blindwoofer
Phoe
wanderingwolf
PrinceAlexus
ctrlsaltdel
AHeartlessNobody
Velos
Alisdragon911Bella and Redana!
"Ceron has taught me to accept this," said Empress Nero, broken neck jerking out a serene nod. "Every connection is violent. Every love is hate. Build a road and an army can pass through; build a ship and plague will fill its sails. My role was difficult before I understood that bridges were military infrastructure and love was prelude to the launching of ships."
She leans forwards across the wall of flames, as close as she dares. Her undead face smiles.
She must not be let out.
"You, of course, have no function in and of yourself," she said. "That is not your role - nor is it even a worthy goal. Ability is a tool. Simply draw a line and all the worlds will be drawn after it. Open a gate and the sheep will flow through it. You have a goal, somewhere to go, and that is more than all of these ten trillion servitors will ever have. It fills them and animates them, and they love you for giving it to them."
She abruptly turned and settled back on her throne. "It was different, once. Once a turning wind set pulses racing. Once the dream of exploration ripped children from their homes. Once distant mountains inspired joy, wonder, curiosity. Now not only is the galaxy mapped, but its future is mapped - there is nothing left to explore and no one alive who would be interested in exploration. The frontier has closed, expansion has stopped, and all that remains is a long and slow decline. Every connection has already been forged and perfected violence flows through every vein of civilization without friction. The only souls who can truly feel the joy of adventure are all dead, and so that is why I chose you, my daughter. I hope that it was everything you dreamed of."
Dolce!
Each time you step through a sequence, Artemis continues it. She continues it on and on and on, following through diligently on every implication of the notes that you set in motion, on and on and on. First like she's finishing your thought, then continuing it, expanding on it, taking it further and further from what you originally envisioned while still feeling like a natural extension of your own idea...
And then she stops.
Perfect obedience, right up until the point where it stops. Perfect patience, right up until the point where it is over. Perfect music but she decides when it ends.
The moon goes silver through the sky, night after night, until one night you look up and it is gone. The trail of breadcrumbs continues joyfully onwards until the hinge of the trap slams shut. Music that could go on forever until the string leaves the violin and fingers lift from the keyboard leaving only a period behind.
In this deathless universe, she remains death.
Dyssia!
"No, we don't," said Dekal. "We choose to dissent. To fight for a better world."
She rolls out a combi-map upon the table. Rolls of charts and graphs and paperwork, the most advanced origami techniques the galaxy has ever produced resulting in this unfolding sheaf of paper. "The Empress has allowed me control over the Service. From here I direct the establishment of occupation garrisons, of re-education camps, of the construction of schools and the administration of biomantic uplift, establishing control over biospheres contaminated by mass reincarnation. I seed the principles of sound governance, establish layered constitutional checks and balances against resurgent militarism, organize the mass public executions of slaveholders and the distribution of their properties. My role in all of this is to ensure that something beautiful and stable flowers from the endless fields of ashes Nemesis leaves in its wake."
She looks down at the map, face illuminated by fire. "She does not care that I do this. If I were to stop, the work would go undone. The only condition is that I remain here, in the heart of Hell, as I do my work. So please... tell me more of that peace that lives out there, beyond my sight."
"Ceron has taught me to accept this," said Empress Nero, broken neck jerking out a serene nod. "Every connection is violent. Every love is hate. Build a road and an army can pass through; build a ship and plague will fill its sails. My role was difficult before I understood that bridges were military infrastructure and love was prelude to the launching of ships."
She leans forwards across the wall of flames, as close as she dares. Her undead face smiles.
She must not be let out.
"You, of course, have no function in and of yourself," she said. "That is not your role - nor is it even a worthy goal. Ability is a tool. Simply draw a line and all the worlds will be drawn after it. Open a gate and the sheep will flow through it. You have a goal, somewhere to go, and that is more than all of these ten trillion servitors will ever have. It fills them and animates them, and they love you for giving it to them."
She abruptly turned and settled back on her throne. "It was different, once. Once a turning wind set pulses racing. Once the dream of exploration ripped children from their homes. Once distant mountains inspired joy, wonder, curiosity. Now not only is the galaxy mapped, but its future is mapped - there is nothing left to explore and no one alive who would be interested in exploration. The frontier has closed, expansion has stopped, and all that remains is a long and slow decline. Every connection has already been forged and perfected violence flows through every vein of civilization without friction. The only souls who can truly feel the joy of adventure are all dead, and so that is why I chose you, my daughter. I hope that it was everything you dreamed of."
Dolce!
Each time you step through a sequence, Artemis continues it. She continues it on and on and on, following through diligently on every implication of the notes that you set in motion, on and on and on. First like she's finishing your thought, then continuing it, expanding on it, taking it further and further from what you originally envisioned while still feeling like a natural extension of your own idea...
And then she stops.
Perfect obedience, right up until the point where it stops. Perfect patience, right up until the point where it is over. Perfect music but she decides when it ends.
The moon goes silver through the sky, night after night, until one night you look up and it is gone. The trail of breadcrumbs continues joyfully onwards until the hinge of the trap slams shut. Music that could go on forever until the string leaves the violin and fingers lift from the keyboard leaving only a period behind.
In this deathless universe, she remains death.
Dyssia!
"No, we don't," said Dekal. "We choose to dissent. To fight for a better world."
She rolls out a combi-map upon the table. Rolls of charts and graphs and paperwork, the most advanced origami techniques the galaxy has ever produced resulting in this unfolding sheaf of paper. "The Empress has allowed me control over the Service. From here I direct the establishment of occupation garrisons, of re-education camps, of the construction of schools and the administration of biomantic uplift, establishing control over biospheres contaminated by mass reincarnation. I seed the principles of sound governance, establish layered constitutional checks and balances against resurgent militarism, organize the mass public executions of slaveholders and the distribution of their properties. My role in all of this is to ensure that something beautiful and stable flowers from the endless fields of ashes Nemesis leaves in its wake."
She looks down at the map, face illuminated by fire. "She does not care that I do this. If I were to stop, the work would go undone. The only condition is that I remain here, in the heart of Hell, as I do my work. So please... tell me more of that peace that lives out there, beyond my sight."