain them in the face of eternal entropy? Why bother filling out the paperwork when the best that can be done is treading water?
…this was wrong. Something was
wrong.
The first two answers were… odd, and over-detailed, but nothing about them had stood out as
disconnected. This, however… while stagnation, even perhaps apathy, followed from an exaggeration of structure much as the ambition and change of Valua's prior answer could follow from an ideal of wisdom taken past the point of understanding what it meant, the
rot… it
felt like something…
deeper than the mere decay of a stagnant structure.
Something virulent underneath the surface.
It seemed disconnected, yet it was how she elected to answer him. And it was clear that she did not send these messages - any messages - without intent. This
meant something.
He didn't know
what, yet.
But it did not seem like she aimed to leave him in the dark for long.
"Improvement."
His mouth had already spoken as he considered. It was an obvious answer, after all.
His mind was focused more closely on what she would respond with.
Valua once more sprung into motion, stepping into an oddly familiar dance of smooth and precise motions. Every instant the dance grew more and more intricate, more complex, yet soon it was becoming difficult for the sake of difficulty. Technically challenging yet unimpressive maneuvers, more and more the dance was not for the audience, the props, but for the dancer, the one who was moving and feeling and striving. Valua was barely looking at him, absorbed utterly in her dance. Yet he was not forgotten, the rendition of Olympia on her head began to shift and change, new stations being built, new ships leaving berths, ever more and more mining vessels appearing as the dance approached a fever pitch, and then instead of speaking, she violently thrust her arms, sending fireworks out to explode into words of fire.
Hedonism
Pleasure
Obsession
Solipsism
Excess/Perfection
That he had never seen the language before did not seem to matter, he understood these burning words completely. The rendition of Olympia began to wane, worlds, stars, the people themselves broken apart for raw material for grand art projects and insane hedonistic excesses. Focus turned inward towards pursuit of art, or excellency or grand projects regardless of the cost. Obsessive pursuit of perfection and pleasure becoming the only thing anyone could ever care for.
It was… an answer to improvement, yes. The trap, to think there was some objective ideal, or to rest upon one's laurels.
But this was not the point. It had never been the point, he had realized.
And so he looked deeper.
It was not Olympia.
Or rather, it was only Olympia in the same manner that the initial play had been that foreign land of plains and khans. It was a
symbol - a beacon of civilization and technology amid a roiling galaxy. A place of power and knowledge that stood above the rest.
And it was not the Olympia that he knew, for no shattered ring surrounded it.
This was Olympia of the Age of Technology, ancient and advanced.
See how it falls. See how hubris takes it. See how it turns inward until it turns itself inside-out.
The last fragmented remnants of an ancient and mighty kingdom
THE AELDARI THOUGH BROKEN AND SCATTERED
This was the fall of the Aeldari empire.
And it was more than that. It was a… a
force, a
presence in the psionic plane. He had had his attention drawn to it…
…as it had had its attention drawn to them.
The rooms were cast in a harsh green light, as Sophos' crown shifted to affirming the barriers between reality and the psionic plane, and timelines misaligned decoupled once more.
Sophos wheezed for a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. (Extremely concerning, but what about this wasn't?)
He thought back to the earlier three, and thought to what he had felt in the psi-dense regions of the research facility. There were…
resonances, there, that he hadn't known. Patterns he had felt, but without any way to recognize or identify them.
(Patterns that he'd felt dancing in the edge of his senses when Crystial was around. Until the last time. Last time had been almost worryingly silent.)
As he gathered himself, his instinct was to respond with 'care'. Attention paid to what lay beyond the walls. Interest in what should be rather than simply what could be. A willingness to give to others when there was no need to do anything but take for yourself.
But that was not the point. To address only one of these malignant patterns was to
miss the point.
You could not address only one. In every case, where he had addressed only one, it had led directly into another.
You had to address them all at once.
Slowly, the light shifted. The cool shade leaked out as warmth crept back in.
Bronze suffused the room, and so did a thought.
Peace
Growth
Protect and Improve
Creation
Truth
Sophos was bent over, breathing heavily, leaning on his blade.
"...something
better. There
must be something better. And if there is not, then I will make it.
I promise this."
Valua… began to laugh, loud uncontrollable mad laughter, her mirth too much for mere sound as she began to circle Sophos, making great leaps and flips.
"I yield! For what answer could beat such a thing? What boor would shatter such a grand jest? Oh son of the Anathema, you shall be either the greatest joke or the darkest tragedy I have seen for a thousand years." Her mad dance came to an end as she landed before him in a deep bow.
"I declare you the victor, I shall speak so as to be understood, save when my secrets are not mine to reveal. So ask your questions, O tyrant of a wondrous tomorrow."
(Sophos was sorely tempted to demand that she cease laughing at him. Logically, he knew that not only would this fail to achieve anything, it would likely cause her to laugh more. But nonetheless.)
(He supposed that to her, he likely sounded like a child declaring they would make world peace. But he'd done that, had he not? And yet there were so many more peaceless worlds…)
Sophos breathed in, eyes closed.
Held.
Breathed out. His eyes opened once more as he moved into a more comfortable sitting position.
"...I would first like to confirm the assumptions that I had already made. Was I correct in that you represent some portion of the Aeldari, and are seeking to establish an alliance to combat the Rangdan? …or, perhaps, against the fourfold abomination you conveyed to me?"
Sophos tilts his head.
"Actually, no. Delay that a moment. My first question is what favor you had intended to ask of me. You had mentioned that it would be expressed regardless."
"Oh, a small thing all told, your maker stole something of mine when looking for parts to create you. Though I admit, after seeing what he has made from it I can not say it was ill used. Though your aid in crafting a replacement would still not go amiss."
Sophos frowned. "I cannot promise much until I know what a replacement would entail, but I should be able to offer a hand if nothing else." …the word choice felt… odd. Why had he…
Valua smiled. "Ah, perfect!" with a flick, the stiff wraithbone gloves she had been wearing flew to his face, revealing a wraithbone-capped stump at the end of her wrist. "Though if I could impose by asking for a pair? For symmetry's sake, if nothing else."
Crafter
Sophos just… stared for a moment. He could not have looked away if he had wanted to.
There was no space for such a desire in his head, however, for simultaneously slowly and oh-so-rapidly, something built within him. Like a mountain… or, more accurately, a volcano.
Crafter
His teeth clicked together like a released escapement, and breath whistled through them like a steaming engine.
CRAFTER
He was not the Harlequin. He could not laugh off crimes such as this.
CRAFTER
"...what needs to be done to fix this?"
The words rumble out, like the first warning of an earthquake that would shake the heavens.
This is not a question of repair or restoration, for there needs be no question of them.
This is a question of punishment.
"Either the direct attention of a God, or a token effort from yourself. The theft was as much a thing of the Psionic plane as you would call it as anything else, so even a crude set made by your hands would be enough."
"
That is not what I was asking."
(And it was not as though he would be content with giving her a 'crude set', but that was beside the point.)
Valua chuckled. "Well, who am I to decline an opportunity to brag?"
What?
"It was quite possibly the single greatest performance I have ever put on," Valua spoke with open pride. "It took decades of preparation, years of submerging myself in the role of a wandering wastrel, the memory alterations were the least of it." She let out a chuckle. "I had to spend a year and a day without touching comedy or joy in any way just to sever my connection to Cegorach, to this day no other role has pushed me like that one did." She sighed. "Alas, many of the tricks I used are trade secrets so I can not properly boast about it. But I can assure you, fooling the Anathema into putting the hands of a harlequin into his crafter despite his paranoia was quite the trick."
She smiled warmly as she looked directly into Sophos' eyes. "But seeing the results? It is
more than worth it."
And that expression looked disconcertingly similar to the sort of look Crystial would give him and he did not care to consider that thought further, there were more important topics such as the fact that "You were
deliberately trying to get the Emperor to take your hands?"
Her smile transformed into one better suited to a cat. "Yes!"
Sophos pinched the bridge of his nose - he'd heard that it was supposed to help with headaches, though he didn't think it was working.
Why would she want the Emperor to take her hands? Why would the Emperor
want her hands to begin with?
fooling the Anathema into putting the hands of a harlequin into his crafter
…and she had convinced him that she was a non-harlequin, some other variety of Aeldari. And he had
seen her physical control in the dances she had performed. A human simply wouldn't be
able to make many of those movements.
Contrast his
lack of control over his own body right up until the point where he had the two options of either figuring it out or dying.
His eyes met Valua's, lids narrowed (though it was difficult to notice beneath the bonecrown's brow).
"This is why I lack proprioception, isn't it. Because it would be
funny if the intended result was wholly inverted."
The words are delivered as dryly as a desert.
She let out a borderline mad giggle. "And it somehow ended up being the
least of the grand jest."
One eyebrow rises. "How much do you already know about me?"
"I know some of what you found in the tomb of brilliant twisted madness your wife hails from, I know of the ideals you cast against the galaxy, I know that whatever secret radiance that has coiled itself around your blood was not of your maker's design…"
Her smile once more turned manic. The pause was brief, yet dragged out just long enough to ensure that Sophos knew he wouldn't like what was said next.
"...and I know of the creature that has bet its heart against yours, and that whatever comes of that strange wager could shake the stars themselves."
Sophos slowly released an aggravated sigh. "Because of course you do. As that would be, in some capacity, cosmically humorous." Likely for much the same reason he found himself surrounded by extraordinarily dangerous women.
"Given that you clearly have an understanding of the psionic plane that surpasses mine, and you appear to have an awareness of my assorted difficulties, could you potentially provide some measure of insight on what to
do about the anomalous ideoform that has elected to pursue me?"
"I am constrained here, your maker seems oddly protective of your ignorance of such matters, and assaulting your innocence in such a way may endanger the alliance I am here to build. This makes speaking of your ideoform chef in ways both true and sensible even more difficult than it would otherwise be."
(One iteration of her breaks away from the group, hand beside her mouth in a stage whisper. "Truly, I could not tell you anything sensible about this topic regardless, as nothing about this topic is sensible.")
"I can offer but one piece of advice," she says, continuing as if nothing had happened, "and this may be the most important thing I say today.
Growth" - the word
pushes with the same underlying force of Sophos' earlier answer - "is foreign to her nature, so your aims will require more than merely seeing her find the completeness
she seeks. You will need to carve a path from the Pit to the Pinnacle for her to tread, but beware, Tyrant, for such a path would work both ways. Ensure it can only be walked by the willing lest you endanger us all."
…'a path from the Pit to the Pinnacle'. From the chaotic currents of collective unconsciousness that presently held her to the realm of order, structure, and growth. And the structure of her being would defy typical endeavors to improve oneself in the manner necessary, just as much as he was fundamentally contrary to the concepts from which the psionic plane was built.
…but the psionic plane, a place of conceptualization, ideation,
belief… had patterns that could be built off of.
Equivalent exchange. Risk and reward. Law overriding natural behavior.
A contract, wherein two stake their beliefs, their core natures, against each other, a contest of wits and wills, until one sees the light the other clings to-
-he takes a breath.
"We have diverged far from where I first intended us to begin. Is it correct that you came to me in aims of acquiring an alliance? And if my assumption with that had been correct, is the alliance intended to be against the Rangdan specifically, or does it bear a wider aim?"
She quirks an eyebrow. Somehow, it is sarcastic.
"Ah, so quickly to come to the heart of the matter. So you ask if forging an alliance between the desperate scattered but still mighty remnants of my people, and the rising power of the Anathema and his twenty…
gene wrought constructs," her voice a perfect match for the first time Sophos met Terminal Solomon, "has any aims beyond solving the short term threat of the Rangdan?" She paused for a moment. "No, clearly there would be no wider diplomatic aims or longer term plans, everyone knows diplomacy is the art of solving exactly one issue at a time."
Sophos' eyes were narrowed, not in an aggravated manner, but an exhausted one.
Then they narrowed further, dangerously, as an idea struck the primarch.
"Well," flippant voice perfectly imitating Valua's, "sometimes one issue is pest control on a biohorror infestation, sometimes one issue is conducting repair on the galaxy's psionic ecosystem. 'Tis but a small difference, surely? Though one
must wonder what wielded authority authorizes all our agreements, aye? What weight lies behind thine designs?"
"In this, the Stagewright Troupe speaks with the voice of the Laughing One himself. Only the most heterodox or mad of the harlequins would overtly act against us, and should we find success we might draw ever more of our fragmented people into our grand stage play."
So…
some of the harlequins would listen, but most would join in only after the cooperation started to see success. It was, in short, politics. But the size of the initial faction was still important.
Sophos' voice falls back to its typical tenor, having failed to get a reaction from the woman.
"How
many of the Aeldari do you represent, however? A vast majority of the harlequins, you have expressed, but what does this mean for your people as a whole?"
A cheshire grin spreads across her face.
"A complicated question, with many answers that could be seen as true, complicated further by how this alliance could well change the answer. You truly have a talent for finding the most interesting questions."
…she is stalling for time. He does not know whether or not she
meant for him to see a crack in her mask here, but
she is stalling for time.
What the
hell is this question that
this is what makes her stall for time?
"For our purposes today, we are the thin thread of tradition and faith tying the disparate factions of our people together. Seldom heeded, but always heard. As for the aid we can ourselves provide, we lack the numbers to meet our mutual foes in open battle, and I will not insult you by implying you think that alone would make us weak."
A single assassin could bring low the whole of an army, after all. Though he had the impression that the harlequins would prefer more oblique solutions.
But regardless.
THE AELDARI ARE A SPLINTERED PEOPLE
"And what would these 'disparate factions of your people'
be, precisely?"
"Hmm, the ones that matter would be the Craftworlders, the wanderers, and the… Lost." The word is stated simply, yet the underlying disgust radiated through the psionic plane. "The wanderers are less a faction, and more those without one. Bandits, mercenaries, adventurers, all those who make self-interested violence their profession, but cannot do enough of it to claim a crown. Their reasons and foibles are too diverse to truly explain, but they will be drawn to the scent of success and profit like predators to blood. They will fight for coin, glory, or whatever whims the winds will."
…and these outlaws were worth mentioning as a
faction. When Olympia rarely had banditry worth more than a footnote unless a city had outright collapsed.
THE AELDARI THOUGH BROKEN AND SCATTERED
…broken, indeed.
"The Craftworlders are not truly a single faction, so much as a template for a faction. Each Nomad fleet has a part worth crediting in the playbill. They are the closest folk to nations as you would understand it amongst our players. They seek a path forward for our species, but many are too terrified to look past their own survival. If we can convince them an alliance with your people will protect them, they will come to us seeking safety. When they inevitably lash out in fear, do not judge them too harshly, the nightmares that stalk them and their children are dark indeed."
And these were the ones she aimed to pull into her orbit with the showing of the war. Some of the wanderers were assumed, presumably, from the flow of individual wants, but these were the actual blocs that she was aiming to sway, each akin to one of Olympia's great cities perhaps.
Something shifted in Valua's tone as she continued, though, and Sophos saw frost creep across the hat she still wore.
"Finally, the lost. They are
not potential allies, they are an
obstacle. They are, in every way that matters, fanatical slaves of excess and cruelty. They revel in the madness that cast down my people, and squander the inheritance of our forebears that they squat upon. They would spoil our alliance for whatever petty cruel amusement they would take from seeing hope die. There is no word in any human tongue for how detestable they truly are, and should I speak in the way of my people, it would be an assault upon you that you do not deserve."
For once there was no humor or joviality in her manner, merely hate deeper than anything Sophos had ever seen. "Know this of them, it is my deepest wish that our alliance may see them burned from the stars and slain to the last."
Valua took a deep breath, and once more was the grinning clown. "Those are the players, but now let us discuss the script. What I can offer you, and what you can offer me.
For the first act, I can offer you insight into the Rangdan, and a warning of what could have come to pass. Beyond that, we will need to pass the role of benefactor and beneficiary between us."
Sophos… took a moment to breathe, dealing with the whiplash.
There was a faction of the Aeldari that were, per this woman's words, irredeemable monsters. He… still did not have
proof of this, but this testimony was much more convincing than the Emperor's deflections.
So. Wonderful.
He took a breath, and released it. The negotiations.
"So, you are offering an open channel for quid pro quo, and a taste of information to sway me toward its sustained use? I will not claim that such is not valuable, but understand that understanding what I have gleaned to be your typical type of informing informs me that these interpretations take time, while the Rangdan prey upon preparations unprepared, leveraging losses to lead into swift success. That is to say, we will not
have the time you and yours would prefer for these games. I must request that in future communications,
clarity must be maintained, making manifest our intents and enabling our endeavors swiftly, surely, and successfully."
"Oh
my." Valua took a step back, bringing the stump of her wrists to her face in an exaggerated parody of shock. "To so
boldly propose such a thing!"
Sophos' face instantly shifted to an expression of confusion. "What are-"
"Very well, Tyrant, I accept your Proposal."
Sophos knew, deep within his bones, that he would look back on this occasion in the future with a similar feeling to his original encounter with Crystial.
"You shall be the Philosopher to my fool, and I shall be the Boke to your Tsukkomi." Oh no. "Until the act is concluded I shall speak to be understood, and you shall be the second star of my act."
With that she fell into a classic actor's bow.
"Truly, you have a
talent for binding powerful women to you and your cause, oh husband of Tiamat and obsession of the Pretender to the Roiling Throne."
Sophos just… stared at her for a moment.
Then he raised a hand to his face to massage the space around his eyes.
"There is not a
single person in the galaxy who both
could and
would inform me with any accuracy whether or not you are being serious right now, is there?"
It was not truly a question.
In response, the harlequin simply smiled.
