Godhood 3 IC: Who Worships the Worshippers?

[Draken]

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"Aktai, Aktai..." The king bowed his head respectfully, then beckoned the silver being closer. "Metz told me some things of your swarm, Aktai'Parapon. He called it 'Divine,' as well, and from what I see, he cannot be wrong." Qalai patted his horse on the back of his neck.

"I thank you for your compliment. I rule as I am able, and my people have prospered for it; I would not deny that. Perhaps it is divine." The human king slipped off his horse, then, his sandals making only a soft mark on the sand, tossing only the most minute bits of it away. "But there must be something you want, something we can do to help each other... Or perhaps there is something my people can teach yours for the deed Metz did when he taught us to work metal.

"Come. Voice your thoughts, O noble Voice." Qalai clenched his left hand and pressed it over his heart. "Let us make a friendship here, let good trade come of it."

Qalistan

The Voice thrummed in waiting for the deliberation of the Aktai'Parapon.

"Divine are those whose power is but an ounce of the titan Mortan, whose shards empower the gods, whose shards fed the replicants, whose shards are cast into weapons of legend. Divine are those who wield the power of the gods. You are Divine, so will be your heirs."

A brief pause while the Voice of Aktai'Parapon turns its head full circle to takes a look at the city, for himself, not for the swarm. To god-infused eyes, it is quite a sight, as an otherwise unseen aura of power distances itself from the Voice.

"It is most unusual to address this representative speaker, as opposed to the Equivalence of the Aktai'Parapon, noble Divine. But I shall provide as best I can, to better serve us all."

"The Aktai'Parapon presides over all things of metal and all things of community, these resonate with its essence, these are what it has taken the mantle of god of. Towns, Cities, Nations, tools and weapons. These are the purview of the Aktai'Parapon, these are their interests. Trade is not due to them, I am afraid."

"Trade is due to our Hives in the Mines Islands, and in the continent, by Lampide, land of Onore and within the nation of Gilead. Humans like yourselves. All of these countries, those of our kin and those of yours, share the terrestrial needs of mortalkind."

"The Aktai'Parapon come before you not as a nation seeking an ally, but as the Divine sensing their kin. Doubly so you, who were cast by replicants hands and shared your blood with steel, as did the Solitary One, as do we all."

"Nonetheless, we have seen patterns across your city, and wonder what purpose they serve. The Hives would very much benefit from an exchange of culture and wisdom."

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"We are always careful, Elio of Lampide." Kalae replied, and the Web snapped back into motion. Spinning and dancing down the street, around builder and sufferer and all castes alike, yet never once stumbling. This was a far wilder Dance then Elio had seen before, one of powerful emotion and beneath that something far more complex that not even the Dancers truly understood. It was a Weaving Pattern, a Dance of Creation. Something that none outside of the Wood of Aodamo had seen until this day.

So the Dancers spun and whirled out of the city of Lampide, feet stepping to a Beat that only they could hear. And on the hill above, from where they had first seen the city, they took the grass from all around them and spun it together. Not for them to care of the limitations of strength and length, for a simple tweak to the Pattern of the grass they wove saw to what most would call an impossible obstacle. Such little things, and yet so large for those who could not see as they could. So the grass wove in the Dancer's hands, growing longer and stronger as it passed through their fingers. The frame of a tower, elegant in a way that the Castes of Onore could not comprehend.

Then more grass was taken, this split across its edges and woven wider into something that looked like straw colour cloth. Here and there it was see-through, forming windows in what would be walls. And up the grasscloth went in the hands of the Web, the Dancers climbing and jumping delicately across its frame. The cloth shimmered in the light of Onore's beacon, reflecting the gold back as it rose to form the flesh of the Grassweave. Strengthened to bear the weight of itself and those who would walk upon it, it would in days to come be a great surprise to those of Lampide. Grass it was, and grass it would always be. But not grass as most would call it. One day even it might garner a name for itself, but that was far away from the now in its Pattern.

So the Web wove and spun, unhurried in their frantic pace. And when the sky erupted in fire, they were safe. The grass that was not grass held firm against the explosive heat, only in a few places the Dancers requiring to damp down where streamers of skyfire had dropped onto their home's shell. Worry they did, yes, for their homes in Aodamo, but with little true conviction. For all that she might be mad, their Patternmaker had been both generous and kind in her Gifts. The crown of the wood might burn, but it would not reach the Weaves below. The Dancers knew their Pattern well, and they would survive.

So it was, a week after their first arrival - and bare days following the clearing of the skies - that the Grassweave stood finished for the Weavespeakers that would soon arrive. The elegant structure towered above the city of Lampide, rising to match the height of Onore's Lighthouse, but far more slender. Looking down on the human city, the Web Curious smiled at each other and nodded. A new Gift. It was good to see.

And but a day later, they were free. Web Weavespeaker came, following that Pattern that had been left. And Web Curious were freed to be what they were.

Keep an eye out for the ants, Elio Sufferer had said. So they searched for a hive, their beat blending to that of the grassland to find the pulse of something else that was new there. Around the city they stepped, all but invisible to the eyes of humans, looking and peering through Pattern and sight until they touched the edge of a very different Pattern.

Ants, Elio had said. But this was something all more intriguing. Ants of metal, bound together as something more. For hours the Web waited on the edge of the Pattern, testing and tasting the feel and texture of the Aktai Pattern before venturing into it openly.

Nine Dancers approached, feet whispering on grass in deliberate sign to their presence. No sneaking here, for nor did the Aktai sneak. Openness mirrored, that was the way of things.

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Spending 1 Act to enhance the Dancer's awareness of the Patterns around them, this time granting them the ability to apply slight alterations to Pattern variables. This will not, at present, work on any sapient or sentient being - that's going to be at least another act - and requires the Dancer to be touching what they're manipulating.

Limits right now are things like what's been shown above. They altered the length, tensile strength and flammability of the grass they made the Grassweave out of.

Hive by Lampide

Jéga'Myrmeci held sway over this nascent Hive, its vast guards wielding spear, shield and crossbow in defense of the tunnels against the newfangled monster hordes, greedy for the treasuries of the replicants.

The weavers were most likely not monsters, but wary the hive guards remained.

"Hold, travelers. You come from the way of Lampide but you are not human. Identify yourselves and the reason you come."