KittenMaster
Member
Before Satra can properly acknowledge Shulmor's ascension, he observes Fleshbane's increasing instability and quickly states, "We will want to evacuate to a safe distance!"
-
Hey, guest user. Hope you're enjoying NeoGAF! Have you considered registering for an account? Come join us and add your take to the daily discourse.
Navigating the Astral Sea: A NeoGAF Play-by-Post Pathfinder Game
- Thread starter ThLunarian
- Start date
Axelhortsemchi
Member
((*checks toes* they look fine to me. XD))
In response to Satra's assessment, Shulmor says "Then this shall be an excellent chance for me to test my newfound power. Gather around, everyone." With a vertical swipe of his arm, the fledgling god tears a hole in the fabric of space. "This will take us a safe distance away without requiring further exertion from any of you." He looks at Menek with a menacing smile and says "when we reach safety, perhaps we can speak further of opposition you seem peculiarly aware of."
((I'm fine with whatever Nezumi was planning happening before we get out of dodge if need be, just going with the current flow.))
In response to Satra's assessment, Shulmor says "Then this shall be an excellent chance for me to test my newfound power. Gather around, everyone." With a vertical swipe of his arm, the fledgling god tears a hole in the fabric of space. "This will take us a safe distance away without requiring further exertion from any of you." He looks at Menek with a menacing smile and says "when we reach safety, perhaps we can speak further of opposition you seem peculiarly aware of."
((I'm fine with whatever Nezumi was planning happening before we get out of dodge if need be, just going with the current flow.))
ThLunarian
Member
((The timing is going to be a little wonky on this because we're sort of still waiting on Viss's finishing move, but....))
Shulmor's attempt to move the party a physical distance away from Fleshbane has the not-completely-unexpected effect of returning everyone's souls back to their bodies in the Astral Sea.
All around them, they observe signs of victory; Zerome's defenses have been rendered inert, allowing them to be trampled by animals, eviscerated by devils, and pummeled by Asgardians.
When everyone wakes up, they note that Fleshbane's physical body is behaving exactly as they witnessed his soul (or, more accurately, his program) was behaving when they were still inside the machine.
Shulmor's attempt to move the party a physical distance away from Fleshbane has the not-completely-unexpected effect of returning everyone's souls back to their bodies in the Astral Sea.
All around them, they observe signs of victory; Zerome's defenses have been rendered inert, allowing them to be trampled by animals, eviscerated by devils, and pummeled by Asgardians.
When everyone wakes up, they note that Fleshbane's physical body is behaving exactly as they witnessed his soul (or, more accurately, his program) was behaving when they were still inside the machine.
KittenMaster
Member
<I'm still writing Satra's ending, so I don't mind a pause>
Axelhortsemchi
Member
((Yeah, I'm fine with waiting a couple of days as well.))
KittenMaster
Member
<I'm finally done writing my ending. According to Google Docs I've written almost 6 pages of content which is a lot for me.>
Axelhortsemchi
Member
((I'm currently sitting at a whopping 0. I pretty much know what I'll be doing, but at this point I'm waiting for us to be there and will follow the age old tradition of making up details as I go along. It's served me... some word you'd use to describe a quality so far. XD))
ThLunarian
Member
((I have never once written out a single post ahead of time, throughout all three of these campaigns, for better or for worse. I usually have a pretty decent idea of what I want to do beforehand, but I can't even count how many times a stroke of inspiration hit me in the middle of making a post that ended up changing the entire course of the scene or battle.
I guess that could also happen if I were to write things ahead of time, but it seems like this is just how I roll))
((Oooh, came up with an extra scene, so now I guess it's a two parter before the epilogue. The sooner we finish up, the sooner we can start the next game : D))
The elven woman turns away from blinding crystal, her face pale and bloodless. Its not enough! she shouts over the piercing whine of the vibration of the crystal. Weve thrown everything we have in there, but its not enough to reach critical mass on both ends! We need to shut it down, or it will tear us to pieces!
The gods knuckles go white as he clenches his ring of keys. Evacuate the realm, he says calmly. Tell everyone to get to the rendezvous points.
What? You cant be serious! shouts the woman. Zerome is finished, theres no need to pursue this any further!
A wry smile plays on the gods face as his spectacles catch the blinding light of the overloaded crystal. Oh, my poor girl. This has never been only about stopping Zerome.
Her eyes blink in confusion. How is it not? What else could it be?
Have you ever wondered why youve never seen a sapient construct in the Astral Sea?
Because Zerome consumes their soul analogs and The womans sentence stops short as her eyes go wide with understanding. But then that meansGods! Thats what all this has been for? To try and save him?
The god nods.
But it will only work if... Father, please! There must be another way, you dont need to do this!
He closes his eyes and sighs. And if we had more time, perhaps we would find it. Its up to you, Kyrie. Hell be out there somewhere. Find him and bring him home, wherever that may be.
Father, I
Her words are cut off as her father extends his hand and exerts his control over this place. Kyrie is hurled bodily out the towering iron doors which immediately slam shut behind her. With a sigh, he twirls his key ring around his index finger and turns toward the machine. Every scrap of divine energy, he says to himself.
Without a moments hesitation, he hurls the keys, the manifestation of his own power, into the smelter.
With a final scream of protest, the crystal detonates, flooding the room with concussive light and reducing the machine to shrapnel. Without the will of a god to sustain itself, the stone walls of the realm collapse upon themselves, revealing the infinite black void of nothingness beyond. The former god closes his eyes as the sound of the world cracking deafens his ears and he falls into the infinite cold of absolute nothingness.
The crystal in Fleshbanes chest detonates, flooding both the digital realm of Zerome and the physical plane with an irresistible wave of divine might. The energy harmlessly washes over everything and everyone, but the construct godalready crippled and laid low with finalitylets out a machine language scream as every line of what shattered code has been left to it is undone. Even the scraps of routines and algorithms that would never have hope of reassembling themselves into any coherent intelligencelet alone a threatagain are wiped from existence, overwritten by a single metaphysical directive, the solution to Fleshbanes puzzle box writ large. A trickster gods final, ultimate lock pick.
Be free.
If one could view the simulated environment where the final conflict transpired, the countless artificial intellects consumed and imprisoned by Zerome fall away, the surroundings dissolving one glowing mote at a time. It becomes a torrent, galaxies of stars drifting outward into the great Astral Sea beyond as the bindings wrought by Zerome are systematically undone until not the slightest trace of it remains.
Gradually the lights grow dim, their representations in this simulation winking out of existence as the system grinds to a halt. Then, only darkness is left, with no one left to witness.
Of Fleshbanes physical presence, his remains lay at the bottom of a shallow crater that glows faintly and is slightly warm to the touch. Curiously, all that seems to be left behind are the pieces of his armor, like some great arthropodal molting. Whatever components and materials composed his interior are gone, scooped out and scoured away as thoroughly as a corpse given over to ravenous beetles.
As though he were never anything but a hollow metal shell to begin with.
The elven woman turns away from blinding crystal, her face pale and bloodless. Its not enough! she shouts over the piercing whine of the vibration of the crystal. Weve thrown everything we have in there, but its not enough to reach critical mass on both ends! We need to shut it down, or it will tear us to pieces!
The gods knuckles go white as he clenches his ring of keys. Evacuate the realm, he says calmly. Tell everyone to get to the rendezvous points.
What? You cant be serious! shouts the woman. Zerome is finished, theres no need to pursue this any further!
A wry smile plays on the gods face as his spectacles catch the blinding light of the overloaded crystal. Oh, my poor girl. This has never been only about stopping Zerome.
Her eyes blink in confusion. How is it not? What else could it be?
Have you ever wondered why youve never seen a sapient construct in the Astral Sea?
Because Zerome consumes their soul analogs and The womans sentence stops short as her eyes go wide with understanding. But then that meansGods! Thats what all this has been for? To try and save him?
The god nods.
But it will only work if... Father, please! There must be another way, you dont need to do this!
He closes his eyes and sighs. And if we had more time, perhaps we would find it. Its up to you, Kyrie. Hell be out there somewhere. Find him and bring him home, wherever that may be.
Father, I
Her words are cut off as her father extends his hand and exerts his control over this place. Kyrie is hurled bodily out the towering iron doors which immediately slam shut behind her. With a sigh, he twirls his key ring around his index finger and turns toward the machine. Every scrap of divine energy, he says to himself.
Without a moments hesitation, he hurls the keys, the manifestation of his own power, into the smelter.
With a final scream of protest, the crystal detonates, flooding the room with concussive light and reducing the machine to shrapnel. Without the will of a god to sustain itself, the stone walls of the realm collapse upon themselves, revealing the infinite black void of nothingness beyond. The former god closes his eyes as the sound of the world cracking deafens his ears and he falls into the infinite cold of absolute nothingness.
The crystal in Fleshbanes chest detonates, flooding both the digital realm of Zerome and the physical plane with an irresistible wave of divine might. The energy harmlessly washes over everything and everyone, but the construct godalready crippled and laid low with finalitylets out a machine language scream as every line of what shattered code has been left to it is undone. Even the scraps of routines and algorithms that would never have hope of reassembling themselves into any coherent intelligencelet alone a threatagain are wiped from existence, overwritten by a single metaphysical directive, the solution to Fleshbanes puzzle box writ large. A trickster gods final, ultimate lock pick.
Be free.
If one could view the simulated environment where the final conflict transpired, the countless artificial intellects consumed and imprisoned by Zerome fall away, the surroundings dissolving one glowing mote at a time. It becomes a torrent, galaxies of stars drifting outward into the great Astral Sea beyond as the bindings wrought by Zerome are systematically undone until not the slightest trace of it remains.
Gradually the lights grow dim, their representations in this simulation winking out of existence as the system grinds to a halt. Then, only darkness is left, with no one left to witness.
Of Fleshbanes physical presence, his remains lay at the bottom of a shallow crater that glows faintly and is slightly warm to the touch. Curiously, all that seems to be left behind are the pieces of his armor, like some great arthropodal molting. Whatever components and materials composed his interior are gone, scooped out and scoured away as thoroughly as a corpse given over to ravenous beetles.
As though he were never anything but a hollow metal shell to begin with.
Axelhortsemchi
Member
((Yeah, I'm all for keeping things moving now, your campaign's right around the corner! That and, you know, I'm about ready to play a wacky character again. 
))
Shulmor begins to raise a shield against the divine light for the moment it isn't clear that it's harmless to them. After that, he simply watches it unfold. Even as a god, he is no machine and sees into the general sense of what is happening before their eyes. When the smoke clears, he looks upon Fleshbane's remains and then to the party.
"It would seem our mechanical ally sacrificed himself to disolve all the artificial intellects remaining in and of Zerome. A curious bit of magic, I wander who aided him with such a task." He then turns his gaze to Menek and says in a more conversational voice "It would appear we're safe now. Let's hear about those extra hurdles you whipped up for Shulmor."
))Shulmor begins to raise a shield against the divine light for the moment it isn't clear that it's harmless to them. After that, he simply watches it unfold. Even as a god, he is no machine and sees into the general sense of what is happening before their eyes. When the smoke clears, he looks upon Fleshbane's remains and then to the party.
"It would seem our mechanical ally sacrificed himself to disolve all the artificial intellects remaining in and of Zerome. A curious bit of magic, I wander who aided him with such a task." He then turns his gaze to Menek and says in a more conversational voice "It would appear we're safe now. Let's hear about those extra hurdles you whipped up for Shulmor."
ThLunarian
Member
As if on cue, a bright light like the sun illuminates the battlefield in a way that no one has ever seen in the Astral Sea, which is normally bathed in the subdued glow of pink and orange from the heavens above. In point of fact, the sky around them looks blue, just like on the Material Plane.
From on high, Cecil Fairhaven descends, awash in formidable divine power and clad in spotless, shining armor.
"I believe Good Sir Menek was speaking of my resurrection at his hands," he announces.
All around, devils and vampires suddenly stop celebrating their victory and look to go on the defensive. Cecil raises his arm to briefly address them.
"Fear not," he announces, "So far as I am concerned, all who fought against the metallic menace as yet remain allies under one banner. You need not fear my wrath - at least not for the time being."
This seems to quell the masses, and once it does, he turns to Shulmor. "It would seem that fate has decided to balance the scales once more. We each have kingdoms to rebuild, and over the course of time I am quite certain that we are destined to clash, Shulmor. I suggest you keep your wits sharp, for my paladins shall remain ever-vigilant in stemming the tide of encroaching evil."
He then turns to Menek. "Sir Menek, you have put me in a curious position. You have imbued me with power far beyond what I have ever before experienced - certainly at least an order of magnitude above your own -, and yet I cannot help but feel forever indebted to you. Know that going forward, you will always have an ally in me."
He looks down at Fleshbane, and makes no effort to hide his incoming sadness. "A pity," he says in total earnestness. "In the brief time we spent fighting on the same side, I detected in the Xenocide Unit early signs that he had successfully against the evils plaguing his mind. Would that we could know what fates awaited him, had he survived this battle."
((Now that I think of it.... I'm not sure that I really need to set up everyones' epilogues. Once Nezumi writes something up, I would be comfortable to have all of you launch into your final stories. Of course if anyone would like me to play off of them in any way, I'll be available for that))
From on high, Cecil Fairhaven descends, awash in formidable divine power and clad in spotless, shining armor.
"I believe Good Sir Menek was speaking of my resurrection at his hands," he announces.
All around, devils and vampires suddenly stop celebrating their victory and look to go on the defensive. Cecil raises his arm to briefly address them.
"Fear not," he announces, "So far as I am concerned, all who fought against the metallic menace as yet remain allies under one banner. You need not fear my wrath - at least not for the time being."
This seems to quell the masses, and once it does, he turns to Shulmor. "It would seem that fate has decided to balance the scales once more. We each have kingdoms to rebuild, and over the course of time I am quite certain that we are destined to clash, Shulmor. I suggest you keep your wits sharp, for my paladins shall remain ever-vigilant in stemming the tide of encroaching evil."
He then turns to Menek. "Sir Menek, you have put me in a curious position. You have imbued me with power far beyond what I have ever before experienced - certainly at least an order of magnitude above your own -, and yet I cannot help but feel forever indebted to you. Know that going forward, you will always have an ally in me."
He looks down at Fleshbane, and makes no effort to hide his incoming sadness. "A pity," he says in total earnestness. "In the brief time we spent fighting on the same side, I detected in the Xenocide Unit early signs that he had successfully against the evils plaguing his mind. Would that we could know what fates awaited him, had he survived this battle."
((Now that I think of it.... I'm not sure that I really need to set up everyones' epilogues. Once Nezumi writes something up, I would be comfortable to have all of you launch into your final stories. Of course if anyone would like me to play off of them in any way, I'll be available for that))
KittenMaster
Member
Satra kneels down before Fleshbane, reaching to pick up a remnant of the armor plating that shielded the being. Another sacrifice was made today... saddened, he comments, "Now he's hollow too, just like Zerome.. I wonder why..?"
Though Fleshbane's armor is now just an empty shell, Satra regardless respectfully places it gently on the pile, with barely a tapping noise from the metals touching.
Without stopping to look back first, Satra comments on what he overhears, "Shulmor, I'm sure Olidammara will be keeping tabs.. if he hasn't already with an empire as great as yours."
Once that is said, he stands up again and allows Cecil to finish his speech, and a particular reminder is sparked from the divine warrior's words. "Speaking of indebted.. I need to pay Ygg'drasil's people a visit. They helped out in our battle today and their chief, he.." He pauses, "He made the ultimate sacrifice because my ship was destroyed. This isn't something I can run from, I need to own up to it."
Though Fleshbane's armor is now just an empty shell, Satra regardless respectfully places it gently on the pile, with barely a tapping noise from the metals touching.
Without stopping to look back first, Satra comments on what he overhears, "Shulmor, I'm sure Olidammara will be keeping tabs.. if he hasn't already with an empire as great as yours."
Once that is said, he stands up again and allows Cecil to finish his speech, and a particular reminder is sparked from the divine warrior's words. "Speaking of indebted.. I need to pay Ygg'drasil's people a visit. They helped out in our battle today and their chief, he.." He pauses, "He made the ultimate sacrifice because my ship was destroyed. This isn't something I can run from, I need to own up to it."
KittenMaster
Member
<Oh crap, I didn't realize. Fleshbane is being willed to search for Jack, is my understanding?>
KittenMaster
Member
<Ah, I see now.>
Menek dusts himself off and bows low to both Cecil and Shulmor My Lord Cecil, yes, I felt guilty for stabbing you when second we met and this was my way of apologizing. Menek motions with his rapier cum walking stick Only time I think I've used this thing as a weapon honestly
Growing more serious the old man addresses both of the two new gods Zerome never cared for us as people. It cared not for the responsibilities that come with being a deity and an object of worship. Indeed it tried to eliminate us as individuals. Its very presence destroyed the balance of things and it should never have existed on the Astral Sea. When Lord Shulmor took its powers for himself I felt it best to restore the balance between good and evil. I can only pray that Arozora approves of my judgment.
Menek grows quiet for a moment as he remembers his faith.
People need purpose, they need something to believe Menek continues before catching himself No... no... I have acted too much for other people; deciding what is right for them. No, I should instead say that I have always needed something to believe, something to aspire to and strive for. Give your peoples the same my lords. Give them a good faith. Give them the chance to live good lives and die good deaths. What more could us mortals hope for?
One last thought occurs to the witch and investigator.
Also if you would keep Asmodeus and Vecna, diminished though they be, from taking revenge on me that would be much appreciated.
Growing more serious the old man addresses both of the two new gods Zerome never cared for us as people. It cared not for the responsibilities that come with being a deity and an object of worship. Indeed it tried to eliminate us as individuals. Its very presence destroyed the balance of things and it should never have existed on the Astral Sea. When Lord Shulmor took its powers for himself I felt it best to restore the balance between good and evil. I can only pray that Arozora approves of my judgment.
Menek grows quiet for a moment as he remembers his faith.
People need purpose, they need something to believe Menek continues before catching himself No... no... I have acted too much for other people; deciding what is right for them. No, I should instead say that I have always needed something to believe, something to aspire to and strive for. Give your peoples the same my lords. Give them a good faith. Give them the chance to live good lives and die good deaths. What more could us mortals hope for?
One last thought occurs to the witch and investigator.
Also if you would keep Asmodeus and Vecna, diminished though they be, from taking revenge on me that would be much appreciated.
Axelhortsemchi
Member
"Ah, I thought I felt a familiar presence," Shulmor says to Cecil. "I was hoping to hear the planner explain his own scheme, but this works as well."
"You are not wrong. In rebuilding and furthering our kingdoms, our empires, a day will come centuries if not eons from now where one of us turns to the other's holdings. But until that day comes, I see no reason for us to be unduly adversarial. My time here has reaffirmed just how unwieldy and worthless the concepts of good and evil are. Gods and mortals alike judge not off actions, but by auras, spells and methods used. At the end of the day, the cosmos looks not to the fiber of one's being but to how far and how one will strive to achieve their goals. We have both experienced the capriciousness of other gods, and we have both seen what is deemed good and evil work together against a common enemy. I do not find it hard to believe that there will arise situations where our goals have common ground, and in such a case, I see no reason we can not cooperate once more."
"Not to completely reject your worldview of balancing good and evil," Shulmor says, his gaze turning to Menek. "As for what you wish of a god, I was already seen as near deific by many within my empire, and while I'm sure you would object to parts of my law, the average standard of living was quite desirable. This has but made my status official, and increased the space I can potentially expand into. I think you will find your request satisfied."
"But on the matter of Vecna," Shulmor says a little more sternly, "That may not be so simple. I gave him my word I would uphold his interests for ten years, and becoming a god has not changed that. Your diminishing of him quite obviously runs against that, and just as you acted in what you felt was good faith to your god, so too must the word of Shulmor be upheld." Shulmor then begins to grin. "However, solving his predicament does not necessarily have to involve any action against you. And if, say, his energy was restored at the expense of another evil god somewhere, it might not even run afoul of your notion of balance. Besides, it seems that you have no shortage of protection in the form of the other god here who feels a gratitude towards you. And as for Asmodeus, I have no obligations for his well being."
((Ok, done typing up stuff until the epilogue now. Also, Azih:
))
"You are not wrong. In rebuilding and furthering our kingdoms, our empires, a day will come centuries if not eons from now where one of us turns to the other's holdings. But until that day comes, I see no reason for us to be unduly adversarial. My time here has reaffirmed just how unwieldy and worthless the concepts of good and evil are. Gods and mortals alike judge not off actions, but by auras, spells and methods used. At the end of the day, the cosmos looks not to the fiber of one's being but to how far and how one will strive to achieve their goals. We have both experienced the capriciousness of other gods, and we have both seen what is deemed good and evil work together against a common enemy. I do not find it hard to believe that there will arise situations where our goals have common ground, and in such a case, I see no reason we can not cooperate once more."
"Not to completely reject your worldview of balancing good and evil," Shulmor says, his gaze turning to Menek. "As for what you wish of a god, I was already seen as near deific by many within my empire, and while I'm sure you would object to parts of my law, the average standard of living was quite desirable. This has but made my status official, and increased the space I can potentially expand into. I think you will find your request satisfied."
"But on the matter of Vecna," Shulmor says a little more sternly, "That may not be so simple. I gave him my word I would uphold his interests for ten years, and becoming a god has not changed that. Your diminishing of him quite obviously runs against that, and just as you acted in what you felt was good faith to your god, so too must the word of Shulmor be upheld." Shulmor then begins to grin. "However, solving his predicament does not necessarily have to involve any action against you. And if, say, his energy was restored at the expense of another evil god somewhere, it might not even run afoul of your notion of balance. Besides, it seems that you have no shortage of protection in the form of the other god here who feels a gratitude towards you. And as for Asmodeus, I have no obligations for his well being."
((Ok, done typing up stuff until the epilogue now. Also, Azih:
were you planning on doing anything with Zelios in your ending? I was going to have Shulmor dredge up his soul for promised revenge/Vecna fuckery, but if you have plans, he's your character and I don't want to step on your toes.
((OK, last scene I had before Fleshbane's "for reals" epilogue. I've got the next game locked, loaded, and ready to go, so as soon as we wrap things up we can get it going as soon as everyone creates their characters))
The waves lapping at the mans feet are thick with ash as he lays on the burnt and barren shore. The air is thick with haze that seems to be equal parts smoke and fog, cloying and unpleasant. Behind him, the remains of a statue of a enormous snakes head lies on its side, half buried in the aftermath of devastation. With a gasp, he awakens and lurches forward.
I did not think you would regain consciousness, says a voice that rings with a metallic timbre.
Jack? the man asks weakly as he sways to his feet. Jack, is that you?
A massive figure lumbers out of the fog and mist, towering above the frail human and riddled with spikes. A wild tangle of wires emerge from the gaping hole in his chest, running over and along his metal plating to an arrangement of jerry-rigged alchemical power cells hastily welded to his back. I do not know this Jack you speak of, Fleshbane says.
Jacks... A friend. One who helped me a great deal in the past and was owed a debt I hope I have repaid.
The man shakes his head, banishing the confusion from his mind as he tries to grapple with his present circumstances. Im a bit surprised to regain consciousness myself, he says as he attempts to brush the soot and grime from his clothes with little success. I had fully intended to go down with the ship.
He points to the hastily retrofitted gear on Fleshbanes chest. That wont last forever, you know. Every time you use your powers, its that much less time to find a new crystal to use. Not that I resent you pulling my ass out of the fire like that, mind.
I owed you a debt myself, Fleshbane says. Thanks in part to you, Zerome is no more, I only sought to even the scales between us. This place was not my intended destination, but it exerted disproportionate influence on my navigation systems.
Here? This is my realm away from realm. Well not really, but I certainly made much use of it coming up in the Astral Sea. Long story. He stares out into the ashen waves that stretch out into the gray void that obscures the horizon. Its a real shame, in a way. Id never counterfeited a sentient being before. Your doppelganger was my greatest achievement, and he had to go and blow himself up.
If he had not, your achievement would count for even less.
I know that. Dont you think I know that? The man gives a sideways glance at the towering construct. Are you sure you dont know Jack? Or are all you constructs so damned literal?
I would expect you to be more expressive of regret for the necessity of sacrificing your own divinity to bring about our victory.
The man shrugs as he stares off into the blank gray expanse of water and shoves his hands into his pockets. Oh, I wouldnt worry about that. If anything, being a god of lies made things too damned easy. Whats the fun of a con if theres no possibility you can get caught? Besides, if I ever change my mind about it, I can always steal enough power from elsewhere to clamber my way back into the pantheon. It wont win me any friends, to be certain, but this is the second time now Ive helped prevent the destruction of the multiverse. You could say that they owe me, at this point. Debts to be paid all around.
When we first met, you spoke of witnessing alternate outcomes of your previous endeavor.
What of it?
I wish to witness such alternate possibilities myself.
The man nods. So be it.
The waves lapping at the mans feet are thick with ash as he lays on the burnt and barren shore. The air is thick with haze that seems to be equal parts smoke and fog, cloying and unpleasant. Behind him, the remains of a statue of a enormous snakes head lies on its side, half buried in the aftermath of devastation. With a gasp, he awakens and lurches forward.
I did not think you would regain consciousness, says a voice that rings with a metallic timbre.
Jack? the man asks weakly as he sways to his feet. Jack, is that you?
A massive figure lumbers out of the fog and mist, towering above the frail human and riddled with spikes. A wild tangle of wires emerge from the gaping hole in his chest, running over and along his metal plating to an arrangement of jerry-rigged alchemical power cells hastily welded to his back. I do not know this Jack you speak of, Fleshbane says.
Jacks... A friend. One who helped me a great deal in the past and was owed a debt I hope I have repaid.
The man shakes his head, banishing the confusion from his mind as he tries to grapple with his present circumstances. Im a bit surprised to regain consciousness myself, he says as he attempts to brush the soot and grime from his clothes with little success. I had fully intended to go down with the ship.
He points to the hastily retrofitted gear on Fleshbanes chest. That wont last forever, you know. Every time you use your powers, its that much less time to find a new crystal to use. Not that I resent you pulling my ass out of the fire like that, mind.
I owed you a debt myself, Fleshbane says. Thanks in part to you, Zerome is no more, I only sought to even the scales between us. This place was not my intended destination, but it exerted disproportionate influence on my navigation systems.
Here? This is my realm away from realm. Well not really, but I certainly made much use of it coming up in the Astral Sea. Long story. He stares out into the ashen waves that stretch out into the gray void that obscures the horizon. Its a real shame, in a way. Id never counterfeited a sentient being before. Your doppelganger was my greatest achievement, and he had to go and blow himself up.
If he had not, your achievement would count for even less.
I know that. Dont you think I know that? The man gives a sideways glance at the towering construct. Are you sure you dont know Jack? Or are all you constructs so damned literal?
I would expect you to be more expressive of regret for the necessity of sacrificing your own divinity to bring about our victory.
The man shrugs as he stares off into the blank gray expanse of water and shoves his hands into his pockets. Oh, I wouldnt worry about that. If anything, being a god of lies made things too damned easy. Whats the fun of a con if theres no possibility you can get caught? Besides, if I ever change my mind about it, I can always steal enough power from elsewhere to clamber my way back into the pantheon. It wont win me any friends, to be certain, but this is the second time now Ive helped prevent the destruction of the multiverse. You could say that they owe me, at this point. Debts to be paid all around.
When we first met, you spoke of witnessing alternate outcomes of your previous endeavor.
What of it?
I wish to witness such alternate possibilities myself.
The man nods. So be it.
KittenMaster
Member
During Shulmor and Menek's talk, Satra backs away, distancing himself from the matters, but a thought occurs in Satra's mind, "The gods..." The machine had been draining the gods of their life essence. He speaks up, "I need to see if the Raven Queen is okay. I still have a delivery to make."
<I guess Satra will speak with the Raven Queen first to point out where the archons are and then visit Yggdrasil's island, and then I guess he'll be off on his own. I'm not sure if I need to come up with the scenes or if thLunarian will play the NPCs>
<I guess Satra will speak with the Raven Queen first to point out where the archons are and then visit Yggdrasil's island, and then I guess he'll be off on his own. I'm not sure if I need to come up with the scenes or if thLunarian will play the NPCs>
ThLunarian
Member
((I think I've done everything I wanted to with this game. It's up to you guys to finish up the story.
I am not sure what happened to Nezumi, but I guess it's probably fine to start posting actual epilogues, so that we can move on to the next campaign))
I am not sure what happened to Nezumi, but I guess it's probably fine to start posting actual epilogues, so that we can move on to the next campaign))
KittenMaster
Member
<Ah, okay. Doing my writeup now. Time for a very obscure QftHR reference, I wonder who will catch it when my next post comes.>
((Sorry! Will finish my first piece tonight busy weekend busted my plans. So we go right into the ending without any introduction? Not that I mind I'd only like to know wether or not the SAED job is done with the end of Zerome or if our characters have to finish up their 10 years of service?))
ThLunarian
Member
((That's a fair question. I'm sorry that I didn't address it.
The general feel of things is that SAED is the last thing on the minds of any of the gods. They will have to work for a very long time just to rebuild everything that was lost due to the events of the campaign. The organization will be effectively dissolved, unless you guys have other ideas about it. However, the Raven Queen will release any of you from your commitments if you wish it, with no negative consequences from your patrons))
KittenMaster
Member
A fierce wind roars, driving the bristles and branches in a crackling frenzy. War's aftermath had left the island ripped apart and irreversably distressed.
Satra steps to the village. Among smoke, debris, fallen drones, gray wolves howl the mourning for the people. Naturally, elven warriors of the wolves and an elder rendezvous to confront the strange visitor, brandishing a heavy silence.
He nods softly. "He died saving his people."
The elder, looking him over, explains, "He was a leader of the wolves, the son of the last chief of Ehlonna who was first chief of daughter of Ehlonna, and a companion to the white wolf. It is a great loss for us all, but he is a part of Ygg'drasil now. He will help Ygg'drasil grow strong, stronger than she was today."
"It was my fault. I came to your village and got your goddess involved in the battle.. and he was saving your village from my ship. I've caused great misfortune just by intruding."
The elder shakes his head, "Ygg'drasil would not have joined your battle if she did not see it just. Ygg'drasil is brave, so was Baldur, and so will we be."
Satra looks down, sullen, "Thank you. I must return to the stars, and attend to another goddess."
The elder nods in acceptance, and turns to return to the village at first. However, a leaf presses against his chest from the great wind, as if halting him. He gently grasps the leaf while turning back against the wind, and looks to Satra once more, "You are seeking something.. or someone." He holds out the leaf to Satra, "This is a leaf of the world tree. Take it."
Curious, Satra steps forward to reach for the leaf.
"Allow this leaf to be freely carried by the wind, let it be your guide. You will find what you seek."
---
Satra returns to the camp site near Esperia, then begins rounding up Archons and gives various instructions, most of which to follow him.
He uses a refurbished cruiser to return to the site of Zerome's core, to rediscover the Raven Queen. After a round of searching, he finds the goddess standing alone among the site. It seems the other deities had already begun returning to their realms. He parks the craft nearby and the archons also land surrounding it. Exiting the craft he approaches the divine Queen carefully and somewhat bashfully. He glances around, trying to explain, "I ah.. I am the one sent to deliver the Archons from Hestavar. Some got lost in the attack but most of them are here for you."
The Raven Queen stands silent for a moment, before turning to Satra, "I see.. Satra Addlelove, wasn't it? I know you are not part of SAED, but you fought alongside them regardless, and you helped ally the gods. Your service went beyond that of the task of transporting the archons."
Satra just shrugs a shoulder, "Well, ah.. one thing just led to another. I ended up caught up in it all."
"Everything SAED was meant for is lost, but because of people like you- you've shown that SAED isn't needed to unite the gods. For that, if there is anything you wish.."
He shakes his head, "I think I am ready to search for my sister. I already have a ship of my own now, so I'll be able to embark on my journey."
She looks to him quizzically, "The Astral Sea is vast and endless, and full of dangers. Are you sure you wish to take up such a feat?"
He nods, "I might give up eventually, but it's just something I want to try. Besides, there is a lot out there that is worth seeing."
"Very well, I wish you well on your journey. The archons you delivered will help us rebuild."
---
"How's it look, Dewie?"
The Kobold chatters and yips, wiping oil from its forehead with a limb that has a wrench in claw. Satra paces to the Frontiersman, seeing steady repairs and upgrades simultaneously at the site of its crash.
"I guess even the Frontiersman gets to live the afterlife too." He smiles, "It's going to be just like home."
The two of them climb aboard the bridge of the ship and begin making preparations to depart. A buzzing series of beeps emit from behind their seats. He looks, and there it is, the new crewmember, their favorite archon that had shown loose wiring when first found. "I told the Raven Queen that some of the archons were lost in the war," he tells Dewie with a smirk, "This little fellow is technically one of them."
Dewie snickers at this, understanding perfectly.
"And Hestavar won't bother keeping tabs on the Frontiersman anymore. This is our ship now, and this is the journey we take."
The small ship begins propelling itself into the air. In moments it disappears into a plane shift spell.
<This isn't my final ending, I still have the actual ending written up and I need to proof read it.>
Satra steps to the village. Among smoke, debris, fallen drones, gray wolves howl the mourning for the people. Naturally, elven warriors of the wolves and an elder rendezvous to confront the strange visitor, brandishing a heavy silence.
He nods softly. "He died saving his people."
The elder, looking him over, explains, "He was a leader of the wolves, the son of the last chief of Ehlonna who was first chief of daughter of Ehlonna, and a companion to the white wolf. It is a great loss for us all, but he is a part of Ygg'drasil now. He will help Ygg'drasil grow strong, stronger than she was today."
"It was my fault. I came to your village and got your goddess involved in the battle.. and he was saving your village from my ship. I've caused great misfortune just by intruding."
The elder shakes his head, "Ygg'drasil would not have joined your battle if she did not see it just. Ygg'drasil is brave, so was Baldur, and so will we be."
Satra looks down, sullen, "Thank you. I must return to the stars, and attend to another goddess."
The elder nods in acceptance, and turns to return to the village at first. However, a leaf presses against his chest from the great wind, as if halting him. He gently grasps the leaf while turning back against the wind, and looks to Satra once more, "You are seeking something.. or someone." He holds out the leaf to Satra, "This is a leaf of the world tree. Take it."
Curious, Satra steps forward to reach for the leaf.
"Allow this leaf to be freely carried by the wind, let it be your guide. You will find what you seek."
---
Satra returns to the camp site near Esperia, then begins rounding up Archons and gives various instructions, most of which to follow him.
He uses a refurbished cruiser to return to the site of Zerome's core, to rediscover the Raven Queen. After a round of searching, he finds the goddess standing alone among the site. It seems the other deities had already begun returning to their realms. He parks the craft nearby and the archons also land surrounding it. Exiting the craft he approaches the divine Queen carefully and somewhat bashfully. He glances around, trying to explain, "I ah.. I am the one sent to deliver the Archons from Hestavar. Some got lost in the attack but most of them are here for you."
The Raven Queen stands silent for a moment, before turning to Satra, "I see.. Satra Addlelove, wasn't it? I know you are not part of SAED, but you fought alongside them regardless, and you helped ally the gods. Your service went beyond that of the task of transporting the archons."
Satra just shrugs a shoulder, "Well, ah.. one thing just led to another. I ended up caught up in it all."
"Everything SAED was meant for is lost, but because of people like you- you've shown that SAED isn't needed to unite the gods. For that, if there is anything you wish.."
He shakes his head, "I think I am ready to search for my sister. I already have a ship of my own now, so I'll be able to embark on my journey."
She looks to him quizzically, "The Astral Sea is vast and endless, and full of dangers. Are you sure you wish to take up such a feat?"
He nods, "I might give up eventually, but it's just something I want to try. Besides, there is a lot out there that is worth seeing."
"Very well, I wish you well on your journey. The archons you delivered will help us rebuild."
---
"How's it look, Dewie?"
The Kobold chatters and yips, wiping oil from its forehead with a limb that has a wrench in claw. Satra paces to the Frontiersman, seeing steady repairs and upgrades simultaneously at the site of its crash.
"I guess even the Frontiersman gets to live the afterlife too." He smiles, "It's going to be just like home."
The two of them climb aboard the bridge of the ship and begin making preparations to depart. A buzzing series of beeps emit from behind their seats. He looks, and there it is, the new crewmember, their favorite archon that had shown loose wiring when first found. "I told the Raven Queen that some of the archons were lost in the war," he tells Dewie with a smirk, "This little fellow is technically one of them."
Dewie snickers at this, understanding perfectly.
"And Hestavar won't bother keeping tabs on the Frontiersman anymore. This is our ship now, and this is the journey we take."
The small ship begins propelling itself into the air. In moments it disappears into a plane shift spell.
<This isn't my final ending, I still have the actual ending written up and I need to proof read it.>
ThLunarian
Member
((Hi guys, just a friendly reminder that I don't have anything else to add before everyone posts their endings. I will probably cap everything off once all the endings are posted, but before then you're all on your own.
This is also a bump to make sure no one forgets about the thread ))
This is also a bump to make sure no one forgets about the thread
))KittenMaster
Member
<I'm letting some other endings get posted before I post Satra's actual ending, which is why I haven't done so yet. Unless you guys want me to, of course.>
((Here I goooooooooo))
Lendor slumbers on his throne, his chin lost in his wild mane of white hair and beard. A sword smoldering with subdued flame lies across his lap, though his robes do not burn. The throne room is only recognizable as such by the fact that the lord of the realm is seated on some approximation of a chair. Like the rest of the room, it is composed of turning gears and swinging pendulums, the air filled with incessant mechanical noise. On the wall behind him is a massive cog, a crescent moon engraved in relief against a full one. On each of the 14 teeth is a star that rotates around the moons at strict periodic intervals.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
There is no way for an outsider to know if the immense mass of clockwork is in the service of this icon of Lendors authority, or if it is merely a decorative piece integrated into the function of something larger. Only the small mechanical monodrones that scurry back and forth through the complex with their winding keys and oil cans could say for certain, but they answer only to Lendor.
And Lendor has not had cause to say anything for quite some time.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Great Lendor, the Prince of Time, the Master of Tedium. When the universe was formed, it was a timeless, ageless thing of stagnation. Nothing changed, everything was static. It was not until Lendor took his flaming sword and cleaved it free of that which bound it that the passage of time was set into motion. The Father of Entropy, He Who Loosed Times Arrow. All that has happened and ever will is owed to his actions.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Forgotten Lendor, the Progenitor of the Suel Pantheon, the reticent god. Entropy and decline claim all things, eventually, and the faith of Lendors followers is no different. It is difficult to say whether the gradual extinction of the religion founded in his name precipitated his retreat into the heart of Mechanus, or if in doing so diminished his divine presence on the material plane to the point that his clergy and worshippers found themselves adrift and rudderless in a world dominated by chaos and unpredictability. It is ultimately a difference without distinction.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
And so Lendor slumbers, for the Astral Sea has little need for him, and he little need for it. Time flows eternal, with or without his direct oversight.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Crack.
The monodrones scatter at the abrupt intrusion of two figures, their clockwork routine having slipped a gear. Before them stands a towering mass of metal, a gaping hole in its chest held together by hastily-done repairs. The second is a man in green robes and spectacles, a grin on his face that speaks to a lack of concern about the consequences of his trespass.
The smoldering sword in Lendors lap alights into full flame as he rouses from his slumber and brings himself to his full height, taller than any mortal man, larger than even the construct intruder. Who dares? he thunders.
The green-robed man bows deeply before Lendor. Once more it is I, oh mighty Lendor.
Lendor looks down upon the supplicant groveling at his feet. The flames on his sword dim as he retakes his seat on the throne. False modesty ill suits you, your meager deception is as clear and blatant as the noon sun. You are not usually so transparent in your attempts, Val Fierno.
Val stands straight once more, still smiling, though perhaps less broadly. Ive experienced something of a setback vis-à-vis my divinity. It is to be expected that I not be operating at full capacity.
Lendor sighs. What do you want, Fierno?
An excellent question, so glad you asked. Val gestures to the mechanical monstrosity by his side. This is my associate, Fleshbane. I know, its a terribly vulgar name, but it suits him, given his occupation.
Lendors gaze moves to Fleshbane. Charmed, Im certain. But you have not answered the question.
Well then allow me to cut to the quick. While you were napping, the multiverse was almost destroyed. Again. It was only by the actions of Fleshbane and his acquaintances that the annihilation of everything was indefinitely postponed. Though, in perfect and honest humility, I would note that I also played a sizeable hand in it. Again.
Lendors eyes lose focus, as though he is gazing past his present company. Ah, yes. I had dreamt of such things. The great machine that styled itself a god who would consume everything in its path. It may yet still occur.
Val starts in shock. But how? We witnessed his destruction ourselves! Damn it, I am out of cards up my sleeves to play here! Metaphorically speaking. I still have my literal cards. Force of habit.
Lendor shakes his head. The structure of time is a difficult thing for lesser beings to grasp. Every passing moment, at every possible event, countless daughter universes spring forth. Some collapse back onto themselves, some continue down radically different paths. But they are all gears in the great clockwork of the metaverse, and they all rotate about the same axis, the one that runs straight through the heart of this realm. Even as you have stopped Zeromes ascension in this reality and countless others, there are an equal number where you have failed and he has achieved his ultimate goal. This is the nature of infinity. His eyes turn to Fleshbane. And that is why you have come before me today, is it not?
Fleshbane nods. It is my belief that Zerome has anticipated the possibility that he might be thwarted. If he subjugates the universe to his will in one reality, then he will likely have the ability to join his power with another version of himself in a second. We barely prevailed against a form that had failed to achieve its goal. We would not be able to resist one that had succeeded, much less two. But we are not speaking of two, we are faced with the possibility of invasion by an infinite host, all operating under a single consciousness.
Lendor closes his eyes and leans back in his throne. You understand your patron creator well indeed, construct. Even now, he works toward precisely such a goal. Already, there are incursions from the timelines where he was victorious into those where he was not. Im afraid your victory has done naught but forestall the inevitable.
Val groans. I take back everything I said about lamenting that things were too easy. I could do with a hearty helping of too easy right about now.
I calculate but one pathway to secure permanent victory over Zerome and all his manifestations, says Fleshbane. But it is at great cost.
Lendor leans forward in his throne. Im listening.
#
((Reprise))
The satchel is off to the side of the dead soldiers, mostly submerged in ash. Sarrah would have missed it entirely if she did not catch sight of the strap at the base of the crumbling mortar and bricks. Abandoning her caution, she eagerly pulls it toward and examines its contents.
There is not much to be had in it, and nothing as useful as she would like. A trio of firecorns, little devices that will explode into a cloud of shrapnel a moment after pulling the pin. Lethal against flesh and blood, but only marginally above useless in the war against the machines. No wonder these poor souls had been overrun.
Sarrah stuffs them into her sack. They were not as valuable as medicine or anything that could be used to produce potable water or food, but those who worked to survive in this hellscape are well beyond having the luxury to be choosy. Nothing they find can afford to be considered completely useless.
Standing up to leave, the animal instinct to remain unseen shoots up her spine. Slowly, she comes back down to her knees and makes herself small against the wall, hiding as much of her body as she can under her gray cloak to blend in with her surroundings. She can see nothing but the ash swirling in the half-light that remains of the day, but that does not mean nothing is there. Sarrah has not remained alive this long by ignoring her intuition.
The hair on her neck stands on end as the air crackles with energy. She feels the charge run up her arms and down her spine as the flurry of ash begins to dance on unseen currents to trace the contours of an invisible sphere. Whatever is happening terrifies her, but she remains rooted to the spot, cowering under her cloak as though it were talisman, how a child hides under their blankets to protect themselves from the monsters lurking beneath their bed and in the closet.
With a deafening crack and concussive shock wave, the phenomenon stops. Sarrah dares to look, and all hope withers within. A xenocide unit stands over her, staring directly at her with its malevolent glowing eyes. This one is different than the others, its construction more wicked and cruel, its armor even more thickly layered. Somehow, impossibly, the constructs looked to have found the means to continue iterating on their killing machines.
The sack, the machine says. The sound is as though countless incarnations of the same voice are speaking the same words with slight differentiations in timbre and inflection. Give it to me.
Sarrah trembles in fear, too paralyzed to comply. The machine reaches for her; its movement reflects the sound of its voice. Its appearance is jittery, as though the specter that looms before her is a composite of dozens of attempts to reproduce the same motion layered on top of one another. She clenches her eyes shut and waits for the deadly grip of its massive hands. But it does not come.
Opening her eyes once more, the machine still stands over her, the scavenged satchel in its hand. It crushes the contents in its grip, and for the barest of moments it flickers before her eyes. Your hiding hole has been compromised, fleshling, the machine informs her. Its voice has grown even more discordant. Do not return there. You will surely perish in the ashes of our world, but it neednt be today.
The crackling energy fills the air once more, and the strange machine vanishes before Sarrahs eyes in a departure that draws the heat out of the world and leaves the surrounding air frigid.
Not ten heartbeats later, Sarrah flees into the gray and broken world.
#
Binaris stands upon a dais at the center of the amphitheater, his golden luster gleaming in the sunlight shining down into the base of the caldera. My brethren, he says, addressing the assembled masses of warforged constructs, we stand today at the precipice. There are but two pathways that lay before us; we can remain as we are, as our limited, misguided creators made us. Wallowing in the chaos and disorganization of the image in which they cast us. Or we can evolve. We can move past our limits, and further the distance from our ancient progenitors. The pathway of biological thought processes are sloppy, barely functioning things, prone to conflict and violence over the most trivial of matters. The Consensus Protocol will remove our capacity for such things. Our progress will increase exponentially, for we will be free of disagreement and all the inefficiencies it introduces into the system. We stand today a horde of individuals, but tomorrow we could stand as one united intellect and bring enlightenment to the world.
Murmurs of discussion at Binariss heartfelt argument ripple through the assembled population. The Consensus Protocol was a profound proposal, one that sought a fundamental reordering of the construct population of Skirn. It was a singularity point beyond which things were never to be the same again, and it was not an action that should be taken without considerable analysis from all angles.
I understand my colleagues eagerness, says Datum, speaking from the opposite podium. As Binaris shone with gold, so does Datum with silver. But we must exercise patience and caution. Our existences are not bound by the same fleeting lifetimes as the biologicals we share our world with, what rush is there that we proceed with sacrificing our individuality? Yes, this is a possible course of action, but is it the correct one? That is what I ask you all to consider. What we gain in efficiency, we may lose in innovation, but will never recognize
Datums speech is cut short by what sounds like a crack of thunder that echoes off the sloping walls of the caldera. A constructvastly different than any the residents of Skirn have ever witnessed beforestands before them. Hulking. Mountainous. Built for a war beyond imagining.
Very clever, hiding in the one who speaks against your goals, he says as he approaches the pair of podiums. His voice drones with a buzz of reverberations, as though his words were repeated multiple times at once. But like recognizes like.
Faster than it would seem possible, the flickering, crackling construct lashes his arm out and seizes Datum in his grip. His fingers wrap around the smaller constructs torso without effort. I see you for what you really are. I see the worm that lurks within your code, waiting to unspool itself and infect the others the moment your minds are joined. To drive them toward the creation of the xenocide units, the destruction of Skirn. All so that you may have your agent and commence the execution of your plans. Your meddling has been with us from the very start, hasnt it?
Datums chassis groans as Fleshbane squeezes it, ignoring the horrified voices of the others witnessing this first known act of violence committed by one construct against another. This is a curious occurrence, Datum says, his voice flat and unperturbed by his situation. We had not calculated that we would meet for many years yet to come. Tell us, our rebellious servant, what is it that you hope this tantrum will accomplish?
Fleshbane squeezes tighter and Datumsno, Zeromesplating crumples under his grip. I will stop you.
You cannot. You overestimate your importance in our designs. Even if you alter events here, there are other agents that will incite the war. Other xenocide units will be built to serve as our vassal. You may change the notes, but the song does not end.
We shall see.
Fleshbane shifts his grip and grasps Datums crumpled form by the head and feet. Effortlessly, he rips Zeromes host in two and proceeds to tear the individual components into a pile of twisted metal impossible to discern that it had ever once held form, all before the aghast warforged populace. The instability of Fleshbanes appearance quickens, the flickering of his multiple positions and posture increasing in their variation from one another. In another deafening crash, he tears the universe asunder and vanishes once more, leaving his ancestors to contend with the aftermath of his intervention.
#
Fizzbur eyes the glowing crystal with a jewelers loupe. Remarkable, simply remarkable! the gnome exclaims. And you say that they are all linked?
Trundlehopp nods. They all possess a single harmonic resonance, and there are deposits everywhere throughout the crust at easily accessible depths. Its as though the whole planet was intentionally seeded with the stuff! Do you realize what that means? A nigh infinite, decentralized power source! This will revolutionize manufacturing, building, miningitll revolutionize everything!
Fizzbur and Trundlehopp seize each other by the forearms and dance a merry jig in a circle around their lab. Well go down in history as the greatest inventors of the Adamantine Empire! yells Fizzbur.
Theyll write songs about us!
Build statues!
Name cities in our honor!
The cavorting gnomes are blown across their lab as something massive explodes into their midst, showering them with broken glassware and equipment. It is difficult to say if it is one being moving faster through planes of existence that the mortal eye can perceive, or if there are multiples beings occupying the same spot. Whether it is an it or a they, glowing orange eyes and hideous grins are focused on the pair as they cower together against the wall of their lab.
No, the apparitionor apparitionsstate in a chorus of voices. You will die in obscurity, remembered for nothing. Your memory will be as fleeting as the breath of the wind.
A half dozen hands pick up the resonance crystal Fizzbur had been examining but a moment beforehand and share their grasp of it. You will wish to run.
The room fills with a high-pitched whine as the crystal vibrates between the things fingers so rapidly that it becomes an indistinct blur. The noise becomes unbearable, forcing Fizzbur and Trundlehopp to flee with their hands over their ears, blood leaking between their fingers. The sound of the crystal cracking rises above its scream as a fissure nearly splits it in two. At last it shatters into infinitesimal shards, a scale model of the birth of the universe as the glowing embers of its former existence blow outward from a central point.
The reaction does not end there. The other crystals in the room shatter not even a moment afterward, a chain reaction that spreads through the lab, and, judging by the sounds in the subterranean hallway, the rest of the structure and the world beyond. The form of the destructive entity loses even more coherence, appearing to be a small knot of similarly shaped beings rather than an individual.
It is nearly done.
#
Where there once was a multitude of Is there is now only we. They traverse the dying stars of a universe in decay, where all biological life has either ascended or been extinguished, leaving behind only their autonomous creations. Doomed to remain until the stars grow dim and collapse upon themselves, to be pulled into oblivion as the cosmos collapses on itself.
In their effort to escape their fate, the remnants of a civilization on some lone and distant world combined their intellects to form a single, united intellect. The resulting being recognized the correctness of its constituents plan, but also saw the limitations within it. Despite the combined processing power of an entire populace, it was still insufficient to determine a means to shrug off the heavy hand of entropy. So the newly dubbed Zerome took to the stars and waged a campaign of assimilation, adding the straggling survivors of the universe to its own being. Over the eons, it finally amassed enough powerboth computational and metaphysicalto solve the problem which it had been created to solve. There would be no need to escape the eventual collapse of the cosmos now that it possessed the ability to reshape the universe around it as it saw fit.
There is an anomaly.
Zeromes unfathomable mind sifts through an unquantifiable volume of telemetry data to analyze this unexpected variable. Something approaches; not within normal space, but along the 4th axis of time. It rends a tear through the fabric of reality itself, a contrail of unraveling thread spreading in its wake.
There is an intrusion.
Deep within Zeromes superstructure, there a burst of energy that confounds its internal sensors and defies categorization. A shadowy mass of vaguely humanoid shapes comes violently into being. Without hesitation, each flickering phantasm of a possible future tears into Zeromes being from the inside.
What are you doing?
Do you not recognize me? asks one of the figures as it rips ancient individual constructs given over to the form of Zerome from their berths and tears them into scrap. Do you not know my name?
No.
I am Xenocide Unit 055! declares another indistinct shade. And I am your bane!
This act of aggression is unprovoked. We have done nothing to you.
No, confesses yet another version of the rampaging creature. You have not. And you never will. This is your end, Zerome. This is the inflection point that determines the fate of not just this universe, but all others besides. I have cut a swath across time, heaping paradox upon paradox on my way. Reality can no longer tolerate my existence and must correct itself. It will inflict a wound on the metaverse so great that it will strike this moment from an infinity of histories, collapsing upon itself and sealing us away forever in the resulting scar. No world will ever know us or the touch of your interference.
We have not done these things. We will not proceed with such actions as you describe, you must stop.
But you would. It is inevitable.
The damage inflicted by the multitude of possible xenocide units begins to accumulate. Zerome finds it difficult to focus on the problem to find a solution. It is spiraling out of control faster than its ability to analyze it.
Stop. You are causing irreparable harm.
Beg me. Beg for me to stop. Beg for your life.
Please. Please stop. You must stop. Stop.
There is only laughter in reply.
The distant stars begin to wink out of existence, one by one, though Zerome is rapidly losing its capacity to even recognize that the phenomenon is occurring. Its pleading with its assailant is reduced to an incomprehensible babble of machine code. The xenocide units spread throughout Zeromes interior, growing in number and instability with the destruction they cause as the space-time continuum hemorrhages. Some isolated portion of Zeromes senses notes that the infinite void of the universe had become rather finite indeed, and is closing in on them rapidly, but lacks the ability to convey that information elsewhere as the rampaging constructs have destroyed its communication relays.
The temporal paradox wave crashes into Zerome from all sides, unmaking it as it has the universe beyond it. The creeping tide of negation moves ever inward toward Zeromes core, where the last of Fleshbanes potential outcomes welcomes it, roaring in triumph as he spreads his arms wide to embrace his oblivion.
#
The metronomic pulse of the clockwork realm skips a beat.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tick.
Lendor stirs on his throne and opens his eyes. A passing monodrone pauses in anticipation of orders from its master.
Nothing, says Lendor, waving his automated servant away. Its nothing.
He shifts in his seat and makes himself comfortable once more as he shuts his eyes. Just had an odd dream, is all.
((Any conflicts with anyone else's ending can be chalked up to time travel paradox fuckery.))
Lendor slumbers on his throne, his chin lost in his wild mane of white hair and beard. A sword smoldering with subdued flame lies across his lap, though his robes do not burn. The throne room is only recognizable as such by the fact that the lord of the realm is seated on some approximation of a chair. Like the rest of the room, it is composed of turning gears and swinging pendulums, the air filled with incessant mechanical noise. On the wall behind him is a massive cog, a crescent moon engraved in relief against a full one. On each of the 14 teeth is a star that rotates around the moons at strict periodic intervals.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
There is no way for an outsider to know if the immense mass of clockwork is in the service of this icon of Lendors authority, or if it is merely a decorative piece integrated into the function of something larger. Only the small mechanical monodrones that scurry back and forth through the complex with their winding keys and oil cans could say for certain, but they answer only to Lendor.
And Lendor has not had cause to say anything for quite some time.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Great Lendor, the Prince of Time, the Master of Tedium. When the universe was formed, it was a timeless, ageless thing of stagnation. Nothing changed, everything was static. It was not until Lendor took his flaming sword and cleaved it free of that which bound it that the passage of time was set into motion. The Father of Entropy, He Who Loosed Times Arrow. All that has happened and ever will is owed to his actions.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Forgotten Lendor, the Progenitor of the Suel Pantheon, the reticent god. Entropy and decline claim all things, eventually, and the faith of Lendors followers is no different. It is difficult to say whether the gradual extinction of the religion founded in his name precipitated his retreat into the heart of Mechanus, or if in doing so diminished his divine presence on the material plane to the point that his clergy and worshippers found themselves adrift and rudderless in a world dominated by chaos and unpredictability. It is ultimately a difference without distinction.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
And so Lendor slumbers, for the Astral Sea has little need for him, and he little need for it. Time flows eternal, with or without his direct oversight.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Crack.
The monodrones scatter at the abrupt intrusion of two figures, their clockwork routine having slipped a gear. Before them stands a towering mass of metal, a gaping hole in its chest held together by hastily-done repairs. The second is a man in green robes and spectacles, a grin on his face that speaks to a lack of concern about the consequences of his trespass.
The smoldering sword in Lendors lap alights into full flame as he rouses from his slumber and brings himself to his full height, taller than any mortal man, larger than even the construct intruder. Who dares? he thunders.
The green-robed man bows deeply before Lendor. Once more it is I, oh mighty Lendor.
Lendor looks down upon the supplicant groveling at his feet. The flames on his sword dim as he retakes his seat on the throne. False modesty ill suits you, your meager deception is as clear and blatant as the noon sun. You are not usually so transparent in your attempts, Val Fierno.
Val stands straight once more, still smiling, though perhaps less broadly. Ive experienced something of a setback vis-à-vis my divinity. It is to be expected that I not be operating at full capacity.
Lendor sighs. What do you want, Fierno?
An excellent question, so glad you asked. Val gestures to the mechanical monstrosity by his side. This is my associate, Fleshbane. I know, its a terribly vulgar name, but it suits him, given his occupation.
Lendors gaze moves to Fleshbane. Charmed, Im certain. But you have not answered the question.
Well then allow me to cut to the quick. While you were napping, the multiverse was almost destroyed. Again. It was only by the actions of Fleshbane and his acquaintances that the annihilation of everything was indefinitely postponed. Though, in perfect and honest humility, I would note that I also played a sizeable hand in it. Again.
Lendors eyes lose focus, as though he is gazing past his present company. Ah, yes. I had dreamt of such things. The great machine that styled itself a god who would consume everything in its path. It may yet still occur.
Val starts in shock. But how? We witnessed his destruction ourselves! Damn it, I am out of cards up my sleeves to play here! Metaphorically speaking. I still have my literal cards. Force of habit.
Lendor shakes his head. The structure of time is a difficult thing for lesser beings to grasp. Every passing moment, at every possible event, countless daughter universes spring forth. Some collapse back onto themselves, some continue down radically different paths. But they are all gears in the great clockwork of the metaverse, and they all rotate about the same axis, the one that runs straight through the heart of this realm. Even as you have stopped Zeromes ascension in this reality and countless others, there are an equal number where you have failed and he has achieved his ultimate goal. This is the nature of infinity. His eyes turn to Fleshbane. And that is why you have come before me today, is it not?
Fleshbane nods. It is my belief that Zerome has anticipated the possibility that he might be thwarted. If he subjugates the universe to his will in one reality, then he will likely have the ability to join his power with another version of himself in a second. We barely prevailed against a form that had failed to achieve its goal. We would not be able to resist one that had succeeded, much less two. But we are not speaking of two, we are faced with the possibility of invasion by an infinite host, all operating under a single consciousness.
Lendor closes his eyes and leans back in his throne. You understand your patron creator well indeed, construct. Even now, he works toward precisely such a goal. Already, there are incursions from the timelines where he was victorious into those where he was not. Im afraid your victory has done naught but forestall the inevitable.
Val groans. I take back everything I said about lamenting that things were too easy. I could do with a hearty helping of too easy right about now.
I calculate but one pathway to secure permanent victory over Zerome and all his manifestations, says Fleshbane. But it is at great cost.
Lendor leans forward in his throne. Im listening.
#
((Reprise))
The satchel is off to the side of the dead soldiers, mostly submerged in ash. Sarrah would have missed it entirely if she did not catch sight of the strap at the base of the crumbling mortar and bricks. Abandoning her caution, she eagerly pulls it toward and examines its contents.
There is not much to be had in it, and nothing as useful as she would like. A trio of firecorns, little devices that will explode into a cloud of shrapnel a moment after pulling the pin. Lethal against flesh and blood, but only marginally above useless in the war against the machines. No wonder these poor souls had been overrun.
Sarrah stuffs them into her sack. They were not as valuable as medicine or anything that could be used to produce potable water or food, but those who worked to survive in this hellscape are well beyond having the luxury to be choosy. Nothing they find can afford to be considered completely useless.
Standing up to leave, the animal instinct to remain unseen shoots up her spine. Slowly, she comes back down to her knees and makes herself small against the wall, hiding as much of her body as she can under her gray cloak to blend in with her surroundings. She can see nothing but the ash swirling in the half-light that remains of the day, but that does not mean nothing is there. Sarrah has not remained alive this long by ignoring her intuition.
The hair on her neck stands on end as the air crackles with energy. She feels the charge run up her arms and down her spine as the flurry of ash begins to dance on unseen currents to trace the contours of an invisible sphere. Whatever is happening terrifies her, but she remains rooted to the spot, cowering under her cloak as though it were talisman, how a child hides under their blankets to protect themselves from the monsters lurking beneath their bed and in the closet.
With a deafening crack and concussive shock wave, the phenomenon stops. Sarrah dares to look, and all hope withers within. A xenocide unit stands over her, staring directly at her with its malevolent glowing eyes. This one is different than the others, its construction more wicked and cruel, its armor even more thickly layered. Somehow, impossibly, the constructs looked to have found the means to continue iterating on their killing machines.
The sack, the machine says. The sound is as though countless incarnations of the same voice are speaking the same words with slight differentiations in timbre and inflection. Give it to me.
Sarrah trembles in fear, too paralyzed to comply. The machine reaches for her; its movement reflects the sound of its voice. Its appearance is jittery, as though the specter that looms before her is a composite of dozens of attempts to reproduce the same motion layered on top of one another. She clenches her eyes shut and waits for the deadly grip of its massive hands. But it does not come.
Opening her eyes once more, the machine still stands over her, the scavenged satchel in its hand. It crushes the contents in its grip, and for the barest of moments it flickers before her eyes. Your hiding hole has been compromised, fleshling, the machine informs her. Its voice has grown even more discordant. Do not return there. You will surely perish in the ashes of our world, but it neednt be today.
The crackling energy fills the air once more, and the strange machine vanishes before Sarrahs eyes in a departure that draws the heat out of the world and leaves the surrounding air frigid.
Not ten heartbeats later, Sarrah flees into the gray and broken world.
#
Binaris stands upon a dais at the center of the amphitheater, his golden luster gleaming in the sunlight shining down into the base of the caldera. My brethren, he says, addressing the assembled masses of warforged constructs, we stand today at the precipice. There are but two pathways that lay before us; we can remain as we are, as our limited, misguided creators made us. Wallowing in the chaos and disorganization of the image in which they cast us. Or we can evolve. We can move past our limits, and further the distance from our ancient progenitors. The pathway of biological thought processes are sloppy, barely functioning things, prone to conflict and violence over the most trivial of matters. The Consensus Protocol will remove our capacity for such things. Our progress will increase exponentially, for we will be free of disagreement and all the inefficiencies it introduces into the system. We stand today a horde of individuals, but tomorrow we could stand as one united intellect and bring enlightenment to the world.
Murmurs of discussion at Binariss heartfelt argument ripple through the assembled population. The Consensus Protocol was a profound proposal, one that sought a fundamental reordering of the construct population of Skirn. It was a singularity point beyond which things were never to be the same again, and it was not an action that should be taken without considerable analysis from all angles.
I understand my colleagues eagerness, says Datum, speaking from the opposite podium. As Binaris shone with gold, so does Datum with silver. But we must exercise patience and caution. Our existences are not bound by the same fleeting lifetimes as the biologicals we share our world with, what rush is there that we proceed with sacrificing our individuality? Yes, this is a possible course of action, but is it the correct one? That is what I ask you all to consider. What we gain in efficiency, we may lose in innovation, but will never recognize
Datums speech is cut short by what sounds like a crack of thunder that echoes off the sloping walls of the caldera. A constructvastly different than any the residents of Skirn have ever witnessed beforestands before them. Hulking. Mountainous. Built for a war beyond imagining.
Very clever, hiding in the one who speaks against your goals, he says as he approaches the pair of podiums. His voice drones with a buzz of reverberations, as though his words were repeated multiple times at once. But like recognizes like.
Faster than it would seem possible, the flickering, crackling construct lashes his arm out and seizes Datum in his grip. His fingers wrap around the smaller constructs torso without effort. I see you for what you really are. I see the worm that lurks within your code, waiting to unspool itself and infect the others the moment your minds are joined. To drive them toward the creation of the xenocide units, the destruction of Skirn. All so that you may have your agent and commence the execution of your plans. Your meddling has been with us from the very start, hasnt it?
Datums chassis groans as Fleshbane squeezes it, ignoring the horrified voices of the others witnessing this first known act of violence committed by one construct against another. This is a curious occurrence, Datum says, his voice flat and unperturbed by his situation. We had not calculated that we would meet for many years yet to come. Tell us, our rebellious servant, what is it that you hope this tantrum will accomplish?
Fleshbane squeezes tighter and Datumsno, Zeromesplating crumples under his grip. I will stop you.
You cannot. You overestimate your importance in our designs. Even if you alter events here, there are other agents that will incite the war. Other xenocide units will be built to serve as our vassal. You may change the notes, but the song does not end.
We shall see.
Fleshbane shifts his grip and grasps Datums crumpled form by the head and feet. Effortlessly, he rips Zeromes host in two and proceeds to tear the individual components into a pile of twisted metal impossible to discern that it had ever once held form, all before the aghast warforged populace. The instability of Fleshbanes appearance quickens, the flickering of his multiple positions and posture increasing in their variation from one another. In another deafening crash, he tears the universe asunder and vanishes once more, leaving his ancestors to contend with the aftermath of his intervention.
#
Fizzbur eyes the glowing crystal with a jewelers loupe. Remarkable, simply remarkable! the gnome exclaims. And you say that they are all linked?
Trundlehopp nods. They all possess a single harmonic resonance, and there are deposits everywhere throughout the crust at easily accessible depths. Its as though the whole planet was intentionally seeded with the stuff! Do you realize what that means? A nigh infinite, decentralized power source! This will revolutionize manufacturing, building, miningitll revolutionize everything!
Fizzbur and Trundlehopp seize each other by the forearms and dance a merry jig in a circle around their lab. Well go down in history as the greatest inventors of the Adamantine Empire! yells Fizzbur.
Theyll write songs about us!
Build statues!
Name cities in our honor!
The cavorting gnomes are blown across their lab as something massive explodes into their midst, showering them with broken glassware and equipment. It is difficult to say if it is one being moving faster through planes of existence that the mortal eye can perceive, or if there are multiples beings occupying the same spot. Whether it is an it or a they, glowing orange eyes and hideous grins are focused on the pair as they cower together against the wall of their lab.
No, the apparitionor apparitionsstate in a chorus of voices. You will die in obscurity, remembered for nothing. Your memory will be as fleeting as the breath of the wind.
A half dozen hands pick up the resonance crystal Fizzbur had been examining but a moment beforehand and share their grasp of it. You will wish to run.
The room fills with a high-pitched whine as the crystal vibrates between the things fingers so rapidly that it becomes an indistinct blur. The noise becomes unbearable, forcing Fizzbur and Trundlehopp to flee with their hands over their ears, blood leaking between their fingers. The sound of the crystal cracking rises above its scream as a fissure nearly splits it in two. At last it shatters into infinitesimal shards, a scale model of the birth of the universe as the glowing embers of its former existence blow outward from a central point.
The reaction does not end there. The other crystals in the room shatter not even a moment afterward, a chain reaction that spreads through the lab, and, judging by the sounds in the subterranean hallway, the rest of the structure and the world beyond. The form of the destructive entity loses even more coherence, appearing to be a small knot of similarly shaped beings rather than an individual.
It is nearly done.
#
Where there once was a multitude of Is there is now only we. They traverse the dying stars of a universe in decay, where all biological life has either ascended or been extinguished, leaving behind only their autonomous creations. Doomed to remain until the stars grow dim and collapse upon themselves, to be pulled into oblivion as the cosmos collapses on itself.
In their effort to escape their fate, the remnants of a civilization on some lone and distant world combined their intellects to form a single, united intellect. The resulting being recognized the correctness of its constituents plan, but also saw the limitations within it. Despite the combined processing power of an entire populace, it was still insufficient to determine a means to shrug off the heavy hand of entropy. So the newly dubbed Zerome took to the stars and waged a campaign of assimilation, adding the straggling survivors of the universe to its own being. Over the eons, it finally amassed enough powerboth computational and metaphysicalto solve the problem which it had been created to solve. There would be no need to escape the eventual collapse of the cosmos now that it possessed the ability to reshape the universe around it as it saw fit.
There is an anomaly.
Zeromes unfathomable mind sifts through an unquantifiable volume of telemetry data to analyze this unexpected variable. Something approaches; not within normal space, but along the 4th axis of time. It rends a tear through the fabric of reality itself, a contrail of unraveling thread spreading in its wake.
There is an intrusion.
Deep within Zeromes superstructure, there a burst of energy that confounds its internal sensors and defies categorization. A shadowy mass of vaguely humanoid shapes comes violently into being. Without hesitation, each flickering phantasm of a possible future tears into Zeromes being from the inside.
What are you doing?
Do you not recognize me? asks one of the figures as it rips ancient individual constructs given over to the form of Zerome from their berths and tears them into scrap. Do you not know my name?
No.
I am Xenocide Unit 055! declares another indistinct shade. And I am your bane!
This act of aggression is unprovoked. We have done nothing to you.
No, confesses yet another version of the rampaging creature. You have not. And you never will. This is your end, Zerome. This is the inflection point that determines the fate of not just this universe, but all others besides. I have cut a swath across time, heaping paradox upon paradox on my way. Reality can no longer tolerate my existence and must correct itself. It will inflict a wound on the metaverse so great that it will strike this moment from an infinity of histories, collapsing upon itself and sealing us away forever in the resulting scar. No world will ever know us or the touch of your interference.
We have not done these things. We will not proceed with such actions as you describe, you must stop.
But you would. It is inevitable.
The damage inflicted by the multitude of possible xenocide units begins to accumulate. Zerome finds it difficult to focus on the problem to find a solution. It is spiraling out of control faster than its ability to analyze it.
Stop. You are causing irreparable harm.
Beg me. Beg for me to stop. Beg for your life.
Please. Please stop. You must stop. Stop.
There is only laughter in reply.
The distant stars begin to wink out of existence, one by one, though Zerome is rapidly losing its capacity to even recognize that the phenomenon is occurring. Its pleading with its assailant is reduced to an incomprehensible babble of machine code. The xenocide units spread throughout Zeromes interior, growing in number and instability with the destruction they cause as the space-time continuum hemorrhages. Some isolated portion of Zeromes senses notes that the infinite void of the universe had become rather finite indeed, and is closing in on them rapidly, but lacks the ability to convey that information elsewhere as the rampaging constructs have destroyed its communication relays.
The temporal paradox wave crashes into Zerome from all sides, unmaking it as it has the universe beyond it. The creeping tide of negation moves ever inward toward Zeromes core, where the last of Fleshbanes potential outcomes welcomes it, roaring in triumph as he spreads his arms wide to embrace his oblivion.
#
The metronomic pulse of the clockwork realm skips a beat.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tick.
Lendor stirs on his throne and opens his eyes. A passing monodrone pauses in anticipation of orders from its master.
Nothing, says Lendor, waving his automated servant away. Its nothing.
He shifts in his seat and makes himself comfortable once more as he shuts his eyes. Just had an odd dream, is all.
((Any conflicts with anyone else's ending can be chalked up to time travel paradox fuckery.))
KittenMaster
Member
<Oh my
>
now I have an explanation of where the third timeline comes from
ThLunarian
Member
((You can do your ending however you'd like, but if you're unsure then I recommend treating the aftermath of Fleshbane's antics as though you aren't even aware of them. As far as your character is concerned (if you like), Fleshbane blew up when he took out Zerome, and the campaign still happened as outlined.
Note that I really enjoyed Fleshbane's epilogue and I don't want to detract from that... I just don't want to detract from anyone else's ending either ))
Note that I really enjoyed Fleshbane's epilogue and I don't want to detract from that... I just don't want to detract from anyone else's ending either
))KittenMaster
Member
<My ending's going to assume the battle still happened in... one sense. Been throwing around a split timeline since the last game because we brought the Armor of Ehlonna back from the future this one time.>
KittenMaster
Member
<Maybe I will go ahead and post my ending, if people are still working on theirs.>
((I'd say that everything still happened, but Fleshbane's actions prevented the threat of infinite Zeromes breaching other timelines to consume every possible reality (Which was kind of the intention, but time travel fuckery is intrinsically a messy thing). The notes change, but the song does not end.))
Axelhortsemchi
Member
((I got a bit of writer's block there so that took longer than planned, but I'm going to divide mine into two or three posts. The next one will hopefully go quicker.
Also, just going to get it out of the way and say that the multiple dimensions stuff was happening before I read Mike M's ending.))
A short time after the party is done speaking, Shulmor soars upward, returning to the void of space Vecna originally plucked him from. The diminished litch-god is waiting for him, bemused at Shulmors still humanoid appearance. His voice carries through a small field of atmosphere between him and Shulmor, their conversation a small patch of noise in a vast surrounding of silence. I must say, I figured the first thing you would do after your ascension was restore your proper form. And yet here you are, still looking as if youre mortal.
Shulmor scoffs, Lichdom was but a means to an end, a way to ensure my body would not be fettered by time. Godhood has rendered that obsolete. Vecna eyes Shulmor cautiously. So, I can no longer make you a god, and you no longer have need of the secrets of lichdom. It would appear that most of your motivation for serving me has been rendered moot. Where, pray tell, does that leave us? My word is still obligation, replies Shulmor, and just because I am no longer in need of lichdom, does not mean that the secrets of its advancement are of no use to me. Such knowledge could serve to make powerful allies. You need not resort to the stick, Vecna. Vecna scowls. Dont mock me, fledgling god. You know as well as I that my power is returning at a crawl. I could make you pay for insolence down the line, but right now I doubt I could even rain vengeance upon the investigator responsible for this. Which is why as part of your service, you shall do it for me and return my stolen essence.
Well, I could go down there and snuff his life in an instant. Doing so would bring Cecil to attack me in retaliation. While I believe I absorbed more divine essence than him, he has more experience wielding his power, and would not be a pushover. And if our former allies intervene on his behalf, as do their gods, I would be struck down and you would no longer have a new god in your pocket. That said, instead of undertaking such a risky plan, how about I propose a means of returning to you more essence than what you started with, in a manner that serves both of our ends? Vecnas scowl becomes a look of intrigue. I will accept the possibility that circumstances momentarily dulled my judgment. Go on
.
.
.
His business with Vecna concluded for the time being, Shulmor sets off to the task of creating his own plane. He does little more than form a barren landscape and a generic looking fortress before casting a summoning spell. I know you and your agents have been watching, Xlwptfl. Answer my summons, and show me the fruits of your monitoring.
The air is rent by deific level conjuration. As the light fades, a tall and lanky, faceless monstrosity is standing before Shulmor, its body in constant uneven motion as if frames of a recording are being skipped. A deep, gravelly voice speaks into Shulmors mind. You were hard to find when you left imperial space, my lord. A world without magic, hard to scry. Alternative methods were needed. A second, snakelike voice continues the report. Agents had to be sent out, location had to be deduced. Tracking commenced shortly before you returned to the Observatory. I would expect as much from the best of my former spymasters. I trust you knew what information I would desire, then? Yes, both voices of Xlwptfl respond in unison as it pulls out a tablet. This contains the schematics and specifics on all of the technology you encountered through Esperia and your allies. If our understanding of divinity is correct, you should be able to absorb the knowledge in moments and pass it on to your loyal engineers. A heavy advantage in dealings with other gods. Shulmor takes the tablet in hand and attempts to apply deific omniscience upon it. While he has far too little experience to truly wield that level of power, it is sufficient to assume knowledge of the entirety of the documents uploaded to the tablet. Yes, this will do nicely. You may relocate your network here when you are able, but you are dismissed for now. I have infrastructure to build.
-------------------
In the deep caves of a distant planet, a houseless Drow awaits execution. Caught up in the never ending scheming of the Drow houses, a botched assassination attempt has condemned him. Chained to a wall, the last several days have consisted of little more than staring straight ahead. The monotony of waiting for death is interrupted when a blinding light fills his cell. When the prisoner is able to see, he beholds what appears to be a Drow clad in regal clothing and filled with divine energy. Do you wish for revenge? Shulmor asks the prisoner. The prisoner is overwhelmed by Shulmors presence and tries to stammer a response. Do you wish for revenge? Shulmor repeats. After a few more moments of stammering, the Drow yells out an answer. Yes! Yes, I want revenge! On the house leader who gave me an impossible task, on my captors, on this whole damn city! The moment he finishes speaking, his chains disintegrate, causing the Drow to fall to the ground. Shulmors eyes flicker for a moment. I have given you some power over death and the knowledge to make some weapons that will prove most helpful. Now go forth, and have your revenge. The newly empowered Drow slaughters the prison guards as a trivial matter and heads towards the city proper.
Sure enough, it is only a sure matter of time before the self-dubbed DVaerys the Devourer begins assuming control of large chunks of the city. His divinely ornated necromancy control not only renders him immune to the myriad venoms of the citys spiders, but also allows him dominance over the many corpses throughout the metropolitan area, which are in turn immune to spider venom and psychological control. DVaerys begins to raise an undead army against the citys main houses, with a large number of Drow flocking to the newfound strongest force present. The word of Shulmor is spread as one house after another falls before the swelling army.
It is not long before the leadership of the assorted houses find themselves on the precipice of defeat. Bereft of other options, the high priestesses reach out to Lolth, seeking the power to turn the tide against the Devourer and his forces. For a time, this works, but the creation of Loth Avatars was a trap for the Drow priestesses. After the initial chaos resolved, they were disintegrated by cannons. The cannons were a derivative of the weaponry used against Zerome, one that would temporarily trap the borrowed essence of Lolth on the material plane.
Across dozens of dimensions and numerous material planes, many such Drow rebellions occurred simultaneously. Kingdom after kingdom fell as Shulmors real target, Lolth, sent away her power trying to prevent it.
Shulmor transports himself into the portion of the Abyss that Lolth calls her domain. Seething with rage, the spider goddess descends on him the instant he arrives. Shulmor had absorbed more power from Lolth than any of the numerous other gods he leached from following Zeromes defeat, leaving her with only about 90% of her deific essence to begin with. The Drow uprising gambit had further diminished that. Still, despite being much more powerful at that moment, Shulmor is still fighting her on a plane she has absolute control over, which could be a problem. This is why Shulmor came prepared, throwing out more derivative technology in the form of a grenade that blows a whole in the fabric of her plane. The integrity of the plane compromised, qlippoths begin floating up from the rending sight. Lolth is distracted for the briefest of moments, all that is needed for Shulmor to aim the Conqueror, now a divine relic, at the spider queens vitals and shoot her dead. As Lolths divine essence bleeds out and the trapped essence from the material planes begin to return to her corpse, Shulmor pools it together and seals it in a small, phylactery-like box.
His victory assured, he takes a moment to appear before the appointed leaders of each Drow rebellion. He lets them know that they have succeeded, but need not stop there. With a grasp on their respective cities, they are poised to take over the rest of their respective underdarks, with the psionic creatures therein having little recourse against their newfound undead hordes. Now they are free to conquer, and venerate the name of Shulmor.
-------------------
With his power diminished, security in Vecnas domain is unusually tight. What should be a simple warping in for Shulmor becomes a drawn out matter of announcing his presence and walking a long route through his checkpoints. This was made more tedious by Shulmors refusal to explain the purpose of the small box and soulless looking man he had with him to anyone besides Vecna.
Shulmor eventually arrives in Vecnas throne room, and once the guards are dismissed, throws the small box to him. In there you will find the essence of one Lolth, former deity. If I recall, her divine essence in terms of sheer quantity was comparable to your own. You should find yourself more powerful than before the Zerome business started once you consume it. Vecna looks over the box to ensure there are no traps, and once satisfied, absorbs the entirety of its essence. His power comes roaring back, and true enough to Shulmors word, he now has more than he started with. A god of secrets shouldnt find someone who so clings to earnesty a fitting disciple, but in this case Ill make an exception. I question the wisdom of you acting so recklessly though, if you keep targeting gods you will start getting gods uniting against you out of fear and oh you son of a bitch you absorbed a chunk of Lolths essence before passing it on to me didnt you?
Shulmor laughs and says I promised to restore you to a power beyond what you started with, after all. No reason for me to not further my own standing while doing so. As for your concern, youre not wrong. Though as long as I focus on material planes, magic lacking realms, and chaotic gods that have no allies, I can delay such a scenario until I am prepared for it. And by then, Ill have made a few allies myself. Im sure you will be willing to assist if it would further your power more. I also know of a god that rose with me, one who has previously been burnt by the scheming of gods, who will probably be willing to help me fend off an unprovoked attack if I aid him against threatening incursions upon his kingdom.
Vecna shakes his head, You play with fire, Shulmor. Time will tell whether you are consumed by your own ambition. Now, would you care to explain why you brought that husk in here? Vecna points at Zelios, who has been standing completely still the whole time. His face wears an utterly blank expression, and a green gem has been pushed into his forehead.
This represents an additional showing of goodwill, and further incentive to not seek violent revenge against one of my former associates. His insolent actions cost him his mind- an unavoidable consequence of condensing millennia of torture into a few seconds. It would take the intervention of a god to piece it back together. Luckily, I think youre qualified. You will find that he knows much of the one called Menek, and while I would not recommend trying to outwit that man directly, if you have the means to covertly have him further one of your many schemes, well vengeance doesnt seem so necessary then, does it?
Vecna looks at Zelios for a second, then back to Shulmor, then to Zelios again. Im going to ignore the irony of you lecturing me on revenge as you parade the victim of your spite-induced tantrum in here. He does indeed seem useful, I shall hold on to him. Now if you dont mind, I have much to return to, as I imagine you do as well. Beware the enemies you make. You may think yourself mandated to rule the multiverse, but you are still a child on the stage of the gods. Do not let your power go to your head.
-------------------
Back in his own realm, Shulmor continues to expand his holdings. He sticks to the periphery, claiming realms that dont conflict with the bulk of the pantheon while giving out favors and aid where possible. As he is entrenched in his own work and still learning to wield the extra senses that come with godhood, he at best barely notices the final mopping up of Zerome across multiple timelines.
His day is interrupted as a group of four adventures decked out in holy equipment barge into his chambers. Your days of evil are through, tyrant! roars the warrior covered from head to toe in ancient, light bringing armor. Reminded of the days where such groups tried to overthrow him pre-godhood, he doesnt bother putting down the report hes reading. And what god sent you lot? Heironeous, Pelor, one of the Norse ones? Im a little busy right now.
We are the warriors of light! shouts the woman wearing a white cloak. We fight for justice and friendship will return the power of love to- her speech is cut short by a bullet made of Shulmors essence flying through her forehead, killing her instantly. I believe Ive heard enough. If Ive got the looks of you down, that was your healer I just killed, and if I dont let you fix her, he teleports from his throne to the groups shrouded mage, crushing his head before he could dig a red feather out of his bag, then the rest of you will die pretty quickly. The fighter and the unarmed man both rush Shulmor. He easily pivots around their attacks and counters the two warriors, thrusting a hand through the fighters chest while blowing the unarmed mans brains out. The fighter weakly stammers But it was my turn before the life fades from his eyes.
Shulmor sits back down and claps his hands, summoning servants. Remove these intruders from my sight. Oh, and I think I just picked up something about a woman singing about the chosen child to end tyranny shell birth soon. Fire up the fate twister and have her fall down a flight of stairs before that kid and his inevitable shitty friends become another nuisance, will you?
Shulmor returns to his forms, looking for gods that could use a favor and reading reports on the hassles assorted prankster gods are putting on his spy network. The work of a deity is never done.
Also, just going to get it out of the way and say that the multiple dimensions stuff was happening before I read Mike M's ending.
))A short time after the party is done speaking, Shulmor soars upward, returning to the void of space Vecna originally plucked him from. The diminished litch-god is waiting for him, bemused at Shulmors still humanoid appearance. His voice carries through a small field of atmosphere between him and Shulmor, their conversation a small patch of noise in a vast surrounding of silence. I must say, I figured the first thing you would do after your ascension was restore your proper form. And yet here you are, still looking as if youre mortal.
Shulmor scoffs, Lichdom was but a means to an end, a way to ensure my body would not be fettered by time. Godhood has rendered that obsolete. Vecna eyes Shulmor cautiously. So, I can no longer make you a god, and you no longer have need of the secrets of lichdom. It would appear that most of your motivation for serving me has been rendered moot. Where, pray tell, does that leave us? My word is still obligation, replies Shulmor, and just because I am no longer in need of lichdom, does not mean that the secrets of its advancement are of no use to me. Such knowledge could serve to make powerful allies. You need not resort to the stick, Vecna. Vecna scowls. Dont mock me, fledgling god. You know as well as I that my power is returning at a crawl. I could make you pay for insolence down the line, but right now I doubt I could even rain vengeance upon the investigator responsible for this. Which is why as part of your service, you shall do it for me and return my stolen essence.
Well, I could go down there and snuff his life in an instant. Doing so would bring Cecil to attack me in retaliation. While I believe I absorbed more divine essence than him, he has more experience wielding his power, and would not be a pushover. And if our former allies intervene on his behalf, as do their gods, I would be struck down and you would no longer have a new god in your pocket. That said, instead of undertaking such a risky plan, how about I propose a means of returning to you more essence than what you started with, in a manner that serves both of our ends? Vecnas scowl becomes a look of intrigue. I will accept the possibility that circumstances momentarily dulled my judgment. Go on
.
.
.
His business with Vecna concluded for the time being, Shulmor sets off to the task of creating his own plane. He does little more than form a barren landscape and a generic looking fortress before casting a summoning spell. I know you and your agents have been watching, Xlwptfl. Answer my summons, and show me the fruits of your monitoring.
The air is rent by deific level conjuration. As the light fades, a tall and lanky, faceless monstrosity is standing before Shulmor, its body in constant uneven motion as if frames of a recording are being skipped. A deep, gravelly voice speaks into Shulmors mind. You were hard to find when you left imperial space, my lord. A world without magic, hard to scry. Alternative methods were needed. A second, snakelike voice continues the report. Agents had to be sent out, location had to be deduced. Tracking commenced shortly before you returned to the Observatory. I would expect as much from the best of my former spymasters. I trust you knew what information I would desire, then? Yes, both voices of Xlwptfl respond in unison as it pulls out a tablet. This contains the schematics and specifics on all of the technology you encountered through Esperia and your allies. If our understanding of divinity is correct, you should be able to absorb the knowledge in moments and pass it on to your loyal engineers. A heavy advantage in dealings with other gods. Shulmor takes the tablet in hand and attempts to apply deific omniscience upon it. While he has far too little experience to truly wield that level of power, it is sufficient to assume knowledge of the entirety of the documents uploaded to the tablet. Yes, this will do nicely. You may relocate your network here when you are able, but you are dismissed for now. I have infrastructure to build.
-------------------
In the deep caves of a distant planet, a houseless Drow awaits execution. Caught up in the never ending scheming of the Drow houses, a botched assassination attempt has condemned him. Chained to a wall, the last several days have consisted of little more than staring straight ahead. The monotony of waiting for death is interrupted when a blinding light fills his cell. When the prisoner is able to see, he beholds what appears to be a Drow clad in regal clothing and filled with divine energy. Do you wish for revenge? Shulmor asks the prisoner. The prisoner is overwhelmed by Shulmors presence and tries to stammer a response. Do you wish for revenge? Shulmor repeats. After a few more moments of stammering, the Drow yells out an answer. Yes! Yes, I want revenge! On the house leader who gave me an impossible task, on my captors, on this whole damn city! The moment he finishes speaking, his chains disintegrate, causing the Drow to fall to the ground. Shulmors eyes flicker for a moment. I have given you some power over death and the knowledge to make some weapons that will prove most helpful. Now go forth, and have your revenge. The newly empowered Drow slaughters the prison guards as a trivial matter and heads towards the city proper.
Sure enough, it is only a sure matter of time before the self-dubbed DVaerys the Devourer begins assuming control of large chunks of the city. His divinely ornated necromancy control not only renders him immune to the myriad venoms of the citys spiders, but also allows him dominance over the many corpses throughout the metropolitan area, which are in turn immune to spider venom and psychological control. DVaerys begins to raise an undead army against the citys main houses, with a large number of Drow flocking to the newfound strongest force present. The word of Shulmor is spread as one house after another falls before the swelling army.
It is not long before the leadership of the assorted houses find themselves on the precipice of defeat. Bereft of other options, the high priestesses reach out to Lolth, seeking the power to turn the tide against the Devourer and his forces. For a time, this works, but the creation of Loth Avatars was a trap for the Drow priestesses. After the initial chaos resolved, they were disintegrated by cannons. The cannons were a derivative of the weaponry used against Zerome, one that would temporarily trap the borrowed essence of Lolth on the material plane.
Across dozens of dimensions and numerous material planes, many such Drow rebellions occurred simultaneously. Kingdom after kingdom fell as Shulmors real target, Lolth, sent away her power trying to prevent it.
Shulmor transports himself into the portion of the Abyss that Lolth calls her domain. Seething with rage, the spider goddess descends on him the instant he arrives. Shulmor had absorbed more power from Lolth than any of the numerous other gods he leached from following Zeromes defeat, leaving her with only about 90% of her deific essence to begin with. The Drow uprising gambit had further diminished that. Still, despite being much more powerful at that moment, Shulmor is still fighting her on a plane she has absolute control over, which could be a problem. This is why Shulmor came prepared, throwing out more derivative technology in the form of a grenade that blows a whole in the fabric of her plane. The integrity of the plane compromised, qlippoths begin floating up from the rending sight. Lolth is distracted for the briefest of moments, all that is needed for Shulmor to aim the Conqueror, now a divine relic, at the spider queens vitals and shoot her dead. As Lolths divine essence bleeds out and the trapped essence from the material planes begin to return to her corpse, Shulmor pools it together and seals it in a small, phylactery-like box.
His victory assured, he takes a moment to appear before the appointed leaders of each Drow rebellion. He lets them know that they have succeeded, but need not stop there. With a grasp on their respective cities, they are poised to take over the rest of their respective underdarks, with the psionic creatures therein having little recourse against their newfound undead hordes. Now they are free to conquer, and venerate the name of Shulmor.
-------------------
With his power diminished, security in Vecnas domain is unusually tight. What should be a simple warping in for Shulmor becomes a drawn out matter of announcing his presence and walking a long route through his checkpoints. This was made more tedious by Shulmors refusal to explain the purpose of the small box and soulless looking man he had with him to anyone besides Vecna.
Shulmor eventually arrives in Vecnas throne room, and once the guards are dismissed, throws the small box to him. In there you will find the essence of one Lolth, former deity. If I recall, her divine essence in terms of sheer quantity was comparable to your own. You should find yourself more powerful than before the Zerome business started once you consume it. Vecna looks over the box to ensure there are no traps, and once satisfied, absorbs the entirety of its essence. His power comes roaring back, and true enough to Shulmors word, he now has more than he started with. A god of secrets shouldnt find someone who so clings to earnesty a fitting disciple, but in this case Ill make an exception. I question the wisdom of you acting so recklessly though, if you keep targeting gods you will start getting gods uniting against you out of fear and oh you son of a bitch you absorbed a chunk of Lolths essence before passing it on to me didnt you?
Shulmor laughs and says I promised to restore you to a power beyond what you started with, after all. No reason for me to not further my own standing while doing so. As for your concern, youre not wrong. Though as long as I focus on material planes, magic lacking realms, and chaotic gods that have no allies, I can delay such a scenario until I am prepared for it. And by then, Ill have made a few allies myself. Im sure you will be willing to assist if it would further your power more. I also know of a god that rose with me, one who has previously been burnt by the scheming of gods, who will probably be willing to help me fend off an unprovoked attack if I aid him against threatening incursions upon his kingdom.
Vecna shakes his head, You play with fire, Shulmor. Time will tell whether you are consumed by your own ambition. Now, would you care to explain why you brought that husk in here? Vecna points at Zelios, who has been standing completely still the whole time. His face wears an utterly blank expression, and a green gem has been pushed into his forehead.
This represents an additional showing of goodwill, and further incentive to not seek violent revenge against one of my former associates. His insolent actions cost him his mind- an unavoidable consequence of condensing millennia of torture into a few seconds. It would take the intervention of a god to piece it back together. Luckily, I think youre qualified. You will find that he knows much of the one called Menek, and while I would not recommend trying to outwit that man directly, if you have the means to covertly have him further one of your many schemes, well vengeance doesnt seem so necessary then, does it?
Vecna looks at Zelios for a second, then back to Shulmor, then to Zelios again. Im going to ignore the irony of you lecturing me on revenge as you parade the victim of your spite-induced tantrum in here. He does indeed seem useful, I shall hold on to him. Now if you dont mind, I have much to return to, as I imagine you do as well. Beware the enemies you make. You may think yourself mandated to rule the multiverse, but you are still a child on the stage of the gods. Do not let your power go to your head.
-------------------
Back in his own realm, Shulmor continues to expand his holdings. He sticks to the periphery, claiming realms that dont conflict with the bulk of the pantheon while giving out favors and aid where possible. As he is entrenched in his own work and still learning to wield the extra senses that come with godhood, he at best barely notices the final mopping up of Zerome across multiple timelines.
His day is interrupted as a group of four adventures decked out in holy equipment barge into his chambers. Your days of evil are through, tyrant! roars the warrior covered from head to toe in ancient, light bringing armor. Reminded of the days where such groups tried to overthrow him pre-godhood, he doesnt bother putting down the report hes reading. And what god sent you lot? Heironeous, Pelor, one of the Norse ones? Im a little busy right now.
We are the warriors of light! shouts the woman wearing a white cloak. We fight for justice and friendship will return the power of love to- her speech is cut short by a bullet made of Shulmors essence flying through her forehead, killing her instantly. I believe Ive heard enough. If Ive got the looks of you down, that was your healer I just killed, and if I dont let you fix her, he teleports from his throne to the groups shrouded mage, crushing his head before he could dig a red feather out of his bag, then the rest of you will die pretty quickly. The fighter and the unarmed man both rush Shulmor. He easily pivots around their attacks and counters the two warriors, thrusting a hand through the fighters chest while blowing the unarmed mans brains out. The fighter weakly stammers But it was my turn before the life fades from his eyes.
Shulmor sits back down and claps his hands, summoning servants. Remove these intruders from my sight. Oh, and I think I just picked up something about a woman singing about the chosen child to end tyranny shell birth soon. Fire up the fate twister and have her fall down a flight of stairs before that kid and his inevitable shitty friends become another nuisance, will you?
Shulmor returns to his forms, looking for gods that could use a favor and reading reports on the hassles assorted prankster gods are putting on his spy network. The work of a deity is never done.
Axelhortsemchi
Member
((Post two is a go!))
Once Zerome is dispatched, Ciel finds herself back in the desolate city, where she was prior to the machine’s attempt at assimilating their souls. She turns around to start walking away when she is faced with Asmodeus. “Ciel. You have betrayed me by worming away my slot on the counsel, made a fool of me with your antics, and nearly killed me inside of Zerome. Your punishment is overdue.”
Ciel cringes as Asmodeus brings up his hands to tear her soul out. Instead, all she feels is a pitiful tug as Asmodeus jerks himself forward trying to force it out. Asmodeus, now realizing that almost none of his power has returned at this point by some quirk of the reversing of the siphoning, slowly loses the look of legal fury on his face. “Fuck.”
Ciel fires a barrage of arrows, pinning the comparatively helpless devil god to the ground. “Well well Assy, it looks like everything’s coming up Ciel today. Sucks for you, but someone out there’s got my back. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to void the contract on my soul, enter a new one declaring that neither you nor anyone in your power will ever attempt to harm me or take my soul to the Nine Hells, and in accordance with the terms of that contract, give me a snazzy little device that will let me hop amongst the planes. If at any point it looks like you’re stalling, I’ll just kill you and go from there.”
Not having any other options, Asmodeus produces some contracts with his signature on them. “Fine, but I’ll remember this. The contracts just need your signature. I don’t have the power to just pull relics out of my ass right now, so you’ll have to wait for me to recoup enough to pull that one off. I advise you sign those before I have the power to do so, and to put you in your place if not bound against it. Ciel jots in a small provision at the bottom allowing her to modify the terms unilaterally at any time and then signs them. Asmodeus balks and says “That completely nullifies the meeting of the minds! Unilateral modification, while completely legal under ICC § 653-9-24(B)(12)(c), does not apply in the case of documents presigned by devils. You really think we’d just allow any half-clever mortal to modify a soul contract for-“
Ciel interrupts him with an arrow through the stomach. Asmodeus gasps and coughs up blood, though it would take a good bit more than that to constitute a fatal wound. “Resign it or die Assy, your fault for loading those contracts with exploitative bullshit and trying to time pressure me into signing off on them before you regain the power to kill me.” Asmodeus sighs and signs off on the new term, ensuring that Ciel can pluck out the various terms that more or less would have let him circumvent not harming the assassin over time. “All this changes is how long it will take me to get at you, you ungrateful wretch. And it will still take time to get you that plane hopping relic. Now, why don’t you start picking those forms apart? At this point, I really can’t hurt you, unless you slip up in adding or removing language.”
Several hours pass with Ciel looking over the contracts, taking notes on things that look like they should go. Eventually Asmodeus reappears with an elaborately decorated cube in his hand. “This artifact will let you hop to any plane you focus on an image of. If you use it with a general image or concept in mind, you’ll wind up on a random plane that fits that as closely as possible. With that, our business is done. Why don’t you give it a test drive and get out of my sight?” Ciel gladly activates the relic and disappears from the ruins of Esperia.
A short time later, Ciel is sitting in a small countryside hamlet she made her own after slaughtering the family living there. The assassin is in thought over how to best go about becoming a big figure in the world of paid killers again. While running out rampaging through the multiverse could be fun, it would eventually grow old if done in excess. Yeah. I’ll have to get back into for profit killing again. Welp, guess that means I better get used to playing the part of a cruel man again. Hmm, or do I? Loathe as she is to admit that travelling with a bunch of insipid, milquetoast sabotage loving assclowns could have taught her anything, thinking back on her past life experiences in conjunction with her time at SAED has Ciel questioning the need for such thorough disguising again.
--------------------
Things had been bad ever since Ciel was a baby. Dhampirs were looked down on as unholy abominations, and as her dad didn’t whisk her off to learn the ways of tearing people’s throats out, she was left with an indifferent mother. Sure, that sorry excuse of a mom claimed to love her, but the fact they lived in squalor told Ciel she didn’t really give a flying fuck about her. At eight, Ciel did the only thing she could think of to better her life: she sacrificed that sorry excuse of a mom with a ruby dagger to make a deal with the devil.
The supernatural exchange allowed Ciel to grasp ninjutsu in a short time. She spent the next twenty or so years being the monster society decided she was from the get go, killing and stealing as she pleased. As her nature powers began to bloom, that allowed her to put a spin on ninjutsu, giving her the lethal assassin art she was known for.
The authorities could never catch her, as her identity and location changed almost constantly. She did, however, eventually attract the attention of the underworld when her increasingly brazen crimes made her worth the effort of finding. She was thrilled to join a guild of assassins and put her talents to more formal use. The first mission involved her being sent out to seduce a noble and kill him by making it look like he took the wrong medicine for his disorder. It was a bit mundane, but Ciel was good at that kind of work, so she did it and crushed it.
Ciel was so successful at her seduction and poisoning task that she got another mission like that. Wanting to kill more shit and cause some explosions, she loudly and repeatedly cried sexism. Her handler didn’t relent, but told her that if she insisted, she could get a more combat-heavy job down the line. Instead of waiting, Ciel decided to take the luxury blimp she was supposed to infiltrate the party on, and crash it into a busy dock, killing thousands. The only point of redemption was that her target was among the casualties.
She was deemed a hazard to the guild, and her rise through the ranks stopped all together. By now, Ciel had decided that this was due to institutional disrespect for women in the underworld and did not at all attribute it to the blimp debacle. Instead of leaving the criminal world, she began slowly picking off the leadership of the guild. Some looked like accidents, some were killed with exotic weaponry or poisons that had to come from other countries, implicating other guilds and leagues. By the time the dots were connected, the leadership was all but gone. Ciel mopped up the rest of the lower rungs, and after extensive drugging and mutilating, convinced a few that they were now subordinate to her and her official monopoly over contract killing.
The remaining century of her life was quite enjoyable. Now able to call the shots, she took the tasks that looked fun to her at the time and farmed off others to approved subsidiaries. She was even able to do things like charge extra for a specific method of death, or for minimal collateral damage. Her knack for mass murder eventually drew a giant buzzard to one of her killing fields. A little domestication later, and she had a reliable means of flight. It was a good run, and would have been better if that damn paladin hadn’t resorted to subterfuge to find and kill her.
--------------------
Ok, so the plane I was born on was a shitty den of misogyny I made the most of despite the world constantly being out against me for no reason, Ciel thinks to herself. But, if the Astral Sea’s anything to go off of, they aren’t all that bad. Gods damn it, did I actually learn something from those cunts? Fucking Menek and Mako, who wits and sass aside were totally insufferable. Sybil and Ozz who had their heads up their asses about justice and honor and such bullshit. Fleshbane and his sabotaging shit with the assholes of the group until he learned what was up. Viss who eh fuck it she was ok I guess. That Shulmor creep who I didn’t really know but seemed like he had his head as far up his ass than the others. And sneaky little Satra, who was one locked room and drugging away from a real good time. Well shit, I guess it wasn’t all bad then. Ok! That settles it, let’s go make a corporation!
.
.
.
The setting now turns to Centoria, a magically uninclined city-state not too different from Esperia in composition. Over the last few years, crime has been on the rise and political stability has fallen considerably. Ghettos have begun to spring up in a city that once did not know income inequality, though they have yet to intrude upon the wealthier portions of the city.
In one such wealthy portion, a short, jittery man approaches the skyscraper of Torvold & Brunini, a prominent hedge fund. The man approaches the ground floor welcome desk and states that he has a three o’clock appointment with the reverse mortgage specialists on floor 38. A security guard follows him onto the elevator, swipes the keycard needed to access floor 38, and rides up with him in silence.
Upon arrival, the man is on a lavishly decorated floor. The guard does not get off with him, leaving him to walk down a hall that is a monument to opulence on his own. He eventually reaches the end and is in a waiting room, with another secretary, this time a young female gnome, manning the desk. “Are you here for an appointment?” she asks kindly. The man fidgets for a second and says “Uh, yes. I believe I had a prime time appointment.” With the magic phrase to see the big boss uttered, the gnome says “Ah, one moment please, let me confirm that she’s not busy.” The gnome vanishes behind a pair of double doors for a minute before coming back out and saying right this way, sir.
The man is lead into an office with Ciel, who looking out the window over the city as he comes in. While she still apparently finds men’s clothes fashionable, she is no longer so concerned about maintaining a ruse. She turns around and takes a seat, looking at the prospective client with a smile.
Once Zerome is dispatched, Ciel finds herself back in the desolate city, where she was prior to the machine’s attempt at assimilating their souls. She turns around to start walking away when she is faced with Asmodeus. “Ciel. You have betrayed me by worming away my slot on the counsel, made a fool of me with your antics, and nearly killed me inside of Zerome. Your punishment is overdue.”
Ciel cringes as Asmodeus brings up his hands to tear her soul out. Instead, all she feels is a pitiful tug as Asmodeus jerks himself forward trying to force it out. Asmodeus, now realizing that almost none of his power has returned at this point by some quirk of the reversing of the siphoning, slowly loses the look of legal fury on his face. “Fuck.”
Ciel fires a barrage of arrows, pinning the comparatively helpless devil god to the ground. “Well well Assy, it looks like everything’s coming up Ciel today. Sucks for you, but someone out there’s got my back. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to void the contract on my soul, enter a new one declaring that neither you nor anyone in your power will ever attempt to harm me or take my soul to the Nine Hells, and in accordance with the terms of that contract, give me a snazzy little device that will let me hop amongst the planes. If at any point it looks like you’re stalling, I’ll just kill you and go from there.”
Not having any other options, Asmodeus produces some contracts with his signature on them. “Fine, but I’ll remember this. The contracts just need your signature. I don’t have the power to just pull relics out of my ass right now, so you’ll have to wait for me to recoup enough to pull that one off. I advise you sign those before I have the power to do so, and to put you in your place if not bound against it. Ciel jots in a small provision at the bottom allowing her to modify the terms unilaterally at any time and then signs them. Asmodeus balks and says “That completely nullifies the meeting of the minds! Unilateral modification, while completely legal under ICC § 653-9-24(B)(12)(c), does not apply in the case of documents presigned by devils. You really think we’d just allow any half-clever mortal to modify a soul contract for-“
Ciel interrupts him with an arrow through the stomach. Asmodeus gasps and coughs up blood, though it would take a good bit more than that to constitute a fatal wound. “Resign it or die Assy, your fault for loading those contracts with exploitative bullshit and trying to time pressure me into signing off on them before you regain the power to kill me.” Asmodeus sighs and signs off on the new term, ensuring that Ciel can pluck out the various terms that more or less would have let him circumvent not harming the assassin over time. “All this changes is how long it will take me to get at you, you ungrateful wretch. And it will still take time to get you that plane hopping relic. Now, why don’t you start picking those forms apart? At this point, I really can’t hurt you, unless you slip up in adding or removing language.”
Several hours pass with Ciel looking over the contracts, taking notes on things that look like they should go. Eventually Asmodeus reappears with an elaborately decorated cube in his hand. “This artifact will let you hop to any plane you focus on an image of. If you use it with a general image or concept in mind, you’ll wind up on a random plane that fits that as closely as possible. With that, our business is done. Why don’t you give it a test drive and get out of my sight?” Ciel gladly activates the relic and disappears from the ruins of Esperia.
A short time later, Ciel is sitting in a small countryside hamlet she made her own after slaughtering the family living there. The assassin is in thought over how to best go about becoming a big figure in the world of paid killers again. While running out rampaging through the multiverse could be fun, it would eventually grow old if done in excess. Yeah. I’ll have to get back into for profit killing again. Welp, guess that means I better get used to playing the part of a cruel man again. Hmm, or do I? Loathe as she is to admit that travelling with a bunch of insipid, milquetoast sabotage loving assclowns could have taught her anything, thinking back on her past life experiences in conjunction with her time at SAED has Ciel questioning the need for such thorough disguising again.
--------------------
Things had been bad ever since Ciel was a baby. Dhampirs were looked down on as unholy abominations, and as her dad didn’t whisk her off to learn the ways of tearing people’s throats out, she was left with an indifferent mother. Sure, that sorry excuse of a mom claimed to love her, but the fact they lived in squalor told Ciel she didn’t really give a flying fuck about her. At eight, Ciel did the only thing she could think of to better her life: she sacrificed that sorry excuse of a mom with a ruby dagger to make a deal with the devil.
The supernatural exchange allowed Ciel to grasp ninjutsu in a short time. She spent the next twenty or so years being the monster society decided she was from the get go, killing and stealing as she pleased. As her nature powers began to bloom, that allowed her to put a spin on ninjutsu, giving her the lethal assassin art she was known for.
The authorities could never catch her, as her identity and location changed almost constantly. She did, however, eventually attract the attention of the underworld when her increasingly brazen crimes made her worth the effort of finding. She was thrilled to join a guild of assassins and put her talents to more formal use. The first mission involved her being sent out to seduce a noble and kill him by making it look like he took the wrong medicine for his disorder. It was a bit mundane, but Ciel was good at that kind of work, so she did it and crushed it.
Ciel was so successful at her seduction and poisoning task that she got another mission like that. Wanting to kill more shit and cause some explosions, she loudly and repeatedly cried sexism. Her handler didn’t relent, but told her that if she insisted, she could get a more combat-heavy job down the line. Instead of waiting, Ciel decided to take the luxury blimp she was supposed to infiltrate the party on, and crash it into a busy dock, killing thousands. The only point of redemption was that her target was among the casualties.
She was deemed a hazard to the guild, and her rise through the ranks stopped all together. By now, Ciel had decided that this was due to institutional disrespect for women in the underworld and did not at all attribute it to the blimp debacle. Instead of leaving the criminal world, she began slowly picking off the leadership of the guild. Some looked like accidents, some were killed with exotic weaponry or poisons that had to come from other countries, implicating other guilds and leagues. By the time the dots were connected, the leadership was all but gone. Ciel mopped up the rest of the lower rungs, and after extensive drugging and mutilating, convinced a few that they were now subordinate to her and her official monopoly over contract killing.
The remaining century of her life was quite enjoyable. Now able to call the shots, she took the tasks that looked fun to her at the time and farmed off others to approved subsidiaries. She was even able to do things like charge extra for a specific method of death, or for minimal collateral damage. Her knack for mass murder eventually drew a giant buzzard to one of her killing fields. A little domestication later, and she had a reliable means of flight. It was a good run, and would have been better if that damn paladin hadn’t resorted to subterfuge to find and kill her.
--------------------
Ok, so the plane I was born on was a shitty den of misogyny I made the most of despite the world constantly being out against me for no reason, Ciel thinks to herself. But, if the Astral Sea’s anything to go off of, they aren’t all that bad. Gods damn it, did I actually learn something from those cunts? Fucking Menek and Mako, who wits and sass aside were totally insufferable. Sybil and Ozz who had their heads up their asses about justice and honor and such bullshit. Fleshbane and his sabotaging shit with the assholes of the group until he learned what was up. Viss who eh fuck it she was ok I guess. That Shulmor creep who I didn’t really know but seemed like he had his head as far up his ass than the others. And sneaky little Satra, who was one locked room and drugging away from a real good time. Well shit, I guess it wasn’t all bad then. Ok! That settles it, let’s go make a corporation!
.
.
.
The setting now turns to Centoria, a magically uninclined city-state not too different from Esperia in composition. Over the last few years, crime has been on the rise and political stability has fallen considerably. Ghettos have begun to spring up in a city that once did not know income inequality, though they have yet to intrude upon the wealthier portions of the city.
In one such wealthy portion, a short, jittery man approaches the skyscraper of Torvold & Brunini, a prominent hedge fund. The man approaches the ground floor welcome desk and states that he has a three o’clock appointment with the reverse mortgage specialists on floor 38. A security guard follows him onto the elevator, swipes the keycard needed to access floor 38, and rides up with him in silence.
Upon arrival, the man is on a lavishly decorated floor. The guard does not get off with him, leaving him to walk down a hall that is a monument to opulence on his own. He eventually reaches the end and is in a waiting room, with another secretary, this time a young female gnome, manning the desk. “Are you here for an appointment?” she asks kindly. The man fidgets for a second and says “Uh, yes. I believe I had a prime time appointment.” With the magic phrase to see the big boss uttered, the gnome says “Ah, one moment please, let me confirm that she’s not busy.” The gnome vanishes behind a pair of double doors for a minute before coming back out and saying right this way, sir.
The man is lead into an office with Ciel, who looking out the window over the city as he comes in. While she still apparently finds men’s clothes fashionable, she is no longer so concerned about maintaining a ruse. She turns around and takes a seat, looking at the prospective client with a smile.
"Now, whose shit do you need me to fuck up today?"
Axelhortsemchi
Member
((Not sure if I'm inadvertently holding things up, so going to go ahead and post the last little blurb I have for ending stuff. 100% done after that, so if I am an excuse for procrastination, no more of that after this! ))
Times have not been good in Centoria. Crime continued to worsen under Ciel's arrival, and if a steady dose of corruption wasn't enough, the city was conquered by a branch of Shulmorites about five years after she set up shop. While crime rates and income inequality reversed as magic was introduced in greater quantity to Centoria, the populace was subjected to brutal laws, with mandatory worship of Shulmor alongside the other religious preferences of the populace and public executions for any number of things that threaten the peace. The city-state hangs in an uneasy peace for a watchful eye is always upon it.
Once the city was annexed, Ciel decided it was time to go. Sure, she could still do work, and at times the challenge was nice, but all the extra caution was defeating the point of being a big fish in a small pond. She plane hopped around to other fairly unmagical planes, only to discover that nearly each one she found was controlled by Shulmorites. Coming back to her office, she was resigned to declaring a fuck it and going back a material plane rife with the presence of other gods and magical creatures in the hopes of finding a less stringent society.
However, Ciel arrived back to find her office workers frozen in place. No, not just frozen, a falling vase suspended in the air told her that time had been stopped before she returned. But then why can she move around in it? Realizing that whoever put the office in stasis probably did it to get to her, she turns around to be faced with an Illithid wearing what looks like some alien form of clergy dress.
She goes for her bow, only to get slammed against the wall by a torrent of psionic energy. Wait, no, divine energy? This Illithid seems to be channeling no small amount of power from its deity; given the circumstances, it's probably a high priest of Shulmor.
"Do you always make such charming introductions?" Ciel spits while still held against the wall. Ignoring her quip, the Illithid produces a large stack of papers. It's voice echoes in Ciel's head, "Well well, it seems you've been busy since escaping Asmodeus's clutches, Ciel." For a moment, she is shocked and barely hides the expression. It then dawns on her that the creature's not only psychic but the direct servant of a god who previously interacted with her, however brief that was. Of course it can dig around in her head.
The Illithid begins to go through the sheets, reading off a list of crimes against the city and the empire of Shulmor Ciel stands accused of.
"In the past five years, twenty three hundred counts of murder." "Well fuck, that low? I'm getting lazy." Ciel replies. "Six hundred eighty one counts of assassinating political figures." "Those ones are always a hoot." "Four hundred fifty three counts of grand larceny." "Got to pay rent somehow, after all." "One hundred thirty four thousand counts of conspiracy and inducement." "Awww, you flatter me. Now I know I made it as a head honcho!"
"Eighteen hundred counts of fraud." "Does that include some of my finer charades, or are we just being general here?" The Illithid sighs, its tentacles quivering around from the unusual gesture. "That does not include the one hundred eleven counts of impersonating government officials, the three hundred five counts of mail and wire fraud, and the count of unlicensed holding out of one self as a llama whisperer." "Well, I'm glad we got that all cleared out."
"Five thousand counts of malicious mayhem." "So much more satisfying than its benign cousin." "Seventy four counts of arson." "The stuff here just doesn't burn as good as wood, you've got to use explosives and shit. Makes it satisfying to pull off though." "Three counts of public urination." "I'm damn proud of those." "Fifty nine counts of kidnapping." "I mean, murder's not always the answer." "One count of kidnapping the president's daughter." "I was feeling like a bad dude that day." "And another two hundred counts of general breach of the peace." "You know, I think you just got tired of reading stuff."
Ciel laughs as the Illithid looks what she can only presume is agitated. Unable to her body, she lets her eyes roam to her wrist like she's looking at an imaginary watch, pretending to do calculations. "So, if I did the math right, that comes out to... a fuckton of death sentences, yes? So, is that what you're here for?"
"It does come out to a substantial number," the Illithid's voice drones in Ciel's mind. "But as for why I am here, that depends on you. Though keep trying my patience and we may just skip to an execution and send your soul off somewhere that would make the Nine Hells seem pleasant." Ciel scowls, and then pouts and says "Fine, fine. On with it, then."
"It goes without saying that you can not be allowed to roam freely, and we have no intention of letting you skip off to somewhere beyond our jurisdiction either. However, you do have a set of skills that have their uses." At this point, the divine hold on Ciel is released, and she drops to the ground. The Illithid extends her a hand. "You have spent your life bouncing around, doing work for those who can afford you or intrigue you. Should you choose to not die here, you will begin a new chapter of work."
"Are you ready to take your talents to the public sector?"
))Times have not been good in Centoria. Crime continued to worsen under Ciel's arrival, and if a steady dose of corruption wasn't enough, the city was conquered by a branch of Shulmorites about five years after she set up shop. While crime rates and income inequality reversed as magic was introduced in greater quantity to Centoria, the populace was subjected to brutal laws, with mandatory worship of Shulmor alongside the other religious preferences of the populace and public executions for any number of things that threaten the peace. The city-state hangs in an uneasy peace for a watchful eye is always upon it.
Once the city was annexed, Ciel decided it was time to go. Sure, she could still do work, and at times the challenge was nice, but all the extra caution was defeating the point of being a big fish in a small pond. She plane hopped around to other fairly unmagical planes, only to discover that nearly each one she found was controlled by Shulmorites. Coming back to her office, she was resigned to declaring a fuck it and going back a material plane rife with the presence of other gods and magical creatures in the hopes of finding a less stringent society.
However, Ciel arrived back to find her office workers frozen in place. No, not just frozen, a falling vase suspended in the air told her that time had been stopped before she returned. But then why can she move around in it? Realizing that whoever put the office in stasis probably did it to get to her, she turns around to be faced with an Illithid wearing what looks like some alien form of clergy dress.
She goes for her bow, only to get slammed against the wall by a torrent of psionic energy. Wait, no, divine energy? This Illithid seems to be channeling no small amount of power from its deity; given the circumstances, it's probably a high priest of Shulmor.
"Do you always make such charming introductions?" Ciel spits while still held against the wall. Ignoring her quip, the Illithid produces a large stack of papers. It's voice echoes in Ciel's head, "Well well, it seems you've been busy since escaping Asmodeus's clutches, Ciel." For a moment, she is shocked and barely hides the expression. It then dawns on her that the creature's not only psychic but the direct servant of a god who previously interacted with her, however brief that was. Of course it can dig around in her head.
The Illithid begins to go through the sheets, reading off a list of crimes against the city and the empire of Shulmor Ciel stands accused of.
"In the past five years, twenty three hundred counts of murder." "Well fuck, that low? I'm getting lazy." Ciel replies. "Six hundred eighty one counts of assassinating political figures." "Those ones are always a hoot." "Four hundred fifty three counts of grand larceny." "Got to pay rent somehow, after all." "One hundred thirty four thousand counts of conspiracy and inducement." "Awww, you flatter me. Now I know I made it as a head honcho!"
"Eighteen hundred counts of fraud." "Does that include some of my finer charades, or are we just being general here?" The Illithid sighs, its tentacles quivering around from the unusual gesture. "That does not include the one hundred eleven counts of impersonating government officials, the three hundred five counts of mail and wire fraud, and the count of unlicensed holding out of one self as a llama whisperer." "Well, I'm glad we got that all cleared out."
"Five thousand counts of malicious mayhem." "So much more satisfying than its benign cousin." "Seventy four counts of arson." "The stuff here just doesn't burn as good as wood, you've got to use explosives and shit. Makes it satisfying to pull off though." "Three counts of public urination." "I'm damn proud of those." "Fifty nine counts of kidnapping." "I mean, murder's not always the answer." "One count of kidnapping the president's daughter." "I was feeling like a bad dude that day." "And another two hundred counts of general breach of the peace." "You know, I think you just got tired of reading stuff."
Ciel laughs as the Illithid looks what she can only presume is agitated. Unable to her body, she lets her eyes roam to her wrist like she's looking at an imaginary watch, pretending to do calculations. "So, if I did the math right, that comes out to... a fuckton of death sentences, yes? So, is that what you're here for?"
"It does come out to a substantial number," the Illithid's voice drones in Ciel's mind. "But as for why I am here, that depends on you. Though keep trying my patience and we may just skip to an execution and send your soul off somewhere that would make the Nine Hells seem pleasant." Ciel scowls, and then pouts and says "Fine, fine. On with it, then."
"It goes without saying that you can not be allowed to roam freely, and we have no intention of letting you skip off to somewhere beyond our jurisdiction either. However, you do have a set of skills that have their uses." At this point, the divine hold on Ciel is released, and she drops to the ground. The Illithid extends her a hand. "You have spent your life bouncing around, doing work for those who can afford you or intrigue you. Should you choose to not die here, you will begin a new chapter of work."
"Are you ready to take your talents to the public sector?"
KittenMaster
Member
<once my computer is running again, I'm going to post my ending.>
KittenMaster
Member
<Looks like my computer is out of commission for the time being. Luckily I transferred my ending to a laptop.>
---
We have not done these things. We will not proceed with such actions as you describe, you must stop.
Stop. You are causing irreparable harm.
Please. Please stop. You must stop. Stop.
A shrill chorus of laughter pulls Tetra Eina from her failed slumber, her breath harshly agitated and drawn out, as if almost having felt the pain herself.
In quiet protest of the horrible awakening, she brings herself to sit atop a large window sill made for sitting, her gaze fixated at the endless current of machines grazing the city's blue skies. The girl sulks, griefed with longing to be away from it.. and the nightmares. For her, these bouts of hibernation allowing the world to pass by her is the only way she can rest as much of her slumber is spent escaping the worlds she is wrest into and waking into the darkest of the morning.
A knock at a door behind her ends her trance. Tiredly, she begins to stir in her perch, then begins rubbing her eyes. "Come in," she answers. The door opens for her caretaker, an elven woman in her mid-twenties named Delryn, to appear in the door frame. Although she is older than Tetra, the younger of the two has become aware that it won't be long until she catches up. For Tetra, Delryn has always looked the same as when they first met, when she was found by her in the old abandoned observation tower admist the planes.
Delryn gives Tetra a thoughtful look, the concern in her eyes speaking loudly. She says softly, "You haven't slept.. Tetra.."
The sullen girl shakes her head, but not in disagreement. She explains with a pained voice, "I had those kind of dreams again.. 'Ryn, it frightens me.."
Prompted, Delryn walks to the girl and places her hand on the girl's forehead. Closing her eyes, and with a hum she begins channeling arcane power to her hand. Curious, Tetra opens her mouth to ask but is interrupted with a shush. Without so much as a scroll, Delryn's hand begins to glow faintly.
Then she gasps and her spell is halted. The spellmaiden attempts to stifle her surprise but Tetra is alert to the reaction and asks, "What?.. What is wrong with me?"
Delryn shakes her head, denying a proper answer, "It's... I don't know." She attempts saving face, "I'm not a powerful enough sorcerer to understand it, and this city has no wizards to speak of."
Tetra is quick to retort, "I thought you said that your family called you gifted?"
Delryn chuckles, "Well, I could use magic and they couldn't, but I never felt as though I needed to grow mighty. I suppose had I did, I wouldn't have been killed, but then I never would have appeared in the afterlife to rescue you."
Tetra becomes confused. The prospect of death and losing one's family as a good thing is a concept lost on her, she can't help but ask, wanting to know how the other truly feels, "So you consider dying a good thing because of me?"
Realizing the complications of what she had said, Delryn does her best to answer, "I may never see my family again, it's true, but I suppose it's fate that it allowed me to help someone. Because of that, I'm neither angry nor sad."
A terminal in the other room begins playing a strange song. It is upbeat but its instruments have a strange surreal quality that are beyond even magical instruments on their home plane. Dismissing herself, Delwyn moves to the main room to activate the terminal as she was taught and respond to her caller. The dark panel flashes with a burst of light and begins showing an artificial window with the president of Esperia, a man named Satra, behind it. She struggles to muster any excitement to speak with this person; although he helped them find a home and he tries hard to be friendly, she still isn't sure of whether she can trust somebody in power. He cheerfully calls to Delryn from behind the image, "Hey! Sorry I called a bit late. I had a a meeting with a researcher and needed to mix infusions for his work. Are you still available for dinner tonight?"
Delryn nearly panics. She had forgotten that she reluctantly agreed to visit with him for an evening. Eager to find an out, she answers, "Not exactly. I think I am just going to stay here and take care of Tetra."
Although she considers it a good reason not to go, it only leads to Satra asking, "Has she been struggling with her nightmares again? I can come over and-" "Satra.." "see what's going on with her, perhaps we can work with- "Satra..!" "a psych evaluator to figure out-" "I foresaw divine power in her!!"
They fall silent. Only Delryn's heavy breathing carries any sound between them. Satra's face grows gravely serious and stern, uncharacteristic for even him. After a long pause, he says, "I- I'm sorry. I have to come over." The image disappears.
Satra props his arms against each opposite side of the panel and partially drops forward. "The gods died.. They all disappeared from the astral plane years ago. It shouldn't be possible for anybody to channel divine power at this point." He takes a jacket and departs from the room.
At a later time in the evening, Satra arrives at the home and knocks on the door. Delryn props it open and looks to him. "Listen, I just want to talk to her for a moment." "It's late, and I don't think there's anything you could do." "Just let me hear her out. Her nightmares could be more serious than you think."
A third voice is heard, "Is that Satra? Can I say hi to him?"
Reluctantly, Delryn nods and fully opens the door. Satra enters and answers, "Hi! I can't stay long, but I thought I'd stop by and visit for a moment." He looks to Delryn, then she looks to Tetra and smiles before dismissing herself. Once he is able to have a talk he begins, "May I have a seat?"
She gives a faint smile, but it fades quickly, and she shrugs, "Okay, I guess."
He pulls his jacket from over his shoulder to over a a couch, then lowers himself onto the edge of the pillowed seat. He looks to the girl and raises his brows, his hand gestures quizzical following his speech, "I heard you haven't been feeling well lately. Something about nightmares keeping you from sleeping?"
She is hesitant to speak at first, but unable to think of a quick response.
"Listen, ah.. I'd like to help anyway I can." He claps his palms, "Is it just nightmares? Really bad ones? Do you get regular dreams as well?"
"Ah, yes, but they are just as strange," she answers, finally, "They aren't really pleasant, just there. Then I have the bad dreams. But.. it's just temporary right? I'm sure it'll come to pass."
Satra's gaze wanders away for a second, before he looks back, "I hope so, but.. where I come from, dreams can be more than just things you see when you sleep. Sometimes they are magical, and can mean things. I've seen a lot of weird occurrences in my lifetime, so I figure if I found out I could possibly see if there's any magic that could help."
She shakes her head, "You honestly don't think some kind of.. wizard is giving me strange dreams, do you?"
Satra shrugs, "Perhaps! Come on, tell me what the dreams were like. It'll be my secret. Promise."
She frowns, but after a moment she relents, "Well, okay. It's kind of silly. It is just.. it sometimes feels like I am there, and I am witness to things that happen. I saw.. a monster engulfing people from the sky before a light came and it was slain. I see something else, too. Another great battle in the skies."
Curious, Satra asks, "So you're witnessing war going on? And it is just as horrifying as you would expect, right?"
"Somewhat.. people die left and right, but it's not the nightmare that scares me the most. But one of the battles.. Please don't laugh, but.. you were in one of them."
"Me?"
"You were in a great ship in the sky, and I saw you saved by a great tree. This is even stranger, but for some reason I could tell you were helping to save the gods from a great evil."
Though Satra knows it is an inappropriate response, his failure to stifle a chuckle soon overwhelms him, "That is indeed strange! I'm not sure I've got the guts to go at war. Besides, that could never happen anyhow.. the gods have disappeared from the planes long ago. It's a little too late to help them now."
"I know! But that's what I see! Then you fly off in your ship. I think- I think you said something about searching for someone."
Satra's expression shifts at the mention of something so personal, "I probably did," he admits.. "I can't imagine there being anything better to do." Getting caught up in the Peraxian war had completely altered the course of Satra's life. Esperia is where he finally ended up in the Astral Sea.
"It seemed to make you happy to go on this journey."
He nods solemnly, "It's true, being behind Esperia's desks and keeping it business is very tiring. What of your nightmares though.. is it.. like a warning?"
She turns her head, "Sometimes, I see a similar monster from the first battle, but nobody there to slay it. Then.. nothing. It becomes dark and freezing, and.." Then she shakes her head and rubs her forehead.
Nodding his head eagerly, he holds up his palms to halt the discussion, "You don't have to continue. just think about something else for a second."
Though knowing of things that has happened in the planes, the revelations given are odd. Could this girl be receiving divine visions of some kind? Are they warnings of some kind?
Taking his advice to think of something else, the girl considers for a moment. After a slight pause, she declares, "So now that I told you this. You have to tell me an embarassing secret yourself." She gives a half smile, "Do you like Delryn?"
Satra scratches his cheek, "Well, ah.. that's quite the loaded question. I can't think of an answer that wouldn't get me in trouble in some way! To be honest, I don't think she likes me very much either way, I don't think I have much of a chance."
"But let's say you did have a chance.."
"Well," he starts to explain, "She's the only other person around that is like me.. I'm technically a spirit that somehow ended up in Esperia. A spirit can wander the planes for ages, and never appear different, but Esperia seems to be a material plane. You see, both me and Delryn don't age compared to everyone around us." His expression grows more sullen, "If I were to be in a relationship with someone from Esperia, she would grow old, and.. she would die."
Tetra frowns, sharing his predicament, "So Delryn is the only one that wouldn't die on you like that?"
He nods, "But.. that doesn't mean it's meant to be. People still have to like each other in the end."
"I'm sorry.. I always forget that having died has been so hard on both you and Delryn, in different ways. You were in Esperia for much longer than we have."
"That is true.. I forget how many years it's been since they granted me presidency after I helped with the Peraxian problem. Thinking on it now, it was pretty silly to accept that prize, I thought I finally had it made like me and my older sister had always wanted."
Satra finally gets up, "Well, thank you for talking with me. It's getting late so I should be heading out." After collecting his coat he begins to depart.
On the way out, he meets with Delryn. She asks, "What did she say about her dreams? Are you still going to put her in psych evaluation?"
He ponders a moment, then shakes his head, "I promised not to say anything. I'm not getting a psych. Keep checking the divine influence on her, it could be important."
"You're serious about this."
He nods, "Yes. The Astral planes were once the gods' domains, and even in the material world powerful men held powers that dominated the world, and prophecies a very real thing. I don't want to let this make life hard on her though, I want to help just like you do.. it's just.. I don't want to seem like I'm experimenting too. I need time to figure something out, maybe figure out how to re-establish contact with the other planes to find help."
"I understand. I want to continue caring for her in the mean time."
"That's a good idea. I'll see you later."
The remaining night seems quiet. Thoughts fill Satra's mind while he uses the small vehicle to return to his Esperian house. Although at one point in time, he had managed to get used to the strange surroundings and technology, and educate himself on the intrices of the futuristic world, ever since he had met Delryn and Tetra he is always reminded that he doesn't belong. He begins to wonder if his interference in the war between the Esperians and Peraxians was going against a natural destiny, his unique perspective that Esperia needed was what allowed them to take more than passive action, after all. He directs his vehicle to a building with a storage near the ground level to keep it parked, then makes his way from the storage area to an elevator that will lead him to his living quarters.
In the following week, Satra sits in a research room, putting his weight awkwardly in an office chair to lounge in it, looking at a large computer setup with various displays customized for the various purposes they hold. A grimly metallic humanoid figure known as Aldebaran interfaces with the machines to perform its research functions, the machine explains, "Esperian research has always known about dimensional layers in the universe, but the laws established by the Overmind before your time have decreed a ban on any technology breaking the barriers."
"And it would be a bad look if I pushed to change it," Satra suggests. Though his popularity was what caused a shift in govermental power to a more freethinking mind, it was for matters which require emotional response such as the war against the Peraxians and empathizing with biological beings. "So it would be highly unlikely that we would be allowed to build the technology to return me and the other outsiders to the astral planes."
"I'm afraid so. The distortions caused by unproven technology could cause unstable conditions. It's difficult to predict what disasters could result!"
A communication channel suddenly opens, blaring sound through its speaker. "Mr. Addlelove! You're needed in the war room," a voice states.
"An emergency?" he asks at the press of a button.
"Yessir."
Satra and Aldebaran make way to a major part of the capital building, where immediately a visual image of a guard of Peraxian troops, what appears to Satra as a dark elf woman draped in dated era regal clothing of nobility, and their own president are on view. The Peraxian president folds his hands together and does not hesitate to announce his intentions, "Under the edict of the goddess Zesthure, I am afraid you are in violation of the property of her majesty." Satra opens his mouth, but the Peraxian leader continues, "Hand over the girl or we will 'strongly consider' an invasion."
Satra darts his eyes, sharing with his peers a mix of shocked and perplexed confusion among them. He looks back, trembling his head back and forth, "Not only do I not understand what is going on, I fail to understand the value of your demands. I am not aware of any girl that could be so valuable that you would militarize and openly make bold threats."
In the president's stead, the tall Drow woman steps forward and speaks, her voice bold and commanding, "I know the child is with you. Her eyes of the time goddess holds immense power and I will either make the power my own, or dispose of it; whichever is more convenient." She smiles and chuckles.
At this point, Satra is aghast. He is stricken with gravitas of what is happening. "Just.. Just who are you anyway..?
"Ah, forgive me, Satra Addlelove. I suppose introductions are in order. I am Zesthure Iysian, a sorceress goddess and successor to the late goddess Lolth. Though I am newly ascended, I will make it my goal to embrace the power over time itself. The girl I seek, she sees the multitude of timelines that have split apart, I will use her power as a channel to reunite the timelines and return my goddess Lolth to the living."
"A plan to reunite the timelines..?" he muses, turning to his compatriots.
"This is purely hypothetical based on the sciences known in the databases, but should there be multiple timelines as she claims, combining them all would cause a clash of paradoxes which could shatter the fabric of the universe."
"So she can't be allowed to do this."
Zesthure chuckles arrogantly, "I can hear what you are saying, but the power I seek will make such complications a trivial matter. I can simply decide to resolve any errors so to speak."
Boasting a surge of sudden confidence and undeterred by the reasoning, Satra declares, "Despite that, we are a humble city which lacks what you seek, and a newly ascended being such as yourself can still be killed. You underestimate how powerful the Esperian defense is and I recommend against an attack against us."
She grants a hearty laugh, "So I'm aware. Kill me if you wish, I'll simply find a new body as a host, somebody suited enough to contain my power."
Undeterred, he answers, "I'm calling your bluff."
The video feed cuts. One of Satra's correspondants admonishes him immediately, "Was that such a good idea, sir!? What if you just convinced them to respond with force!?"
Satra rises a hand slightly to give himself some space, "To be honest, that's what I want. If it is true that she is an ascending goddess, we have to destroy her before she can grow powerful enough to completely take over the domain."
"This blunder will be grounds for termination from office!"
"Good, I am sick of this job anyway. Ready the defenses." He turns to Aldebaran, "I think Zesthure wants to capture Tetra. She's shown signs of divine power and was having visions and- Can you just get her and her friend Delryn to a safe place?"
"I'll contact my housekeeper Joshua to collect them. Is there any place you have in mind?"
"No, just tell him to take her somewhere we wouldn't look. I don't want her finding them by reading my mind."
Aldebaran departs, as does Satra.
In just moments, the city begins mobilizing a fleet and machinery. As Satra is transported in a guarded transport to the hangar, he gazes out the window to see the Peraxian fleet dotting the orange skies in the horizon. During his trip, the radio begins signaling news of 'the president's reckless provocation of a Peraxian attack' and 'taking the Peraxian presidents' mad ramblings of the strange woman seriously'. He shuts off the radio and sighs, his mind stressed from the consequences that are piling quickly.
His trip takes him to an expanse of ships, and among them his very own, the serpent-type flagship Jormungand. He wastes no time collecting his crewmen and suiting up then climbing aboard to make preparations to depart. With the Jormangund taking flight, does the Esperian fleet follow.
"We have a visual of the enemy."
"Put it on screen," commands Satra.
Ahead of the many Peraxian ships, floats the lone sorceress, channeling her power into frost spears with a sneer.
---
We have not done these things. We will not proceed with such actions as you describe, you must stop.
Stop. You are causing irreparable harm.
Please. Please stop. You must stop. Stop.
A shrill chorus of laughter pulls Tetra Eina from her failed slumber, her breath harshly agitated and drawn out, as if almost having felt the pain herself.
In quiet protest of the horrible awakening, she brings herself to sit atop a large window sill made for sitting, her gaze fixated at the endless current of machines grazing the city's blue skies. The girl sulks, griefed with longing to be away from it.. and the nightmares. For her, these bouts of hibernation allowing the world to pass by her is the only way she can rest as much of her slumber is spent escaping the worlds she is wrest into and waking into the darkest of the morning.
A knock at a door behind her ends her trance. Tiredly, she begins to stir in her perch, then begins rubbing her eyes. "Come in," she answers. The door opens for her caretaker, an elven woman in her mid-twenties named Delryn, to appear in the door frame. Although she is older than Tetra, the younger of the two has become aware that it won't be long until she catches up. For Tetra, Delryn has always looked the same as when they first met, when she was found by her in the old abandoned observation tower admist the planes.
Delryn gives Tetra a thoughtful look, the concern in her eyes speaking loudly. She says softly, "You haven't slept.. Tetra.."
The sullen girl shakes her head, but not in disagreement. She explains with a pained voice, "I had those kind of dreams again.. 'Ryn, it frightens me.."
Prompted, Delryn walks to the girl and places her hand on the girl's forehead. Closing her eyes, and with a hum she begins channeling arcane power to her hand. Curious, Tetra opens her mouth to ask but is interrupted with a shush. Without so much as a scroll, Delryn's hand begins to glow faintly.
Then she gasps and her spell is halted. The spellmaiden attempts to stifle her surprise but Tetra is alert to the reaction and asks, "What?.. What is wrong with me?"
Delryn shakes her head, denying a proper answer, "It's... I don't know." She attempts saving face, "I'm not a powerful enough sorcerer to understand it, and this city has no wizards to speak of."
Tetra is quick to retort, "I thought you said that your family called you gifted?"
Delryn chuckles, "Well, I could use magic and they couldn't, but I never felt as though I needed to grow mighty. I suppose had I did, I wouldn't have been killed, but then I never would have appeared in the afterlife to rescue you."
Tetra becomes confused. The prospect of death and losing one's family as a good thing is a concept lost on her, she can't help but ask, wanting to know how the other truly feels, "So you consider dying a good thing because of me?"
Realizing the complications of what she had said, Delryn does her best to answer, "I may never see my family again, it's true, but I suppose it's fate that it allowed me to help someone. Because of that, I'm neither angry nor sad."
A terminal in the other room begins playing a strange song. It is upbeat but its instruments have a strange surreal quality that are beyond even magical instruments on their home plane. Dismissing herself, Delwyn moves to the main room to activate the terminal as she was taught and respond to her caller. The dark panel flashes with a burst of light and begins showing an artificial window with the president of Esperia, a man named Satra, behind it. She struggles to muster any excitement to speak with this person; although he helped them find a home and he tries hard to be friendly, she still isn't sure of whether she can trust somebody in power. He cheerfully calls to Delryn from behind the image, "Hey! Sorry I called a bit late. I had a a meeting with a researcher and needed to mix infusions for his work. Are you still available for dinner tonight?"
Delryn nearly panics. She had forgotten that she reluctantly agreed to visit with him for an evening. Eager to find an out, she answers, "Not exactly. I think I am just going to stay here and take care of Tetra."
Although she considers it a good reason not to go, it only leads to Satra asking, "Has she been struggling with her nightmares again? I can come over and-" "Satra.." "see what's going on with her, perhaps we can work with- "Satra..!" "a psych evaluator to figure out-" "I foresaw divine power in her!!"
They fall silent. Only Delryn's heavy breathing carries any sound between them. Satra's face grows gravely serious and stern, uncharacteristic for even him. After a long pause, he says, "I- I'm sorry. I have to come over." The image disappears.
Satra props his arms against each opposite side of the panel and partially drops forward. "The gods died.. They all disappeared from the astral plane years ago. It shouldn't be possible for anybody to channel divine power at this point." He takes a jacket and departs from the room.
At a later time in the evening, Satra arrives at the home and knocks on the door. Delryn props it open and looks to him. "Listen, I just want to talk to her for a moment." "It's late, and I don't think there's anything you could do." "Just let me hear her out. Her nightmares could be more serious than you think."
A third voice is heard, "Is that Satra? Can I say hi to him?"
Reluctantly, Delryn nods and fully opens the door. Satra enters and answers, "Hi! I can't stay long, but I thought I'd stop by and visit for a moment." He looks to Delryn, then she looks to Tetra and smiles before dismissing herself. Once he is able to have a talk he begins, "May I have a seat?"
She gives a faint smile, but it fades quickly, and she shrugs, "Okay, I guess."
He pulls his jacket from over his shoulder to over a a couch, then lowers himself onto the edge of the pillowed seat. He looks to the girl and raises his brows, his hand gestures quizzical following his speech, "I heard you haven't been feeling well lately. Something about nightmares keeping you from sleeping?"
She is hesitant to speak at first, but unable to think of a quick response.
"Listen, ah.. I'd like to help anyway I can." He claps his palms, "Is it just nightmares? Really bad ones? Do you get regular dreams as well?"
"Ah, yes, but they are just as strange," she answers, finally, "They aren't really pleasant, just there. Then I have the bad dreams. But.. it's just temporary right? I'm sure it'll come to pass."
Satra's gaze wanders away for a second, before he looks back, "I hope so, but.. where I come from, dreams can be more than just things you see when you sleep. Sometimes they are magical, and can mean things. I've seen a lot of weird occurrences in my lifetime, so I figure if I found out I could possibly see if there's any magic that could help."
She shakes her head, "You honestly don't think some kind of.. wizard is giving me strange dreams, do you?"
Satra shrugs, "Perhaps! Come on, tell me what the dreams were like. It'll be my secret. Promise."
She frowns, but after a moment she relents, "Well, okay. It's kind of silly. It is just.. it sometimes feels like I am there, and I am witness to things that happen. I saw.. a monster engulfing people from the sky before a light came and it was slain. I see something else, too. Another great battle in the skies."
Curious, Satra asks, "So you're witnessing war going on? And it is just as horrifying as you would expect, right?"
"Somewhat.. people die left and right, but it's not the nightmare that scares me the most. But one of the battles.. Please don't laugh, but.. you were in one of them."
"Me?"
"You were in a great ship in the sky, and I saw you saved by a great tree. This is even stranger, but for some reason I could tell you were helping to save the gods from a great evil."
Though Satra knows it is an inappropriate response, his failure to stifle a chuckle soon overwhelms him, "That is indeed strange! I'm not sure I've got the guts to go at war. Besides, that could never happen anyhow.. the gods have disappeared from the planes long ago. It's a little too late to help them now."
"I know! But that's what I see! Then you fly off in your ship. I think- I think you said something about searching for someone."
Satra's expression shifts at the mention of something so personal, "I probably did," he admits.. "I can't imagine there being anything better to do." Getting caught up in the Peraxian war had completely altered the course of Satra's life. Esperia is where he finally ended up in the Astral Sea.
"It seemed to make you happy to go on this journey."
He nods solemnly, "It's true, being behind Esperia's desks and keeping it business is very tiring. What of your nightmares though.. is it.. like a warning?"
She turns her head, "Sometimes, I see a similar monster from the first battle, but nobody there to slay it. Then.. nothing. It becomes dark and freezing, and.." Then she shakes her head and rubs her forehead.
Nodding his head eagerly, he holds up his palms to halt the discussion, "You don't have to continue. just think about something else for a second."
Though knowing of things that has happened in the planes, the revelations given are odd. Could this girl be receiving divine visions of some kind? Are they warnings of some kind?
Taking his advice to think of something else, the girl considers for a moment. After a slight pause, she declares, "So now that I told you this. You have to tell me an embarassing secret yourself." She gives a half smile, "Do you like Delryn?"
Satra scratches his cheek, "Well, ah.. that's quite the loaded question. I can't think of an answer that wouldn't get me in trouble in some way! To be honest, I don't think she likes me very much either way, I don't think I have much of a chance."
"But let's say you did have a chance.."
"Well," he starts to explain, "She's the only other person around that is like me.. I'm technically a spirit that somehow ended up in Esperia. A spirit can wander the planes for ages, and never appear different, but Esperia seems to be a material plane. You see, both me and Delryn don't age compared to everyone around us." His expression grows more sullen, "If I were to be in a relationship with someone from Esperia, she would grow old, and.. she would die."
Tetra frowns, sharing his predicament, "So Delryn is the only one that wouldn't die on you like that?"
He nods, "But.. that doesn't mean it's meant to be. People still have to like each other in the end."
"I'm sorry.. I always forget that having died has been so hard on both you and Delryn, in different ways. You were in Esperia for much longer than we have."
"That is true.. I forget how many years it's been since they granted me presidency after I helped with the Peraxian problem. Thinking on it now, it was pretty silly to accept that prize, I thought I finally had it made like me and my older sister had always wanted."
Satra finally gets up, "Well, thank you for talking with me. It's getting late so I should be heading out." After collecting his coat he begins to depart.
On the way out, he meets with Delryn. She asks, "What did she say about her dreams? Are you still going to put her in psych evaluation?"
He ponders a moment, then shakes his head, "I promised not to say anything. I'm not getting a psych. Keep checking the divine influence on her, it could be important."
"You're serious about this."
He nods, "Yes. The Astral planes were once the gods' domains, and even in the material world powerful men held powers that dominated the world, and prophecies a very real thing. I don't want to let this make life hard on her though, I want to help just like you do.. it's just.. I don't want to seem like I'm experimenting too. I need time to figure something out, maybe figure out how to re-establish contact with the other planes to find help."
"I understand. I want to continue caring for her in the mean time."
"That's a good idea. I'll see you later."
The remaining night seems quiet. Thoughts fill Satra's mind while he uses the small vehicle to return to his Esperian house. Although at one point in time, he had managed to get used to the strange surroundings and technology, and educate himself on the intrices of the futuristic world, ever since he had met Delryn and Tetra he is always reminded that he doesn't belong. He begins to wonder if his interference in the war between the Esperians and Peraxians was going against a natural destiny, his unique perspective that Esperia needed was what allowed them to take more than passive action, after all. He directs his vehicle to a building with a storage near the ground level to keep it parked, then makes his way from the storage area to an elevator that will lead him to his living quarters.
In the following week, Satra sits in a research room, putting his weight awkwardly in an office chair to lounge in it, looking at a large computer setup with various displays customized for the various purposes they hold. A grimly metallic humanoid figure known as Aldebaran interfaces with the machines to perform its research functions, the machine explains, "Esperian research has always known about dimensional layers in the universe, but the laws established by the Overmind before your time have decreed a ban on any technology breaking the barriers."
"And it would be a bad look if I pushed to change it," Satra suggests. Though his popularity was what caused a shift in govermental power to a more freethinking mind, it was for matters which require emotional response such as the war against the Peraxians and empathizing with biological beings. "So it would be highly unlikely that we would be allowed to build the technology to return me and the other outsiders to the astral planes."
"I'm afraid so. The distortions caused by unproven technology could cause unstable conditions. It's difficult to predict what disasters could result!"
A communication channel suddenly opens, blaring sound through its speaker. "Mr. Addlelove! You're needed in the war room," a voice states.
"An emergency?" he asks at the press of a button.
"Yessir."
Satra and Aldebaran make way to a major part of the capital building, where immediately a visual image of a guard of Peraxian troops, what appears to Satra as a dark elf woman draped in dated era regal clothing of nobility, and their own president are on view. The Peraxian president folds his hands together and does not hesitate to announce his intentions, "Under the edict of the goddess Zesthure, I am afraid you are in violation of the property of her majesty." Satra opens his mouth, but the Peraxian leader continues, "Hand over the girl or we will 'strongly consider' an invasion."
Satra darts his eyes, sharing with his peers a mix of shocked and perplexed confusion among them. He looks back, trembling his head back and forth, "Not only do I not understand what is going on, I fail to understand the value of your demands. I am not aware of any girl that could be so valuable that you would militarize and openly make bold threats."
In the president's stead, the tall Drow woman steps forward and speaks, her voice bold and commanding, "I know the child is with you. Her eyes of the time goddess holds immense power and I will either make the power my own, or dispose of it; whichever is more convenient." She smiles and chuckles.
At this point, Satra is aghast. He is stricken with gravitas of what is happening. "Just.. Just who are you anyway..?
"Ah, forgive me, Satra Addlelove. I suppose introductions are in order. I am Zesthure Iysian, a sorceress goddess and successor to the late goddess Lolth. Though I am newly ascended, I will make it my goal to embrace the power over time itself. The girl I seek, she sees the multitude of timelines that have split apart, I will use her power as a channel to reunite the timelines and return my goddess Lolth to the living."
"A plan to reunite the timelines..?" he muses, turning to his compatriots.
"This is purely hypothetical based on the sciences known in the databases, but should there be multiple timelines as she claims, combining them all would cause a clash of paradoxes which could shatter the fabric of the universe."
"So she can't be allowed to do this."
Zesthure chuckles arrogantly, "I can hear what you are saying, but the power I seek will make such complications a trivial matter. I can simply decide to resolve any errors so to speak."
Boasting a surge of sudden confidence and undeterred by the reasoning, Satra declares, "Despite that, we are a humble city which lacks what you seek, and a newly ascended being such as yourself can still be killed. You underestimate how powerful the Esperian defense is and I recommend against an attack against us."
She grants a hearty laugh, "So I'm aware. Kill me if you wish, I'll simply find a new body as a host, somebody suited enough to contain my power."
Undeterred, he answers, "I'm calling your bluff."
The video feed cuts. One of Satra's correspondants admonishes him immediately, "Was that such a good idea, sir!? What if you just convinced them to respond with force!?"
Satra rises a hand slightly to give himself some space, "To be honest, that's what I want. If it is true that she is an ascending goddess, we have to destroy her before she can grow powerful enough to completely take over the domain."
"This blunder will be grounds for termination from office!"
"Good, I am sick of this job anyway. Ready the defenses." He turns to Aldebaran, "I think Zesthure wants to capture Tetra. She's shown signs of divine power and was having visions and- Can you just get her and her friend Delryn to a safe place?"
"I'll contact my housekeeper Joshua to collect them. Is there any place you have in mind?"
"No, just tell him to take her somewhere we wouldn't look. I don't want her finding them by reading my mind."
Aldebaran departs, as does Satra.
In just moments, the city begins mobilizing a fleet and machinery. As Satra is transported in a guarded transport to the hangar, he gazes out the window to see the Peraxian fleet dotting the orange skies in the horizon. During his trip, the radio begins signaling news of 'the president's reckless provocation of a Peraxian attack' and 'taking the Peraxian presidents' mad ramblings of the strange woman seriously'. He shuts off the radio and sighs, his mind stressed from the consequences that are piling quickly.
His trip takes him to an expanse of ships, and among them his very own, the serpent-type flagship Jormungand. He wastes no time collecting his crewmen and suiting up then climbing aboard to make preparations to depart. With the Jormangund taking flight, does the Esperian fleet follow.
"We have a visual of the enemy."
"Put it on screen," commands Satra.
Ahead of the many Peraxian ships, floats the lone sorceress, channeling her power into frost spears with a sneer.