The sight of the many variations of the seemingly distant Architect momentarily amazed the selkie, not to mention the the overall experience of this particular astral trip. It made her feel honored and yet very small, both literally and figuratively at times. Her acceptance to Lucian's initiation to the Architect's dimension had been a needed stepping stone, but it turned out to be one that she couldn't have possible been prepared for. Her dedication to her centuries-long efforts had led her here, but the whole journey very much indicated how this was on a whole other level than what she had experienced. Her landing on the platform brought her out of her internal musings and to the approaching Void Weaver.
Appearing slightly humbled, Meris respectfully nodded her head to him. "It's an honor to meet you, Elder Dalar," she greeted, smiling somewhat awkwardly. "I have to admit that I feel a bit like the girl I was when I first became Queen of Dalarath, uncertain but dedicated. I never thought I'd meet Nereus' earliest predecessor or be here, beyond what George has spoken of or showed me."
Chapter V - Brimstone
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Dalar looked over Meris' shoulder, nodding pensively. "The honor is ours, Lady Meris," he said. "For aeons, we believed our own kind to have succumbed to the darkness. There are but three more Augurs who have reached this place before the corruption of our office. The four of us had all but lost hope. In a few short centuries, you reminded Dalarath of its old splendor. There could have been no greater honor than to have someone such as yourself to protect and shepherd one of our Augurs."
He then stepped aside and looked back at Meris, beckoning her forth. "Please - follow me. Our Maker grows too weak to affect a complete Creation, so this bubble of positive pressure and focused Matter creates incessant gales. Let's see you inside before a gust topples you."
Dalar led her down the corridor, nodding here and there at another white-clad and tentacled figure. The three they crossed were either busy with scrolls and tomes, or seated in the lotus position, their eyes locked on some distant point.
"I suspect old Delmar must have told you of the story behind Creation," he eventually said. "How our tutelary spirits are but weavers and seamstresses, artists and stonemasons... In their realm, all that is exists as Art, to be perfected and shaped, existing for the simple beauty and joy of it. The wisest of the Architect's forbears have marveled at the complexity and imperfection of Matter and Energy, reveled in the silken strands of Antimatter as darkness not to be feared, but to be used as a scaffold, to support and protect what is Real. They have sung the praises of the Craft, and not of their office."
He pursed his lips together. "Most of them, that is."
Dalar then shrugged lightly. "Our Maker made the mistakes that were to be expected, and he himself learned from His own mentor. Over time, he banished impossible perfection from his mind, and sought only Order and Balance. It was a noble task, if an ultimately fruitless one, paving the way for sterile worlds and universes - each of them exquisitely chiseled, but inert. Statues spanning universes, galaxies impeccably assembled, but devoid of life. All things considered, he took it in stride, growing to be a strong tutor rather than an active Creator.
Then, more Creators stepped forth, from spaces beyond all imagining. All young, all fascinated by the complexity and beauty of What Could Be, all yearning for the chance to build, compose or sing. At first, all of them were eager and earnest - all of them showed promise. The brightest of all was Amaxi, or would be, once failure would consume Her. Her talent was undeniable, but she lacked forgiveness, having set her eyes on the very same perfection the Architect had once pursued. Her works were aggressive and angular, possessed of a raw energy that uniquely captured the zest and vigor, the essential nature of chaos as a balancing contrast for order and entropy. In her youth, she would have dazzled the most complex and abstract of your artists, creating wicked shards of light and Matter floating in darkness, reveling in the colors that were reflected forth. It, alas, was never enough.
After aeons spent attempting to Create out of pure chaos, she grew spiteful and began to loathe her chosen medium. A Creator cannot Create out of hatred, however. If hate is used, then harm is the only thing that comes forth. So, she harmed herself, shackled herself and drove herself to madness, clawing at the works of her peers, spitting in the face of those who showed promise. Her furor, however, would never grow so much as when She entered existence..."
They passed an alcove, the scene within looking like a multidisciplinary artist's workshop, an old and bearded man bending over the enthusiastic and somewhat naïve sculpture set on a workshop table by what looked like a young brunette in her early twenties, eyes bright and her smiles disarmingly easy. Her clothes were stained beyond all recognition and so were her hands. Starlight and sunlight smeared her knuckles like paint streaks, the blob of colorful clay on her table almost looking like someone or something Meris would recognize...
"The Artisan is pure passion, compared to us - pure dedication. She adores her Craft, and does so selflessly. The Thrones, the Core Principles, the first of the angels - She brought them into being out of pure selflessness, unconsciously humming light and love in her work. To Her, this is no mere toil. This is fun. Amusement beyond all measure, giving rise to beauty in a myriad forms."
The old man in the scene laughed in response to something the girl had said, stopping to wipe a tear from an eye. "She moved the Architect like none had in several ages - inspired Him to Create again. He still wondered what He could Create that would transcend his past mistakes. He did recognize, however, that selflessness and passion are next to a normally forgivable dash of carelessness. He also saw how the Others had leagued against Her, Amaxi being the first of Their numbers."
A raven-haired and apron-clad beauty stormed forth from a side of the alcove, her eyes and hair wild, a painting knife in her hand, raised in an attempt to stab at the Artisan's blob of clay. The Architect turned and stopped her, looking as though he was desperately trying to console the other woman, whose features were livid. Words couldn't be made out, but she spat something hateful at the Artisan, something that gave the paint-stained girl pause. Her mousey eyes shimmered with conflicting emotions. She looked back to her sculpture, looking suddenly distraught at the sight of a tiny, tiny speck of black on its surface.
"Beauty had been marred," explained Dalar. "The Core Principle of Order had been tainted - and the Artisan did not know what to do. So, with the workshop closed and the gods in repose, the Architect took the smallest measure of clay from the Artisan's creation - and made us, the Void Weavers. He gave us power over this darkness and intended for us to keep it in check - to do what the angels and Thrones might one day fail to do, if eliminated entirely. Amaxi eventually found out and corrupted us - but not before the Artisan brought one of the first of Her numbers outside of Her making and in Her own realm..."
A door opened, and in stepped a tall, athletic blonde man, blue eyes wide with understanding and shock, wings slightly ashen along the tail-feathers. Lucifer and God spoke, Meris again wouldn't be able to hear their words. The Lightbringer looked crafty, his mind already parsing options from what his Maker had told him. He also looked regretful, being likely aware of how many others he would have to hurt, lie to or cheat to protect Creation.
They shook hands, black fur growing over Lucifer's arm, wings turning to shimmering and darkened glass, his features strangely turning into a hyper-realistic version of the Devil, as depicted in Disney's old Hell's Bells short, Pac-Man eyes included. Again, sound was missing, but she'd have no trouble reading his lips.
"I've got your back, doll - don't worry. Just make sure to pay me back, sometime."
Lucifer left, the black speck fading below layers of paint - but still there. Amaxi again confronted God, and the speck grew underneath the paint, black veins soon crisscrossing the sculpture underneath the layers of sunlight and strife, beauty and horror, justice and cruelty that gave the piece its allure.
"To safeguard Creation from the evils implanted by Amaxi in the early days," explained Dalar, "God created Hell and imprisoned Order's faulty Principle in it, burying Fastidiousness underneath all of Humanity's sins and vagaries, all of Heaven's vices and cruelty. Lucifer was made lord of it all - and ordered to find a means to cure Order from Amaxi's tainted touch. So, he left, for the ends of your Universe, in the hopes of finding that which will save your world. Everything you know in which the Lightbringer was cast as the villain was a carefully-crafted lie, even if he could not be considered exempt of all sin, either. Vampires were cursed and made so that mortals would find protectors in their midst, Infernal magic was made available so that alternatives would exist in the advent of Heaven's corruption, and the one called Akoman was left to be buried under the countless stratas of monsters both weaker, if more determined than him. Lucifer's only fault was in thinking that establishing Hell and its tenets would ensure the Princes would adhere to them: it took Pandemonium's advent for his wishes to be obeyed. The Princes cast the idea of penance aside and reveled in their wickedness. Were the Lightbringer to return, they would be disappointed in finding him... unimpressed with their works. The Black Goat, most of all. They were to embody Evil in order to contain it, and precious few are those Princes who adhered to his law. Your Melmoth and Belphegor are perhaps the only two who still do. They know what lies in the hearts of men, and know that they are as they are in order to preserve that which needs preserving."
Dalar pursed his lips together. "Even you have had a part to play in Creation's tapestry, in reminding Nereus of the joy of selfless Creation, in reminding my fallen descendants of that which we strove for, so long ago. Without you, the White Brotherhood and their Gentlemen brethren would not have flourished. Thanks to you, some Void Weavers are now born to houses befitting of our ancient stature. They love and care for your world, tend to what needs tending; and are slowly reassembling the shards of our birthright."
A smile then crept outwards. "Things are beginning to stand as they should, the picture is taking form. Some things, we could not have accounted for; but the bulk of it follows Order's call. The Gentlemen's own Irwin Gard is with us, as he died protecting what he loved most. Demons we once thought lost now carry your standard, even the Thrones now stand with you. Things may seem dark, my Queen, but remember Nereus' words, how you stood as his light in the darkness. You are surrounded by other lights, and have lit a path in the murk. Your path now leads to a choice."
They stopped in front of massive double doors, all in embossed copper and steel, depicting what seemed to be scenes from Dalarath's distant past. Squid gardeners tending to their mushrooms, astronomers raising tendrils to point at the Big Dipper, or two lantern-holding fellows in their stone-hewn canoes hailing a group of seals and fishermen, ribbons of words trailing from their mouths and turning into myriads of tiny, stylized fish.
"You may leave here armed with your knowledge and the faith of what you have wrought. In and of itself, this should be sufficient to not only safeguard your city and world, but to guide them both to an age of untold prosperity. You may also stay, speak to the Architect, and bring down the final doors holding your power back. You already have conquered death, Archmage - how do you think it feels to be as your friend Lucian stands? To know for a fact that bullets and knives need no longer be dodged? Invulnerability remains a figment of one's imagination, but to whomsoever controls the Real, injury is but one conditional state among many. Only death is inescapable, and it has claimed all Archmages to precede you in its own time. To be slowed down or injured, however?"
He smirked. "Few agents of the Architect have time for such fancies - and your own time grows short, outside of this small eternity of ours. The Artisan and Architect have done as they could, but your enemies will soon break down your doors."
He then stepped aside and looked back at Meris, beckoning her forth. "Please - follow me. Our Maker grows too weak to affect a complete Creation, so this bubble of positive pressure and focused Matter creates incessant gales. Let's see you inside before a gust topples you."
Dalar led her down the corridor, nodding here and there at another white-clad and tentacled figure. The three they crossed were either busy with scrolls and tomes, or seated in the lotus position, their eyes locked on some distant point.
"I suspect old Delmar must have told you of the story behind Creation," he eventually said. "How our tutelary spirits are but weavers and seamstresses, artists and stonemasons... In their realm, all that is exists as Art, to be perfected and shaped, existing for the simple beauty and joy of it. The wisest of the Architect's forbears have marveled at the complexity and imperfection of Matter and Energy, reveled in the silken strands of Antimatter as darkness not to be feared, but to be used as a scaffold, to support and protect what is Real. They have sung the praises of the Craft, and not of their office."
He pursed his lips together. "Most of them, that is."
Dalar then shrugged lightly. "Our Maker made the mistakes that were to be expected, and he himself learned from His own mentor. Over time, he banished impossible perfection from his mind, and sought only Order and Balance. It was a noble task, if an ultimately fruitless one, paving the way for sterile worlds and universes - each of them exquisitely chiseled, but inert. Statues spanning universes, galaxies impeccably assembled, but devoid of life. All things considered, he took it in stride, growing to be a strong tutor rather than an active Creator.
Then, more Creators stepped forth, from spaces beyond all imagining. All young, all fascinated by the complexity and beauty of What Could Be, all yearning for the chance to build, compose or sing. At first, all of them were eager and earnest - all of them showed promise. The brightest of all was Amaxi, or would be, once failure would consume Her. Her talent was undeniable, but she lacked forgiveness, having set her eyes on the very same perfection the Architect had once pursued. Her works were aggressive and angular, possessed of a raw energy that uniquely captured the zest and vigor, the essential nature of chaos as a balancing contrast for order and entropy. In her youth, she would have dazzled the most complex and abstract of your artists, creating wicked shards of light and Matter floating in darkness, reveling in the colors that were reflected forth. It, alas, was never enough.
After aeons spent attempting to Create out of pure chaos, she grew spiteful and began to loathe her chosen medium. A Creator cannot Create out of hatred, however. If hate is used, then harm is the only thing that comes forth. So, she harmed herself, shackled herself and drove herself to madness, clawing at the works of her peers, spitting in the face of those who showed promise. Her furor, however, would never grow so much as when She entered existence..."
They passed an alcove, the scene within looking like a multidisciplinary artist's workshop, an old and bearded man bending over the enthusiastic and somewhat naïve sculpture set on a workshop table by what looked like a young brunette in her early twenties, eyes bright and her smiles disarmingly easy. Her clothes were stained beyond all recognition and so were her hands. Starlight and sunlight smeared her knuckles like paint streaks, the blob of colorful clay on her table almost looking like someone or something Meris would recognize...
"The Artisan is pure passion, compared to us - pure dedication. She adores her Craft, and does so selflessly. The Thrones, the Core Principles, the first of the angels - She brought them into being out of pure selflessness, unconsciously humming light and love in her work. To Her, this is no mere toil. This is fun. Amusement beyond all measure, giving rise to beauty in a myriad forms."
The old man in the scene laughed in response to something the girl had said, stopping to wipe a tear from an eye. "She moved the Architect like none had in several ages - inspired Him to Create again. He still wondered what He could Create that would transcend his past mistakes. He did recognize, however, that selflessness and passion are next to a normally forgivable dash of carelessness. He also saw how the Others had leagued against Her, Amaxi being the first of Their numbers."
A raven-haired and apron-clad beauty stormed forth from a side of the alcove, her eyes and hair wild, a painting knife in her hand, raised in an attempt to stab at the Artisan's blob of clay. The Architect turned and stopped her, looking as though he was desperately trying to console the other woman, whose features were livid. Words couldn't be made out, but she spat something hateful at the Artisan, something that gave the paint-stained girl pause. Her mousey eyes shimmered with conflicting emotions. She looked back to her sculpture, looking suddenly distraught at the sight of a tiny, tiny speck of black on its surface.
"Beauty had been marred," explained Dalar. "The Core Principle of Order had been tainted - and the Artisan did not know what to do. So, with the workshop closed and the gods in repose, the Architect took the smallest measure of clay from the Artisan's creation - and made us, the Void Weavers. He gave us power over this darkness and intended for us to keep it in check - to do what the angels and Thrones might one day fail to do, if eliminated entirely. Amaxi eventually found out and corrupted us - but not before the Artisan brought one of the first of Her numbers outside of Her making and in Her own realm..."
A door opened, and in stepped a tall, athletic blonde man, blue eyes wide with understanding and shock, wings slightly ashen along the tail-feathers. Lucifer and God spoke, Meris again wouldn't be able to hear their words. The Lightbringer looked crafty, his mind already parsing options from what his Maker had told him. He also looked regretful, being likely aware of how many others he would have to hurt, lie to or cheat to protect Creation.
They shook hands, black fur growing over Lucifer's arm, wings turning to shimmering and darkened glass, his features strangely turning into a hyper-realistic version of the Devil, as depicted in Disney's old Hell's Bells short, Pac-Man eyes included. Again, sound was missing, but she'd have no trouble reading his lips.
"I've got your back, doll - don't worry. Just make sure to pay me back, sometime."
Lucifer left, the black speck fading below layers of paint - but still there. Amaxi again confronted God, and the speck grew underneath the paint, black veins soon crisscrossing the sculpture underneath the layers of sunlight and strife, beauty and horror, justice and cruelty that gave the piece its allure.
"To safeguard Creation from the evils implanted by Amaxi in the early days," explained Dalar, "God created Hell and imprisoned Order's faulty Principle in it, burying Fastidiousness underneath all of Humanity's sins and vagaries, all of Heaven's vices and cruelty. Lucifer was made lord of it all - and ordered to find a means to cure Order from Amaxi's tainted touch. So, he left, for the ends of your Universe, in the hopes of finding that which will save your world. Everything you know in which the Lightbringer was cast as the villain was a carefully-crafted lie, even if he could not be considered exempt of all sin, either. Vampires were cursed and made so that mortals would find protectors in their midst, Infernal magic was made available so that alternatives would exist in the advent of Heaven's corruption, and the one called Akoman was left to be buried under the countless stratas of monsters both weaker, if more determined than him. Lucifer's only fault was in thinking that establishing Hell and its tenets would ensure the Princes would adhere to them: it took Pandemonium's advent for his wishes to be obeyed. The Princes cast the idea of penance aside and reveled in their wickedness. Were the Lightbringer to return, they would be disappointed in finding him... unimpressed with their works. The Black Goat, most of all. They were to embody Evil in order to contain it, and precious few are those Princes who adhered to his law. Your Melmoth and Belphegor are perhaps the only two who still do. They know what lies in the hearts of men, and know that they are as they are in order to preserve that which needs preserving."
Dalar pursed his lips together. "Even you have had a part to play in Creation's tapestry, in reminding Nereus of the joy of selfless Creation, in reminding my fallen descendants of that which we strove for, so long ago. Without you, the White Brotherhood and their Gentlemen brethren would not have flourished. Thanks to you, some Void Weavers are now born to houses befitting of our ancient stature. They love and care for your world, tend to what needs tending; and are slowly reassembling the shards of our birthright."
A smile then crept outwards. "Things are beginning to stand as they should, the picture is taking form. Some things, we could not have accounted for; but the bulk of it follows Order's call. The Gentlemen's own Irwin Gard is with us, as he died protecting what he loved most. Demons we once thought lost now carry your standard, even the Thrones now stand with you. Things may seem dark, my Queen, but remember Nereus' words, how you stood as his light in the darkness. You are surrounded by other lights, and have lit a path in the murk. Your path now leads to a choice."
They stopped in front of massive double doors, all in embossed copper and steel, depicting what seemed to be scenes from Dalarath's distant past. Squid gardeners tending to their mushrooms, astronomers raising tendrils to point at the Big Dipper, or two lantern-holding fellows in their stone-hewn canoes hailing a group of seals and fishermen, ribbons of words trailing from their mouths and turning into myriads of tiny, stylized fish.
"You may leave here armed with your knowledge and the faith of what you have wrought. In and of itself, this should be sufficient to not only safeguard your city and world, but to guide them both to an age of untold prosperity. You may also stay, speak to the Architect, and bring down the final doors holding your power back. You already have conquered death, Archmage - how do you think it feels to be as your friend Lucian stands? To know for a fact that bullets and knives need no longer be dodged? Invulnerability remains a figment of one's imagination, but to whomsoever controls the Real, injury is but one conditional state among many. Only death is inescapable, and it has claimed all Archmages to precede you in its own time. To be slowed down or injured, however?"
He smirked. "Few agents of the Architect have time for such fancies - and your own time grows short, outside of this small eternity of ours. The Artisan and Architect have done as they could, but your enemies will soon break down your doors."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
The roane didn't hesitate in her response. "I would like to meet the Architect. I'm aware that my one-time escape from death was just that, and I know I'll die at some point. However, I also know that I am going to need to have every bit of firepower and know-how to help my friends and the world survive and endure. The Universe will end eventually, but I'm not about to let Amaxi and Her brethren hurry it to its demise, nor Akoman manipulate things as he already has," Meris declared resolutely, steely-eyed. "Even if I have to sacrifice my own happiness or my life, my objective has been to protect God's creations, to have us all live as peacefully together as possible."
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Dalar nodded. "Very well," he then said. "What will be spoken will be for you, and for you alone. Lucian has already heard what the Architect wished to tell him, and it is for him to keep close to heart. There are others who have spoken to Him, and others who will in due time. Some might surprise you."
He smirked cryptically. "You will know of them in time, and you will know how to appease and guide them. Of that, I am sure."
The double doors were then opened, leading onto what looked quite a bit like Nereus' old throne room, if somewhat more noble and refined in tone, with none of the corrupted servants of Amaxi's dedication to excess and indulgence. The friezes and embossed proclamations were different, each of them striking Meris' adapted mind as a literal and figurative pillar - words to stabilize, shore up and solidify; whenever they did not appease or inspire. The foundations of the Architect's realm were there before her, both tangible and metaphorical.
In the throne sat a figure Meris would strangely recognize as one of the neighboring Pict druids to her native colony in the Orkneys. Medium-sized and gaunt with age, an old beard cascading down his chest, and unadorned white robes resting on bony shoulders. He had a hawkish nose, looking a bit like Christopher Lee's Saruman, with the two careful ritual scars dyed in blue ink under his right eye signifying the man's association with the human clan her people had been living close to. He somehow looked both frail with age and possessed of an incalculable strength, leaning on his white staff as he stood up. His eyes looked to be grey, with a peculiar sense of movement marking his irises, as though he were seeing something other than Meris' projected form. His voice was both hoarse with age and still remarkably bold.
"And so," he said, "the Muse of Rebellion does come forth, in this, a twilit fortress to Order in its myriad forms... Welcome, Archmage."
He carefully stepped down from the throne's dais. "Do you know why I oppose so many of my own pupils? Why is it that I oppose the Pit's own machinations? The Black Goat could impose his own form of Order that I would not be remiss. Your world will adapt as it has adapted to everything else that has preceded Hell's forces. Why, according to you, do I not simply lay down this staff? What motivates an Artisan, and what is it that could drive a dying Architect to hold on to His godliness for a few eons longer?"
He smirked cryptically. "You will know of them in time, and you will know how to appease and guide them. Of that, I am sure."
The double doors were then opened, leading onto what looked quite a bit like Nereus' old throne room, if somewhat more noble and refined in tone, with none of the corrupted servants of Amaxi's dedication to excess and indulgence. The friezes and embossed proclamations were different, each of them striking Meris' adapted mind as a literal and figurative pillar - words to stabilize, shore up and solidify; whenever they did not appease or inspire. The foundations of the Architect's realm were there before her, both tangible and metaphorical.
In the throne sat a figure Meris would strangely recognize as one of the neighboring Pict druids to her native colony in the Orkneys. Medium-sized and gaunt with age, an old beard cascading down his chest, and unadorned white robes resting on bony shoulders. He had a hawkish nose, looking a bit like Christopher Lee's Saruman, with the two careful ritual scars dyed in blue ink under his right eye signifying the man's association with the human clan her people had been living close to. He somehow looked both frail with age and possessed of an incalculable strength, leaning on his white staff as he stood up. His eyes looked to be grey, with a peculiar sense of movement marking his irises, as though he were seeing something other than Meris' projected form. His voice was both hoarse with age and still remarkably bold.
"And so," he said, "the Muse of Rebellion does come forth, in this, a twilit fortress to Order in its myriad forms... Welcome, Archmage."
He carefully stepped down from the throne's dais. "Do you know why I oppose so many of my own pupils? Why is it that I oppose the Pit's own machinations? The Black Goat could impose his own form of Order that I would not be remiss. Your world will adapt as it has adapted to everything else that has preceded Hell's forces. Why, according to you, do I not simply lay down this staff? What motivates an Artisan, and what is it that could drive a dying Architect to hold on to His godliness for a few eons longer?"
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
The Architect's queries caused the selkie's features to turn thoughtful, as though she had been given a multi-faceted koan. Meris recollected what she heard from Dalar's recalling of how Creation came to be and what Amaxi and those like her had almost succeeded but ultimately failed. She thought of how the Black Goat's plans would potentially transform the world, but how the elderly god had favored the current god who had created Heaven, Hell, and the mortal plane.What made one preferable to Him, but not the others?
The Archmage looked at Him pensively and speculated, "Stagnation and obsession with perfection seem to be the underlying reasons why you oppose Amaxi and the Black Goat. The Goat could bring untold changes to the Earth and Heaven, but they would eventually stagnate and lose its variety. I can only guess at what motivates you to keep persevering in your old age is the multitude of life that has been shaped by the one you call the Artisan. She inspired you to use the earliest cephlapods as the framework for the Void Weavers. Even with Her fascination with Earth, diverse creations have sprung up all over the universe, and they are all to some greater or lesser degree imperfect. Even with the planes' ability to adapt to the Infernal incursions, they'd stagnate and become effectively homogeneous. Variety being the spice of life is at least part of why you support God and Her creations and oppose the Goat who might otherwise try to shape what his idea of perfection is, not to mention how Akoman might influence him."
The Archmage looked at Him pensively and speculated, "Stagnation and obsession with perfection seem to be the underlying reasons why you oppose Amaxi and the Black Goat. The Goat could bring untold changes to the Earth and Heaven, but they would eventually stagnate and lose its variety. I can only guess at what motivates you to keep persevering in your old age is the multitude of life that has been shaped by the one you call the Artisan. She inspired you to use the earliest cephlapods as the framework for the Void Weavers. Even with Her fascination with Earth, diverse creations have sprung up all over the universe, and they are all to some greater or lesser degree imperfect. Even with the planes' ability to adapt to the Infernal incursions, they'd stagnate and become effectively homogeneous. Variety being the spice of life is at least part of why you support God and Her creations and oppose the Goat who might otherwise try to shape what his idea of perfection is, not to mention how Akoman might influence him."
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
The avuncular being didn't smile as Meris spoke, but carefully stepped forwards, his gaze fixed on the entirety of her form. Only once she'd finished did his features betray both weariness - and relief.
"I once labored in the name of Perfection. Even still, I prefer creations that obey clear laws and stitch beauty together out of rigid constraints. Something pleases me more in the distribution of a lotus flower's seed pods than in the violent and chaotic emergence of Mankind on your world. I say this, even as I look upon you and find a care and concern for proportions, poise and form that I recognize in the Artisan. Order, to me, is worth pursuing for its own sake. Other Creators have used Matter to bring about worlds of daring and chaotic allure, of course - but that is their province. I never could use paint drippings or splashes of acrylic, but I have spent ages sculpting Dalar's nasal ridge out of clay, spacing his tentacles apart as exactingly as possible... This sort of fastidiousness brings me peace.
Unfortunately, my earliest endeavors brought me close to Amaxi's ken. I slaved away on a single planet in my demesne, sculpting cliffs and mountains, fashioning ecosystems and chemical balances - all in the name of pursuing precise color tones and exact evolutionary paths. I was painfully aware of what I desired to bring into being, and in attempting to do so, gathered an understanding of our Tools that earned me my Names. The Eldest, the Teacher, the Builder... Now the Architect - but never one who was content with his works. I knew much, but achieved little. In the end, I allowed the light and warmth of Life to leave my Creation, and for Matter to fold back into itself. I waited for others to come, and offered my skills and knowledge freely. Only the Artisan understood what I could offer, and only She intimated that she could offer something in return."
He walked past her, doppelgangers of both herself and Nereus appearing on and around the throne, as he headed for a nearby balcony. "I've looked upon your history," he admitted, "along with your romance, more often than I imagined I would. I saw something of myself in it, I suppose - Nereus with his didactic approach and you, then so young, so eager to meld those tools that were offered to you, to create out of them. Only the nature of our love differs, as She knows I see her as more than my pupil. I've learned much from her, as she has from me - so it makes some sense for me to consider Her as a prodigal daughter. She has invested me in Her own works in ways I would not have believed, and I now find myself caring for your little blue world as much as She does.
I needed Her to be reminded of the reasons behind any Celestial's desire to Create. Perfection has no place in the equation, and neither does chaos. I thought Order was a Cartesian notion, but there is more to things being in their right place than their being inert. So I gave the Void Weavers their gifts, and She offered them their forgotten love and care for the species of your world. Their corruption... wounded me in ways I did not think to be possible. Your most esoteric of resources may imagine my opposing Amaxi as a conflict of Eldritch proportions, but it very much amounts to an old teacher trying to open the door to that darkened room in the workshop, where wracked sobs can be heard."
He sighed. "Rage, Meris. Rage and despair as only gods can express, along with desperation. All I want is to open this door and offer Amaxi some consolation and perspective. She has talent - truly, She does - but refuses to learn what I have. It does Her more harm than it does you or any other terrestrial being. Harming you, your friends or the myriads of other beings across your Universe - all of it amounts to a fool's errand."
"I once labored in the name of Perfection. Even still, I prefer creations that obey clear laws and stitch beauty together out of rigid constraints. Something pleases me more in the distribution of a lotus flower's seed pods than in the violent and chaotic emergence of Mankind on your world. I say this, even as I look upon you and find a care and concern for proportions, poise and form that I recognize in the Artisan. Order, to me, is worth pursuing for its own sake. Other Creators have used Matter to bring about worlds of daring and chaotic allure, of course - but that is their province. I never could use paint drippings or splashes of acrylic, but I have spent ages sculpting Dalar's nasal ridge out of clay, spacing his tentacles apart as exactingly as possible... This sort of fastidiousness brings me peace.
Unfortunately, my earliest endeavors brought me close to Amaxi's ken. I slaved away on a single planet in my demesne, sculpting cliffs and mountains, fashioning ecosystems and chemical balances - all in the name of pursuing precise color tones and exact evolutionary paths. I was painfully aware of what I desired to bring into being, and in attempting to do so, gathered an understanding of our Tools that earned me my Names. The Eldest, the Teacher, the Builder... Now the Architect - but never one who was content with his works. I knew much, but achieved little. In the end, I allowed the light and warmth of Life to leave my Creation, and for Matter to fold back into itself. I waited for others to come, and offered my skills and knowledge freely. Only the Artisan understood what I could offer, and only She intimated that she could offer something in return."
He walked past her, doppelgangers of both herself and Nereus appearing on and around the throne, as he headed for a nearby balcony. "I've looked upon your history," he admitted, "along with your romance, more often than I imagined I would. I saw something of myself in it, I suppose - Nereus with his didactic approach and you, then so young, so eager to meld those tools that were offered to you, to create out of them. Only the nature of our love differs, as She knows I see her as more than my pupil. I've learned much from her, as she has from me - so it makes some sense for me to consider Her as a prodigal daughter. She has invested me in Her own works in ways I would not have believed, and I now find myself caring for your little blue world as much as She does.
I needed Her to be reminded of the reasons behind any Celestial's desire to Create. Perfection has no place in the equation, and neither does chaos. I thought Order was a Cartesian notion, but there is more to things being in their right place than their being inert. So I gave the Void Weavers their gifts, and She offered them their forgotten love and care for the species of your world. Their corruption... wounded me in ways I did not think to be possible. Your most esoteric of resources may imagine my opposing Amaxi as a conflict of Eldritch proportions, but it very much amounts to an old teacher trying to open the door to that darkened room in the workshop, where wracked sobs can be heard."
He sighed. "Rage, Meris. Rage and despair as only gods can express, along with desperation. All I want is to open this door and offer Amaxi some consolation and perspective. She has talent - truly, She does - but refuses to learn what I have. It does Her more harm than it does you or any other terrestrial being. Harming you, your friends or the myriads of other beings across your Universe - all of it amounts to a fool's errand."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Meris' mouth twisted in a grimace of frustration and pity for the dead goddess. "Her actions might be a fool's errand at trying to harm us, but she is causing harm, even if it's from her own torment. Hope was cursed because of Her indirect actions. Zeb Buck was turned into a lich because of a ritual gone wrong, and now he wavers back and forth from Her constant pulling at his grief and his urge to drink. Even the Chamberlain is being yanked around by Her. I have no idea what he sees in Her, unless it's like some twisted version of Nereus and me. Then you have types like Arkham and Swinburne attempting their own ploys for their own reasons. Whether directly or indirectly, anybody who becomes touched or involved with Amaxi is a victim, including Her. If we were able to target all of her creativity toward somewhere and remove all her pain and anguish, that'd be great."
She looked downward at her feet. "She's not all that different from a mortal suffering from mental illness; only it's on a far greater scale. People like that are incredibly difficult to reach, especially when Her "support circle" is made of millions of zealots whose warbles drown out any help She might get, including you. If there was some means of helping her, I'd at least be willing to try it, even if She's caused me enough pain of my own. However, you'd have to thwart Her efforts to even get Her to possibly listen to anything beneficial we might have to say."
She looked downward at her feet. "She's not all that different from a mortal suffering from mental illness; only it's on a far greater scale. People like that are incredibly difficult to reach, especially when Her "support circle" is made of millions of zealots whose warbles drown out any help She might get, including you. If there was some means of helping her, I'd at least be willing to try it, even if She's caused me enough pain of my own. However, you'd have to thwart Her efforts to even get Her to possibly listen to anything beneficial we might have to say."
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
The Architect nodded. "So I've understood. Nothing is more maddening than having some inkling of what can be done, but failing to act upon it despite all efforts," he admitted. "I gave Her of our Tools, thinking it might spur Her onwards - but she used them to pick the door to the workshop and initiate my servants' corruption. Being betrayed by the very same individual one is attempting to rescue is... difficult. I fail to see how Creation could be of some use to Her, seeing as She now seems intent on defacing what has been Made, rather than expectorating her obvious sense of inadequacy. My only hope is that She will eventually sense our joy, our satisfaction with what arises from our efforts."
In the cloud banks outside and far ahead of the balcony, a pillar rose from the fog, supporting a placid blue orb and its dappled clouds and verdigris continents, green giving way to mountainous brown, then snowy whites.
"Your world is imperfect. Some of your flaws still irk me, to this day. Evolution and balance are finely-wrought systems, but the suffering and bloodshed they involve chafes at me. A part of me enjoys the idea of imagining a world like yours, but without the needless cruelty of pain and death. The relentlessness of diseases bothers me as well, so does the pointlessness of wars. You were not given sapience to take lives, you were given sapience to explore its potential. Still, without these factors, Humanity would not have thrived and populations would never have migrated. Cultures would never have formed, and you never would have found the need to reach out to us, with your prayers and private thoughts. Even now, the Black Goat fails to understand how his rain of Hellfire will only make you stronger, more resolute. At your most complex, you behave as life at its simplest: you expand, tear down barriers and take root wherever you may. Moreover, you now are starting to do so with respect to other organisms you cross. Humanity once concerned me, the same industriousness that fascinated me spreading like a cancer - and now, you are realizing you have the ability to choose. The road to wisdom is never a steep hill, it has its peaks and valleys. Even at your most obtuse, your choices are now more informed than they were mere centuries ago."
He looked back to Meris. "There is joy to be found in how messy and chaotic you can be, in how the Artisan and I have relinquished the concept of Order to beings marked with death and fragility - but so possessed with the need to leave their mark in this Universe. The sculpture now sculpts itself, the painting paints its own strokes. I've learned to appreciate this of Creation, thanks to your Creator - and Amaxi has not."
In the cloud banks outside and far ahead of the balcony, a pillar rose from the fog, supporting a placid blue orb and its dappled clouds and verdigris continents, green giving way to mountainous brown, then snowy whites.
"Your world is imperfect. Some of your flaws still irk me, to this day. Evolution and balance are finely-wrought systems, but the suffering and bloodshed they involve chafes at me. A part of me enjoys the idea of imagining a world like yours, but without the needless cruelty of pain and death. The relentlessness of diseases bothers me as well, so does the pointlessness of wars. You were not given sapience to take lives, you were given sapience to explore its potential. Still, without these factors, Humanity would not have thrived and populations would never have migrated. Cultures would never have formed, and you never would have found the need to reach out to us, with your prayers and private thoughts. Even now, the Black Goat fails to understand how his rain of Hellfire will only make you stronger, more resolute. At your most complex, you behave as life at its simplest: you expand, tear down barriers and take root wherever you may. Moreover, you now are starting to do so with respect to other organisms you cross. Humanity once concerned me, the same industriousness that fascinated me spreading like a cancer - and now, you are realizing you have the ability to choose. The road to wisdom is never a steep hill, it has its peaks and valleys. Even at your most obtuse, your choices are now more informed than they were mere centuries ago."
He looked back to Meris. "There is joy to be found in how messy and chaotic you can be, in how the Artisan and I have relinquished the concept of Order to beings marked with death and fragility - but so possessed with the need to leave their mark in this Universe. The sculpture now sculpts itself, the painting paints its own strokes. I've learned to appreciate this of Creation, thanks to your Creator - and Amaxi has not."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
Meris tilted her head contemplatively and sighed. "I think part of the reason She doesn't listen and accept Creation as you both have come to accept and appreciate is because of the vicious cycle She's feeding on and perpetuating. She corrupted the Void Weavers with Her hatred and spite, so they, in turn, return it to Her through their actions and sacrifices. Take that away from Her, and you might have a chance of reaching her. It's definitely a long shot, but without that source of tunnel vision, She might be more responsive to other things," the Heiress suggested.
"Our options for Her are limited. However, if She could possibly see that we're functioning just fine without perfection, the matter might change. Then again, there's angels like Uriel who haven't gotten the memo. That's the only path that can perhaps lead to Her understanding and respecting this concept; stop Her, isolate Her from other influences, and Her to listen."
"Our options for Her are limited. However, if She could possibly see that we're functioning just fine without perfection, the matter might change. Then again, there's angels like Uriel who haven't gotten the memo. That's the only path that can perhaps lead to Her understanding and respecting this concept; stop Her, isolate Her from other influences, and Her to listen."
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone
The Architect nodded again. "Therein lie your efforts. Save my Creations, and Amaxi's cries will find no ears to fall on. You may again have to harm some astral form of Hers, but if your efforts are true, you will find it in you all to carry support and understanding in even your deadliest of strikes. Bring Her low - not to defeat Her, but to clear Her mind. The pieces are set so the Lover might become the Vessel - but this game isn't mine to play. Free Nereus, and the Chamberlain will be poised. He will make the choice he was fated to make."
A pause. "As for the Goat... He misunderstands just how deep the Centennial Tree's roots burrow. To burn it to ash only resets the cycle, as killing a Dryad only strengthens it. Just as Lucian and yourself will both have been reborn, so will your Sophia. The only thing that matters is for her killer to use their blade out of love or compassion."
Another, heavier beat. "In the path ahead, Ciaran McConmara is Sophia's doom - and her harbinger. The fires of Hell will scatter you, but Riona's sight doesn't reach further. If it seems as though all has been lost, weeks from now? Embrace it. If you doubt me, look to Shen Long in the skies above Chinatown. He dies with grace and avenges the Black Dog of Orkneyjar, opening a new path for you."
He smirked again. "Life always finds a way, as I've learned - and it finds help in the unlikeliest of places."
A pause. "As for the Goat... He misunderstands just how deep the Centennial Tree's roots burrow. To burn it to ash only resets the cycle, as killing a Dryad only strengthens it. Just as Lucian and yourself will both have been reborn, so will your Sophia. The only thing that matters is for her killer to use their blade out of love or compassion."
Another, heavier beat. "In the path ahead, Ciaran McConmara is Sophia's doom - and her harbinger. The fires of Hell will scatter you, but Riona's sight doesn't reach further. If it seems as though all has been lost, weeks from now? Embrace it. If you doubt me, look to Shen Long in the skies above Chinatown. He dies with grace and avenges the Black Dog of Orkneyjar, opening a new path for you."
He smirked again. "Life always finds a way, as I've learned - and it finds help in the unlikeliest of places."