Brent Stinebaker
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14-10 Dialogue
🕑 Added 2023-07-25 18:58:16 +0000 UTCA void once said to me that war is the continuation of policy with other means.
Perhaps from the existence of which they knew–the world that was and exists in their drifting sanctuaries out in the black, but my experiences have educated me differently.
Death is beneficial here. A net positive for the world, but also a catastrophe in the realm of the personal.
For all the might our cousins possess, there is a gentleness to them that I envy and… despise. They are capable of great atrocity, but their gods formed of silicon and integers seem to reel when they gaze upon our world.
Death is policy here. Death is fed by war; by famine; by sacrificial quotas; by industrialized breeding; by the mutilation of reality at the hands of the divine.
Diplomacy, to further the ends of war.
It took shattering the gods to break this yoke on the people, but the scars remain, and even with time, I fear the wounds we suffered are indelible, and will not fade.
I write this now to correct a notion in the minds of everyone.
Voidwatch heralded this new era as one built on humanity, diplomacy, and ethicality.
I reject all these notions without any ill will borne against our cousins.
The mistake here was hope.
What won wasn’t diplomacy, it was the exploitation of desire and greed, that the fall of the pantheons was not delivered by the rising strength of our virtue, but by the certain suicide that comes with practicing vice.
Greed and envy and hunger and control.
You think it was difficult to convince the pantheons to go to war with each other? That it was some legendary feat of sophistry?
Hardly.
There was always the want. I just gave them a reason.
That is the core of all diplomacy: to offer an end sought, and then lead them on a path to see your own to fruition.
-Jaus Avandaer, On the Godsfall
14-10
Dialogue
As Avo directed his haemokinetic proxy to board the aero, he studied the scene before him from two angles.
The first was where he actually was: in the shadows cast by the Hypertube station below the block itself. Being this far away would spare him any radial effects of a Thoughtwave Detonation, and would only require him to sever the session that tethered him to his proxy to avoid a full nulling.
The second line of sight he possessed was channeled via dozen Whispers grown from the ghosts rushing through his proxy. Drawing on his newfound willingness to experiment and merge with his templates, he perceived the aerodock from omnidirectional vectors, sweeping his attention across the sealed bulkhead and the aero itself in detail.
The vehicle bore the aesthetic of an ashen wedge with dual engines running above and below its chassis. Benhata remembered the model as part of the Harshlander series. Its speed was of little note, but its energy economy and sheer structural integrity made it the cream of the crop when it came to Stormtree manufacturing.
Such was the claim, after all.
[If it can fly in the Skuldvast, it can fly anywhere,] Benhata chuckled. [Not truer words had been spoken. Seen one get clipped by a linear accelerator, get flung into a building, and then end up flying right back out a couple of seconds later. Scaarthians work hard to make sure their tech doesn’t break.]
Avo himself was more personally vested in how much phantasmal interference was flowing around the aero itself. If the side door wasn’t wide open, he wouldn’t have noticed either of the two accretions. It wasn’t quite like an Incog, but more a scrambling feature. Something that seemed to spread and direct thoughtstuff into a lingering nimbus in the Nether to act as a near-opaque veil of privacy.
It didn’t hide the presence of minds, but it did make it hard to tell how many accretions there actually were.
This was the work of someone who really knew how to sequence.
[Would be very useful to include him in our gestalt.]
[Yes. Might even elevate our capabilities by multitudes. Indications are that we are in the presence of skill.]
Good. Avo liked people with skill. They tasted good, and they were boring.
As his blood-shaped puppet bounced awkwardly up the Harshlander’s ramp, he shifted his mind and attuned himself to fit the challenge at hand, shedding his loathing for social interactions for curiosity and charisma drawn from his templates.
Fascinatingly, Abrel and Benhata synchronized quite spectacularly in places. The former was forthright and unshakably dogged in her approach; the latter was introspective but refused to quail under pressure. Combining the two, and bringing some discordant aspects between their personalities using a few hundred sequences from Shadow-3, he found a calm excitement rising inside himself as he seated his proxy down on a seat across from the holocoated figure and the Wight.
He felt like a performer, about to record a vicarity, or a circuit brawler ready to put on a show.
[All the world’s a stage, and all the consangs and half-strands are here to hear our motherfucking words,] Abrel chuckled.
[Pay attention to the scene: the Wight is placed right next to the unknown. Seated. They treated it with care. I think our mystery squire and Necro might have a pretty good working relationship together.]
Already, it was paying dividends not being himself.
Avo wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
+Apologies,+ he began. +I wanted to come in person, but I got a little death-shy after you murdered me.+
[Levity injected,] a submind responded. [Not enough humor for a laugh. Will make you more personable though.]
The scene played as estimated. No laughter, but he felt something soften and quiver in both minds spinning before him.
A pulse of thoughtstuff spilled out from the Wight. +Yeah… So. Sorry about the killing you thing too. Not sure how we managed that, but it’s not what I wanted to… listen, I’m just going to get this out of the way: your mind is on fire. Your ghosts are burning. I can see your modified Specters crackling in the blood–what happened to you? That’s… that’s a Conflagration. I didn’t think I saw that right, but it’s staring me right in the face. How are you not nulled right now?+
Oh, and they know what a Conflagration is too. Another few points to their estimated skill as a Necro. Avo guessed this made them familiar with the Incubi as well. Whispers of warning sounded in the back of his mind as he considered the possibility he might be facing an off-duty Incubus or some other Guilder Necro of considerable merit. The initial wave of paranoia was countered by questions as to why they didn’t just call in Guild support to kill or capture him.
[Their actions don’t match your fears, ghoulie,] Abrel said. [These guys aren’t Guild. Well. The squire might be. They’ve had their perception fixed on you this entire time. The Necro though? That one doesn’t strike me as an in-house worker just by the way they do things. Oh, and give them a vague answer. Something affirmative, but without substance.]
+I’d tell you if I only knew,+ Avo said. The instincts he was temporarily running made him lift his proxy’s arms in a helpless shrug. +Things got chaotic in the Nether and the burning just… didn’t take.+
The thoughtstuff around the Wight slowed as the Necro lapsed into silence. But instead of a moment’s pause, the squire leaned in immediately after, and Avo glimpsed a flash of their sequences–and thought it looked familiar.
[Filtering details…] One of his subminds said. [31%... 55%...]
“I got a question for you too.” Surprisingly, for someone wearing a holocoat, the squire didn’t bother to hide her voice. Her husky contralto bore a hidden force behind it like she was holding back her loudness somehow. Something about her made him wary, his consciousness tightened in preparation for combat. “You been to Nu-Scarrowbur recently.”
[...100%. Memory located.] The submind loaded the information into his mind, and suddenly he realized who he was facing.
MEMORY LOADED.
SHATTERBORN, FORGEMASTER OF BROKEN THINGS
THAUMIC OUTPUT: 849 THAUM/c
Oh. It’s funny how one could be haunted by something that didn’t even happen a full day ago.
[The blood gave you away,] Benhata sighed. [This is why we try to keep our ‘Clads mixed in their operations. Make it hard to identify them and their canons. Variety makes for unpredictability.]
[Yep. And shitty cadres,] Abrel giggled. [Ask the Silver how many of their ‘Clads go home when they roll up against us. You know you’d be done without the Scaarthians and their Bloodthanes doing most of the dying for you.]
Silencing the two templates before an argument could break out, he fired his Celerostylus and took in all the details.
The holocoated figure across from him wasn’t just some Godclad, but a Stormtree Godclad. A Stormtree Godclad that probably had a score to settle with Avo, and considering how his blood had a particular shine to its texture, might have a pretty good guess about who he was as well.
If that’s where his thoughts ended, he would have considered this a trap and just liquefied everything around him.
But there were still too many moving parts that didn’t fit. Questions like why she was alone and if the rest of her cadre was nearby, or why she needed to be operating in such a clandestine fashion in the Undercroft.
Pendross’ Ravine wasn’t a majority Saintist district. The block might’ve been mostly Highflame-owned, but that didn’t give them jurisdiction over non-affilitated FATED, let alone rival ‘Clads.
Was this just a strange trap waiting to be sprung?
[Well, it’s a trap that doesn’t make any reasonable sense from where I’m thinking,] Abrel muttered. [They null you. They snuff you. They leave you an apology letter. They wait for you… If this was a Highflame op, the best time to take would be immediately after your first death because we know you’re going to need to spike some Rend to get away. They just left. Some other kind of fuckery is happening, and I think it’s got to do with the Necro.]
And just then, a chain of ghosts running between the Stormtree ‘Clad and the Wight became highlighted. [Stay focused,] Talon-2 chided. [They’ve been talking this entire time and you got confused by the distortions.]
[I say you be honest with her. See where this path leads.] Avo regarded Benhata’s advice with apprehension, and the Glaive shrugged. [Consang, you must understand that they already have enough mem-data on you to offer their Guild. Your secrecy is being maintained by whatever game it is they’re playing. The strangeness at play here is their unwillingness to go loud, and I don’t think it’s because they fear you. Speak honestly and see where the road lies. A falsehood will only deepen the confusion of all parties.]
Avo turned to Abrel for a counterpoint. The Greatling shrugged in his mind’s eye. [Fuck the Silver, but I say give it a go. If everything goes south, you can still eat your way out of it by burning her and the Wight.]
Yeah. He had the power advantage here. Force was his sanctuary. He just needed to stay ahead of getting nulled.
+Yes,+ Avo said, finally replying to the other ‘Clad. He kept his proxy’s posture as relaxed as possible and even made it clasp its thread-like fingers together. +But this is unneeded. We already know each other. Shatterborn. It’s good to meet you. Properly, that is.+
Suddenly, her holocoat flickered off, and the strobing radiance vanished from around her.
The first thing that caught his attention was the metallic fibers that formed her hair. The second was her hazel eyes, sharp and unblinking. Her chin dipped down almost to a point, and the shape of her face looked like an inverted raindrop. A faint scar ran up long her lips–an oddity on her otherwise fair and unblemished skin.
A thick warg-skin coat hung over her shoulders, and Avo caught glimpses of what looked to be rune-inscribed armor beneath the ragged fur of the slain beast. Yet, despite her well-muscled nature, she was definitely not a Scaarthian. She was small. Far too small. He felt like Draus must’ve still had half a head of height on her, but something about her demeanor told him she cared little for limitations related to physical dimensions.
“Likewise,” she said, the words sliding out from between her teeth. Releasing a slow breath, she chuckled once and turned to regard the Wight. “Well. I guess that explains the weirdness behind my nulling. Meet your kid, Rab.”
+He’s not my kid, Reva, he’s just…+
“Someone who’s carrying some of your memories? And habits?” the Godclad called Reva smirked. “What are children supposed to be, anyway?”
+Not some kind of corpse-eating–uh…+
Avo’s real body spread its fangs in a broad grin as he tasted the discomfort from the Necro. +It’s okay. I’m a ghoul. You’re right.+
+Right. That’s another. What did the Strix… do to you? Ghouls aren’t exactly what I’d consider Necro or Godclad material.+
+Good question.+ And Avo meant that honestly.
The Wight contemplated his response for a beat and continued. +You got a name?+
+Aedon. Aedon Chambers.+
Reva squinted at Avo’s proxy. “Fuck off. You’re not Aedon Chambers. That’s the guy who let his dick hang out the entire time. You’re an unidentified bioform with eight tentacles.”
Avo laughed. +Had to have some fun.+
[We’re becoming too Abrel,] one of his subminds said.
[Don’t like it. She’s too happy about pointless things.]
+You can all me Avo,+ he said. +It’s the name the Strix gave me. What are your names? Show of good faith.+
The other Godclad rolled her left shoulder. “Reva Javvers. Bloodthane of the Longeyes.”
+DeepName’s White-Rab,+ the Wight said. +You might’ve heard of me.+
In fact, hearing both their names instilled him with a great deal more added context.
+Javvers? Like Vincintine?+ Avo asked.
Reva suddenly went very still. “Yeah. That half-strand’s my uncle. Do you know what happened to him?”
Zein. That’s what happened to him. But Zein was also the last thing Avo wanted to invoke. He didn’t need to find out if a version of her would appear out of nowhere and behead both his bodies for revealing her presence.
+Some strange miracle. Just blinked out of existence in front of me.+
Her face scrunched together in disappointment. “Alright. Shit.”
He turned his attention back over the the Wight, and considered the DeepName again. +White-Rab. I heard of you somewhere. Can’t remember the exact details…+
+Yeah, I might’ve given a few guides on how to survive as a Necro in this here fine city of ours. Maybe you’ve been in one of my vicarities as well. Silvers got a bounty on my head too. Two billion imps.+
“He’s real proud of that one,” Reva said, a faint smirk tugging at their lips.
[Huh. They’re fuckin’,] Abrel observed.
+What?+ Avo asked.
[Those two have been rubbing their ghosts all over each other.]
+How do you know?+
[Because she gave him “the look” you dickless monster. They’re fucking. I’m right. They’re fucking.]
+Okay. Okay.+ He fought the urge not to growl. At some point, Abrel’s aggressiveness got to be pretty grating.
+Anyway,+ White-Rab said. +Now all things are… still kind of messy, can we talk about the reason why we’re, uh, face-to-face with each other.+
“Fuck both of you,” Reva deadpanned.
+You want to speak of Walton?+ Avo asked.
+Walton? Who the hells is Walton?+
+You call him the Strix.+
+... Walton’s his real name?+
+No. It’s actually Wahakten.+
+Wa-ha… Wahaggdan? What kind of name is that?+
+High Nolothic.+
+Why’s his name in a redacted language?+
+Because he was a Low Master.+
+...What?+
Reva closed her eyes slowly and took a long drag of air through her nostrils. “Raldi. You gave your memories to a fucking Low Master?”
+I… I didn’t know! Are you sure?+
+He was also killed by his other offshoots?+
+His what?+
+They’re called nodes.+
+Huh?+
+He used to be one person. Then he split himself into four.+
+Aedon… Avo, Jaus, whatever you are–do me a favor and explain everything to me from the start. When you’re done, I have a memory you might be able to open, and then we’ll find out if this conversation still seems schizophrenic.+
Avo filtered through his memories and let out a sigh. +You will be disappointed.+
Comments
Arcane
If there was ever a time where I wanted an entire chapter to be the POV from someone other than Avo, it would be the next chapter. Thanks for the chapter!
Jack Smith
Noice!
