Chapter VII - Healing Pains

[Karl the Mad]

"I'm the Seducer, I'm the Seducer!" Marius said mockingly. "The Brat, more like." He turned to Meris and Nereus. "How are we able to know about this stuff if it all happened such a long time ago?" All those billions of years, or whatever... even with his own perspective on time, it was difficult to fathom.

"I'm pretty sure ol' Jan's done wi' everythin' fer a while. Bought hisself a boat 'n he's sailin' th' world, last I heard, takin' 'er easy, sendin' post cards 'n shit," Charles explained. "Tryna live, yeah? Like he couldn't before."

[IamLEAM1983]

Nereus started with a wink at Vlastos, and a wave of his hand. Then, appearing as though Reality had been some sort of smoke cover, a younger, mortal and living Marius Vlastos appeared next to the vampire, looking as he'd looked back in his mid-twenties. The younger doppleganger smiled at the vampire, nodded, and then turned his eyes to the stage even as he faded back out of existence.

"The Architect allows us to affect all particles in existence, Marius," he explained. "Texts that are lost can be at least partially accessed even if nothing physical remains in the current day. The remaining followers of the Grand Design knew to do this, and plucked out whatever pages or folios they could out of Creation's memory of previous atomic bonds. This is deep and exhausting work, however, and reassembling perfect scrolls and records never was cost-effective. Better to go panning for gold, in a sense, and to pluck out whatever it is that's glinting out in the Void, waiting to be reformed. Like with the Babylonians or even the Alexandrians, most of what we have today amounts to fragmentary records open to interpretation."

Three seemed glad to hear of Jan's adaptation, but Doctor Dickens' narration seemingly picked up where Nereus had ended his explanation. Considering, he settled with a smile and a nod of approval.

"Yes," said Dickens, "panning for gold is, as I'm told, an apt metaphor for what also led to the Void Weavers' downfall. It also is one for the twists and turns to come, which two of the Dead Gods had not foreseen..."

"Harrogath" added a good-natured chuckle for measure. "Of course, sister - of course, such a seductress you've always been! Crafty and conniving, as cold as an adder and yet so warm and kind to those who offer you service! And you, brother - your authority was never in question, was it? Within your Creation, nevermind how uncooperative you've seen it as being, is there any single molecule that didn't obey your word?"

"Dar-Larath" looked mollified, albeit grudgingly. "Maybe. What are you driving at, you gluttonous guttersnipe?
- I'm saying neither of you currently are in the best shape to foment some sort of ploy. It doesn't speak ill of your abilities, but it does suggest that you might be due one or two eons' rest, hm?"

Laboriously, Zeke stepped off of the lowered palanquin. He grunted and heaved, but eventually stood with both feet on the stage and gestured back to his accomodations, his robes clutched with his other hand. "Please - avail yourselves of my chambers. Sample my myriad foods, drink my spirits! I offer you the fruits of my Creation without expectation, and ask only that you cool yourselves off, hm? Isn't that reasonable?"

He took a few more steps forward, acting a bit like a negotiator trying to butter up a difficult target. "Time is all we've ever had, siblings. The Young God will get Her due - in due time. As for the Architect, well - the sad truth is that the law of Equivalent Exchange doesn't apply to those like us. Power that is given isn't easily returned, hm?"

Alora pouted and then took a few begrudging steps forward. "You're suggesting that kindness weakens the Architect.
- I'm saying that you need intermediaries in Her Creation, and that the Architect eventually won't be much more than an ideological marker, something to sling pious prayers towards."

Arthur suggested that the Wrathful was coming around to his sibling's way of thinking, and a few mincing steps turned into a shoulder clasp on Lyman and a reassured walk past him and towards the palanquin. Alora and Amaxi's self-centeredness needed a few minutes longer and at least one decently-sized monologue on the perceived unfairness of their station before finally taking a seat next to her quarrelsome brother.

"Don't tarry, Harrogath," she reminded as the palanquin was turned, "or Brother and I will think you're conniving something!" Zeke gestured dismissively with one hand and made a show of crossing his fingers behind his back with the other, and took position on the center stage. He looked down for a few moments, pacing as he did, and then raised a finger.

"A Dead God like myself, as great, terrible and powerful as I am, needs an audience in times like these. It doesn't do well for Egoes the size of a black hole to speak to themselves on matters of import and as such, Harrogath turns to you, dear audience - now full of deceit and guile."

Zeke's posture seemed to recall his usual slow and ambling walks in front of a judge, whenever he defended a case. "I'm sure some of you have siblings, in the assistance - or close family, as it were. Might I see a show of hands?"

Grinning, Aidan raised his, and so did Archie. Bucky smirked at Neasa and raised his own hand, and a few other chuckles from backstage could be heard. Bonds were strong in the assistance, apparently.

"Good," noted Lyman. "Glad to see it, as my Brother and Sister aren't exactly fond of admitting that the greatest of crimes aren't fashioned alone... One needs a support network, friends - or at least, reliable employees. One also needs a decent grasp on the current situation, an exact overview of the tactics applicable and, well?"

Zeke raised his arms slightly, the robe and toga bleeding away into his usual suit; here colored differently. The Gluttony demon had always favored tones of hot pink, purple of fuschia to go with his Snoball-colored flesh, but now wore a slate-grey three-piece, with delicate wire-frame spectacles that suggested a Period Cinema take on an attorney rather than Zeke's own self.

"I'll let you in on a little secret about Creation, an unavowable little tidbit most former Creators and Dead Gods aren't willing to confront. The fact is even us outside of the current Creation are beholden to the current universe's laws. We might differ from you puny mortal folk in all the ways that matter, of course, but our building blocks are essentially the same. He who calls the shots calls them for everyone in whatever passes for some sort of Divine Workshop, if you would."

As he sometimes did, Lyman popped off a pinch of his own flesh from his neck, inspected it for a few seconds, pouted crypically and then popped it into his mouth, chewing loudly for a few seconds. "My vittles take the shape they do because of the Young God's efforts," he explained. "My pleasures take on the forms that are theirs because the Young God's notion of pleasure now completely defines them. My excesses are Hers, my contentment is Hers - so why should I seek to destroy the very laws of the fabric that makes up the seats you're perched upon? Unfortunately, there's a catch: I help you, Amaxi finds out and tortures me forever. Dar-Larath joins in whenever he isn't bored. Harrogath the Ravenous and Passionate is reduced to nothing. Less than, even."

His pacing brought him closer to Nereus and Meris. "The question is, then, how I might assist in the current Creation's continued existence without explicitly assisting it? You can see the bind I'm in, I'm sure: I have to take out an insurance policy of sorts, and no-one else can and should know that I've done as such. That negates any sort of direct intervention, much less my fashioning some sort of bespoke adversary to stand against those unlucky few my Brother and Sister are planning to ravage..."

Nereus blinked. "So you - Harrogath - planted me in place, planned my coming from the very start?!"

Zeke raised a finger. "Yes, well, this is where the liner notes suggest there's a huge paean on the formative qualities of everything Harrogath's sleeper agent would've undergone - but the point while your creation is rumored to have been borne out of selfishness, the Lustful's plans needed you to be selfless."

A few more blinks. "So he... Doesn't really care, then. If we lose, He'll start dining on something else. If we win, the current trappings of his vices are maintained, his comfort zones are respected."

Zeke stepped back into character. "Nothing ever indicated I cared, O Augur. I'd simply rather not lose what I've already gained. Ask my brethren how many things I've been, and you'll hear all of them say I've always been honest.
- And what about the feasts in Dalarath?" asked Nereus. "What about you - him - abusing my wife, forcing her to drink blood, pus or worse out an old and festering stab wound of mine?!"

Zeke shrugged. "This is the demon lawyer speaking and not the characterization, the scene has weird apartés in case the actor has credentials in the right fields - but I'd say ol' Harry had his eyes set on an intentionally extreme bit of misdirection. He brought both yourself and Meris as low as he could, most likely, so the Loyalists wouldn't bat an eyelash once the time came. Pay no mind to what my other hand is doing, more or less."
 
If this turned out to be true, if Harrogath had truly been a neutral party in the last several centuries, it would likely explain how different things had felt to the former Augur, Nereus looking both relieved and perturbed by this reveal. "He'll keep on tormenting those of my ilk or of similar power if it brings him pleasure, but it also pleases him to put a spanner in Chaos' works..."

Zeke-as-Harrogath shrugged. "Look at Greek mythology! Gods are flighty, inconstant, mercurial, self-serving and generally callous - why bother with logic or consistency when feelings are such effective vectors? It's also why the Architect's own Creations didn't last; he obsessed over the little details a tad too much, let's say. At least, I'm honest in saying I wouldn't mind consuming every single facet of your existence if it meant I still could dine at a physically-present table. Alas, this isn't possible, and it binds me to the same laws that govern your existence. We're... circumstancial allies by default, until Humanity ends or your Creation winds down."

He rolled his wrist. "On the plus side, I've given you a late bloodline of people whose attachment to you actually isn't just based in circumstance," he explained, looking back to Three and Charles. Aidan caught the ball.

"So you designed Nereus and his son to be steadfast towards the Architect...
- To make sure my banquets don't spoil prematurely, indeed," confirmed the character. "I'll still throw a spanner in your works from time to time for good measure; I still have cultists of my own to toss in the proverbial meat grinder - but you might as well think of my end of things as an attempt to keep up appearances. There's that and, well..."

"Harrogath" looked a bit like someone pleased to admit to something openly. "I do enjoy watching Her mortals squirm, to be honest. You taste better if you've basted in a rich sauce of desperation and hope combined."

[TennyoCeres84]

Neasa smirked back at Bucky and raised her hand. Some chuckles were heard coming from Aislinn and Ciaran as they raised their hands.

With Aidan's deduction, Meris tilted her head thoughtfully at Zeke-as-Harrogath and scoffed lightly. "And I'm sure those fondly bitter and sweet flavors of desperation and hope are ones you like to return to every so often," she mused.

The fact that Nereus and Chauncey had been put in play since early on intrigued the former Queen of Dalarath, knowing what she did of the Architect and God's plans with Merath's soul and her own birth. Had the Architect picked up on Harrogath's duplicitous tactics and molded Merath's soul to coax that selfless nature out of Nereus' earlier incarnation, as well as that of their son? Had themes repeated themselves?

The pink thespian would likely pick up on the wheels turning in Meris' head, as she looked over to Nereus and gently squeezed his hand reassuringly. "While I obviously dislike those experiences from centuries ago, Harrogath's indifference and his comfort zone have overall benefited us in the long run. We're less under his influence than before, so we have more opportunities to turn things back in our favor now, even if Harrogath does throw the occasional chaotic wrench into things. Getting our son back is within the realm of possibilities, even if we will still have to taste desperation to earn that more intense taste of sweetness."

[Karl the Mad]

Charles had family elsewhere in the world, and raised his hand when asked. Marius, still distracted by the younger facsimile of himself even though it had faded, started raising his hand on reflex, but then changed his mind and made to brush nonexistent lint from his jacket. Abraham's hands stayed down. He had rejected his blood relatives long ago.

As the play went on, though, and the acted Harrogath implied he had something to do with his association with Nereus, Charles frowned. "Hang on, yer sayin' ya meant fer Drake 'n Abe 'n me ta meet up wi' Nereus 'n be all friends 'n shit?" Abraham knew too well how Jenkins took to the idea of higher powers meddling with him and his, ever since they had found the truth about Gabriel and Azardad, and put a firm hand on his shoulder in case he meant to stand up. "Izzat what 'e's sayin, Drakey?"

[IamLEAM1983]

Aidan glanced at Zeke, who settled with a shrug. As far as plays went, those with active audience participation weren't a dime a dozen, and most were the hallmark of Postwar European playwrights walking the same path as Tristan Tsara or Antonin Artaud. Expecting a demon to adlib for an Eldritch entity, however, made answers difficult to authenticate, obviously. It wasn't as though Harrogath Himself would pop out of the floorboards, golf-clap for Zeke's benefit and provide a clear and concise answer for those involved...

"I'm just a physically manifested spirit of self-indulgence, my dear mister Jenkins," started the lawyer, and if you knew what Lucian put into my head prior to this starting, you'd probably have a mild breakdown. Imagine having self-editing liner notes in mind for what Harrogath the Lustful might say or do, if he were physically manifest in this very room. Imagine how small that makes me feel, and how much mileage I'm pulling to actually look like I'm within two heartbeats of a bored yawn..."

Zeke looked away for a moment, looking as though he were consulting with someone else, and then raised his head slightly, mouth parted in an ah of understanding. Color bled back into his clothing, suggesting he now spoke as himself.

"Your agency - or mine, for that matter - isn't under question. What's observable here is the same thing you'll see in my office or Herbert's. I decide I need strawberry-filled glazed donuts to work on a summation, and one of my juniors trots down to that family-owned bakery on Fredrick and 25th. Said junior bumps into another customer who's just leaving the premises with a brand-spanking new wedding cake, and the collision is hard enough to make the deliveryman lose his grip on the box. He narrowly saves the cake but mangles the topper, which will open an acrimonious debate on Yelp that'll eventually end with the groom collapsing in a therapist's office under the weight of his own self-generated toxicity. In the meantime, and back during the collision, a driver slows down by just a tad to watch this happen on the roadside, and delays the ambulance behind him by oh, let's say a few seconds. Their sirens are blaring, someone's life is at stake - but what's done is done. Included the offboarding procedures and express triaging at the ICU, the elderly patient they had on board dies as a result of pure synchronicity."

He parted his hands. "If I hadn't sent someone out for donuts, maybe that man would've survived, or at least received a lifesaving dose of adrenaline or eparin that would've allowed physicians to look him over. The big question is, obviously, whether I did or didn't cause that person's death through my selfishly deciding that refined sugar was on the menu.

What separates me from Harrogath is that He technically has Angel Time. Or well, his being external to our plane of existence results in a totality of information that works as well as Angel Time in and of itself - so He knew what could, or what was likely to happen."

Three nodded. "Angel Time wouldn't work, otherwise. There has to be a degree of predictability to Existence on our level, something that negates the need for direct influence - or that limits it to one, simple instigating event at the root of everything else. You can't refer to Thrones as programs or state that Creation has fatal flaws like Lucifer has, if on some level, we aren't just as predictable as the basic laws of Creation."

He looked back to Charles. "Harrogath didn't push you into anything, then, and neither did God. It's just that from Their perspective, we're falling dominoes on a track. You and I just - reacted like He knew we would. Our choices are ours, but it follows that someone from outside of our scope of reasoning would look at all this and see something as simple as Two plus Two."

Color bled back out of Zeke's clothes, suggesting he was returning to his role. "Exactly. Causality is a wonderful thing, and even us frustrated demiurges with more than a passing fancy for primeval chaos have to learn to peer forward or lift the veil, from time to time. What I need is to set the stage so that an appreciable amount of eons from the moment of my involvement, our tutor and precious enemy swoops in and seemingly wrests my king from the board and places it on his. To that end, my king needs to remind the old bird of his own Creation's halcyon days, of godly youth and badly-contained optimism..."

"Harrogath" looked about ready to conjure something, when a thought made him wince. "Oh, drat, I'd be better served if I let the other two light the match, how unfortunate... That way, they'll get to take credit and they won't suspect me of much of anything. Not that I can't brainstorm for my own benefit, however."

That said, he gestured vaguely towards the rear stage, another illusion deploying itself in the form of silvery motes of light. The outline of an aged and patrician Void Weaver predating their fall appeared into view, all in high cheekbones and long, flowing tendrils on an almost Elven frame. The projection looked a little like Nu - or perhaps one of her later descendants.

The Lustful grunted. "That's far too balanced, much too even-tempered for my needs... What if he were a lover the likes of which the surface world hasn't written about yet? Mercurial and passionate, all but clinging to his posting's danger and to his desperate love for the one fated to come?"

The robes shimmered and shifted to a pie-tailed tuxedo, the Squid's features also slightly changing to evoke an internal heat of sorts - if Squids could look vaguely Latinate, in a sense. Another cloud of motes formed into a woman who wasn't quite Meris, or who might've been Meris if she'd been of Spanish descent. The couple locked hands together, the male slowly arching his partner's back as violins rose. They held the pose for a second, and then launched into a precise and dramatic tango routine that percolated all of desire's physical lexicon into pure suggestion. The female dust cloud used the dance routine to start by suggesting reluctance, and slowly grew closer to the illusory Squid, soon matching the male's slow and torrid choreography step for step. They ended as they'd begun, the Squid's tendrils just barely tracing the slope of the woman's neck and chest. Then, they dissipated.

The Lustful didn't look convinced. "There's something there, sure, but it's not enough. I need passion, but also sensitivity! Yes, that's it - great, big, bushels of Empathy, leaving him open to one and all for miles around! I need him to care, and I need him to care enough to toss everything else aside! Nothing but the plan, if it means my love and I will live in peace!"

The spotlights all turned off, a few more turning back on as around the seats, stone pillars had suddenly appeared. The set design now looked like a caricature of Dalarath, the Black Script here deliberately reduced to Ghost Train-worthy ominous scribbles, with tinny dramatic music out of an 1850s Vaudeville act coming out of a concealed piano. Harry and Taylor then turned into view, wearing cartoonish versions of a Prelate's typical robes, the usual mind-rending sigils here twisted into deliberately unsubtle designs: a hand snatching candy from a child, or a Squid callously tossing a banana peel over their shoulder, only to point and laugh once another Prelate steps on it.

Taylor exxagerated his usual accent, pushing his Birmingham drawl into near-unintelligibility. "'Ey, 'Aroth! How goes them evil deeds for the day, huh?"

"Harroth" parted with a low chuckle. "Splendidly well, Telos - I dumped my next-door neighbour's spawning pool in the lake and made a few stones come loose over some apostates' heads. I've had time for a few rounds of poisoning, I've had my way with a few slave girls and committed tax fraud!
- Ya git, nobody pays taxes in Dalarath," groused "Telos".

The smaller prelate smiled with evil relish, a finger raised. "Exactly, my fine and felonious fellow - I was so evil I abused a system we don't even have! There's no greater breach of Order; the Gods are sure to be pleased!"

Cultural references being what they are, Three, Archie and Bucky settled with a few shoulder motions or a smirk, while Nereus was heard failing to contain a snigger, and his shaking belly was hard to miss.

[TennyoCeres84]

With the completion of the one act play, Meris smiled lightly at the vague hints that Harrogath planted for their incarnations, glad to see they were only vague suggestions.

As the Vaudevillian scene played out, Meris smiled more as the skit went on, chuckling quietly at the cultural reference. The McConmara siblings and the Robertsons either smirked and snickered at the banter.

[Karl the Mad]

"I don't get it," Marius replied, wondering what everyone else was laughing about. What was so funny about tax evasion?

Charles was too busy thinking about the answer to his question to laugh, and Abraham looked politely confused as well.

[IamLEAM1983]

The tinny piano that playfully etched out a sinister melody transitioned into a bit of twee sentimentalism, Horatio returning ot the stage in a different set of makeup and clothing. He also wore black robes, but the faux sigils that adormed them looked like Squids hugging puppies or bending down to pick flowers. His makeup stuck to clown-worthy whites, but with an added dash of pink on his cheekbones and a generous helping of mascara that served to accentuate his eyes, making them seem huge and even more expressive than usual. He seemed lost in a daze and unconsciously bobbed and weaved across the suggested ruins.

"How painful it is," he started, "how excrutiating the agony is of love, in a place like this! I, Qualith of House Lulroth, second in line, have been beset with a terrible blight of which the origin cannot be our Mistress or Her Quarrelsome Brother!"

Hands trembling, he looked at the assembly. "A child was born today, of one of my slaves. I have held this bundle of life in my hands, only to feel horror at the terrible power nestled within myself. To visit harm on this soul, a girl not mere hours old, would plunge me into nadirs of despair few of us have charted - but I find myself wondering why, of all of Dalarath's families, is mine the only one with such a record! I know of my own self-control, there is no reason for me to think I might visit harm upon anyone, but the city expects so much bloodshed from me, now that my own son has allowed us to join the Slaver Houses! I once could hide my heart within my estate, nestle it somewhere deep and warm, hide my chattel's hale and hearty visages from the world - and now?"

"Qualith" shuddered. "The anguish," he moaned, "the suffering - it is too great!"

"Harroth" turned around and gave the tenderfoot Squid a sneer. "Look at this namby-pamby, Telos - can't so much as bear to see a club foot on an Animate! What's Dalarath coming to, if the Slaver Lords won't even give their meat a proper thrashing?"

"Qualith" looked alarmed. "Amaxi's Blood, you've heard me! I, er, I meant only that the anguish of not properly serving Amaxi's luscious mysteries is all-consuming, of course," he said, adding a nervous chuckle.

In the back, "Harrogath" winced a bit. "Hmph. Might've gone a little overboard with empathy; I think the real deal needs a bit more oomph..."

"Telos" loomed in closer. "All's not lost, Harroth," he said, conjuring a small blade in his right hand. "We bleed ourselves a weakling and leave his corpse on the Word House's steps. Either he turns to slave meat or they slap some eager spirit in there, someone or something that'll do the posting justice..."

Qualith recoiled away. "P-Please, gentlemen! I've, um, simply been especially burdened with Amaxi's emotional transports, and my own mental and emotional landscape is difficult to parse in the best of times - I'm sure you understand. Please, don't trouble yourselves with me, what harm could the newest and lowliest of the local slavemongers possibly cause to the Prelacy?"

To Three and Tom's surprise, Benedict entered the stage, now wearing rags and imitation manacles at his ankles and wrists, with loose and oversized plastic chains that didn't do much to restrain his movements. He's maintained his body rather well, even throughout the incursions, dark and even slightly ochre skin carefully defining muscles worthy of a modern Ballet dancer, with a tiny bit of added definition and weight. The incubus still leaned towards grace, obviously, but threats to his and his loved ones' lives had forced him to add a fair bit of power to his arsenal.

"There you are, Master," he said, "the help has been looking for you all over town! You know the Mushroom Gardens aren't a good fit, sir - you still need to improve your grasp on self-defense."

Qualith slipped away from Harroth and unsubtly hid behind his slave. "Take me home, Hassan; it was foolish of me to wander so far-"

Telos narrowed his eyes. "Leaving so soon? You've got a selection right here, Qualith! Why not let us sample that dark meat, hm?
- I am no meat," replied "Hassan", "I serve House Lulroth at my pleasure! If you're so eager to taste me, then, Squid - come and take a bite for yourself!"

Followed a choreographed fight that was intentionally slow, designed in order to let the assailants display the extent of their cartoonish moral turpitude by leering at the audience whenever a hidden blade or a faked utterance in the Black Speech was about to be used, while Benedict also had plenty of occasions to trample his attackers outright, a spotlight illuminating him and Alora and a few other female voices providing pseudo-ethereal vocalizations on cue. Obviously, Qualith of House Lulroth was comically inept, even turning a stolen blade the slave had turned against their attackers into a fresh bouquet of flowers. Rather than glare back at his master, "Hassan" seized the occasion and gave "Harroth" a faceful of pollen. In this precise instant, the actors involved held their pose as Harrogath walked back in.

"I'd say this establishes pathos well enough, but placing my main piece in the position of an outsider is going to make it difficult to really make inroads - much less entice the Architect to take him from me, which is what I'm looking to accomplish, here. House Lulroth can still be useful to Him, I don't doubt it, but I really need to focus on the caste our dear Sister initially corrupted."

He tsked and gestured at the piece. "So... All this? I'd chalk it up as a necessary loss."

He seemingly unfroze time, the smaller Prelate using one of the knives the slave had lost track of to drive a deep cut into his bowels even as he took the faceful of lilies and daffodils. Horatio parted with a howl of anguish, the dynamic very quickly shifting. Lucian's cast illusions suggested hitherto unseen power welling forth from the previously frail Prelate, even as the ruins' stones began to split and rotate in mid-air, and the stage itself split open.

Between the rows of the stage, the voids Horatio had warned them of earlier began to be perceptible, immesurably foggy depths out of which faintly peeked a nightmarish assemblage of gears and roiling tendrils, like vines or tentacles, surrounded the attendance.

"I WILL DESTROY YOU!" wailed Qualith, wild power making his voice swell and double up in the impossible space. "MY BLOOD WILL BRING AN END TO YOUR DARKNESS, LAY DOWN THE FULL WEIGHT OF THE SCALES OF JUSTICE UPON YOU! OUR FURY WILL ECHO ACROSS CENTURIES AND WE WILL DINE ON THE PITIFUL CARCASSES OF YOUR DEAD PATRONS WHILE BASKING IN THE LIVING ONE'S LIGHT!"

A sudden lighting change occurred, and the dizzying emptiness that had threatened to swallow the seats abruptly receded away. Horatio now cradled a dead or dying Benedict in his arms, the other two Squids caught just as they left the stage. What had just transpired had been a declaration of intent, but not a marker of capability. Not yet.

Zeke spoke up from the rear. "Qualith was Lucian's great-great-grandfather, the boiling point for a seditious streak that had simmered in the family for generations. Losing his friend and confidant was a crippling blow, but it only served to strengthen the later generations' attachment to their chattel. By the time House Lulroth had its latest patriarch, being inducted as a slave in its midst was an unparalleled blessing in a place as depraved as Dalarath; the last of the stepping stones before my piece entered the board, before whispers of power would coalesce and reincarnate the Line of Nu in the person of a selkie."

The colorless Glutton smirked. "If the Architect knew how closely we collaborated, I'd probably offer him a handshake. It's a shame, then, that he wouldn't have approved of my reasoning for all this. I don't especially care for any of you, even for whomsoever is playing my role as we speak, but I do care for the reality you live in, and what it's brought me. Does a beaver especially care about the trees it's taking down to build its dam? I'd reason that it doesn't, and that it selected certain trees based on their shape and size alone. It didn't name them, didn't spend years cherishing their placement on the riverbank - it simply took them, as needed."

A shrug was added. "The other Two hate you. They hate you all with a passion you couldn't possibly fathom, and with a lack of self-consciousness you certainly can grasp. Me? I'd say you're offering me what I need to feast and drink my fill, and that conceptualizing other realities, other means of sating my appetites, is a wasted effort in the face of all this abundance. I might toss in the occasional ritual so Sister Dearest doesn't have substantial criticisms to level my way, but overall?

Overall, you're morsels kept in an impeccably-designed larder. Who am I to try and tear its door and walls down? If it ain't broke, as the saying goes, don't fix it, eh? Don't eat it, either. Let someone else keep it stocked, and reach in from time to time."

He winked at Jenkins and Three. "Sometimes, I'd reach in like a roommate does with a shared fridge, and I'd leave messages etched in the quantum fabric of the Young God's creation, things for the Architect to read. Cosmic Post-It notes, in a sense. We're out of milk, buy more coffee, consider contacting an archangel or two to give two mortals unconventional bypasses for the known laws of Physics, let one particular vampire stew in it for a few generations so he has a set of finely-honed defenses on Creation's official D-Day - that sort of stuff."

He gestured a plate of hors-d'oeuvres onto his right hand and took a few bites. "A good cook - and a good Creator - lets nothing go to waste. Not even sorrow, and especially not tragedy. It's also like being a chessmaster; in that you have to spot opportunities where your enemy thinks you have none left. Conversely, you can also fold, as you'd do in poker, and let your enemy think they've won the round."

Stifling a short burp, he lifted a finger. "That's exactly what happened with the Usurper, as you'll see..."

[TennyoCeres84]

Meris had heard Lucian recount his family's history centuries ago, the loss of Hassan to cruel Prelates and Qualith's vow of justice against those who blindly followed the Others' bidding. It still pained her to watch it play out, even with the slightly comical special effects during the fight scene.

Noting the assemblage of gears and vine-like limbs, she wondered if this was the ping that would attract the Architect's attention to Lucian and his arcane potential, along with Qualith's pledge. It would've demonstrated the sincerity of House Lulroth's intentions.

As for Zeke-as-Harrogath's plots, his reasoning was as sound and honest as ever. He didn't have to tip His hand to any of the deities involved, and He could keep dining from God's expertly designed larder. While He was a useful ally, she doubted that he'd ever come to care for them beyond the purpose they served. The infectiousness of humanity likely had its limits.

As for the younger selkies and the faunesses, they watched the tragic scene transpire and understood why Lucian was the way he was. Compassionate, but he could have a vicious side when those he cared about were threatened. It was literally in his blood to do so. It also made sense while he made an important ally and friend to Nereus and Meris.

[Karl the Mad]

"Creation's D-Day, eh," Marius said, half to himself. That sparked a memory, had someone said something along those lines? Called him the Wielder of the Final Weapon, or some such thing? He'd ask Nereus about it after the play, he supposed.

Abraham seemed a bit nonplussed at the suggestion they were all just meat for some Proto-God's midnight munchies. "I wonder how much of this is accurate, and what is exaggerated for comedic effect?" he mused, turning to Three and Jenkins. Jenkins just shrugged; he wasn't made for thinking deep thoughts.