Godhood 3 IC: Who Worships the Worshippers?

[HalfTangible]

Diplomatic Immunity
____________

Stern glares did not phase Tekva one bit. He was used to armed guards. And this time there was no tower. He supposed the lighthouse rising above the city walls would suffice, but he had picked up a number of tricks since then. The woman was not acting warm or friendly, but at least she had accepted the gift. That was a good sign, right?

It began to dawn on Tekva that he didn't exactly have a plan. Or official sanction. He had a flock of birds, an aircraft and a bottle of wine. Less the bottle of wine now.

Well, he'd worked with less.

"My name is Tekva. I am an inventor of Nam-Bel. And I think a diplomat as well. You are interested in my bird?" he says, gesturing to the aircraft.

"No, I am interested in the machine." She said dryly, holding the bottle of wine out to one of the soldiers. He took it and moved away from them. "It just flew. Solange can glide, but it's not quite the same thing."

[DoctorGlock]

"No, I am interested in the machine." She said dryly, holding the bottle of wine out to one of the soldiers. He took it and moved away from them. "It just flew. Solange can glide, but it's not quite the same thing."

"Yes, the bird," Tekva replied eagerly, gesturing to the craft again. It was unclear as the flock was roosting on every available surface now that the six foot meat cleaver in front had stopped rotating. "I suppose as the first of its kind it should really have a better name. Air wagon? No that sounds empty. But yes it flies! It flies under its own power. Controllable too this time. A matter of applied incendiary catalytic principles to generate power and aerofoil engineering. Not a lick of magic! Though I have some ideas for applying unshackled principles into the drive train and bound concepts for power generation. But this is the first model. And it works! I wasn't too sure before today. Quite ingenious if I do say so myself," Tekva said with no small measure of pride.

[HalfTangible]

"Yes, the bird," Tekva replied eagerly, gesturing to the craft again. It was unclear as the flock was roosting on every available surface now that the six foot meat cleaver in front had stopped rotating. "I suppose as the first of its kind it should really have a better name. Air wagon? No that sounds empty. But yes it flies! It flies under its own power. Controllable too this time. A matter of applied incendiary catalytic principles to generate power and aerofoil engineering. Not a lick of magic! Though I have some ideas for applying unshackled principles into the drive train and bound concepts for power generation. But this is the first model. And it works! I wasn't too sure before today. Quite ingenious if I do say so myself," Tekva said with no small measure of pride.

"How about 'airborne'?"
"Silence, private."

"... You really expected me to understand all of that, didn't you." She sighed. "But yes, it is very impressive that this... thing can fly. I do not care if it is impressive. Solange might care about the machinery involved, but I am Eliana, so I do not. What are you here for?"

... at least she gave him her name? That's... something.

[DoctorGlock]

"How about 'airborne'?"
"Silence, private."

"... You really expected me to understand all of that, didn't you." She sighed. "But yes, it is very impressive that this... thing can fly. I do not care if it is impressive. Solange might care about the machinery involved, but I am Eliana, so I do not. What are you here for?"

... at least she gave him her name? That's... something.

She didn't care about the machinery. Tekva's face fell a little at that. He had been about to explain how the expanding gases moved the pistons. It was all rather interesting. Tekva sighed. Maybe he'd be able to tell this 'Solange' about it then.

He mused a moment. "Airborne sounds good. Rather respectable. I'll have to tell the committee presuming they ever get around to doing anything... Erm, I suppose I am a diplomat?" he answered.

[HalfTangible]

She didn't care about the machinery. Tekva's face fell a little at that. He had been about to explain how the expanding gases moved the pistons. It was all rather interesting. Tekva sighed. Maybe he'd be able to tell this 'Solange' about it then.

He mused a moment. "Airborne sounds good. Rather respectable. I'll have to tell the committee presuming they ever get around to doing anything... Erm, I suppose I am a diplomat?" he answered.

[Roll Diplomacy]

Eliana growled. "You 'suppose'?" She waved her hand dismissively. "If you're here to talk, then talk to me. The Council of Lords is too busy trying to suck mother's toes." Her tone made it impossible to tell if she was kidding.

One of the soldiers (an archer with strange facial tattoos) stepped forward. "Ma'am, maybe we should get a seer for this? Diplomacy is their-"

"If you think so, then go find one." She interrupted. "Nam-Bel is our enemy and until they prove otherwise I shall treat them as such."

[Behold the Sunset]

The monster had been little trouble for the group. Idalia herself had dealt the killing blow, and the group she traveled with had suffered only six casualties. When she had beheld that creature, she'd half expected to walk back alone. But no, like the legends of old, they had fought the beast with valor and come out on top. And now she carried the monster's head on her back - it was too big for the horse.

Unlike the legends of old, however, she didn't feel invigorated; she felt broken. The group had six bodies to bury, and the remainder were battered and bruised. Their screaming still haunted her mind. One of the Lightbringers had lost an arm and an eye. Ashadeep deserved better from her leader.

Idalia shook herself. Mother did what she could, she knew that. She couldn't run off to kill every monster that happened to come near their people, especially not when the Council of Lords proved so incapable of acting without her.

It didn't make it any less vexing to know that she would have saved them all without breaking a sweat. Maybe even been able to reattach Ashadeep's arm.

And the screams...

"Milady?" Ashadeep spoke.

Idalia looked to her. "Yes?"

"You seem troubled."

She hadn't realized she'd been showing her thoughts on her face. It would not do to tell the soldiers her doubts. "Eliana agreed to go drinking with me when we got home." She half-lied. "But she doesn't drink. I don't think she's ever even sipped alcohol. I'm... thinking about how she'll handle it."

Ashadeep's face broke into a grin. "Dunno why you're so down. Sounds entertaining."

"Yeah..." She trailed off. Ashadeep seemed satisfied with her answer and went back to watching the road. Idalia turned her thoughts instead to home. The road was still hours away, she knew. They would not arrive in the city of Lampide for days yet, but there was a town they could reach before sundown to rest and recuperate. They would undoubtedly be glad to see that the monster was dead. Four dozen-

She raised her hand, ordering the company to stop. Ahead there was the march of boots and the strange grind of new machinery.

A bedraggled, motley group walked through the clearing. They looked defeated and angry, and from the looks on their faces they had suffered a great defeat. They bore long weaponry and rolled large metal... Idalia hesitated to call them siege weapons, but she wasn't sure what else would be quite so large. Several wore the Lampidan crest on their chests. Though they flew a flag she did not recognize, she saw some bearing whorling tattoos on several of their faces.

Ah, Housemen! That explained the strange weapons - Solange had been working on something similar when she left, hadn't she? Idalia moved out of the woods, bringing her force with her. They could travel together, or maybe they had a healer. "Hail! We have injured!" She called, stepping into the light.

The reaction of the group was instant. Many of the group whirled on her, and began shouting. Idalia stopped in her tracks, as she got a better look at the crests. They'd been crossed out.

They raised their weapons as she yelled. "PREPARE FOR-"

And with a roar like thunder, the enemy opened fire, and the screaming began anew.

---

Isolation from all but one wasn't exactly the best part of being a Ranger, but it certainly had its perks. For starters, Alessa Goldeneye knew both her own mannerisms and those of her partner inside and out, so she knew with but a glance what activities in the woods were his and which were not. It was like looking at animal tracks - there was a distinct pattern to the way he moved, the branches that snapped and the places he moved. She knew the exact hue of his camoflauge and from years of interacting with him recognized it instantly. Most of all at the moment, both of them knew the other's inventory by heart.

So she knew instantly that the horse in their territory did not belong to either of them.

It had entered running like mad, she could tell. Whatever had happened to it had left it thoroughly spooked, and it had trampled the plants around trying to get away. She could tell it had moved quickly for a long period, too long for a farm horse. A warhorse, then. The villages in the area were all Lampidan, last she checked, but she not heard of any expeditionary forces save for Idalia's, and she had moved past them days ago. There was no reason for her scouts to come here.

The nearest village was Deare, and aside from its taxes (paid in medicinal herbs and stone, a strange combination) had nothing really of note or strategic worth. It wasn't even that close to the Imperial highway.

Alessa stalked the beast through the woods, her concern growing as she followed the trail. There was blood on the ground, and it trailed. If the horse had been injured, then it would surely collapse long before Alessa could dress its wounds or begin its recovery. She let out a quick birdcall, signalling to Elio that there was danger here. He returned the call a fair bit behind. He'd found the trail as well.

Alessa broke into a run, pulling a dagger from her belt. If this was a trap, Elio would be ready for it. If this were a genuine incident and someone needed help, she would be there quickly.

It was a good thing she ran. When she found what awaited her, she gasped.

The horse had collapsed from exhaustion and from wounds in its sides, all of which looked somewhat like arrow wounds but none actually had an arrow. Idalia, daughter of the goddess herself, lay beside it unconscious, shivering and bleeding. Whatever had attacked her had covered her armor in crimson.

"ELIO!!" She screamed, forgetting protocol for a moment. "DOCT-NO, HEALER! NOW!!!"

[DoctorGlock]

[Roll Diplomacy]

Eliana growled. "You 'suppose'?" She waved her hand dismissively. "If you're here to talk, then talk to me. The Council of Lords is too busy trying to suck mother's toes." Her tone made it impossible to tell if she was kidding.

One of the soldiers (an archer with strange facial tattoos) stepped forward. "Ma'am, maybe we should get a seer for this? Diplomacy is their-"

"If you think so, then go find one." She interrupted. "Nam-Bel is our enemy and until they prove otherwise I shall treat them as such."

"Enemy!?" sputtered Tekva. "But we've never even met... ah... Julius. We'd heard stories... but no one in the city could determine the true ones. He was a student of the Acdemy but did not act with any official sanction. In fact there have been motions to try him in absentia for murder and attempted murder. The Committee has not answered, which has caused a great deal of discontent. Ummm... perhaps this might be a good time to explain why Nam-Bel isn't really an enemy. At least not in any appreciable sense of the word... it's also why I can only 'suppose' as you have noted with some deal of consternation."

"We don't actually have any cohesive leadership. I mean, there is a committee, but they only approve projects. And while god is technically the ranking member, not on has seen him/her/it in ages. So everyone kind of does what they want. We have at least seven forms of currency and eighteen different groups claiming to be in charge at any given moment. Assuming everybody isn't fighting for project resources. Which happens most of the time. Ur-Kadesh has said that the city is to be a crucible and eventually the best idea will win out.

"What I am saying is that Julius could not have acted with official sanction or even our city's support because there is no official sanction. Or support. It's also why I can only suppose I am a diplomat. Because of the whole sanction thing. So I ultimately have no invested authority, but neither did Julius. But I suppose I am trying to smooth things over on behalf of a city that doesn't really know I am here.

In short, it's hard to call us an enemy because there is really no 'us' or 'them' from your standpoint I presume." Tekva sighed and slumped against the airframe. "This is a royal botch job isn't it? He came with an army and mucked everything up and all I could bring was some wine. Wait. I suppose I could teach you how to build an airborne! That might even the scale?"

[HalfTangible]

"Enemy!?" sputtered Tekva. "But we've never even met... ah... Julius. We'd heard stories... but no one in the city could determine the true ones. He was a student of the Acdemy but did not act with any official sanction. In fact there have been motions to try him in absentia for murder and attempted murder. The Committee has not answered, which has caused a great deal of discontent. Ummm... perhaps this might be a good time to explain why Nam-Bel isn't really an enemy. At least not in any appreciable sense of the word... it's also why I can only 'suppose' as you have noted with some deal of consternation."

"We don't actually have any cohesive leadership. I mean, there is a committee, but they only approve projects. And while god is technically the ranking member, not on has seen him/her/it in ages. So everyone kind of does what they want. We have at least seven forms of currency and eighteen different groups claiming to be in charge at any given moment. Assuming everybody isn't fighting for project resources. Which happens most of the time. Ur-Kadesh has said that the city is to be a crucible and eventually the best idea will win out.

"What I am saying is that Julius could not have acted with official sanction or even our city's support because there is no official sanction. Or support. It's also why I can only suppose I am a diplomat. Because of the whole sanction thing. So I ultimately have no invested authority, but neither did Julius. But I suppose I am trying to smooth things over on behalf of a city that doesn't really know I am here.

In short, it's hard to call us an enemy because there is really no 'us' or 'them' from your standpoint I presume." Tekva sighed and slumped against the airframe. "This is a royal botch job isn't it? He came with an army and mucked everything up and all I could bring was some wine. Wait. I suppose I could teach you how to build an airborne! That might even the scale?"

Eliana pushed some of her snow-white hair behind one ear, expression unreadable. "So in short, your leadership is incompetent, disorganized and sloppy without your god... We can not exactly claim superiority in that regard. Though at least ours plays an active role to mitigate that..." She looked to the ship. "This... Airborn, as it is, would not serve well as a weapon of war in our arsenal, for reasons I should probably not disclose. However, it could more easily facilitate trade and civilian transport." Her eyes grew dark, the first genuine, major change in her expression since Tevka had landed. "The seas are no longer safe for our ships."

Her eyes turned back to Tevka. "While I cannot speak for mother, I personally find this to be an acceptable way to... 'even the scale', as you put it. And Solange will no doubt be eager to examine the machinery."

[DoctorGlock]

Circumstantial modifiers

“Well, technically less incompetent and more nonexistent,” he mumbled. “When god gets involved things usually only get more complicated...” he trailed off the line of thought as Eliana continued speaking.

Tekva brightened up. Well that was great news. He had just cleared over the biggest diplomatic blunder in Nam-Bel's history. Ok, technically it was the only diplomatic incident in Nam-Bel's isolationist history, but it was the thought that counted. Another thought then. Hadn't he heard that Lampide was under direct leadership of a goddess? And had Eliana just called her 'mother?'

'Wait, did you just say mother? As in you are the daughter of a goddess? As in we are about to meet with said goddess?” Tekva looked down at his tattered garments. “erm, I didn't exactly come dressed for the occasion...”

***

Awakening

The squirrel screamed as its cells simultaneously exploded. The fading contrails of its mind were overwitten as an alien consciousness reshaped the flesh and soul to fit itself. In a fraction of a moment, a squirrel leaped down from the tree. Awkwardly. It was not yet accustomed to flesh.

Substance. Shelter. Sensation. Then a flood of memories. The biomass it has just become. Not simply absorbed or merged with, become. It was so shallow! Empty! It was suffocating!

The rodent screamed again.

To the coyote watching, the smaller animal was sick. Possibly injured, An easy mark, a quick meal before it resumed thinking about the next.

Teeth! Pain! What were these? The biomass was torn apart by a larger one. Another simple mind. But different. Focused. Hungry.

Yes, that was more appropriate. It latched on... and became. For the briefest instant the predator was flicker of shifting flesh, teeth and eyes. Then the coyote stood alone in the forest. It was also in the squirrel. No sense in wasting biomass. Consolidate.

The smaller offshoot melted, flowing into the thing that looked like a coyote.

Better. But still too simple. Stifling. Too limiting.

But the impulse it needed was there. Hunt.

A Land of Deepest Shade

Verne wandered through the spectral forest. It was infuriating. No map. No stars to navigate. The moss didn't even grow right on the trees he fumed as a growth exploded into a cloud of luminous spores borne on the deathly wind. He had no idea where he was going and he was running out of time. How long had the black candles been burning? An hour? Maybe two? How much more time did that leave him for his mission?

Surely there was some formula to use her remnant to find his dear Ophelia? The law of sympathy was absolute, not even death could break the bind between above and below. So why couldn't he find her!?

“You look lost,” came a woman's voice cutting through the tempest of his thoughts. Verne spun around. An elderly woman was sitting on a log with a fire burning beneath a bubbling pot of porridge. She stirred it slowly with a stick. “You look lost and feel warm even from here. Too warm.” She narrowed he eyes at Verne. I reckon you don't belong here... I can see where your shadow stretches god-child. You do not belong here at all. Why did you come?”

“I don't have time to tarry! I must find her before my time runs out,” sputtered Verne.

“We'll that is just too bad. I reckon I have an eternity. You are impatient, Just like that godling was. He had an eternity to learn humanity. But he wasn't dealt the best starting hand. I wonder what your excuse is? But I reckon you are in a hurry, so I may just sit here for an eternity with nary even a spoon to stir my porridge with. There is a lot you can do with an eternity. Learning the road is one of those things”

It will lead the way.

Verne stopped cold in his tracks. Slowly he eased his way down ont a log across from the elderly lady. He reached out to her with the spoon. She took it, and a distant look passed over her face as if she was lost in memories.

“Too warm indeed. You yet draw breath. And you are willing to listen. That's better. Your patron always stopped his rush to ask me for answers too, god-child,” she said.

“What does that mean? Why do you keep calling me that? Who are you?” Verne asked in a hollow whisper.

“You think a living soul can pass through the dread gate without some serious meddling going on, god-child? And can you not see it? Look at the shadow you cast here that burns with the rays of the dawn.”

Verne looked behind him. The light of the cookfire cast a long shadow across the clearing and into the trees. It glowed a soft silver.

“I reckon you can't see it because you are focused on something else. But aint no one ever crossed that gate from this side once they belong here. But I reckon there is a first time for everything. It has to happen this time see?”

“Wait, you'll help me? You know where Ophelia is? Tell me!” Verne demanded.

The old lady 'Tsk'ed and rapped Verne across the knuckles with the spoon. “Who said anything about your beau? You think you are the first man who lost his love? Nay, there are bigger forces moving here, bigger shadows.” Her face softened at Verne's expression. “But perhaps they can help you as well. We are playing games in the domain of gods now. There are no longer any certainties. Perhaps the chef can help you. You ain't the only soul that don't belong here. I don't know why your god sent you to me, but I reckon even he don't understand fate too well.”

“How do you-” Verne was cut off by the woman.

“We go way back. Not important. You must find the chef. He can help. There is a tavern just a hop and a skip from here, if you know the geography. And the chef might need your help too. Dead gods is a new thing, see?

“But hide your light. There are hungry things here that long to return to your world more than you do, and you stand out like a beacon. I reckon you may draw unwanted attention to yourself. I reckon you shouldn't have come at all but I know Ur-Kadesh likes to meddle, and even he likely doesn't know what game he's gotten all mixed up in. And you as well.

They were standing at the edge of a forest clearing now. A small building stood before them, light filtered through the windows. A wooden sight swaying on a post read simply 'Hennessi's.'

“In there,” whispered the woman. “Maybe they can help you some. But one last warning. I can see what you's brought with you. And I reckon I aint the only one. It's a door back. And it's wide enough for two. You had best be damned certain of what you bring back with you.”

Shuddering, Verne approached the tavern's threshold.

***

Jones spat a stream of tobacco across the clearing. He slipped the axe back into its harness and hucked a log under each arm to drag back to the firewood stock. Millie would be returning from the market soon, the sun was setting and he had plans.

They started with the wine and the candlelit dinner set up in the parlor and followed a trail of flower petals upstairs. Not roses he mused. Where the hell was he supposed to get roses? And hell, they were both simple folks. Didn't need no roses when they had love.

He heard fumbling at the door. Ah, that would be her now. He turned around and grinned wide when he saw her. Sure, she wasn't what she looked like twenty five years ago, but then, neither was he. Then his face fell a bit.

“Aw hell, you didn't go an forget everything you went to buy at the market now did you, dear?” Hell, they might not be spring chickens, but neither of them were that old yet. Something was wrong. Why was she looking at him like that?

“Millie? What's wrong?” asked Jones, reaching for his wife. Why wasn't she answering? Why didn't her eyes focus?

Then Jones screamed as he was consumed by a wall of alien flesh and teeth.

Yes. The new biomass was much better suited. It had individuality. Experiences. Memories. Souls.

And was it not its purpose to learn through their eyes? It was a start, but there were so many other perspectives out there. So many other lives to experience.

The blood flowed over the floor as it consolidated its biomass. Yes, Jones a was a good form. Jones was an unassuming form. And now it had his memories too. It was Jones. And Millie. And soon it would be so many more.

It needed to experience all of them.

[HalfTangible]

Circumstantial modifiers

“Well, technically less incompetent and more nonexistent,” he mumbled. “When god gets involved things usually only get more complicated...” he trailed off the line of thought as Eliana continued speaking.

"A nonexistent government is an incompetent one." She replied.

Tekva brightened up. Well that was great news. He had just cleared over the biggest diplomatic blunder in Nam-Bel's history. Ok, technically it was the only diplomatic incident in Nam-Bel's isolationist history, but it was the thought that counted. Another thought then. Hadn't he heard that Lampide was under direct leadership of a goddess? And had Eliana just called her 'mother?'

'Wait, did you just say mother? As in you are the daughter of a goddess? As in we are about to meet with said goddess?” Tekva looked down at his tattered garments. “erm, I didn't exactly come dressed for the occasion...”

Eliana cocked her eyebrow. "Where did you get that idea? No, I am not taking you to meet with Onore; Yes, she is my adoptive mother; and no, you did not." She said coldly. "Mother does not need to handle every little thing that comes to this city, nor should she. In fact she isn't supposed to be, and yet somehow that is what keeps happening."

[DoctorGlock]

"A nonexistent government is an incompetent one." She replied.



Eliana cocked her eyebrow. "Where did you get that idea? No, I am not taking you to meet with Onore; Yes, she is my adoptive mother; and no, you did not." She said coldly. "Mother does not need to handle every little thing that comes to this city, nor should she. In fact she isn't supposed to be, and yet somehow that is what keeps happening."

"And yet you just said she was the only one with the authority to give the final say on this diplomatic matter," Tekva replied calmly. "And if that is the case then things are currently unresolved. Since I'd rather not stand outside all day and it doesn't seem like you are about to shoot me, I have to ask where we go next."

[HalfTangible]

"And yet you just said she was the only one with the authority to give the final say on this diplomatic matter," Tekva replied calmly. "And if that is the case then things are currently unresolved. Since I'd rather not stand outside all day and it doesn't seem like you are about to shoot me, I have to ask where we go next."

"I was talking about her personally. I just said she doesn't have to do everything for the city. Pay attention." She replied. "I am speaking for the city in this instance. This matter is resolved and Lampide will remember it in future interactions with you and yours. You may leave."

[DoctorGlock]

"I was talking about her personally. I just said she doesn't have to do everything for the city. Pay attention." She replied. "I am speaking for the city in this instance. This matter is resolved and Lampide will remember it in future interactions with you and yours. You may leave."

It was beginning to dawn on Tekva that he was not the least competent diplomat in the exchange. Then it dawned on him that diplomacy meant nothing if it was a short and terse exchange between an unkempt old inventor and a cold eyed official outside the gates of town.

No, it was about symbols. Tekva understood symbols. Hell, he'd been used as a warning for years. To really get a message across you had to be seen.

Tekva shrugged. "Very well, I will inform the committee and hope they see fit to actually convene." He turned back to the airborne, but not before turning towards the soldier that named it. "I reckon you could let your folks know about the wonders we make back in Nam-Bel. Hell, I'd be willing to let any of you brave enough take a test flight with me."

He leaped back into the cockpit and threw a lever and the prop started with an explosive series of pops. He thought for a moment and then put on the flight goggles.

This was about symbols. The man in the flying machine had to be more than a doddering old man. He had to be a myth. Besides, now he could really put the airborne through its paces. And it had a name now. Names were important.

He pulled back sharply on the lever while pushing full gas flow into the engine. Sharp and steep, a first for aviation takeoffs. A second for takeoffs in general, he mused. Rising high, he began to circle the city before gracefully swooping in close above the markets and streets. Close enough to be seen. Close enough to wave to the people gawking and pointing below.

Close enough to inspire.

Because diplomacy was about symbols. Besides, authority could go bugger itself.

[HalfTangible]

[Airshow]

Plenty there were brave enough to fly. But no one there was stupid enough to go against the wishes of Onore's daughter. Granted, Solange would've been the most eager and Idalia would've probably allowed it, but Eliana... Well, the interaction she'd had with Tevka had been fairly typical of her: curt, abrasive, to the point. Eliana simply watched the Airborne fly over the city, not bothering to draw her bow. Tevka had no weapons, and they had one less enemy. No need to make them one again.

The crowds in the city gaped, of course. Several were jolted in shock by the sound of the airborne's flight, and cheers went up from the crowd. People with swirling, whorlic tattoos (the fabled Housemen, probably) looked most fascinated, and one was even jotting down what were probably observation notes.

Tevka could see a woman in full plate at the end of the city, looking at him from the top of the great tower. The glow surrounding her left her face starkly readable as he flew by, though her expression was not. She could have been jubilant, fascinated, afraid, angry... Her eyes simply tracked him as he moved across the sky.

[DoctorGlock]

Faux Pas
-------------

All quantifiable things are the reflection of ideas. Archetypes. Forms. Object and even people can be altered and stabilized by linking them to any given ideal.

But an archetype is not the same as the person. The magnificent man in the flying machine is an archetype. The knight of the sky, the same. A bumbling old man does not match the Form. And when you try to bind an idea to a man, mortal flesh proves far more maleable.

So when Tekva donned his aviator cap with the intention of presenting a symbol, some reservations burned away like so much chaff before a storm. The old man vanished, and was replaced with an idea. It was the idea that looped and flitted across the skies of Lampide. It was an archetype that spotted the woman in the tower and spun around, making a tight circle around the lighthouse. It was the unfolding narrative, not a man, that dropped a rose --which had certainly not been in the the airborne before-- and blew a kiss towards a goddess before blazing into the sunset.

Because the only thing that was going through the mortal mind of a certain tinkerer was 'will it go faster if I paint it red?'

Later when he looked in a mirror, more lucid and less giddy from the freedom of the air would he wonder 'where did the last twenty years go?'

[HalfTangible]

Faux Pas
-------------

All quantifiable things are the reflection of ideas. Archetypes. Forms. Object and even people can be altered and stabilized by linking them to any given ideal.

But an archetype is not the same as the person. The magnificent man in the flying machine is an archetype. The knight of the sky, the same. A bumbling old man does not match the Form. And when you try to bind an idea to a man, mortal flesh proves far more maleable.

So when Tekva donned his aviator cap with the intention of presenting a symbol, some reservations burned away like so much chaff before a storm. The old man vanished, and was replaced with an idea. It was the idea that looped and flitted across the skies of Lampide. It was an archetype that spotted the woman in the tower and spun around, making a tight circle around the lighthouse. It was the unfolding narrative, not a man, that dropped a rose --which had certainly not been in the the airborne before-- and blew a kiss towards a goddess before blazing into the sunset.

Because the only thing that was going through the mortal mind of a certain tinkerer was 'will it go faster if I paint it red?'

Later when he looked in a mirror, more lucid and less giddy from the freedom of the air would he wonder 'where did the last twenty years go?'

The woman's blank expression continued to follow the airborne as it flew away. She looked down at the rose between her boots for a moment before turning to descend from the tower.

Lampide was abuzz with talk of the strange flying machine, and the grizzled man who flew it. Some spoke of a wide-eyed thrillseeking youngster like their own Solange, for only such a man would posses the energy and wit to create and fly such a thing. Some spoke of an elder with the eyes of a bird and the gaze of a madman.

The specifics didn't matter - the idea was real to them, now.

[DoctorGlock]

Cat and Mouse
______________

The crossbow bolt sunk home with a furious hiss as the flames were extinguished in blood. The stricken man let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a gurgle before slumping dead to the ground.

The executioner's face was ashen beneath his wide brimmed hat, lit only by the holy fire blazing at the front of the crossbow clutched in his trembling hands, unquenched by the downpour. Behind him a badly burned man, the charred ruin of his arm in a sling, was shouting.

“It wasn't in him for gods' sakes, it wasn't inside him!”

“Dammit, I couldn't know! You saw what it did to Hawthorne! You know how it gets us! He wouldn't take the test! I couldn't know!” the executioner stammered. Around them the settlement burned, a victim of the purging fire set by the survivors.

There weren't many left. Less than twenty last time Tyonix had checked, and that was before the group had gotten separated. Now it was just him, Webster, Forest and Sister Mary. Mary wasn't speaking anymore. Tyonix thanked whichever gods were listening for that, he account of how her sisters blood had flowed back into them, animating them with an unholy life that was not their own set even him on edge. And should had kept telling it over and over.

He was the grand inquisitor here, it was his job to get to the bottom of it and protect his town. Whatever was left of it he thought ruefully. Still, it couldn't hide anymore. He shuddered, remembering how Hawthorne had called out to one of the hunting party, approaching, embracing one of them, only to be torn asunder by alien teeth from another world. Then it was Hawthorne as well. It had his voice. It had his memories. But it wasn't Hawthorne. It was simply hungry.

So he burned it. Whatever it was, the fire burned it beyond its ability to regenerate. The four left in his band all bore some sort of mark from the fire and they bore it openly. 'I am human,' the burns said, 'you can trust that I am exactly what lives in my skin.'

The great bell had stopped tolling for danger. Whatever it was it had silenced them first, hijacking their essences so that they could not call for help. Isolating them. So it could hunt.

Tyonix slumped against a section of wall shivering. He couldn't purge it from his mind. Two of the villagers walked into each other, their flesh flowing and melting as they merged, consolidating their flesh. Enough to stretch long twitching tendrils of meat up a wall and drag itself, slithering and oozing up a wall into a window. A scream of panic then silence. It flowed out the window, bigger now before assuming the forms of three villagers. They nodded to one another and went in different directions. Hunting.

He had hidden that time. He had no idea what was going on. He had seen the thing take sword and bolt and ignore them, shaping its flesh around them before infecting whichever hapless sod had stood in its way. The combat forms they took were even worse. Flesh hanging of shifting bones, veins reaching out like whipping hungry tentacles... and it couldn't be stopped!

Now he knew. He had the Fire of his god, and it could kill the offshoots. Keep them dead beyond its unholy ability to regenerate itself. But now he was faced with a terrifying proposition.

Run and escape into the night with his group, and let the thing escape into the world. Or try to burn it out in every house and hovel, every man, woman, child dog and rat in the town. And possibly die himself in the process. Possibly become the next carrier of the wretched flesh as it seeks to rebuild elsewhere.

Elsewhere were people knew and suspected nothing.

The rest of them also knew it. The choices were already made. Even Sister Mary had found a sword somewhere, holy fire flickering along the blade. Reflecting in her silent and deadened eyes.

They would have to end it here, or die trying.

***

How. Dare. They. The meat beings. It offered them communion. Communion with each other. With their gods. Joe, the agricultural meat thing felt a cold uncertainty at night about his mate's loyalty. When it had become Joe it could see all of that quite clearly. When it became Joe's mate as well it could see all of her experiences as well. There was no reason to doubt her loyalty to Joe. And since it was both of them now they knew each other better than they ever could have before, no longer separated by the terror in the darkness behind their eyes.

It could offer this to all of them! The woman with the cats who thought the baker was poisoning her bread. It had showed them both when it became them. It was now the repository for all their memories. The cats as well. It had divided its biomass and sent the cats out to cover more ground.

How. Dare. They. It had to hide, masquerading as their frail and flimsy selves, poorly suited for every day tasks. It could help them with that as well. Their flesh was immutable, it could not insulate itself against the cold or grow wings to fly or more eyes to see. It could do that once it was in them. The leper and the beggar would walk again. The military man had an arm again. But instead of ecstasy at their ascension and communion they ran in terror. They attacked it!

Now it had to hide in them, pretending to be only mortal, only human and cat and mouse and a whole hose of other things that could not shift and adapt. Because when it tried to show them, to commune with them, to offer them ascension, they attacked it.

And now they had found a new way to counter it's deception. They brought fire that terminated its offshoots. Killed its biomass and its memories and essences! They killed themselves through it when they brought the fire, it was them after all! It was them, not a monster from beyond!

So be it. If the meat things could not accept the unity of ascension, it would have to force it into them, consolidating them cell by cell and soul by soul.

It could see them moving in the night, the flickering ghost-light of their souls distinguishing them from the other things that moved. It's offshoots that was. It would have to brave the fire and teach them to embrace the whole.

***

The thing hissed as holy fire consumed its distorted limbs, too many of them, with femurs and tibia distending into jointed segmented blades, a nightmare unfolding from what was once one of Tyonix's congregants.

Burn, nightspawn!

They had to move quickly, hit hard and fast. If it so much as touched you it was over. He had seen the fingers of one extend like spears, stretching impossibly long to impale Webster. But Webster hadn't died. He had twitched a bit and the wounds began to seal and it wasn't Webster anymore.

So he burned him.

Was it too late? It could be anything. Had it taken wing in the dark to spread its spoors to other cities? If so, could it be stopped at all? Could it become a swarm of flitting insects, too many to count or catch or stops and devour the world?

No, stop it here! If it could flee in such a matter, it would not be rushing them. It would have already moved on. Or so he prayed, as he fired on another figures rushing towards him out of the darkness.

***

It burned! It burned so bad! With each offshoot killed it was diminished. Its memories snuffed, reduced closer and closer to the hollow and broken things it was before, forced to ride the winds and no no rest. Stripped of consciousness and self!

It could not flee yet, not without replacing what was lost! It needed more biomass again. More awareness and mind. It could not end in fire!.

Unbidden, from some dark wellspring of its mind, a flicker of fragmented equations of unnatural complexity flared through its awareness.

***

Tyonix was the only one left. It had gotten into Mary. It had latched onto Forest's skull and began to extend its tendrils into his eyes and ears and nose. So he burned them. He had no choice. Now he was alone.

The bowstring snapped forward with a dull thrum, another burning bolt zipping into the night. He was unstoppable, buoyed by the fires of his god. Another hiss and the nightspawn would burst into flames.

It didn't come.

No, the sound was a harsh clang, of steel on steel. Eerie chains of silver light played over the surface of the creature, a woman, moving on all four distended claw-blade limbs, her tongue splitting into a mass of writhing forked tendrils. He had expected the flash and the thump and the fire, but when the silver light finished playing over it, the bolt had struck only steel.

Living, shifting moving steel propelled by an alien will.

Tyonix screamed as it bounded at him.

The sun was up. The fires had finally burned out. Tyonix smiled serenely at the village. It was quite now. Misshapen creatures, shifting as they went, taking the ideal form for the job, combed the place for any holdout biomass. More of them flowed into Tyonix now as it consolidated itself.

His terror of the previous night seemed so far away now. Now he could see cearly the truth without the silly medium of communication and the veils of ignorance and lies. All of them could now.

A hundred identities. One now. Really, in retrospect why did they bother to resist? Communion was his gift after all. And it was a gift to be shared with the whole world.

[Snowfire]

Lampide

"Impossible?" Niam chuckled. "Not impossible, Sun's Daughter. Simply hard to catch attention of one who is in all times so eternally beset by her own nature. To do such lies far beyond the ability of one of humankind...yet you are not humankind entire, so a possibility remains. However small it might be." The Dancers did not react or respond to the short conversation between the sisters, but as a unit they bend at the waist as was their established custom to greet Onore.

"To allow death when without purpose and against all justice it shall be is nothing that has need of thanks. A duty we bear to guard and protect, and here in luck we were that the matter was close." Niam raised a hand, gesturing out at the surrendered third. "They have done nothing but follow one gifted with power, cunning and charisma, Lightshard. They hold no guilt for their parts. And if they did, surely would it in end fall upon those which set the shaping of their once-master." The message, again, was very clear, if a touch more respectful. "Under our protection shall we take them, if no place here they might find."

Jéga’Myrmeci

The Dancers dipped faint bows, respect given to one of the few who they knew were among their matches in the world. Courtesy, after all, is never to be forgotten. Especially when one is coming in search of allies.

"Grave tidings we bring to thee," the Beat spoke. "Of a threat that given time could threaten all those of Gaia. To the north, far above Aodama between the realms of Chaos and Dream, a vast horde rises from the sad earth. Thousands upon thousands come the monsters, pouring out of the world's depths to seek little more but blood and ruin. No intelligence guides them, they are but what they have always been, yet their sheer numbers threaten much that has been built. Much of order, hundreds of communities," it could not be said to be a lie that these words were deliberately chosen. "The tide descends upon them all.

"We have struck against this vast cancer upon the soil of this world we share, reaping a toll as ghastly as it is vast, yet against the sheer - seemingly endless - numbers set against us we find that only the full might of our Weave Protector might suffice to hold that cancer back. And that Weave cannot be given solely to such a task, for there are other threats and other enemies that walk the world, and we have no guarantee of success on our own." The Beat dipped her head once again, briefly as was a Dancer's wont. "So we come to those who we know have the strength to aid in this defence. We see in the Weave great potential for humanity, yet in the now all their kingdoms combined could not muster a force powerful enough to do what we did alone. In this we see responsibility...and also a challenge."

Something seemed to twist in the air around the Web and the Replicants, Power dancing in fractured eyes. "Two of three Titans spoke of a Father, of that we know. A Father we have not found, but certain it is that he holds no love for those who were our makers, and we have now little doubt that it was him responsible for the creatures his middle child took with Mist to serve him. No intelligence guides this host to the North, none yet at least which we could discern, yet even if not an attack a threat it is to all those of Gaia. And an all the more lethal threat if their creator could make them his own as did his son.

"So of thee we ask, as one of few indeed that can grant it in a way at all meaningful, for aid. Join the power of your Weaves to our own, so that we might destroy this threat to our world before it can become."

Family Troubles

"No vengeance, army of fire." The voice rose from the edge of the supply camp, its origin easily identified by her speech. The army had only looked, not seen. "Families we do not take from those who love them." She gestured, before a single gun could be raised, and the army saw what was instead of what their master had wished. Families were still present and quite well - although weapons, slaves and the families of those who had surrendered were conspicuously absent.

"A choice they shall all be granted, with our knowing of their hearts in account, to return to you or to join those who left yours at the walls of the City of Light." The Dancer bowed, ever so slightly, to those before her in token of respect. "Never was it our intention to harm you, even when you struck out against us. Those among you whose families yearn to stand behind them will not be robbed. Taken only will be that which is already gone, and is never the right of one to demand."

The subtext was quite clear. The army would be allowed to leave, and all those who truly loved and were loved by in return by their families would not leave alone. But those who had taken what must, if it is to truly be, be given, would leave as they had always been – even if their cruelty had forced it not to seem so.

Shattering Mirrors

At its core, the process of tracing the infinite patterns of the Weave was on that Liral knew very well. It was something that the Goddess had learnt a long time ago, that she'd had to learn to save what little had remained of her sanity at her birth. But at that time, and for many long mortal years after, the myriad and ever-shifting fabric of her forbearer's creation had been far too torn in its complexity for her to walk more than the most powerful of its lines. That had changed over time, in the passing of eyeblink centuries as her children grew with her blessing into something far more than merely mortal, but those lines she had walked in the beginning remained still the safest.

And yet, they were not without mystery. And in that, not beyond the vagaries of the universe to change.

The change was subtle in many ways, but an Act of Power on the Universe was not something that could pass unnoticed to one woven into a web that was of all those things. Yet this was worse than most and many, for it tore at one of the underlying fabrics that made mortals what they were. Not mortal, no, but possessed of the fire and drive and beauty that Liral had spoken of to Kalamar so long ago above the Beyond. It sent a crack of cold ice stabbing into one of the most important foundations of mortal power, and Liral knew without knowing where it could – and in some hands certainly would – lead. It was easy to chart that path, to see where the ideas and possibilities would lead in the hands of some and then many.

Yet that was only a byproduct, a small piece of something Else that had attracted her gaze. Something trying to worm its way into the Web that bound the Dancers together, something that was not of them and tried to be, full of a power that she did not remember and yet knew. An icy, cold power, hot with reckless ambition, and easily traced for it. The Dancers were Liral’s children. They were all but the most important of all things to her, only two things placing above or equal in measure to their being.

To say that she was angry about this attempt to change them would be…insufficiently expressive.

Every mirror in the Panopticon shattered in an instant as she descended into it, threads of non-futures snapping across them and rending them into broken shards, the edges of the endlessly changing whirlwind of Power that she used to form her presence. Petals of gold and silver burst into being across the room that presence took shape, the living mirrorlife of the Weave showing itself quite capable of helping its carer.

You

The voice was like the echo of thunder, the cry of shattering glass and the screams of breaking minds. Not cold, not dead, yet utterly determined. And completely devoid of any seeming desire to accept excuses.

Your work, your power; attacked the Web of my Children. Your power.

The form behind the voice solidified, patterns layering endlessly over themselves into the image of a maiden made all of broken spirals and woven fate. One eye remained covered, blinded by the bandage laid across, but the other... There was nothing but Power in that eye, silver light glaring out uncaring at a world that could not comprehend how deeply it saw. It seemed to strip away all that Ur Kadesh was in a single glance, even though that was surely impossible. Whatever it might be, what mattered more most likely were her words.

For some reason you did this. Some reason laid behind the Work and the Power invested in it. But my Children are their own and I am theirs even as they are mine. An attack on them is so too an attack on me.

Colour unlike anything the young god had ever seen flickered around the older goddesses hands, rainbows of a light that had in concert brought down a Lesser Titan. He didn’t know that specific, of course, but the light knew. And it could tell anyone that, just because it was only light did not mean it was harmless.

Once I will ask. Only once.

Why

[HalfTangible]

Lampide

"Impossible?" Niam chuckled. "Not impossible, Sun's Daughter. Simply hard to catch attention of one who is in all times so eternally beset by her own nature. To do such lies far beyond the ability of one of humankind...yet you are not humankind entire, so a possibility remains. However small it might be." The Dancers did not react or respond to the short conversation between the sisters, but as a unit they bend at the waist as was their established custom to greet Onore.

She grinned slyly. "I like a challenge." She slid close to Niam and placed a hand on his chest, batting her eyelashes. "Come home with me? I wanna take a closer look at the weave and your connection to it."

Eliana gagged at that moment for no discernible reason.

"To allow death when without purpose and against all justice it shall be is nothing that has need of thanks. A duty we bear to guard and protect, and here in luck we were that the matter was close." Niam raised a hand, gesturing out at the surrendered third. "They have done nothing but follow one gifted with power, cunning and charisma, Lightshard. They hold no guilt for their parts. And if they did, surely would it in end fall upon those which set the shaping of their once-master." The message, again, was very clear, if a touch more respectful. "Under our protection shall we take them, if no place here they might find."

Solange's mouth twisted into an amused grin, but her grip on Niam's chest grew a little tighter. Onore's gaze also grew harder but she did not answer immediately.

"If you have something to say, say it." Eliana, it seemed, was not so reasonable.

"Eliana, calm yourself." Onore looked to Niam. "I place the blame for this incident squarely on my own shoulders and I shall clean it up. Julian is dead, and his forces that surrender will be taken into custody. They will be brought into Lampide's army if they wish, or return to their homes and families."

[BladeofObliviom]

Spoiler

Show

Hennessi's

"Miss my hat, I do." Mysto said in response. "Do you want to keep sniping petty insults at each other, or would you like to try some Dead Salad?"

Mysto looked carefully at the second figure, trying to get a better sense of who could chain down Shahiyena. Even a dead Shahiyena. Trying not to stare, Mysto took a brief look around Hennessi's. The long dining hall was filled with tables and chairs - made from dead wood, or so Hennessi said - and there was a rather large crowd. Mysto didn't want to block the main entryway, so he got out of the way, and put the Dead Salads down on a nearby table. Placing them opposite from himself, he sat down on the other side. Looking back at Shahiyena, Mysto allowed himself a small smile, but kept the reason to himself.

A dead Shahiyena meant things had worked out all right. Mostly.

Hennessi's

A wry grin split Shahiyena's face, only to fall as Mysto refused to rise to his baiting. Snarling in rage, he opened his mouth to shout but reconsidered at the last moment, before speaking in the calmest and quietest tone of voice that any creature had yet heard from him.

"Not even if I were starving in the desert, you rotund-"

Before Shahiyena could finish whatever epithet it had planned for the chef, a soft grey cloth materialized from seemingly nowhere to gag the angry creature. Though faceless, the chained boy seemed to smile at the sight, before turning its head back to Mysto and uttering a few innocent-sounding words in his own smoky accent.

"I think I would like to try your cuisine, Chef Mysto. Alas, I have nought to offer you but my company. And in truth, I would grant you that regardless should you wish it."

[DoctorGlock]

Broken mirrors and a whole lot of bad luck

Ur-Kadesh sat in the depth of the Panopticon spinning fate. Well, not fate precisely, but the fragmented and unfinished equations hanging in the air around him spoke of promise and potential. Around a hair thin needle of polished diamond he was spooling time. He had unwoven it from strands of mass and space and gravity, each of those wound around special tools held in each hand. He had more hands than usual for this purpose. As the fundamental forces of the universe flowed and flexed into quantifiable data and formula, he took a moment to sit back and look at his work.

It was the product of an unholy amount of labor. He wondered if the were looking for him in the city far above. He briefly wondered just how long he'd been at it. But it was worth it. Fine, delicate and beautiful. When it was finished it would be magnificent. It would be the key to all creation. He just couldn't afford any distractions.

So when his Panopticon shattered to dust, words couldn't quite contain his fury.

Fascinating. Fury certainly implies a self to experience it. A philosophical point that could be explored LATER.

He had sensed the mounting divine will in the fractured moment before she had appeared. Another cursed god! And typically they come bearing threats. And babbling about something he had never heard of. It was like an old and tired script.

To hell with that. I am done being pushed about.

I. That must go along with self. It is intrinsically connected to having motives and desires. Another fascinating philosophical point. LATER.

Yes. Philosophy later. Fury now. Dare enter My sanctum and lay ruin to My work and cast your accusations upon ME? This one is not your plaything. No, power is not yours alone.

Everything flashed through his divine mind in the same fractured instant Liral appeared in the riuns of the Panopticon.

Well once ruined.

The forces of the universe bend to me! You think parlor tricks will cow me? Two can play at that.

The needle was in one of his hands, leveled like a sword at the intruding god. A lash of divine will ripplies across the face of the cosmos. Time unspooled with a snap. The mirror dust hung in the air, suspended in the temporal current before reversing. Ruin unmade.

Damn good thing as well. Building that wasn't easy.

The tools in his hands were improvised weapons now. The winding skeins of mass and gravity along with momentum filled one hand. Equations of of ruin and unmaking another. Ideas of destruction and wrath and pain took writhing forms in his hands. Absolute and immutable facts of the cosmos distilled into tools to direct them. Along the edge of the diamond needle atoms stretched to just below breaking point. Between Ur-Kadesh's horns ideas and thoughts of devastation seethed.

No, his threat was no less subtle.

Around the two gods time billowed, the particulate of the divine equations that defined existence mixing with the shattered eddies of patterns that reflected the universe. Between the hellstorm of time and divine forces of possibility, choice and will, the mirrors of the Panopticon were reflecting scenes of a world that did not exist. Some were filled with the march of booted feet and the roar of obscene war engine. In other false suns dawned leaving dust and ashes in their wake. In others men rode impossible ships of steel and glinting light between the stars.

Had Ur-Kadesh been in a more lucid mindset he might have noted that. Instead there was just a blinding curtain of hate.

You dare break into my domain and level ruin on my work? You dare threaten me? You had best begin explaining yourself.

What the hell are you talking about?

[Snowfire]

Lampide

"A challenge?" Niam shook his head, amusement clear on his features as Solange stepped closer to him, her hand fastening on his chest. "Many seek challenges, Sun's Daughter. This is not such, for to examine the Weave as you would wish would need of you to know it. And that you do not." He placed a hand gently on Solange's, fingers twisting beneath her own until it was hand against hand they stood instead of hand against chest. "Teaching may be done, and in that any of Weaves would be willing. But to teach such, again, would require that you do not have and cannot without granted gift of our Patternmaker." He brought her hand up, pressing soft lips against it in a chaste kiss before returning it to her. "Seek her, Sundaughter, before you seek mine or me."

Having released her daughter's hand, Niam turned his full attention to Onore as she responded. "Their families to them shall come, from the camp where they laid in fearful rest. Webs already have turned to that place, and arrive before the rout they shall have by many measures. If help in any way we can offer to thee, Lightshard, or thy city in this time, simply ask. As we did calm once in a time of conflict, so too can we aid too in a time of peace."

Truths

Once, Liral would not even have given a reply. Once she would have lashed out, as this one was so tempted to, in rage and hate against one who had sought to warp her greatest of Works upon the world. And in all truth, that blow could terribly wound the one before her, so possessed of anger that he had mustered nothing in defence. She was no longer that person, however, for the enraged madness that lay within her had been quieted many years in the past. It did not mean she wasn't angry, but it made her capable of being rational.

Note, rational did not mean nice.

The images on the mirrors blanked out before they could even form, no futures would they show, not in her presence and without her Will. That was hers. Another slight perhaps, but one she could dismiss for the now. More important was the explanation.

This.

The word slammed into Ur like a battering ram, contained within it the outward Vision of the Peer's attempted Choice. It traced its actions, its attempt to force its way into the Pattern of the Dancers, its inability to do so, and what horrors had followed its descent into the mortal world. The mirrors across the breadth of the Panopticon flickered to life, showing death after death, all of them unjust and the result of a belief that one knew better without trying to understand.

Is. Your. Power.

There was less give in her tone than that which would be held by the end of Creation, and the Patternshapes around Liral froze into their impossible sharpness, her single eye still blazing with a cold fire.

That is your explanation. You sought to warp what was mine, and when your power failed it set itself upon the innocent. This is the second of times now that you have unleashed death as this upon the world, without seeming thought or care for the consequence. You are a god, with all the power of such a mantle behind you! You can ill afford such negligence.

It, almost shockingly, wasn't a threat. It was a Truth, in itself something far more terrifying, for in this all the power of the Weave spoke through their mistress, seeing ahead into a time of places that could be. Power without will to control or know was not simply foolish, it was insane - and Liral knew the meaning of insanity better than any in existence.

Again I shall ask, another chance given.

Why

[DoctorGlock]

Second Law

Ur-Kadesh watched the consuming hunger in the mirrors. He saw the observer attempt to merge with the dancer pattern and fail. Fascinating. He had never observed the process before. Absentmindedly, and arm split from one of his branches and began taking notes.

It wasn't what the protocols were designed to do. It was supposed to harmlessly merge, enhance and observe. Instead...

Death. Worse than death. Erasure and oblivion. The thing ate their very essences...

This is your Power.

Ur-Kadesh had no face to express shock across. Instead the seething swirling patterns of ideas, will and intent between his horns acted as a sort of window into his divine mind. And the rage and destruction there was fading, being replaced by confusion.

It was wrong. Worse than wrong. Death was an essential part of the experiment, a failure margin and hardship that pushed the subjects the succeed. To make hard choices and ultimately enhance themselves. This did not. It simply ended them. It left no room for improvement. It just unthinkingly ate them! And most vexingly...

It should not be doing that.

Yes, as a moral principle it should not be killing and eating people. Moral principles were an interesting construct but ultimately secondary to the great experiment. He would examine those later. Transient and probably unimportant, they seemed to be rules for power consolidation in societies. Again, later.

In the now? The peer protocol should not be doing that. It had no apparatus for doing that! It had no will! The observer had no agency with which to choose. Acting should be impossible for it!

It cannot be doing that. That is outside the parameters of the observer's capability. It has no will!

But is was. The law of unintended consequences was perhaps second only the the First Law itself.

This is your Power.

You can ill afford such negligence.

Had he not appointed himself a guardian over precisely that sort of negligence? Behind him the gates of the Black Vault loomed, ominous and guilty in the shadows of the Panopticon. At the back of his mind he could hear mocking laughter.

The skies grew dark with his equations unleashed in full in mortal hands. Fire and worse rained from the heavens. Two cities reduces to nothing but memory, two disciples blown to component atoms, their very souls scattered across the face of the void...

Yes, that sort of negligence. The sort that could threaten the entirety of the experiment.

He watched souls blink out in the mirrors. Dead silence lay in the depths aside from the whine of time unwinding. Confusion giving way to rising guilt.

This one has made a mistake.

[Snowfire]

For a moment, despite all that she had grown, rage seared itself across Liral's vision, the impossibly sharp edges of the patterns frozen around her lashing out towards Ur Kadesh like a dozen snakes of razor wire. This was not the act of a God, to be so utterly negligent. This was stupidity, childishness, and Liral - who had suffered through death with a mind broken beyond the understanding of even herself - desired in that moment of blinding fury to simply strike him out of the very fabric of existence.

And yet...she didn't.

For in the silent moment between the spark and the flame, she felt the presence of the place change. If not for her oldest sister, this would have been impossible. But Api had taught her the meaning of empathy, and had extended that gift to her without complaint. She could not ignore it, even if she wanted to. For all the mistakes he had made in the now, they had not been meant; it had not been cruelty that had guided his hand but a desperate curiosity, no, a need to understand. Her eye flared with power as she understood, the jagged ribbons of deadly light froze where they stood, halfway to the young god before her, and at a wave of her hand they flashed into nothing.

Then you must fix that mistake, young one.

Her voice was gentler now, much of the hardness gone, yet some still remained as if to tell Ur that regardless of her seeming forgiveness it would only be in full if he actually did what she asked. Then again, it was better than accusation or rage, so that was definitely something. She cocked her head to one side, examining Ur's form, and then the ghost of a smile flickered onto her face.

You are the one my sister met, aren't you. She spoke of you in a meeting past, the soul searching for what lay right in front of his eyes.

Liral turned a full circle, taking in the room around her, the mirrors...and the Vault behind her impromptu host. The sound of her indrawn breath was loud in the silence, and when she spoke again her voice was low.

You court dreadful danger with what stands behind you, Logoshard, to lock away what is better kept away from mortal hands entire. But I have little time to teach you of that. You have unleashed two evils now upon this world, three if counted among them are many of the creations of your Academy above. One you will not destroy, another you cannot. But that which I have shown you, you can and indeed must.

She shrugged, the patterns of her form rippling down about the movement, sending rainbows of shattered colour flickering across the room. They reflected from the mirrors, bouncing between their silvery depths to paint the dark place wit prismatic beauty. That action alone confirmed the identity of her - so she said - sister. The performance was an echo of Alue's theatre, though not possessed of such grace as the Dreaming Maiden.

Can you do such a thing, and can you do so quickly? For if left too long, it will become something which I will be forced to confront, and that expenditure of effort is something I can ill afford.

[HalfTangible]

Lampide

"A challenge?" Niam shook his head, amusement clear on his features as Solange stepped closer to him, her hand fastening on his chest. "Many seek challenges, Sun's Daughter. This is not such, for to examine the Weave as you would wish would need of you to know it. And that you do not." He placed a hand gently on Solange's, fingers twisting beneath her own until it was hand against hand they stood instead of hand against chest. "Teaching may be done, and in that any of Weaves would be willing. But to teach such, again, would require that you do not have and cannot without granted gift of our Patternmaker." He brought her hand up, pressing soft lips against it in a chaste kiss before returning it to her. "Seek her, Sundaughter, before you seek mine or me."

Having released her daughter's hand, Niam turned his full attention to Onore as she responded. "Their families to them shall come, from the camp where they laid in fearful rest. Webs already have turned to that place, and arrive before the rout they shall have by many measures. If help in any way we can offer to thee, Lightshard, or thy city in this time, simply ask. As we did calm once in a time of conflict, so too can we aid too in a time of peace."

Solange pouted a little, but pulled back, sufficiently cowed. "How am I supposed to know something if I can't learn?" She muttered to herself, rubbing her chin. Her expression turned thoughtful. "If Liral is the embodiment of patterns, then that must mean she..." She turned and walked off in a seemingly random direction. The Dancers felt her pattern shift just a bit - she wasn't paying attention anymore.

Onore was quiet for a moment at the Dancers' question. ... The roads are no longer safe. The monsters of this world are drawn to them, now, knowing that fresh meat awaits them there. I send patrols to hunt the monsters that infest them, and mercenaries and Sufferers provide protection to those they can, but it is not enough. She looked to Niam. "I feel sickened to ask this much of an ally, but if you have any safer means of transport, I wish to learn of it. As for the sufferers..." Onore gestured to the shorter of the two daughters.

Eliana glared at her as if she'd been slapped.

"Eliana. Please."

The silver-haired woman frowned and turned to the dancers. "The Rangers do what they can to keep the wilds safe, but they are too few to handle all traffic and few others know their way through. The Legions suffer too heavily to patrol the roads on a constant basis - every mission results in deaths. The Inquisition has duties within the cities, so they can't patrol either, unless their assignments happen to go in the same direction. Our villages - especially those at the edges of the Empire - are extremely exposed to attack and-"

"PROTECTION!!" Solange yelled, throwing her arms up. "It can be repurposed, THAT'S IT! " She ran back and thrust her index finger in Onore's face. "Mother, does Holy Water stay holy when it's made into steam?"

Onore blinked, bewildered. "E-excuse me? Yes, steam is still water, but why-"

"THRUST!!" The young woman was practically salivating, a crazed look in her eye. "Blessed roads and thrust and armor OH MY SUNLIGHT is this even viable no time like the present to find out!" She whirled and grabbed Niam's hand, shaking it vigorously. "Very nice to meet you tell Liral I'll contact her soon if you can I have tests to run YEEEEEEEEEEE!" She ran back towards the city.

"... I hate it when she does that..." Eliana covered her face with her palm.

[DoctorGlock]

Between the spark and the flame

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

--Robert Frost

Consider a frozen moment, a tableau as beheld by an outsider, showing two deities; their mantles full about them raised in fury. On one hand, the patterns that define the universe are warped into flensing tools, weapons of godly hate. On the other, the fundamental concepts that act as boundaries for being itself have been boiled down and refined into the implements of dissolution and death. That frozen moment is a sobering picture, a vault full of cataclysm and apocalypse. In the frozen moment, you can see that both have launched their implements at each other.

What happens next?

Flip a coin.

In reality, the two gods are more similar than either would admit. One is a god of choices, of paths taken. The other a god possibilities. Paths not taken. And in the fickle quantum sea all possible outcomes must be true. And for their natures, perhaps they had some level of insight into those other outcomes. In any number of possible worlds, patterns of death slammed into chains and formula of dissolution, and a nuclear dawn rose in the darkness of the vault.

How did that coin land?

In any number of worlds the city above was blasted into ruins, gods fought and died in the darkness, and unbound divine principia tainted by destructive intent ravaged the world. But this is not that world.

Because they chose otherwise.

***

As the razor light receded it took a not inconsiderable effort of Ur-Kadesh's will to hold back the nuclear fire that had bounded forward on a diamond edge. The blinding light of the near cataclysm died down, merging with the patternlight of the dreamweaver's sister. Multiple hands grabbed chains of death and unmaking, switching variables and ideas, and once more Ur-Kadesh's hands held tools streaming the fundamental forces of creation rather than instruments of hate. As the Patternmaker spoke, Ur-Kadesh slowly began winding time around his needle again. It would take a while to undo the damage done in a hasty moment.

An apt metaphor in this case.

Could he undo the damage Liral showed him? Should he? Did it pose a threat to the integrity of the experiment?

A whole world consumed by a single blind idiot of a mindless proto-god. Not the result of the crucible of conflict and creation- simply a dead end because of a blunder. The broken protocol was all that and more. And as it consumed more it would reach a critical mass of essence and knowledge. And without even a will to guide it. Simply a twisted set of programming. A miserable way for a world to end.

Yes, it was precisely that sort of threat. And the Patternmaker was right. He had to stop it. Before it got to the point where he no longer could.

This one... cannot intervene directly. Its presence introduces too many confounding variables into the Grand Experiment.

A mounting threat did provide ample opportunity to gather data though. And he had in place a number of tools and assets designed specifically for this set of circumstances. To thrive in adversity. His direct intervention would dull the urgency and curtail the choices born of necessity. But his proxies and observers were already in play...

He had the Spearpoint. They had the chain gun, the airborne, the principia, the sciences and the Laws, and every devilry those had spawned in turn. And he had Gilgamesh. Ur-Kadesh sat pensive for a moment.

But this one has tools ready to counter exigencies that pose a threat to the Experiment. You are... correct... in your assessments. This one will deploy what resources it may to terminate the threat.

[Snowfire]

Lampide

"You have a strange daughter, Lightshard," was Niam's only reply to Solange's actions. "Yet all three possessed of brilliance, in their own ways." There was a moment of what could only be referred to as communion between the Web, as they processed Eliana's words and the request that came with it. It must be so hard for her...they dismissed it from their minds. Firemaiden's Gift let them see, it did not make them judges nor those in the right to take all action. Thoughts and concepts flashed between the Web and the greater Pattern, possibilities and choices...yet in the end it was not really a decision. They had pledged themselves, in friendship and warning, and their responsibility still held.

"For travel, Lightshard, ask of those of the Dreamshard; the Gates they forge could do much to ease your worry. Monsters though, we can set ourselves against freely, the Weave Protector has grown now large enough to give numbers in the defence of friends, that you and your city do still remain. Much of it cannot answer, for our focus in defence lies to the North, but what can be given shall." Niam flexes his fingers, strange not-light flickering between them as he closes it into a fist. "A guard we shall be for your people in the most distant of places, safety and protection, in all that we can."

Rest the fallen

Good.

Liral left out entirely her thoughts on the matter of direct intervention, she had made her point quite clear on what would happen if this...thing this youngling had created spread too far. Effort she would desire to expend in other places or not, if this creation grew into something that could not be easily stopped by mortal hands, she would destroy it. And the 'Grand Experiment' could go hang. She gestured with one hand and the mirrors of the Panopticon flickered into life again, this time as they were meant to. And the hand rose, indicating again the Vault behind Ur.

Once I have said it, but I shall again. That is a great danger, young one, to lay within the reach of mortals. Yet in the end, I cannot order you, nor will I inflict on you the reason for such danger. Yet, there are other things and other ways.

She considered, weighing the options that spun inside her, the nodded sharply.

My children know of this place. They shall come here, to your place above, and if I am lucky and there efforts are not in vain I shall never have to show you the reason for that warning. I thank you for your hospitality, and I wish your 'tools',

Her voice soured, single eye flaring for a moment at that word,

the best of possible lucks. For they shall need it to set this thing your actions made to rest.

The patterns flickered around her, beginning to withdraw into themselves, and it was clear that she was preparing to leave.