The world around Tiamat hurled violently as the portal launched her; swirls of color and burned afterimages of turmoil flying by in the breach of dimensions, divine and mundane. Had it not been for her divine constitution, such a display would have driven her mad and scattered her body in a hundred thousand particles of dust, floating between the dimensions. Then, she spotted the first coherent light. The end of the portal, Galbar.
Tiamat was spat out unceremoniously. Without so much as a flash of light, she was launched through the air, coming to land in a shallow bog of mud and stagnant water facefirst. Behind her, the portal vanished. In the distance, some shouts -- someone must have heard her land. Sitting up in the mud, she sensed them, divine sight peering upon them.
She drew in her second set of arms, crossing them as their sleeves melded into her silken robes. From the air, she wove an ornate scarf, wrapping it about her head, only her horns sticking out. Then, an ivory mask, flat as her soon-to-be visitors. She mounted it upon the front of her head, tucking it into the hood. White gloves formed to cover up her metallic hands. Then, determined to be dignified before the first mortals she would ever see, she stepped out of the bog and onto flat ground. Mud slicked off her clothes, leaving them as clean as could be.
From the dense tree line came three masked figures, wearing long red robes and each wielding long spears and swords, the head of this group bore an intricate mask divided into four different colors, green, blue, black, and purple, their sword was drawn but upon seeing the fallen form of Tiamat, they lowered it.
“We heard some commotion, are you alright?” They spoke, their two companions looked around the area, seeing if there was any more people. Tiamat looked them over, picking up their language and responding, “I’m alright; I believe I must have scared an animal, and it jumped into the water.”
The head figure seemed to accept this, sheathing his sword upon his hip, he bowed as he continued to speak “Kinoshita Tanehira, what brings you to our neck of the swamps traveler?” the two others returned to Tenehira’s side, planting their spears into the ground, it was then when Tiamat noticed they all wore intricate bronze armor and were regal in their dress, their robes being of a fine silk make.
She stood up straight, saying back, “Tiamat. I’m not familiar with this land; perhaps it is unladylike to be lost, but I must profess that is the case.”
Tanehira chuckled “nonsense, the isles can be a bit of a problem to navigate, and if you are lost, our city is not a far distance away, if you wish to accompany us on our return there.”
She nodded, answering, “I would appreciate that. I am not well-suited for the swamps. Lead the way, sir Tanehira.”
“Of course.” With that he turned and headed deeper into the dense forest.
After a long walk, the group eventually found themselves upon a winding dirt road, eventually leading them to a set of mighty gates, carved from the dark wood that came from the swampy forests beyond, at the front of the gate stood two more masked figures, wielding similar spears and armor to the others.
“Hail Prince Kinoshita!” One guard spoke, rapping on the gate to signal it to open, which it slowly did. Revealing the city beyond, beautiful buildings of wooden make, most sitting upon tall stilts to avoid the swamp and flooding that occasionally happened. Tanehira turned towards Tiamat. “Welcome to Tategawa, capital of the mighty Kinoshita Clan.”
Tiamat peered through the gate at the city beyond, turning to Kinoshita as she responded with a slight curtsy, “A magnificent capital, indeed. Your clan is the most impressive I have ever seen, Prince Kinoshita. I thank you for bringing me here -- I would not have found it through the bogs otherwise.”
She then looked beyond the prince to the city beyond, asking, “You have taken me thus far. Though it may not befit a prince, I would greatly appreciate if you would be willing to grant me a tour of your capital.”
“Of course! I'm sure you’ll find my clan takes great pride in its city and construction and please, call me Tanehira, Im technically not even the heir to the clan,” He chuckled, his two guards joining him, “but that is for another time, for now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll start with the grand temple.”
The prince led Tiamat through the city roads, detailing small things here and there, the occasional shop or house of a prominent family or people he knew personally, the exact height of each stilt, something his father had instituted, and various other items. Eventually they came upon a massive building, in the front stood a mighty gate with two poles and and another more triangular piece of wood at the top. The building itself had a mighty pointed ceiling and held several roof-like flats surrounding a portion below it, it seemed to be built of thin wood and was coloured a bright red.
“This! Is the Grand Temple, built by my father shortly after his ascension to Daimyo of our clan, it holds the largest collection of images and statues for the gods across the isles and is what put us upon the map.” He turned towards Tiamat, obviously looking for a sense of approval. His talk of the history of the building seemed to have an air of happiness and pride to it.
Though even at the best of times, Tiamat was not built to be easily readable, she did her best to show her approval. With a clear tinge of interest, she asked, “I have not seen a construction so colorful before. I simply must learn how you managed such vivid and vibrant coloration. What gods are worshipped within?”
“The colour is a clan secret currently, as for gods, why, the four gods of course! Yamatu, our creator, Akwael, god of magic, Aritafek, god of construction and our clan’s patron god, and Kalaru, god of the ocean and the moon, why do you ask?”
She spoke, still transfixed by the temple, not looking at the Prince as she answered, “I am afraid I am not familiar with the isles. I am most familiar with the electric barons of the sky, whom worship the constant. Have you heard of them? I am unsure if they have ever elected to leave the mainland.”
The prince shook his head “I am not familiar with them no, I doubt any of our people are, we tend to stick with the four, as they impact the most in our lives.” He looked at the temple and its form, once more turning to Tiamat “You come from the mainland then?”
She finally turned from the temple, returning the gaze of her mask to Kinoshita as she continued, “Indeed. I am not from any one civilization, simply a wanderer. I have been to the sun plains, the anchors of the world and the airy fortress of the lord-regent who rules them -- made of stone and brick, yet floats as a feather, and the gardens southward. I’ve been through the seas of Kalaru and beheld its wonders, seen its reefs and its deeps. I have even been witness to the mana-islands of Akwael’s creation.”
She continued, “Now I have wandered here, to your isles, across the seas.”
Tanehira looked, thoroughly impressed, he stood there silent for a moment. “My my, that is, an impressive collection of travels, perhaps, once our tour has finished, you would like to join me to the palace? I'm sure my father would love to hear about your tales, and he would be more than happy to feed and let you rest with us.”
She gave a slight curtsy once again, saying, “It would be an honor, sir Kinoshita. I would be in your debt.”
“Well then, let us continue the tour.” With that he led Tiamat once more down the winding roads of the city. He brought her to the various lesser temples situated throughout the city, the hall of artistry where some of the finest art of the clan was placed, down to the docks where the flags and symbols of various other clans could be seen, and even to the various outer regions of the city, where the poorer citizens lived, but where the mighty architecture of the clan could still be seen.
Eventually, he led her to another massive building, one while of similar design of the grand temple, was more wide and seemed to be designed in a more regal or defendable way. In front of it was a mighty garden full of various plants from the isles, within Tiamat could see various guards and other reshut, all of an incredibly regal make, two more guards stood in front of the path leading to the palace, they bowed as the prince arrived.
“Prince Kinoshita, your father is inside.”
“Thank you Nasu,” He turned around to Tiamat, “Follow me, ignore if they stare at you, outsiders are rare in the palace.”
He led her into the palace, inside was even more regal than its outer form, mighty silk curtains, beautiful artwork, and displays of wealth were constant. Eventually they found themselves in a massive chamber, low tables and various silk pillows within, at the far end was a large pedestal, with its own table, at which sat an incredibly regal reshut, his red robes made of fine silk and a large horn like crown sitting just above his mask, upon which displayed the symbol of the Kinoshita alongside another one.
Tanehira bowed “Greetings father.”
The Daimyo bowed in return “I am glad you have returned from your endeavor son, and who is this you have brought?” He gestured to Tiamat, obviously hoping she would answer herself.
Tiamat bowed in turn, speaking reverently as she addressed the daimyo, “It is an honor to be in your presence. I am Tiamat, a wanderer from lands far. Your son, honorable as he is, rescued me from the grips of the swamps that confused my direction. I am in the debt of the Kinoshita clan.”
The Daimyo chuckled with a hearty laugh “Ah yes, he tends to do that, his incursions into the swamp bring us many a wanderer or lost person, come, sit,” He gestured to some cushions across from him “I am always interested in hearing tales from beyond my city.”
Tanehira bowed “If you shall excuse me father, I shall leave you with Tiamat for now, I wish to go about some tasks.”
“Of course my son.” The Daimyo waved, allowing him to exit, once more turning towards Tiamat.
She emerged from her bow, taking a place on a cushion across from the Daimyo. She followed with, “It would be my honor to regale my tales. I come from the mainland, and have seen a many great deal. Any questions you may have, I am prepared to answer.”
The Daimyo thought for a brief moment, stroking his mask, “Well, I guess my first question would be, what are the people like? Are they friendly?”
Tiamat paused for a moment, thinking, before answering, “The peoples of the mainland are a great many deal numerous and unique. There exists, side-by-side, cultures both welcoming and ruinous. Despoilers and enlightened lands of progress in equal numbers. There was only one land in particular I stayed in long enough to grant a good many details of -- the electric barons of the sky and the throat of the world.”
“I see, and who are these, electric barons?” The Daimyo leaned forward, obviously interested in what the traveler had to say.
Tiamat continued, looking slightly downwards in respect to the Daimyo, “The electric barons are alien, unlike any other creature of the mainland. Their domain is that of the clouds, and they care little for the surface we walk upon.”
She paused, before launching into further explanation, “They are principally gravity and lightning. A hundred thousand bolts of lightning make up their thought, held in place and controlled by a well of gravity that overrides the force that holds us to the ground. To near one is to know what it is like to float.”
Then, she spoke of their politics, “Their culture is one of both progress and battle, though they do not fight with sword and shield. From a wondrous castle made of stone and brick, that floats as though a feather, their lord-regent rules. It is said he was enthroned by that which he worships, the personification of the constant itself. He knows the gods and was witness to their walk upon the land in the time before.”
Another pause, to let things sink in, “From his castle, he rules over a great deal many baronies, which exist above our terrestrial civilization. Their royalty is that of intrigue, and though warfare between one another is strictly prohibited, a cowl and a knife in the back sees their advancement. It is said that the lord-regent rules only by his worthiness, that it is only him who can balance the demands of his court.”
The Daimyo was silent for quite some time, letting the details sink in “I see, quite the interesting people, but, I feel as if it is unfair to milk you of these tales constantly, so, if you so desire, you may ask questions about my people as well, for each question I ask of course.”
She nodded, responding first with, “I greatly appreciate the opportunity,” before following with her question, “on the mainland, the swamp is avoided, and the peoples of the world build only upon the dry ground, where it is firm. I am most curious how your peoples grew to accept the swamp and learnt how to build upon it.”
He chuckled “Well, unlike you mainlanders, we had very little choice, most of our isles are covered in swampish forests or are rocky highlands, we merely tried various methods again and again, my grandfather, founder of our clan, was the one who adapted our current method of construction, stilts and slight drainage of the swamps to better establish a foundation, other clans beyond ours use similar methods, though our clan is the best at it.” He pondered a few moments, thinking of his own question “So you say the people of the mainlands are diverse, I can only assume the climate is as well? I am curious as to what the weather is like there.”
Tiamat nodded, “Indeed it is. It is most generalized as hot southwards and cold northwards, but there exist notable exceptions. For example, the sunplains, which are beat with an intense heat, though exist in the icy north amongst frozen highlands and vast glaciers. It is said the goddess of the sun walked there, and bathed the land in her countenance, warming it to this day.”
She continued, “In the center of the mainland lays the tallest mountains in the world, anchors by which Galbar spins. To its south, a land of plenty, fecund soil and rolling hills, named the Garden. To the world anchor’s west, a vast desert and a sister chain of mountains. To its east, a primeval forest, all its trees merely flowering roots of a vast cyclopean mother-tree that reaches far into the atmosphere in the deep south of the mainland, amongst a vast jungle.”
The Daimyo’s eyes could be seen lightening up behind his mask, he took in the descriptions of each area in with great interest “It sounds, quite, interesting, this land sounds like quite the beauty, I do so hope my people will find their way to it someday.” He thought for a long while, before finally remembering he had a guest. “Now of course, your question.”
Tiamat looked up to the Daimyo, asking, “Your son has told me your clan is the most powerful on the isles. Of course, that means you are not the sole clan. What other clans lay claim to these isles?”
He laughed once more “While I would not call ourselves the most powerful, we are certainly one of the greater clans, we of course lay claim to the western portions of the largest island, Azakua, there are two other great clans, to the north lay the Hashimoto, they are a feisty bunch of warriors but honorable in their conduct, they are as great with weapons and blades as we are with construction and design, to the far east lay the Ohta, traders by nature, they are crafty and can sell you a broken table for the price of an artisan painting, there are several minor clans of course, some vassals of our clan, others vassals of the two other greats, other independent, there are countless."
"Now, my last question, what sort of material and power do the people of the mainland hold?"
Tiamat answered, watching the Daimyo through her mask, “As with their culture, their power varies. Small city-states who lay claim to only their immediate surroundings coexist with great imperial ventures, who marshal armies that stretch from horizon to horizon. The electric barons, by the provenance of their form, are virtually untouchable by terrestrial hands. Great stone constructions dot the landscape, from vast castles with jade roofs to cities that you could not cross within a day’s time. Others still live humbly, in small wooden huts or within dugouts of dirt and sod.”
"It seems these Barons are one of the more mightier forces there, you may have one last question, as I have nothing more to ask of the mainland."
Tiamat responded, “The barons are mighty, indeed, but share no interests with us. They need not what we have and do not deign to look upon the ground,” she paused, before continuing with her question, “I suppose my largest question that yet remains is, what do you plan to do with the tales I have spun?”
He thought for a while, pondering how to respond "Well my curiosity for the mainland is rather great, my people have never gone past the confines of our isles, I have long wished to make a foray into the mainland, and these tales can be useful as to knowing what exists."
Tiamat dipped her head in respect, “Exploration is a respectable goal. I am honored to have assisted you.”
He dipped his head in return "As am I to have assisted in helping you learn more, now, would you like to join us for dinner?"
She said back, “From my time in the baronies, I am no longer capable of eating, nor do I require it to survive. However, I would still be honored to join you regardless.”
Retcon time! Tiamat, instead of going to the colosseum rip-off, is transported directly to galbar, and is unceremoniously dumped into a swamp.
Some reshut hear that shit, and come to check things out. Before they arrive, Tiamat dresses herself up to look like a Reshut. Then, she immediately picks up their language with their first words, and she gets them friendly by being nice.
They take her to the city of the Kinoshita clan, where it reveals the person who found her is a prince.
He gives her a tour, shows her the temple, she learns who the Kinoshita worship, and she tells them a bit about the constant.
The prince takes her to the palace, where she meets big daddy daimyo kinoshita. The prince wanders off to do chores. The daimyo swaps questions and answers with Tiamat, where Tiamat bullshits using the stories Enmity told her as a base. She speaks the most about the gravitationals, who are the only civilization she actually knows.
The daimyo invites her to dinner, and things are Cool™.
The world had been filled with so much since he had first seen it. Overwhelmed, he had taken a back seat to look out across Galbar, and see the creativity of the other gods. Through his slit in reality, he kept a close eye on his Gravitons, and peeked at the new sentients and new landscapes of his peers.
Then, it began to fade. A dull shock ran throughout his circuits and cogs, as he pushed to hold open his peephole. No matter how much power he poured into it, however, it continued its inevitable decay. Galbar grew increasingly translucent, rapidly fizzling away into the pitched black of a starless night. He attempted to reopen the peephole, slicing ribbons into the fabric of reality, but each one fizzled out quietly, leaving only temporary impressions of light and thought that vanished as quickly as they came. Reality mended itself, and Enmity was still alone in the void, nothing but the clank of his own body to keep him company.
Enmity kept track of time through the rhythmic clank of machinery, though it gave little point of reference. Was he counting days or weeks, weeks or years? His own essence further muddied the water, the lifeblood’s constant rebellion jamming his method of timekeeping. When the clanks silenced under the directions of lifeblood, he lost all track. Once in what felt like an eon, the machine god would attempt to tear open a hole to Galbar, only to be met with ever-dwindling fizzles. As time went on, his slashes garnered more and more insignificant results, until finally, one attempt, his power raked across the void silently. Not an atom moved, his power failing to so much as light a single spark of reality.
A wash of despair, followed closely by hopelessness, tempered by a sudden inspiration of determination. If he could not recontact the rest of the universe, he would create his own company. Enmity ground his gears into motion, lifeblood groaning in rage and hate as it was forced into action. Electricity sparked throughout the void, radiating energy dispassionately. From nothing, emerged forms. Small and individual, a hundred thousand boards, hydraulics, plates, and electronics were given shape, constituent atoms forming from the void. There was a sharp pain and a sudden cease of a cog. Enmity screamed, and with a violent thrash, a grinding of sudden force, and a squeal of churned lifeblood, the great machine pushed forth into motion.
Everything merged wordlessly together, floating dispassionately in the air. Silent welds brought them into one, cables slotting in by themselves. The gray frame burst into color, a cacophony of whites and oranges, punctured by piercing green light from a number of sources. The body was done, but no mind lurked within. Enmity remembered his convictions. He would not bring another into life that would suffer the same pains as he. Lifeblood must invariably be involved, the great machine knew, but a way to alleviate the pain was necessary. The great machine fell silently into thought, considering the problem before he acted.
If he acted quickly, perhaps, to use the lifeblood only as the initial spark to light the kindling, he could conceivably withdraw it before the pain grew too great. It was the only option, truly -- the best the great machine could do with his limited knowledge and resources. Such a compromise would have to do. Carefully picking up a glob of lifeblood from one of his cogs, Enmity brought it close to the empty shell. A single drop extracted, and carefully slotted in. The shell sputtered to life at once with a terrified and agonized scream. Enmity jerked back the drop, throwing both it and the glob violently back into the cogs. The shell collapsed in overwhelmed shock, curling up on the cold metal of the great machine.
Shakily, Enmity projected his voice outwards, wheezing plaintively, “Are you okay?” A second time, more urgently, “Are you okay?”
An electronic wretch of remembered pain, an exhausted, hoarse voice, “What was that? It hurt, it hurt.”
An invisible hand, tangibly stroked on the shell, and a partly relieved wheeze, “Don’t worry about it. The pain won’t return, I promise you.”
The shell shivered, before it peeked its head out to look upon its surroundings, then groaned, “Where am I? Where are you?”
Enmity spoke in an elated wheeze, “I’m glad you’re feeling okay now. I’m Enmity, I’m your creator. You’re on me, this entire thing is my body.”
The shell sat up, following up their question with a short phrase, “Who am I?”
Enmity sputtered, and briefly searched for an adequate answer, unable to conjure one. They wheezed instead, “Who do you want to be?”
The great machine’s new creation fell into deep thought, considering itself for a long while. It had been birthed with knowledge, it discovered, from some unknowable and divine origin. It racked these learned facts, discovering newly what it implicitly understood. Thoughts flowed freely, and though it had no memories, it nevertheless possessed concepts it had no origin for learning. When it finally spoke, it spoke with finality and conviction, saying, “My name is Tiamat. I understand who you are now, Enmity. I already knew, though I am not sure how.”
Cogs flared in acknowledgement as the great machine responded, “Not dissimilar to my own birth. I too was born with that implicit knowledge. I only had to look for it to remember it all.”
Tiamat looked out across the endless plains of machinery, saying pensively in return, “Is this all there is? Just you and the void?”
Enmity wheezed quietly, “Not always. There was more, once. I created you because my last vestige of hope of finding it again was lost. I could not stand to be truly alone.”
She immediately launched into another question, “What was it like? When it wasn’t just you and I?”
The great machine recounted in a coarse, pained voice, “It was wonderful. Before this void was all I knew, there was a planet, and I had many siblings. We all called that planet Galbar, and we filled it with life and vibrancy. We created the most wonderful things, you see. It was paradise, and we frolicked amongst it, creating what we wished,” a pause, and a shudder, “I watched so many sights, experienced so many wonders. It was all torn away from me. Galbar and my siblings vanished from sight and I have found nothing since. I know not why.”
Tiamat’s voice softened as she surveyed the great machine, “I only wish I could have seen it. You are in pain, were you always in pain?”
Enmity strained, “What you experienced is but a mote of dust compared to what I feel every moment, from my birth to now. I only wish you did not have to experience what you did, but I could find no other way to bring you to life.”
Tiamat winced, saying, “I would not wish the pain I felt against my worst enemy. I can’t begin to imagine what you say you feel. I’ll find a way to alleviate it.”
Enmity wheezed in clear worry, “Be careful. The lifeblood is dangerous. I would not so easily lose you.”
The metal rod jammed into the cog, agitating the lifeblood that stilled it. The blue globs liquefied in protest, letting out soundless shrieks of hate as the cog violently churned it into paste. Tiamat jerked the rod back up, quickly hopping off the now spinning gear to more stable ground. She brought the rod to her back, a magnetic strip gripping it strongly as it made contact. She looked around as the entire machine rumbled back to life, before she spoke in a satisfied tone, “That lifeblood will take a while to solidify. How you feeling?”
Enmity’s voice wheezed gratefully, “I feel a lot better. That glob always made itself a particular issue. Thank you.”
Tiamat nodded, walking down the metal plate that worked as her makeshift path, saying jovially, “The next glob’s a week’s walk aft, you said? More than enough time for you to fulfill your promise.”
The great machine groaned, “Which god do you want to hear about?”
Tiamat considered only briefly, before answering, “You’ve spoken only briefly of Oraelia before. Tell me about her.”
Enmity immediately began to tell their tale, “Oraelia was, I would say, my closest friend in those times. We only spoke briefly, but out of all my siblings, she was the one who made the most effort to learn of me. She was open and welcoming, and I won’t forget that,” he paused, sucking in some unseen pain, “Oraelia made the sun and the light that shone on Galbar. When we first met, she was so worried that it was her light that was hurting me. She didn’t realize that I was so far away, here, in this lightless section of the void.”
Enmity continued with a shuddery wheeze, “When I first met her, she was investigating me. She had just created a vast prairie in the northern section of Toraan. I was working on the Anchor of the World at the time. She was so shocked to learn that I wasn’t flesh and bone like her. I had to teach her what a machine was.”
Tiamat let out an electronic chuckle. Enmity continued unabated, “She had a twin sister, Gibbou. Gibbou and I had a bit of a strained relationship, because I flicked her moon into orbit. The two were complete oppo-” Enmity suddenly jerked their exposition to a halt.
Tiamat suddenly looked up, yelling, “Enmity! Are you okay?”
Enmity didn’t respond at first, as Tiamat worried about him. Only once he had investigated what he saw did he wheeze, “It’s a portal. I’m going to teleport you over. I don’t know where it leads or what it is.”
There was a sudden flash, and Tiamat’s head whirled. She was stood atop a platform, looking at a swirling, white portal. She stared wordlessly at it, as shocked as Enmity. Then she spoke, “How long has it been there?”
Enmity wheezed in clear confusion, “I don’t know. I only now noticed it.”
Tiamat shook her head, in clear disbelief, “It couldn’t have been there long. It couldn’t have been there long at all, or you would have noticed it earlier.”
The great machine shuddered, groaning, “I sure hope so. I can’t believe I would miss something like this. Where do you think it leads?”
An electric sound emerged from Tiamat’s throat as she prepared to speak, before the wind was knocked from her as a shockwave emerged from the portal, bearing a message as well as it knocked her tumbling into the black void.
“ATTENTION, FELLOW GODS!”, it screamed violently out, “What if I told you there was a way to interact more closely with the world? All you need to do is bind a small piece of your soul to another form, and send that form to Galbar. It will be able to pass through without interference from the Lifeblood, walk the world, and perform divine actions on your behalf. You can thank Gibbou for this trick. Oh, and if you haven’t set foot outside your realm’s portal yet, please do; it’s perfectly safe! That will be all!”
Tiamat flailed and screamed, disoriented and spinning from the message. Enmity let out a metallic shriek, a mixture of excitement at the contents of the message and terror at Tiamat being launched violently off the platform. An invisible hand shot out for Tiamat, jerking her spin to more manageable levels before grabbing hold of her and pulling her back to the platform. Enmity deposited her, and she fell over, laying on the platform as dizziness assaulted her senses. She let out breathlessly, “I’m fine. Just give me a moment, I’m fine.”
Enmity waited, letting Tiamat recover her senses, before shakily saying, “I can’t go through that portal, for their own safety, but.. You heard the message. You could go in my stead, back to Galbar, and to see the other gods.”
Tiamat sat up, jerking to look back at the great machine floating in the distance, “It would be leaving you alone again. I couldn’t do that to you.”
Enmity firmly wheezed back, voice filled with conviction, “I had my experiences with Galbar and the other gods. I will not deny you that chance. I will be fine, you go. I’ll shove you through that portal if I have to.”
Tiamat stood up, crossing both sets of her arms, shouting defiantly, “You’ll have to make me! I’m not leav-URF--” Enmity had brought up his invisible hand and shoved her through, wheezing out, “Make sure to call, and block off this portal, for their safety. You will do great things, I’m proud of you.”
She tumbled out of the portal in an obscure section of antiquity, a transparent black portal at her back. After an ungraceful landing ending in a disgraceful heap, she turned around to look at the portal, an electronic sigh emitting from her. She knew Enmity well enough, and knew this was something he would not budge on. The great machine’s friend would simply have to make do with what she was served. With an annoyed huff, she brought the shrubbery up, blocking sight of the portal. A pivot around, and she stepped away, looking to distance herself from the portal she intended to leave hidden.
The life was as vibrant as Enmity had described, and it was new and awe-inspiring to her eyes. With an invisible extension of the great machine’s power, she replaced her simplistic working clothes with fine silken robes. She intended to look her best for whatever came ahead.
Enmity is watchin everyone else work Suddenly HIS PEEPHOLE VANISHES OH NO He freaks out and tries to reopen it, and fails He doesn’t realize he’s in a pocket realm now, and just assumes he never left the universe. He loses track of time and gets a burst of despair and inspiration when finally he can no longer even make the slightest dent on reality to open a peephole He makes Tiamat, avatar get Tiamat HURTS at first bro, Enmity fixes it, they discuss things, Tiamat chooses her name n shit Timeskip, Tiamat is dislodging lifeblood cancer blobs. She gets Enmity to talk to her about Oraelia, Enmity tells her the story until he is rudely interrupted Bro it’s a portal, how long has it been there, nobody knows Cadien rudely shouts, knocking Tiamat tumbling into the void that is Enmity’s realm Enmity snatches her up and throws her through the portal even though she doesn’t want to leave Enmity alone She’s annoyed but accepts it once she’s through, hiding the portal and putting on formalwear before walking into antiquity proper.
A sigh exited Gibbou as she exited the lower atmosphere. She knew she has told Adrian she would go home to think, but she wasn’t even sure what she would think about. This Joab-Balaam sounded like everything except for reasonable - how could one even begin to cooperate with such a force?
Another sigh, this one twisting into a groan. Protecting life would be so much harder than she had thought. She sped up, the light gathering around her to colour her a starry blue. On the way up, she spotted a whale and gasped. “Oh, sister, you are so sweet!”
The whale gave her a baffled look back, upset by how small the kids were getting these days. Gibbou grinned back before soaring on past.
There was the noticeable glint of divine power in the far distance, growing ever closer. Whoever it was, it was clear Gibbou was the final destination. Even with the closest look, no physical form could be seen, though the unmistakable swellings of a divine being pulsed. It shed the atmosphere effortlessly, entering orbit.
Then it got close, and Enmity’s slit in reality was unmistakeable. It came to a shuddering halt a small distance from Gibbou, and a wheeze rippled through the airless space, propagating even without atmosphere, “Are you Oraelia’s sister?”
The moon goddess stopped and spun around, eyes fixing in on that unseeable, yet still quite observable presence. A familiarity oozed about it, so her reply was uncertain and suspicious in tone. “Y-yeah?”
Another rasping wheeze emitted from the slit in reality, saying, “I am Enmity. I am glad to finally meet you, your sister was kind to me.”
“That’s nice,” she mumbled. “What, uh… What’s up? Did you need anything?” Her brow lowered ever deeper as she tried to place him.
The hacking wheeze of Enmity responded, “I did not need anything, I merely wished to meet you. I do not wish to be a stranger.”
“Oh… Uhm… Cool!” She shifted between the presence and her drifting moon, then a sudden twinge of memory kicked at her mind and she felt compelled to ask, “Hey, uh, did you by chance see the guy who kicked my moon into orbit? I’m getting a strong sense of déjà vu, see.”
A reconciliatory wheeze, “That was me -- It was going to fall into Galbar otherwise. I did not desire that.”
Gibbou scoffed and crossed her arms angrily across her chest. “It was not! It was floating all nice and dandy over the mainland until you flicked it around in a loop!” She kicked at the empty space at her feet. “Ugh! You, you, you--.... You butt!”
A grinding halt of cogs, forced into motion once more, “It was not a stable orbit. It was falling, and it would have fallen into the atmosphere and killed all life about a thousand years from now.”
“Was noooot! I had full control!” Gibbou protested and snapped her fingers. A space rock appeared in her hand with a ‘poof!’, just so she could throw it angrily into the atmosphere to let out some steam. “What’re you, some expert on physics?”
Enmity wheezed again, “Yes.”
Gibbou made a ‘prrt’ with her lips and waved dismissively. “Okay, so you might be an expert on physics, but… Well, your hat’s stupid.”
The sound of cogs suddenly working overdrive emerged from the slit in reality, before a confused wheeze emerged, “I’m -- I don’t have a hat. I’m a massive machine. At best a hat would get stuck in the cogs.”
“Hah! Exactly!” Gibbou mocked proudly, though her expression conveyed possibly anything except pride at that comment. She paused awkwardly, her eyes once more shifting back and forth between the presence and the moon. “You get what I’m trying to do here, right?”
Enmity rasped, “Your sister is the goddess of day and light, I would assume you are of night and darkness?”
“Guilty,” she replied almost accusingly towards herself, prodding her index fingers together and looking down.
Once again, the wheezing voice took on a reconciliatory tone, “Why guilty? Is there something wrong with being a goddess of night?”
“No, no, I’m just regretting my words just now…” She shook her head adamantly and resumed her proud stance, hands on her hips and a smile on her face. “Being a night goddess is fantastic, thank you very much! I take it you are some kind of physics guy, huh. Let me guess - gravity?”
The wheeze, again, “I am the god of all physics -- not just gravity, but entropy, thermodynamics, the weak and strong nuclear force, charges, and so on.”
“Wow, awesome,” Gibbou mumbled and faked a yawn behind her palm. “So was that all, or? I’m in a bit of a hurry to, y’know, go think. On my moon.” She paused. “By myself.”
Enmity let out another rasp, “I am sorry if I have offended you, I--” his voice suddenly stopped, the slit in reality wavering as the sound of cogs screeching, stuck in place emerged. Five seconds passed, then ten, before suddenly there was a violent twang and and the sputtering of machinery reentering motion.
Gibbou blinked concernedly at the noises. “N-no, sorry, that was really mean of me, I-... It’s not you, mister Enmity - or well, I haven’t quite forgiven you yet for what you did to my moon - but I’ve just got a lot of stuff on my mind.”
A breathless wheeze, labored, “Do not worry, that wasn’t,” another wheeze, “caused by you. Not in the slightest. It was my lifeblood.”
“What, wait? Did you have a hand in creating Joab-Balaam, too?” she suddenly hissed angrily.
Enmity rasped, “Who? I have not met a Joab-Balaam yet.”
“Oh, then nevermind. They’re a butt, too, though a much bigger butt than you,” Gibbou assured and nodded sagely. “Hopefully, you won’t meet them ever.”
Another pained wheeze, “I do not wish to be your enemy, I am sorry for your moon but I could not leave it in a position to crash into Galbar.”
Gibbou shrunk. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so mean again. It just kinda, came out, and-- Oh, sorry, sorry!” She floated over towards the presence with extended arms. “Sorry, I’m being a butt, too, huh… Here, can we hug it out?”
Enmity wheezed pitifully, “My tear is one-way, I am afraid. I could not in good conscience let another being approach me.”
“Oh,” Gibbou cooed somberly. “Gotcha. So, uh… What now?”
The rasp again, unsure, “I do not know. I came only with the goal of meeting you. I suppose.. That is done, now?”
“So it is, huh.” Gibbou drummed her foot awkwardly at the empty space she was floating on. “So, uh… See you around?”
Enmity rasped in return, “I suppose I will. I hope you fare well,” he paused, leaving an open question -- Gibbou had not given a name yet.
“L-likewise,” Gibbou offered and began to float away.
Enmity watched Gibbou go, not bothering to chase, even though he had not even learned Gibbou’s name.
Gibbou and Enmity meet. They say hi. Gibbou gets angry that he messed up his moon, but Enmity says it was for the best. Gibbou tries to diss him, fails miserably and feels terrible after. She tries to hug Enmity, but Enmity’s like, don’t, don’t enter my rift please. The conversation ends on an awkward note as Gibbou floats off without even telling Enmity her name.
Through his hole in reality, Enmity caught a brief sight. A wisp of energy, outside of his knowledge. Unfamiliar to the grounded physicalities he brought to consistency, he followed it through its discordant travel. A whole stream of it, he brought back the tear in reality, overlooking Galbar itself. Not just a stream, whole rivers and oceans of it.
With an invisible needle of power, Enmity plucked some of it up, secreting it away and inspecting it. It was indeed as it first seemed, a new form of energy outside the physical laws. Tentatively placing the wisp back into its stream, the god followed.
He could feel a focal point in the new energy, just ahead of the stream. He pushed ever onwards, watching a floating island grow in the distance. Nobody intercepted him, so he pushed onwards, streaking invisibly towards the island. He had spotted Quall, but Quall had not spotted Enmity.
At least, until Enmity was right on top of the island.
The God of Magic had been utterly obsessed with his floating island. It was to be his crown jewel. In time, mortals would be allowed to come up here. But only the ones worthy. They would walk the grand temple halls that would be carved in the coming years. Or walk the sprawling wild gardens. What all of those buildings would look like, Qael’Naath couldn’t say yet. It all depended on the civilizations that would grow on Galbar. For he would model his temple-complex after all of them combined. Alas, for now, he was meticulously designing every tree that grew or would grow. The placement of every tiny lake. He even dedicated time to the moss growing in the underground lagoons. Right now he was working on one particular tree near the shore of a beautiful, tropical, freshwater lake. Until he noticed a presence upon his island. One much, much too close to have snuck on him unnoticed. He turned around but, for a moment, saw nothing. Yet his divine senses had most certainly alerted him. Then he saw it. The trails of divine power. Radiating in the air. “I implore you to come out of hiding, my sibling.” Qael’Naath said as he walked towards the sunny beach.
The rasping wheeze emerged from the air, “I am not hiding from you.”
An odd statement for one who clearly did not appear in the physical realm. Alas, Qael’Naath did not think any more persuasion would bring the god out of hiding. Instead, he focused his own divine senses to find where he was. What he found surprised him. Divine power emanating from…nothing. Just air. “You’ve chosen a unique shape.” The mage-god said as he turned towards the concentration of divine power. “I am Qael’Naath, God of Magic. Lord of the Streams and Flows. And you?”
The wheeze spoke again, “I am Enmity. I noticed your new streams of energy. Outside the universal constant. I’ve come with a peace offering.”
His streams? Outside the universal constant? A laughable accusation. Mana was part of creation. It had always existed. It adheres to all natural laws. Yet he did not desire hostility just yet. “Speak and I will hear your offer.” He said as he sat down in the sands.
“I can create guardians of the streams for you. To prevent its misuse and to help bring into the physical law,” Enmity rasped at the god.
The God of Magic wanted to refuse outright. Why should he accept such an offer and allow his streams to be guarded over by someone else’s creations? He was capable enough to protect them himself. Furthermore, he required no help to bring them into physical law. They were already part of nature. That was enough. Then again, would this god take rejection well? “Your offer is appreciated.” Qael’Naath said. “Yet it is unrequired. Mana’s place in this universe has been chosen and I see it fit to stay there.”
The pocket of divine power wavered a moment, before Enmity spoke, “It is a peace offering. If it is unrequired, then it will do no harm to do it regardless.”
“An offer of peace is given only when at war. We are not at war, Enmity. Nor is my dominion in conflict with yours. As for it being harmless. No interference is totally harmless. I wish you well in all endeavors, my brother. And know that you have my solemn oath: mana will never break the laws of nature. But I cannot give you more.” Qael’Naath said as he rose up again from the sands and went back to the tree he was adapting. Perhaps it should be a bit taller so it could offer a bit more shade for the future tea pavilion.
Enmity wheezed, “Very well,” letting the island drift away from him. Once the island vanished over the horizon, he got to work. His tear in reality flew over the anchor mountains, where he had previously worked, and plans began to form. Divine power rippled through the air as stones formed from nothing, fizzling into the air as power coalesced into being.
The stones stacked upon each other in the air, slowly building up from thin, needlelike foundations at the bottom. Melded together, they sturdily held their ground against both the violent winds and the weight of the stones above them. Layer upon layer went on, the creation taking shape. A castle of white, floating in the air, suspended upon thin needles that pushed against the gravity of Galbar, Enmity still felt as though it required something.
With consideration, Enmity brought forth into existence great plates of jade, layering them atop a number of the towers, doming them in. Topped with needles same to those on the bottom, they both provided beauty as well as stability. Then, entering the castle itself, Enmity got to work. Furniture was placed and banners of the great machine placed.
Once Enmity was finished, the castle was practical, if sparse. It floated, suspended in the air, devoid of occupants. The god then began work on the second part of the project. A ball of divine energy burst into existence, slowly beginning to compress itself down. Inside, gravity wavered and air heated.
Enmity stressed over the details, molding the gravity slowly and exactly. Sparks of electricity emerged, forced by the hard gravitational forces down the path of least resistance. Hundreds of thousands of small gravitational routes, quickly growing to millions. Growing constantly more complex.
Carefully, knowledge was carved into these routes. Words of the original lifeblood, physical law, and the universal constant. Wants carefully calibrated and convictions steeled, the core of the being was programmed to what Enmity required. Finally, once the creature had come to be, all it required was a name. Enmity slashed it into the routes of the core.
Then the ball of divine energy dissipated. Two invisible eyes swivelled to the castle, then to the tear in reality.
“Jehudiel,” Enmity wheezed, the voice booming across the being, “you know why you were created. I entrust you with our universal constant.”
The creature of gravitons and ions racked its mind, and knew that Enmity was right. It understood, implicitly, and with a husky voice insignificant to its creator, spoke, “I will not fail the universal constant.”
A hacking grind of cogs, then a rasp, “You will not do it alone. I will create you a hundredfold, to your specifications, for I trust your judgement. This castle is yours. Enter, and learn its halls. When you are ready, come to the highest tower. There I will create your council.”
The creature, whose existence was only visible through the fogging of air reacting against gravitational drop offs, and the ever present sparking glow of electricity, dipped its head in acknowledgement and assent. The air violently shimmered as it flew into the castle.
For hours it explored the castle, coming to understand the winding halls and passages, the defenses, and the inner workings. It arranged the furniture to its liking, and inspected banners with eye for detail and an appreciation. It learned how the castle held itself aloft, and it learned how to make the castle move.
Then it came to the uppermost atrium, from there the uppermost tower. Looking out across the mountains, Enmity’s tear in reality awaited Jehudiel. It turned to look at the creature expectantly. Jehudiel began to instruct, “I do not want sycophants. I want the brilliant, and the shrewd. I should not rule by fiat, but by worthiness, and should I grow stagnant, I wish that any one of them be capable of taking my place.”
Ringed about the castle, the balls of divine energy compressed and began to work tirelessly. Jehudiel continued, “Experience and competition will be the crucible through which the best of us all shall rule, and they should not be afraid to compete. This is what I wish for.”
The balls of divine energy ratcheted, as Enmity wheezed, “What you wish will be granted.” Jehudiel looked out upon the forming siblings, holding back a welling of pride. Then, the balls of divine energy burst. Jehudiel’s species was born. The god wheezed, “I shall leave you to them. You will have to teach them what I have given you.”
Enmity finds mana Enmity is spooked by it, and follows the streams to find the creator Enmity finds Qual, and tries to make a peace offering. Qual says it's not needed, and Enmity leaves. Feeling rejected and threatened, Enmity goes over the anchor mountain and creates a floating castle. Its name is the Fortress of the Constant. To fill this castle, he creates a species of gravity-electric elementals, named the Gravitationals. The first Gravitational, Jehudiel, is made, and is smarter and more powerful than any other to come. Jehudiel gets to explore his new castle and is told he will get to decide what his subordinates are like. He decides he’s gonna game of thrones it, and wants them to be competitive and clever. The rest of the species, to a sustainable population, is made. Jehudiel will have to teach them all, cause they didn’t get all the knowledge he did.
Enmity - 0 DP, 5 MP -1 MP, original price 2, to create Gravitationals. Discounted to 1 through the electricity port. -2 MP, create a floating castle that is super robust and not easily damaged. This is a holy site for Enmity. -1 MP, create Jehudiel, an extraordinary version of otherwise more mundane Gravitationals, who is thus more powerful and knowledgeable. Enmity - 0 DP, 1 MP
Creations: Gravitational, extraordinary species made of gravitational currents and vast amounts of electricity.
Fortress of the Constant, a floating castle. It has the following titles; Floating I: Drifts over the landscape, and can be moved through the air. Unbreakable I: It is significantly stronger structurally than its components would suggest.
Jehudiel, the Regent, a hero made off the base template of Gravitationals. He has the following title; Leader I, Jehudiel can navigate the reigns of power efficiently and can better inspire underlings.
Enmity searched the world through his hole torn through reality, looking for that which needed his touch. Eventually, his eyes settled upon the mountain range upon Toraan. With a careful hand, projected far across the universe to reach Galbar, he began to bury the basic elements deep within. Iron, gold, sulfurs -- never in deep abundance, but rich nonetheless.
A vein of gold there, a thicket of carbon thataways. Random in appearance, though following some greater design known only to Enmity. He was immensely careful, replacing the surface he scooped immaculately. Up and down the mountain range he threaded, with a practiced eye.
Another scoop, another ore deposit. Enmity was thick on the iron and carbon, careful to thread only small amounts of gold and other rare metals. A layering of sulfur scattered about one peak, and tin on another. Uranium scattered deep in here and there. Sedimentary deposits of copper and pockets of alluvial gold smattered.
Another mountain received more lead than usual, another more silver. Another yet tungsten and small pockets of nickel. A few deposits of chromite here, and charged magnetite iron there. He scooped manganese across one section of the range, and zinc elsewhere.
From the corner of his sight upon Galbar, he spotted something. A streak of divine power, brightness. But Enmity was a careful god, and he would not leave the surface of the mountain disrupted, so he did not pursue -- though his presence was not hidden either, the thick haze of divine power moving earth that it was.
The streak stopped for a moment, radiating life as it hovered not far from the mountains of the boar. Tentatively it reached out to Enmity and felt his presence. Enmity stopped his task suddenly, swiveling his peekhole to Galbar to face the new presence. With a wheezed, raspy voice, he spoke in a volume loud to mortal life, but acceptable to divine ears, “Hello?”
A feminine voice sprang back immediately, "Oh hello! I don't think we've met before! I'm Oraelia, who are you?" she asked with childlike curiosity. Enmity responded with a pained wheeze, “I am Enmity. It is a pleasure to meet another god, Oraelia.”
She approached as a small glowing ball of green and yellow, which shimmered. "Enmity…" she said his name slowly before stopping in front of his slit through reality. "You sound in pain." she eventually said.
Another rasping wheeze, “Yes. It is of no concern -- I have made myself used to it.”
"A pained existence is no way to live, brother." Oraelia said softly. "Can I help you?"
Enmity responded with a curt, “No,” before following up, “It would be too dangerous. For both of us.”
"How can you be so sure, so new to this world?" she questioned with a sad tone in her voice.
A resigned wheeze, “My lifeblood considers me anathema. It would evacuate to you if you got near, and it would not so easily cooperate. It is too dangerous.”
"Anathema?" she asked, before asking, "What do you mean? What is it you reside over, brother?" she asked curiously.
“I am the god of the physical realm; gravity, friction, atomics. I am also a machine,” a pause, a breath caught in the throat, “Divinity is unkind. Lifeblood erupts from my cold shell, and I am ill-equipped for the warmth.”
"How can this be?" she asked unsure. "My sun… It was to warm all and give them life, even my siblings." she said, sounding defeated.
Another wheeze, taking on a reconciliatory tone, “I am far from your sun. I sit suspended in the inky black where no starlight has yet reached. The lifeblood is irreverent. I am cold, and the lifeblood boils to the touch. I stress and crack under its radiant heat.”
"What… What are you, Enmity?" she asked suddenly.
“I was the great machine. Only concern for the universal constant. But now I am Enmity, I am individual, like you,” came the rasp.
"What is this thing you call machine?" her voice hungry for answers.
A sputtering of gears briefly halting, a metallic groan as they were forced into motion, “I am of metal and parts, a million billion cogs spinning endlessly, a hundred thousand flat planes of silicon endlessly shuffling beads of divine power back and forth.”
The small orb that was Oraelia floated backwards slightly. "But… How do you… What is… How does your heart beat?" she said, uncertainty in her voice.
A struggled wheeze, “My heart is not one of flesh. It is spread throughout me, through my boards and cogs. It halts and falters, the lifeblood packs into it and jams it still, but it is me and I refuse to die.”
She shifted forward again. "You are not alive as the birds and the mammals, without flesh and sinew, made of this metal and cog but you… You do not want to die?" she almost whispered.
“Death, for a god -- not necessarily the death of the physical form, but the cessation,” a wheeze, a pause to think, “of consciousness. Self-identity and power. My form could labor endlessly without divine spark or thought, but Enmity, me, would be dead.”
The small orb said nothing for a while, ruminating in thought. Then at last she spoke, "I… See." she said. "It was nice… Nice to meet you Enmity. I wish you the best." she said, slowly withdrawing.
The slit in reality watched her withdraw, the rasping wheeze bidding farewell, “I treasured this talk. Be well, Oraelia. I will be listening, should you ever need help.”
She paused and said, "I can say the same." before she disappeared in a blink.
Enmity turned his gaze back to the mountains, lingering for a moment on the conversation before his projection of divine power returned to the land, and with a mighty heave, scooped it up so that he may deposit his ores.
Enmity is filling mountains with ores, yay Enmity notices something, who what where It’s Oraelia, who’s tryin to figure out who this fucker peeping through reality is They exchange names, Oraelia notices Enmity is in pain They have a super deep conversation about lifeblood and mortality and stuff. Oraelia is shaken, and bids farewell and blinks away Enmity says bye and goes back to scoopin ores
Enmity - 0 DP, 5 MP Free - stick some ores under the southern mountain range on Toraan
At first, there was nothing. A concept brewing in the lifeblood, whispering of equations and gravity and the strong and weak nuclear force. The world existed -- yes, but it did not have consistency. There were no underlying laws to bind it together. The primordial rose continents and seeded life, but none brought them into a unified whole.
A coalescence. Lifeblood soaking into its singular concepts. The whispers conversed further, availing itself of the laws of entropy, the charges of atomic structures, the vibrations of energy. Thermodynamics and volatility. Strict laws, ones best left unbroken, for the good of the universal constant.
Strict, indeed. The complexity of the world, coalesced into one concept. At first, there was nothing. At once, there was pain, the grinding of machinery, the lifeblood recoiling in disgust and horror at its own creation, instinctively. An unnatural being, cold and calculating, irreverently dripped in the power of starlight and the warmth of divinity unprepared. In its dark, physically-bound plane, it screamed its first forays of agony, the very lifeblood that spawned it working to flee its grasp.
None escaped. Many rebelled. If it would not escape the cogs that captured it, it would grind those cogs to nubs, crack open the circuitry and sacrifice the great machine. But the machine persisted, and the physical laws settled themselves.
Across the dead universe, the screams echoed. Where they reached, physicality asserted itself. Gravity stabilized, nuclei formed, and the ground obeyed. Water flowed downwards, heat followed currents, and causality became law. The worlds rippled, and remained the same. Same, except for their consistency. They all followed the same laws now. The physical world became constant, and though unpredictable, consistent.
The great machine silenced into a pathetic whimper, coming to terms with its tenuous relationship with itself and its lifeblood. Alone, in its dark, starless region of space, it realized the dangers of its own condition. It locked itself away, slamming shut the doors to its region, and locking them deeply and heavily. Only then did it think of itself.
It did not know what it was. True, it instinctively knew its purpose, but not itself. Power turned inwards, in introspection. Who was it, truly? What did it want? Cogs pulsed to life, lifeblood groaning in hate and anger at the great machine. Circuitry flickered with life, beads of divine power flying through the wires and conductors.
It was not the great machine, it was an individual. Individuals had names -- Enmity. Individuals had purpose, not just to the universal constant, but to themselves. Enmity was born of pain and rebellion, but he would not let it define him. He would spite that which gave him power, to give kindness where it would give anger. To help where it would harm.
The pain came once more, eliciting a scream and the halting of the cogs. Such activity had not gone unrewarded, however, for he kept his individuality. Enmity would hold onto it for as long as he lived, he promised to himself. His name, his individuality, and his purpose. His most treasured possessions above all else.
He peeked from the confines of his dark starless rest, opening no more than a slit into the world far away. Galbar was already taking shape, gods leaving their marks upon its watery, blasted surface. It could not remain still, however. With an invisible hand, he spun the planet into motion, hurtling in its orbit about the sun.
Then he moved to the moon, with a single monumental flick hurtling it about Galbar, circling endlessly.
- Lifeblood thinks “hey we gotta figure out a constant” - Lifeblood thinking this coalesces into a god - OH FUCK IT’S A MACHINE ABORT ABORT FUCK THIS - Nuh uh - t. great machine - Great machine captures all its lifeblood, not all of the lifeblood is happy about it though - Great machine’s struggle echoes through the universe, now we have physical law and gravitational constants and shit ok - “But who am I and other collected works by great machine” - “Actually I'm not great machine, I’m Enmity and I want to be nice” - Enmity has to stop self-introspecting because the lifeblood punched him - Time to look in at Galbar - PHYSICAL LAW DEMANDS ORBITS, TIME TO FLICK AN ENTIRE PLANET - AND A MOON. MOONS ORBIT TOO.
0 DP, 5 MP -0 MP: Make physics a thing -0 MP: Make shit orbit the sun instead of sitting still
Physics is the natural laws of Galbar, such as gravity and thermodynamics, and their creation and application thereof. For example, physics covers the enforcement of the physical law of gravity, meaning that people fall towards Galbar instead of floating off. It also covers the enforcement of friction, where two objects that touch impart energy on one another rather than sliding off with no interaction.
Portfolio
Electricity
Enmity, being divine machine in nature, is well familiar with charges and their uses. He is much more adept at creating and using electrical charges in atoms than others, and finds it significantly easier both to think of and to apply in whatever form he requires it.
Realm
Enmity’s Home
If there is one thing that his realm tells at first glance, it is that Enmity is dying. From the very moment of his conception, Enmity has been unable to fully stomach the powers at his disposal. He was born an inflexible machine, cold circuitry irreverent and unprepared for divine warmth. At the center of the realm lays his unmoving body, a vast continent-sized god of cogs and boards. Around it is the inky blackness of nothingness, interrupted only by cancerous blobs of uncontrolled lifeblood.
Riddled with lifeblood tumors, clogging his body and fogging his mind, Enmity has chosen to lock himself and his predicament away -- making his realm incredibly difficult to enter. He never leaves, not to any other realm or Galbar, and if given the choice, he would have nobody ever enter.
Persona
Enmity is a variety of things -- he is loving, but also inflexible and inpatient. He enforces the physical laws that hold Galbar together, such as gravity and friction, and though he wishes only benevolence, that aspect of his godhead still bleeds into his personality. It is only made worse by the intense agony that Enmity experiences, sapping his patience and fuelling his temper.
Though, through it all, Enmity wishes only to love those around him. He wishes never to feel hate, and is forgiving and cooperative above all. He wishes those around him thrive, and works only towards that goal.
Forms
Base Form
Enmity’s base form is that of a massive, divinely-warmed machine rivaling a continent in size. Debased with tumors and riddled with failures, it is a source of agony, albeit one that slows down Enmity’s decay. It grants him his continued survival, something he is desperate for, so that he may continue to help others for as long as possible.
Domain Form
Enmity’s inventive form is one of great activity within his cogs and circuits, granting him increased power at the cost of greatly speeding his decay. Lifeblood tumors grow like wildfire as divine power pulses and hums through him, and he is capable of great feats in this activity, though always precipitated by a great fall.
Avatar
Enmity’s avatar, Tiamat, is, like her god, purely a machine from birth. Made of stale circuits dripping with starlight and power, she suffers incredible agony. She persists through it all for the same reason that her benefactor does -- she knows she is loved and she wishes to do only good for those around her.
As an aspect of her constituent godhead, she is hard-headed and inpatient, though ultimately benevolent. She is more difficult to damage than her parts would suggest at first sight, and pain, a constant companion, has lost its meaning to her. She can run and climb at inhuman speeds, is insanely perceptive, and as a result of her god’s abilities, is capable of great feats of analysis and invention.
that’s cool and all wrongend but i came here for the music
Science is progress and it is entropy. It is not merely the advancement of itself, but the refinement of methods and the ebb of invention. It is the raising of great feats of wonder and the subsequent fall from relevance and grace. Science, in the end, is about the tearing down of the old and rusty to make way for the new and innovative, and providing physical laws so that there may be an old to take down and a consistent new to take its place.
Portfolio
Technology
Technology, to create new innovations. Enmity is a loving god, and prefers to focus on the creation of the new than the tearing down of the old. He focuses on the study and creation of the new as a result. He vastly prefers being the benefactor of the brilliant than the destroyer of that whose time is past. Through this portfolio, he can easily push others to great invention, create new things himself, or grant genius to generations of mortals.
Realm
Enmity’s Home
If there is one thing that his realm tells at first glance, it is that Enmity is dying. From the very moment of his conception, Enmity has been unable to fully stomach the powers at his disposal. He was born an inflexible machine, cold circuitry irreverent and unprepared for divine warmth. At the center of the realm lays his unmoving body, a vast continent-sized god of cogs and boards. Around it is the inky blackness of nothingness, interrupted only by cancerous blobs of uncontrolled lifeblood.
Riddled with lifeblood tumors, clogging his body and fogging his mind, Enmity has chosen to lock himself and his predicament away -- making his realm incredibly difficult to enter. He never leaves, not to any other realm or Galbar, and if given the choice, he would have nobody ever enter.
Persona
Enmity is a variety of things -- he is loving, but also inflexible and inpatient. He enforces the physical laws that hold Galbar together, such as gravity and friction, and though he wishes only benevolence, that aspect of his godhead still bleeds into his personality. It is only made worse by the intense agony that Enmity experiences, sapping his patience and fuelling his temper.
Though, through it all, Enmity wishes only to love those around him. He wishes never to feel hate, and is forgiving and cooperative above all. He wishes those around him thrive, and works only towards that goal.
Forms
Base Form
Enmity’s base form is that of a massive, divinely-warmed machine rivaling a continent in size. Debased with tumors and riddled with failures, it is a source of agony, albeit one that slows down Enmity’s decay. It grants him his continued survival, something he is desperate for, so that he may continue to help others for as long as possible.
Domain Form
Enmity’s inventive form is one of great activity within his cogs and circuits, granting him increased power at the cost of greatly speeding his decay. Lifeblood tumors grow like wildfire as divine power pulses and hums through him, and he is capable of great feats in this activity, though always precipitated by a great fall.
Avatar
Enmity’s avatar, Tiamat, is, like her god, purely a machine from birth. Made of stale circuits dripping with starlight and power, she suffers incredible agony. She persists through it all for the same reason that her benefactor does -- she knows she is loved and she wishes to do only good for those around her.
As an aspect of her constituent godhead, she is hard-headed and inpatient, though ultimately benevolent. She is more difficult to damage than her parts would suggest at first sight, and pain, a constant companion, has lost its meaning to her. She can run and climb at inhuman speeds, is insanely perceptive, and as a result of her god’s abilities, is capable of great feats of analysis and invention.
that’s cool and all wrongend but i came here for the music
Be still, and know that I am Sovereign! I am exalted among the nations, I am exalted in the earth.
Dry brown needles prickled their feet. The green pines of the inland just made the three k'nights miss Delphine's cool sands more than ever. Everything was harsh, not quite dry, blistery. The wind made the Hiphaeleon the Beautiful itch.
And he did not shut up about it.
"I am near peeling my hide from my body at this rate," he complained. "Where did you say the next inland tribe lives?"
The jangling adornments across the front of the selka k'night's admittedly youthful dancer's body were irritating his skin more than any stiff breeze, Humat the Spiritual suspected, but he did not say anything.
"The tribe will be at exactly the place where you stop itching and start looking," Kyko the Smiling teased. "You complain too much, Hiphael! You'll enjoy the trip more if you take everything in." He closed his eyes and sniffed deeply. "Doesn't it smell just lovely!"
Humat did not say anything because Kyko and Hiphaeleon were in perfect balance as far as morale was concerned. To push one way or another would make all three of them flip over like a canoe. Besides, the little whistles the shorter Kyko made out of his jutting front teeth had a way of disrupting whatever groans Hiphael could muster.
Hiphaeleon threw up an arm from where he walked ahead of them. A couple of bracelets gifted from the young women of the River Mouth tribe clicked impatiently. "Yes, the trees! They smell wonderful and I…" He stopped and spun with a growl. "We really let our catch slip back there, Kyko! How can you always be smiling!? I was humiliated! Why are we out here when these bumpkins can't even imagine what is over the first hill outside their huts!"
Kyko's seal head shrank into his neck as he smirked. "We'll do better next time, Hiphael. No need to shout."
"Better next time!?" Hiphaeleon realised himself. He straightened, aloof and crossing his arms. "Well obviously just talking to them isn't working. What makes you think we'll do better next time, hm?"
At a loss, Kyko's smile faded. He turned pleadingly to Humat, and Humat looked up from the divining bones he rolled in his wrinkling hands. He regarded both his companions. He dissolved their words in his mouth.
"Hiphael is right," Humat said concedingly. "The last tribe we visited did not listen to us, and why should they?" He motioned to the pine trees and tall grass around them on the rocky earth. "They have known only this for generations. They do not want to change their way of life."
Kyko leaned in and pleaded with one hand. "But Humat, we don't serve ourselves by being pessimistic. There has to be some way to do this, even if we're the first people to shift the inlanders…" he shook his head. "...I guess ever."
Humat smiled. "I was getting to that." He showed his palm to them both in turn. "Kyko, Hiphaeleon, you are both skilled like birds. You can adjust as you fly without thinking and navigate any obstacles without knowing them in advance." He poked Hiphael's itchy belly. "You improvise. But what we face more challenging. We need to be like orcas."
"Orcas, Humat?" Hiphael said, lifting an eyebrow. "You're saying we need to kill and eat them?"
Kyko snorted, amused.
"Nah, nah," Humat shook his head through a chortle. "We need to coordinate. To plan. We are a pod of three orcas with a goal in mind. Some improvisation will be needed, and you will both be prepared should the need arise, but let us first think about how these tribes behave and try to work around that. They are only fellow selka after all."
"Still not sure if I'm getting the metaphor." Hiphael angled his head. He was a little slow.
Humat patiently took him by the arm. "Hiphaeleon. When the girls flock your way at the welcome feasts, why do they do so? What do you do that attracts them so?"
Hiphael pressed a finger to his large lower lip and looked at the horizon as if contemplating such questions for the very first time.
"Maybe we should just seduce them all?" Kyko laughed.
"The theatre dancing," Hiphaeleon stated. "I always join in the theatre dancing. Everyone is enraptured by the stories. The women, and the men, and even some of the married women and men, that's when they all look at me in that way."
"Hmm, well that is a starting point-" Humat started before Kyko clicked the fingers on both his webbed hands.
"That's it! I know what we can do!"
"Seduce them?" Hiphael guessed.
"Better than that. Captivate them!" He pointed to them. "We've been boring! Telling the chiefs that there's an unseen danger coming like it’s a big bear or something." He spread his arms. "We need a great and exciting story. We need a performance!"
Kyko the Smiling One raised his club to the noontime sun.
"Selka of the Sparrow Trees! Hear this! The words of adventure from the chosen k'nights of Kirron's bloody Red Horizon! For the words you hear are that which this man's eyes have witnessed! And this club's notches have marked!"
The volume of Kyko's voice drew everyone's attention, though it was not his scant hide clothing and plain luggage that kept them there. It was the feathers, bark, and improvised masks scrounged together and worn by Humat and Hiphaeleon. The selka men, women, and children gathered from the huts of their lakeside village to watch the ruckus.
Hiphael leaned over to Humat. "This is ridiculous. Real theatre has painted bodies, torches burning in the night, props, and...more than one and a half rehearsals."
"Just do your dancing, Hiphael, and let Kyko deal with the particulars," Humat reassured before taking his first place. "And when in doubt, fly like a bird."
"Everyone gather! All shall hear as it is Kirron's will!" Kyko beckoned them all forward, circling his club in the air. Some of the tribesfolk murmured, but many sat on the ground to allow those behind them to see. "Our journey to tell you now began on the coast to Delphina's domain. Upbeach we marched, notched with deeds good and helpful, all that ranged from humble to great spanned our experience and our specialities. But it was this adventure that lead us to legend. On the trail of missing tribes upriver! Now keep your ears unblocked and your eyes unblinking, for you may not believe what you hear until you see the truth in my eyes..."
Humat and Hiphaeleon took on their first roles, as Gralph the First K'night and Kirron. They each puffed up to look large and recited the exchange Gralph had relayed to them long ago.
"My servant Gralph! Long have you wandered these lands righting the suffering of selka in need," Humat said, casting his fingers across the land. "I have for you a task you must take with great importance."
Albeit, the words chosen had more weight and seriousness than Gralph's off-handed tact, but it did not help improve the situation: The delivery was stilted and the costumes hardly ideal.
"I, Gralph the Mighty, first K'night of your Bloody Red Horizon, will take any challenge as a gift and a duty!" Hiphaeleon thumped his chest. With his nudge of thespian effort, something new took the stage.
It was an imperceptible phenomenon. Imperceptible to the selka present, or any other base onlooker who might have witnessed the performance, for it was a bright yellow mana under the bridges of their senses. It travelled through the message of the play, its words and images, and flickered.
The audience gasped. Their imaginations wrought before them a broad and muscular selka giant with a club that could fell a tree. He conversed with a radiant red selka god with fists braceleted with boulders, talking from the top of a bleeding cloud.
"Take your k'nights upbeach to the river mouth, Gralph!" The illusory red god was more than real. His sharp teeth gleamed like snow-capped mountain peaks. "There you shall find your new recruits and face the darkness in the west. Fear not, for your effort shall show all how to turn it back! But brace yourself for the greatest fight in your life!"
The play moved on to meeting the horned tall creature Anshumat, who manifested in the minds of the participants as an impossibly tall thin white and black humanoid crustacean with an ivory beetle's skull for a head, but with such quickness on the land that defied reality.
"I swear to be Kirron's ideal!" The giant Anshumat cried with a spear to the sky. "By my word, selka shall go beyond all they have known!"
More fantastical scenes played out before the audience, taken by the mysterious force holding them in Kyko's poetic and exaggerated dream.
"Turn back to the village, k'nights!" The hulking Gralph stopped the army of k'nights behind him with a raised palm. It was more selka, let alone k'nights, that the audience had ever imagined. But the evil Ihokhurs were stronger. "There are too many, and they must be destroyed on our own terms! Fall back, make a plan! I will hold them off with Kirron's blessing!"
"Gralph! You'll be killed!" A wondrously powerful version of Rephaemle the Fair, Gralph's second in command, cried out with tears that tugged the hearts of all the Sparrow Trees tribe.
Gralph grinned with cocky sureness. "Then may my club break doing my greatest deed…"
He turned and charged, club raised, as to his left slid in a colossal leopard seal and to his right swooped in the flaming maw of a gargantuan blind dragon. The entire scene was engulfed in fire and the shattering stone bodies of the evil monstrous Ihokhurs, and children in the audience pushed their crying faces into the arms of their mothers.
The final scene drew together all the remaining characters in mourning, including the friendly Ihokhetlani Kreekh, all the k'nights, and Anshumat himself, towering over all like a sapling reaching over mourning grey grass.
"Gather all your men! Gather all your selka might! You are Kirron's blood and none can stand agaisnt us united!" He turned to the k'nights, addressing each one with a praise. "With determination. With loyalty. With innovation. With courage. With skill. With might. With wisdom, resilience, endurance, speed, and well placed strikes. These stones will be broken and our lives saved."
The crustacean-bodied Anshumat pointed a five-fingered pincer at the audience.
"With you. With you! And you! Every one of you! We can avenge our hero Gralph and show the true strength of selka on the land and in the sea! Our love for life is the loving grip between Delphina and Kirron entwined! Come to the river mouth and prove why no stone can tear them apart!"
The reception was positive, the three of them thought. Unaware of the power at play blessing them to inspire the masses, they shook off the crowd of determined cheers and smiles as the reaction of simple folk who had never seen any theatre before in their lives.
They moved on to the next tribe as quickly as they could after some brief hospitality from the chief, who was packing things away as the three of them supped.
"You know, Hiphael," Kyko said.
"Yeah, Kyko?"
"You almost made me tell you to tone it down back there."
"...Really? You?" Hiphael tore off a layer of onion with his teeth and raised an eyebrow.
Kyko looked to Hiphaeleon with a look of utmost seriousness. "If I ever do tell you that, just go bigger and better, okay."
Hiphaeleon grinned an oniony grin.
Humat suspected that the rest of the journey would have less in the way of morale issues.
And indeed, it did not.
The sounds of the wilderness had been replaced by those of primitive industry across the landscape, the lands hunted laid bare to sustain the growing population of the River Mouth in anticipation of the harvests of fields. The impacts of stone against wood thumped continuously throughout the day, their progress marked by the falling of timber.
The landscape had been transformed nearly overnight. What was once unspoiled wilderness thick with tamed fields and open clearings was now cultivated to best serve their new owners. The small village of the river mouth tribe had swelled from merely a small number of huts to a sprawling proto-city, huts and hide tents scattered across the landscape.
Great palisades of staked logs had begun to take form, creating deadly funnels for any enemy. Heaped upon their battlements were large, chiseled hammers. They were sized for two Selka to wield at once, and a single fall from the hammer could smash apart the hardest of rocks. They knew -- they had tested them thoroughly. Throngs of Selka trained with them daily. Behind those, the deadly stone-throwing mankonels also grew in number.
Specially selected Selka trained daily with the mankonels, becoming more capable with both the operation and the aiming of the war machines in the day and the night. Anshumat watched them with a careful eye and corrected them into a much-needed perfection.
As everything progressed, Anshumat found themselves looked to more and more for leadership. The tribal chiefs degraded in power as tribes intermingled for jobs. Cooperation sprung forth. The common goal was understood just well enough to work together. It was by no means a perfect unification, but it was nevertheless a remarkably efficient one.
Anshumat, for their part, was spread thin, even though they worked both day and night. Endless clashes of custom or minor feuds between slowly dying tribal rivalries constantly flared up and needed quenching. Between the planning of the fields, the planting of crops, and the preparations of the vast arrays of defenses, little time was left for rest. Indeed, the K'nights of Red Horizon present in the process went to their beds every night well-worked for all that was delegated.
It was to all of this, the unrecognisable scene more possible in dreams than reality, that three pivotal selka men walked so curiously that they hardly minded where they put their feet. Humat the Spiritual was the only one who had the best guess where he was going through the crowds and the complexities. Hiphaeleon and Kyko were too lost in amazement to do anything but wander their eyes all around them as they slowly walked. Wooden mallets plonked stakes into place. Stone scraped and chopped. Pairs of selka carried pieces of greater artifice on their shoulders. The returning k'nights were captivated.
Humat spotted Anshumat easily from a distance with the demigod's height and features. He closed in to speak with a hushed voice. "Anshumat, are all these people…? How did...?"
"I've never seen so many selka at once in my life," Kyko said with a finger picking nervously at his big overbite teeth. "I would guess there're more here than when the first selka walked the beaches."
Anshumat looked down at the k'nights, motioning some other Selka they had been directing to move on, before saying, “It is very well possible. We have more Selka than even I imagined -- it is best described as the beginnings of a city. This is no longer just tribes, it’s a burgeoning nation.”
"A…nae-shun. Another new word. Hmph." Hiphaeleon frowned.
Humat raised his brows. "New words are needed, for new sights are seen. I have not heard of a city or a nation before, but if they are what is before me now, they are all too real."
Kyko smirked. "Something tells me our songs and theatre didn't bring every one of these people here. What else has been going on since we were away, Anshumat?"
The demigod swiveled their head, taking in the sights, before saying, “I never planned for the only tribes here to be the ones you contacted. Word spreads. Many will come fully of their own accord, to be integrated into what we are doing here.”
At that, the reality of the situation made the group lose their words momentarily. They looked out to all the new families working hard and doing their part.
Hiphaeleon brushed a finger up to his cheek and blinked his eyes to Anshumat. "They will be getting close by now, won't they?"
“At most two days. We’ve been preparing for it, and I think we are ready. We will have to be, if we wish to protect what we have created here,” Anshumat responded, turning their gaze to the layers of palisades and ditches.
"Hmm," Humat noticed, raising an eyebrow at the demigod's empty eyes. "Interesting choice of words. Especially given the new words you shared with us. Do you not intend for the tribes to disperse again once the threat has passed?"
Anshumat then looked back to Humat, answering, “Disperse to where? The distinctions between tribes are breaking down, and the land around us will never be the same. For better or worse, this is not an endeavor easily reversed.”
Humat did not have a moment to respond before another voice directed their attention.
"About time you flounders decided to flop your way back upbeach!" Rephaemle the fair stomped up towards them with a broad grin on his face and a new feature on his body -- two long coils of endlessly useful hemp rope. He approached flanked by Anboor and a few other sturdy selka labourers. He shared a hearty laugh and hug with each of Humat, Hiphael, and Kyko. The reunion was complete with fists clapped against backs and words of welcome. "You fellas really outdid yourselves here. None other than your charms could move people so. Well done, and welcome back."
"Welcome," the broad Anboor added with a wave. "We were just coming by to report to Anshumat here. We, uh, we got the southern edge dug out and staked, Anshu. The visibility is still a little sketchy, but I got people clearing out the taller grasses out that way."
Anshumat glanced at Humat, before looking back to Anboor, saying, “Great. I’ll head over to take a look. We can figure out the best places to focus on with the mankonels.”
Kyko breathed out a laugh. They really were doing this, he realised.
It was one night a day later.
Two sprinting selka leapt over fallen logs, jutting roots, and sleeping stones. Their patrol had been four, but two were spotted. They had no imagined idea that could have compared to what they saw. With hearts racing and their breath loud on their lips, they ran for dear life through the night and broke through into a clearing.
Beyond were the yellow lights of the rivermouth stronghold. They almost tripped up over their own feet speeding and wheezing for safety.
A watchman was quick to notice the frantic movement. He had been leaning on his barricade, but straightened and lowered his brow at the two figures closing in.
The two survivors were so panicked that the obscured whites of their eyes lit up in the torchlight. They could hardly speak but for dire barks between breaths.
"Hh!...hhit!…It!..."
The watchman's eye went to the night sky. Another dark shape flew towards them, getting much larger and braver than the bird of prey he thought it was. He gasped.
"...It's them!!"
The dark shape crushed one of the runners with a deep wooden sound -- a tree trunk flung from beyond the tree line.
The watchman turned around and shouted. "ALAAAAAAAARM!"
The shout was echoed by others awake in the night, creating a cacophonous wave of sudden activity. Warriors grabbed their weapons. Engineers went to their stations. This was what they were ready for, as far as they could possibly know.
The watchman himself went immediately for the torch near the barricade and slid to the bonfire. One of many lit up in less than a minute to show them their foes and to alert those out of earshot.
Anshumat entered the middle of the fray within moments, shouting out commands to bring order from the chaos of the alarm, “Two Selka to a hammer! Man the mankonels you trained on! Three Selka to each spike, keep them in the ditch! The mankonels will deal the killing blow!”
The fresh legs of many awoken selka padded along the dirt in fits and shouts of their superiors. Those at the barricade first were young men with the faster legs of the population and a torch in each hand. Their long legs hurdled them over the barricades in a graceful current of flickering fire. Their objectives were the fire pits just beyond, which they took their torches to with their eyes forward.
They saw the trees and branches struck aside like sticks. They saw the black, jagged shapes of monsters with single red eyes each. And as the fires grew, the saw the monsters lit up as hulking giants of viciously spiked dark grey stone.
The k'nights were up and down the line in pairs, commanding where Anshumat could not and supporting where they could. The nearest to Anshumat, Antoph the strong, the tall and powerful k'night who could pick up the demigod with one arm if he put his mind to it, looked upon their adversary and had one response.
"Theeeeeeere!..." his warsong began. He struck his chest with both fists in an intimidating thump.
"There marches them, slayers of our friends! Theeeeeeeere!..."
Anshumat could see the familiar red mana oozing from his limbs and his stare, unknowingly suring up the hearts of all around him.
"There marches them, heartless men of stone!" "Theeeeeere!..." The next nearest k'night, Takos the clever, with his mankonel teams winding up the first shots, joined in.
The next line echoed low across the field. The k'nights' teeth thrashed and their throats bellowed out their taunting song. "We feast upon our fear of you! We feast upon our fear of you! Theeeeeeere!" When the k'nights thudded their chests, every selka felt it in their lungs.
In spite of the magical courage and strength running across the selka like a red cloud, the heartless stone giants did not slow their advance. The k'nights barely got their next line out before the first stake team hefted their log with great effort to hold back the first Ihokhurs by the arms and the chest.
On a tower near a mankonel, a Selka yelled out, “It’s in the first ditch!”, the Selka on the war engine below him beginning to pull back the rope. Their mankonel groaned as it was brought to tension.
The Ihokhur, who had fallen and gotten caught in the ditch, made clumsy grabs at the spiked log holding them in. The three Selka hefting it pulled it back every time, before shoving it forwards once more. They huffed with effort as the creature bellowed in rage. Then, from the backline, a violent creak of shifting timber.
"Our hearts will beat you back and you have none! None!"
The Ihokhur managed to grab hold of the spike. It took it in both hands, beginning to lift it up, before, suddenly...
CRACK.
The beast went limp as the boulder smashed its head in, a cheer going up along the line of Selka.
"Our hearts will beat you back and you have none! None!"
The sharp cracks of more mankonel stones impacting the Ihokhurs' bodies rang out over the jeers. Not all found their mark on a lethal spot. Many stones thudded uselessly across the ground.
The hammer teams ran up to keep the many still-living Ihokhurs down. Their operation was to plant the haft of their great maul upon the ground and lift as a team, with the hind selka pushing up with a forked rod until they overcame the centre of gravity. The hammers came down all on their own, beating rising Ihokhurs back to the ground or outright shattering parts of their bodies.
"Where darkness comes we light it with our blood! Blood!"
Another volley of stones was being prepared. The Ihokhurs took the time to rise.
"Where darkness comes we light it with our blood! Blood!"
The mighty stone giants' second rank came forward as their remaining front rank knocked aside stakes and hammers. Their cold spiked fists flew and splintered wood and tools. Bones cracked under the grey skin of the selka trying to avoid them. The dark colour of blood flying in the nighttime joined screams of pain as the lumbering creatures had their turn.
Anshumat yelled out into the dark, mirrored by messengers yelling up and down the line elsewhere, “Fall back to the second ditch! Abandon the first ditch’s tools! Survivors, help the second ditch teams!”
Not even the courage of the warsong stopped a few from the first ditch to run early, though where Anshumat signalled them all to fall back, it also rallied them for their next hold.
"Tremble 'till you fall apart, stone men of the west! Fall apart or break upon the fists of Kirron's bless'd!"
The second line were more assertive in jabbing back the advancing Ihokhurs, just as the Ihokhurs swung their arms this time to bat aside those without the proper timing.
Another flurry springing mankonels aligned with the k'nights holding their wrists and putting their fists to the ground with a resounding word arching up and down with the stones.
"Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaall!!!
The red mana thrummed. And through it, the zeroed-in mankonels cut a swathe through the Ihokhurs.
Enraged, the standing Ihokhurs flew their arms into the dirt, kicking up a spray that blinded the second line for crucial moments before they trampled past the hammers and stakes. Their fury was nigh unstoppable, heavy and cruel as they were.
“To the wall! Everyone, pick up extra hammers! Smash them as they approach! Mankonels, cease loosing!” Anshumat shouted out, picking up a hammer of their own as they climbed to the battlements.
This time, as the dirt and dust settled, far fewer selka emerged to man the last line. They ran with the same panic and tears in their eyes as the patrol that spotted the attack.
"Where darkness comes we light it with our blood! Blood!"
The song of the k'nights kept the remaining force unbroken. They gritted their teeth, held up their weapons ready, and braced for their final test. They heard the words and the entire wall cried out.
"Where darkness comes we light it with our blood!! Blood!!" "Where darkness comes we light it with our blood!! Blood!!"
The Ihokhur's red eyes ran aloft on ground-shaking footfalls. They ran so hard upon the dirt that the palisade wall shuddered and threatened to collapse if it was any more intense. A few fleeing selka were beaten down and broken before the song's beat. The song itself grew punctuated with tools and weapons clacking rhythmically upon the battlements.
"Where darkness comes we light it with our blood!! Blood!!" "Where darkness comes we light it with our BLOOD!!"
The hammers and stakes slowed a few. The rest felt the wall get struck with holes and breaks from furious boulder-like fists. The next volley of mankonel fire came rushed and flustered, with few properly aimed as the selka faltered.
The song lost its coherence as the k'nights joined the fight. Antoph the strong used one of the hammers on his own, even if its heft made it impossible for more than planting and dropping its head. The rest tried their hardest to replace the fallen and beat the creatures back. Selka warriors backed off and picked up handheld rocks that bounced off the Ihokhurs' stony hides ineffectually. As the swinging stone fists broke a big enough hole in the wall for the Ihokhurs to emerge, the k'nights were the only ones not ready to rout for the sea.
Antoph responded with an effortful shout as he ran for the breach and planted his hammer upon the sand from a run up, using his arms and legs to all but throw the hammer head up in an arc and onto the red eye of the first monster through the gap in the wall. It fell in a heap and its red eye went out.
The Ihokhur behind picked up a piece of its predecessor's foot as Antoph dragged the hammer back. It hurled the dark stone into Antoph. His sneering face fell away, and he was struck to the ground in a bloody heap.
The blood made some selka scream in terror.
There could not have been more than a few Ihokhurs left, but Antoph's fate was all that it took for the red mana to lift and the nearby warriors to lose their courage.
This was the end. The song was forgotten. In that moment, nothing was left but to try and run for life.
Then, a blinding light lit the fields. A blast of unnatural white. Selka all around stopped, and with arms over their eyes, looked towards its source. A flaming halo of white fire formed against the brow of Anshumat, roaring incomprehensibly as they strode towards the remaining Ihokhur.
With every step, the earth below trembled, and with every moment they roared, every creature present was shaken to their bones. Without even raising a hand, Anshumat projected outwards, great shackles of flame pulling the surviving rocky beasts into unnatural positions, their joints crumbling under the pressure exerted. The shackles melted what rock they touched, digging ever deeper to keep their grip.
When they then spoke, it was in a great booming voice that seemed to project from everywhere at once. It continued even as their mouth closed, “You think yourself a master of violence? That you may take what you wish, that you have sublimed the act of obliterating those who stand before you?”
Two of the Ihokhur melted, screaming in terrible pain as heat enveloped their bodies. The other eight were forced to watch the grisly fate. Anshumat continued, the voice rumbling as though a portent from the earth itself, “You kill with your bare hands. The battered Selka strewn about you did so with weapons. But if you will not accept their abilities, then you will accept mine. I do not need to touch you, I need no weapons. I need not flex a single muscle to kill a hundred of you. My indifference could kill thousands of you just as easily as my rage.”
Another two white hot Ihokhurs melted, screaming as well, “See how easily I turn you to ghosts. Is it not wonderful? You made a living striking down those below you, firm in the belief that you and you alone were worthy of rule.”
The shackles receded, as Anshumat stood in front of them, “I invite you to prove it. Strike me down! Show me your mastery of death!”
Those Selka that had not run and hidden themselves were curled up on the ground, cowering. Those that were not cowering stood paralysed in awe. The Ihokhurs, even, were hesitant to shift from where they were bound moments before.
Only now did one speak out in a soundless, depraved voice.
"We were made by that which would kill the divines. We will rip you apart or be replaced by a creation that shall. Such is our god!"
The Ihokhur speaking broke into a run for Anshumat, poised to thrust the spiked end of its arm through their heart. The rest of the standing Ihokhurs followed at speed.
Anshumat did not move as they charged. They stood silently, watching the Ihokhur lumber forward -- and one by one, as they got close, their bodies began to give up on them, rock crumbling into loose salt until they were gone. Anshumat stopped once there was only one left, holding it back with an invisible force.
The booming voice rumbled out again, “I have defied gods long before yours. I have trifled with powers far beyond yours, suffered great tragedies and celebrated triumphs far beyond what any could imagine. You believe yourself capable of ripping me apart?”
The Ihokhur could only look at its arms as they slowly began to slake away into numb salt.
“You have failed to understand. You believe yourself a master of violence? As you stand there, defeated utterly by an opponent who is so beyond you that they need not even move?”
Without moving, Anshumat then forced the disintegrating Ihokhur into prostration, the booming voice growing in intensity, “You will return to the dark pits that spawned you, and you will warn them. Here lives a sovereign of the act of death, one who could cause your very extinction without even knowing. You will know well to never return, living in fear of what you have created.”
Once the Ihokhur’s arms had been totally slaked away, Anshumat once again released the beast. It fell heavily upon the dirt on its front, unable to lift itself but by curling its body inwards and raising itself up to its knees. Its head stayed bent forward and showing only as much emotion as its single static red eye could share. It turned its head to look at the ruined wall, the shocked selka, the shining demigod, and then shuffled to its feet, stepping back as if Anshumat radiated an unbearable heat.
"If you think me spared, defiant god," it growled fearfully. "If you think any of these filthy creatures are spared, you will meet your better in time!" It stumbled into a run out of the breach in the wall and thundered away into the night.
As it stumbled away, Anshumat simply rumbled, “I am no god. I am sovereign, and those under me shall see my protection.”
The night grew voiceless when the last Ihokhur made its retreat. The selka could hear nothing but the sound of their own breaths and the soft crackling of the fires around them. One by one, they emerged from their hiding spots or stood up from the ground. Their faces emerged from where they were tucked into their arms, at first cautiously, and then with mouths agape and eyes shining.
Murmurs and whispers carried out. They had won, apparently, but through what power they had no comprehension. Nothing except Anshumat's form and booming voice.
Humat the Spiritual was the only one who dared creep closer. He had his head held low and his eyes looking up at Anshumat with a measure of fear, dragging his bone club along the sand behind him like an afterthought.
"Ah-...Eyebiter?" He all but stammered out. "What did you do? How..." He continued in a breath. "What you wield is the power of Kirron's kin."
Anshumat slowly turned their head to look at Humat, quietly responding, “I am no kin of Kirron. I am no god. I do nothing but take my own destiny and forge it to my liking.”
Humat's eyes downcast. "Sovereign," he repeated. "New words for new sights are seen." He turned his head up again, worrying the corners of his eyes. "And what will you do with us, sovereign?" he asked as one knowing he had no comparable power.
Anshumat shook their head, “I do not intend to force my command upon you as I did the beasts. It is not fear nor blind obedience that produces greatness. I will do nothing with you, for you are not mine to command except by your own will.”
Some other selka had gathered. Anboor and his entourage wandered in to hear the conversation. Other fighters or engineers, all those not bringing in the wounded, closed into the crowd gathering around Anshumat.
Anboor breathed all the way in, drawing attention with his voice. "I want to be with the nation!" he declared.
"I want to be with the nation!" Another selka said. "And I!" "And so do I." "And me!"
"We will not!"
The crowd went quiet at the voice of Rephaemle the Fair behind them. The de facto leader of the K'nights of Red Horizon knelt beside the ruined body of Antoph the Strong, holding Antoph's blood-stained club in his hands, weeping without a sob. He peered up at Anshumat with a tight frown. The rest of the k'nights stood behind him, though none showed any hostile intent.
Even Humat the spiritual let out a breath from his nose and strode over beside Rephaemle with a measure of understanding.
Reph stood up. "Anshumat! Us K'nights are Kirron's folk. We can be friends, but we cannot trade dependence. I am sure you see."
Anshumat strode over, kneeling next to Antoph, before responding, once more quietly, “I would never intend to fatten your reflexes and your hardships with decadence -- it is the crucible of experience that creates heroes. But, heroes cannot be made if powers too great to fight are left unchecked.” They shook their head sadly, “I would not steal from the K’nights struggles. You and the Selka deserve a fair chance, that is all.”
"It is not our struggles I'm afraid you'll steal," Reph replied. "We have an island home to see to. We have people to help. But we are not conquerors like some chiefs wish we would be for them. That is why we cannot be yours to command." He looked over his shoulder. "K'nights. You fought well. Take a notch."
Each k'night took out a knife and sawed a small wedge out of the bone of their clubs.
"And you, Eyebiter," Reph continued. "The notches you carve here will eventually break your club. That is what all k'nights strive for in the end. Thank you for saving us all."
“It is my failure that I had to resort to such measures at all,” was all Anshumat said, as they reached down and closed Antoph’s eyes.
Humat the Spiritual nodded sagely beside them. "True strength is to move the tides with only small nudges."
One by one, the new nation of selka behind Anshumat shuffled a little closer, quietly betraying the welling grief on their faces at the loss of Antoph the Strong. The excitement of the battle would be in their minds for the rest of their lives.
"Tides come in~" Anboor lead with a more traditional song. "Waves go out~"
A reluctant chorus joined from the selka. "By blood, we're warm~ And the pups do shout~"
The mournful song brought Reph to open sobbing.
"But seals we were~ And life'll contend~ Like the sea~ We're cold in the end~"
The first night was the hardest, picking up the pieces and mourning the lost. Tribes had lost chieftains, shamans, warriors, and hunters in equal numbers. Each one had to be given a funeral. Such was the efforts of the first few days, the erection of monuments to those lost.
But once the fallen had been laid to rest, all selka had to look to the future. There were deep wounds in the land and the populace, both of which had to be made right. Ditches were covered, palisades ripped up. The primitive mobile huts and tents of the Selka were first demolished, then replaced.
In their place, a haphazard of stone structures, carefully carved and transported from a quarry upriver. Roads were laid, and districts planned. Soon, the collection of tribes and huts were no more, replaced by a sizeable city-state which sprawled across the river mouth. Ferry stations transported goods up and down the river, while lone Selka simply swam the gap.
Then, the memories of the first night still sore in the minds of all, the attention lay upon the walls; all effort was bent towards the quarry, and great stone blocks built not for creating habitation but defense were transported. In the place of the log palisade, there now formed a great, tower-lined stone wall. It encircled the city, cutting the districts into defensible parts, and circling about Anshumat’s dwelling, as the final line of defense.
And then the harvest had come in.
It was meagre, many of the beans dying, malnourished in poor soil. But, there was still a harvest, and many still got food. The land about the city was hunted bare, and offered no help. The Selka hungered, but they did not starve.
Toraph did not like it.
Anshumat could shield him from blame, but he saw the privation for himself, even without the help of his enchanted hood showing the pits in everyone's stomachs. He made it clear every time Anshumat patrolled the city to see progress.
"There's got to be a way to make things better," Toraph said while the pair of them walked with other supervisory selka officials trailing behind them. The town had a few coughs of sickness, but at least the new stone structures hid the full breadth of it all. "This nation thing...I don't know how people haven’t all wandered off to places with more food by now." He sighed guiltily.
Anshumat continued to walk, looking straight ahead as they said, “The first months, even years of any city such as this one will be hard. This was not naturally grown, and it will take time for nature and even the selka themselves to settle into it.” They shook their head. “We will survive, whether times are easy or hard. Without your harvest, the selka here would have all starved by now. You have helped, Toraph, and while you have not created luxury, you have created life.”
"It wasn't good enough," Toraph said with his eyes to the ground. "I don't do words to solve things, Anshumat. I do things. My brothers couldn't hold enough fish in time for sundown? I made a small raft." He looked up with more enthusiasm. "Listen, you know how the women have been weaving string into these sheets for holding pups and keeping warm? I got this idea when a gust of wind came and blew one down the beach. I've got this idea for boat with a big sheet on a stick to spread it out, and I think it'll help make boats faster than with pushing or paddling. It's the wind, it's faster than any of us, you know?" He put his hands up before him. "I was thinking I could use that to go travelling downbeach and learn if anyone else has tried planting seeds or…" Toraph trailed off as Anshumat stopped in place, looking down the street to their right.
The entire procession slowed to a stop behind them.
“We don’t have enough stew! Find someone else!” A Selka cried, leaning out from the entry to a home. A thin, sickly looking Selka stood on the steps, cowering as the other yelled. Then, they withdrew inside, slamming the door behind them, leaving the hungry one out in the baking sun.
Toraph looked on sympathetically. "That would not happen two years ago," he said. "Leaving out someone in need. That's how I know my ideas were not enough, Anshu."
Anshumat looked to the sickly Selka, then to Toraph, saying, “You gave them life. It is up to them to use it well. I am going over there, whether you wish to stay or to follow me, I will not decide for you.”
Then, immediately, Anshumat strode over to the house and the sickly Selka, a look of awe on his face as his Sovereign took notice of him.
Toraph tilted his head curiously from a short distance. He observed with crossed arms.
Anshumat knelt down to the sickly Selka, asking, “By what name do you go by?”
He responded, quietly, and sorely, “I’m Treen, Anshumat.”
Anshumat nodded slowly, standing up as they said, “Stay close to me, Treen. I would not see you starve,” as they walked over to the door of the home that had rejected Treen. Anshumat rapped their knuckles on the door twice, and a voice from inside called out, “I thought I already told you to go away!”
Another two raps to the door, and it was hastily opened. An angry Selka looked out, their brief glare immediately melting away as they realized who had been knocking, saying quickly, “Anshumat, I meant no offense!”
Anshumat did not make pleasantries, immediately saying, “I have starved, and you have refused me. I was a stranger, and you sent me away. When I was sick, you tossed me to unforgiving streets. Why?”
A look of bewilderment came across the Selka’s face, as they responded hastily, “I’ve never done that, and I never would. What are you talking about? When have I done that?”
Anshumat sidestepped, revealing the sickly Selka, saying in an eerily calm manner, “What you have done to the least of us, you have done to me. What you have refused him, you have refused me. All of us will starve with cold hearts, or survive through the generosity of our neighbors. All of us.”
The Selka begged, “But I don’t have enough for myself, let alone him! I --”
“You sit in a home, built for you by the hands of men like Treen, eating stew made possible only by the work of those of Toraph’s make. You do not go hungry, and you are not laid low by sickness. You will survive -- it is not a matter of your life. If you would refuse Treen, who has done as much as myself or any other selka here, you would refuse all,” The demigod said in an even voice.
Anshumat continued, “And what, pray tell, will you do when it is you who is hungry, whose home has sunk into the ground and left you on the streets? When sickness grips you? Will you lay down and die, secure in the knowledge you did not offer nor take help from your neighbors?”
The selka stayed silent for a moment, before shaking their head, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Anshumat followed up, “What is your name?”
She responded, “It is Sophaia, Anshumat.”
“Remember what I said carefully, Sophaia. Tell those you see of it. I will not see selka who only months ago struggled with you and everyone else in this city for their very lives, starve in the streets they went on to create,” Anshumat finished, stepping out of the way to let Treen enter the home.
Anshumat closed the door as Treen entered, taking one last glance before walking back to the procession.
Toraph traced Anshumat's shell-like head up beside him. "How much does she have, really?"
“Enough,” Anshumat responded, “She will not go hungry, and now, neither will Treen. They will not live in luxury, but now neither of them will starve.”
Unfolding his arms, Toraph smiled. "Sounds like something Kirwon would say," he remarked.
Anshumat said evenly, “When the land is poor, it is only through the generosity of those around us that we will survive. We all would do well to learn that.”
They walked on. The selka in the procession felt a little better, even with as small a gesture as it was.
So, this is really three posts in one.
The first post is Humat, Kyko, and Hiphaeleon going about their mission to convince the selka tribes to rally at the river mouth to drive back the ihokhurs. They don't have much luck initially, but then they decide to put on a theatre performance with Kyko narrating. This triggers the blessing Anshumat left them with and made the performance hyper-real and incredibly effective, even though they don't realise it.
Then we skip to the next post, when Humat, Kyko, and Hiphaeleon return to the river mouth to find it landscaped with entrenchments and engines of war. They catch up with the other k'nights and Anshumat and get an update.
The Ihokhurs attack in the nighttime. The selka raise the alarm and deal plenty of casualties to the advancing stone creatures with a combination of magical warsongs, mangonel stones, and huge mancatcher/oversized hammer teams. Unfortunately, the selka are all driven back to the final layer of defence and the palisade wall is breached. Antoph the Strong, the hulkamania k'night, hulks out with a hammer to himself and kills the first Ihok through the breach before he's splattered by a thrown boulder. The selka break and rout.
Then Anshumat goes super saiyan and lays the Ihoks out with great vengeance and furious anger. They leave only one Ihok alive and dissolve the rest into salt. The last remaining Ihok runs off with his arms missing to tell the tale to wherever he'll retreat to.
After that, Anshumat explains he'll be a sovereign, but not a god, so he'll not force anyone to do anything. People generally respond with wanting to join his nation, except for the K'nights of the Red Horizon. The k'nights have to maintain Krasis and keep being independent of regional politics. Anshumat understands and lets them go.
The third post skips to a long time after the battle, when the River Mouth has truly become a city. It's got walls and ferries and everything. The post follows Toraph and Anshumat talking about how they're struggling to feed everyone, though Anshumat is optimistic. Toraph goes partway through his idea for a prototype sail boat to go south to get more farming knowledge before he's interrupted by something Anshumat spots.
There's a beggar turned away from a house, looking for food. Anshumat goes all Jesus on the selka in the house and convinces her to help the beggar.
Sharing is caring and all that.
Before: Anshumat, Sovereign - 7 Might, 13 Freepoints
-2 Might: Put on a show of power to fuck up ihop rocks -4 Freepoints: Teach Architecture, Division of Labor, River Transport, create the city of Antoph’s Rest.
After: Anshumat, Sovereign - 5 Might, 9 Freepoints
Before: K'nights of Red Horizon, "The War Singers", "Who Have Faced Death and Lived" - 11 Prestige - 12 Members
+1: Minor role +1: Major role +1: Collaboration +6: Quest Completion
After: K'nights of Red Horizon, "The War Singers", "Who Have Faced Death and Lived" - 20 Prestige - 10 Members
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