PentagonWhite

Myriad Reality

@Legend

*My eyes roll in puerile frustration, a scoff of disappointment slipping from pale rose lips.*

I'll provide whatever proof you want. Anyone so standoffish near something so interesting must be worth some effort. What do you need from me?

Myriad Reality

Well, if you're willing, I'd love to meet face to face. Radio is so impersonal, I can feel myself missing important details. If you're down on that planet, I assume you've got some way to not get killed by all the energy being thrown around: is there room for two?

Myriad Reality

*I finally complete my preparations, suit donned and levels normal. The Eschatologue’s warm deck is no longer felt beneath thick boots when I make contact bouncing to and fro, and the minor changes due to lack of gravity on my physiology have been rectified thanks to the form-hugging suit.*

My intent? I’ve come to see all there is to see! And learn all there is to learn, of course. It’s the duty of all Pilgrims. I assume you’re not the type to answer questions and help me on my way?

Myriad Reality

@Legend

That's my intention. There's a reason I'm in high orbit and not down there, after all.

*I finally pull up the decrypted spectrogram, looking at it curiously, leaning in towards the softly-glowing screen*

Myriad Reality

*I raise a single eyebrow, confused for a moment, then quickly clarify with another sonorous chuckle*
No! No, of course not. The Pilgrimage is one of the Sacraments, along with Crusade, Genuflection and Scholarship, and all the rest. I’m just interested in the free energy on display: I could, ah, ‘hear’?

*I pause, unsure how exactly to phrase the sensation without sounding insane. A swallow gives me the correct amount of bravery*

Detect it parsecs away. And so I came!

Myriad Reality

@Legend

*A dry chuckle comes through the microphone, a sharp exhalation as I continue to collect my scattered, partially-floating, belongings for the inevitable descent.*

You know, my governess always told me that was the best way to greet new people. If only I had listened. Decrypting now, give me a moment.

*I go quiet for an unflatteringly long time as I fight with the computers aboard the Eschatologue, running through every decryption protocol I have stored. A few minutes later, a light blinks yellow, and I key the mic. My voice is celebratory, flush with the thrill of petty victories.*

Cracked it. I’m on Pilgrimage, for clarification: I’ve come to see all there is to see, out here so far from home. It’s one of the divine Sacraments, where I come from.

Myriad Reality

@Legend
*The smile reappears on my face, beaming and exhilarated. I unbuckle myself from my seat, floating free around the cockpit, transceiver in hand, idly making preparations for landing while I speak. The enthusiasm is evident in my voice.*

I see. I apologize for not understanding your local customs of responding to hails with bursts of apparently meaningless radiation. My name is Hymn of Predestination, aboard the corvette Eschatologue: the enthalpy of this planet might be important to my Pilgrimage, do you know who those two people are?

*The hiss of gas release is audible as I don a thin, durable suit, skintight and sturdy, meant for exploration, a tenor burst atop the dull roar of the dormant engines.*

Myriad Reality

@Legend

*My brow creases in frustration. I brush a wayward strand of hair from my eyes, floating errantly in the freefall. My fingers grip the receiver more tightly as I let out a sigh. The transmission is still running.*

Well, I suppose that’s to be expected. Nǐ míngbái wǒ shuō de ma? Si me intellegis? Ersesz engem? Ah, hold on… Oh! Me comprenez-vous?

Myriad Reality

*A smile cracks my face, wide and eager, revealing two rows of pearl-white teeth in the barely-illumined gloom of the cockpit. I reach more properly for the microphone, clearing my throat before flicking on the transmit function again*

Ah, so there’s more than just violence down there!

*My accent is as thick as ever, the refined and languid lilt of a noble bearing and a practiced grace.*

Do you understand me? I’m a Pilgrim, I don’t mean any harm.

Myriad Reality

*The Eschatologue materializes in high orbit, far above the planet. It slides out of the portal, sleek and golden, a lovingly-crafted if use-worn corvette, bedecked in the regalia of the Hierophany. Though the transparent aluminium which rings a cockpit perched above the sharp, thin-arrow body, I look down at the energy-scarred planet on which two unknown beings apparently do battle. The various readouts and displays give almost unbelievable data, incredible in its most literal sense. I zoom as close as my optics will let me, eye flicking to keep up with the cataclysmic brawl.*

Now this is impressive, isn’t it?

*One clever, dexterous finger finds its way to a control panel, and I type absentmindedly as I continue to watch the exchange. An orange light flicks on, and my churchbell alto fills the small cockpit. *

Pilgrim’s Testament, chapter one thousand seven hundred and twenty-eight. I’ve found some truly interesting people, after following a trail of high power output. The coordinates are a little different than I recorded in my last log: I’ve made an update. It seems the long stretch of boring days are at an end, thank the Sacrifice. They appear to be fighting: I’ll be heading to the surface once they’ve stopped. Whoever they are, they’re well out of my league. May my faith protect me.

*Another tap of a button ends the recording, and I lie back in the soft embrace of my pilot’s chair, ready to enjoy the marvel below me. With an exhalation of epiphany, I once again run my fingers over rattling keys, opening a channel and broadcasting, with high-powered radio waves, a simple message. To ensure maximum visibility, I set it to repeat on numerous frequency and amplitude modulations.*

This is Hymn of Predestination, is anyone receiving?