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RYE Turn 14: Long-Due Revisions
🕑 Added 2024-07-10 15:47:01 +0000 UTCGive Them Minds: Mazdamundi, 24 Third Gen, 2 Fourth Gen. 2 Petals invoked
The great debate within Itza’s warded halls had seen an outpouring of verbosity from the slann that was unequaled in any record save for the recent campaigns of Uax extermination. Every mage-priest, young and old, gave voice to their thoughts, allowing magic to pour from their vocal chords in ever-more complex patterns until a veritable ecosystem of spells swam around them, each representing a different idea or notion. These constructs grouped together in great schools, battling against their opposites and consuming the broken remains of those they defeated, until they grew into gigantic, multi-segmented conglomerates composed of multitudes of harmonious arguments. There were six of these colossal survivors, and as they turned on each other, the slann poured their collective energies into supporting the beast that they felt best represented their own views.
Battle raged between the titanic constructs of mentality and magic, each creature lashing out at its opposition with tendril and claw and tooth, carving away the weaker flesh of logical inconsistencies from their forms in the process. Their appearances shifted, going from indistinct amalgamations of interrelated concepts to effective, battle-tested bodies. That which was too fantastical or impractical was slowly pared away, and the slann fed more and more of their memories of ancient times into the constructs, until at last each of them resembled a creature from the lizardmen’s history. A hulking dragon ogre wrapped head to toe in clanking chains fought tooth and nail against a dragon that bore a heavy limestone collar upon its slender neck. The titanic creatures grappled furiously with each other, one’s magmatic breath washing heavily over the aura of crackling lightning that hung about the other. Before a victor could emerge, a massive stone club crashed down atop the pair, and a shambling giant charged into the fray, baring a mouth full of blunted, rotten teeth as it bellowed a war cry.
As the three titans of the World-That-Was reenacted their ancient rivalry, other avenues in the debate raged onwards. A hulking, barnacle-festooned crustacean with two gigantic claws scuttled forth, its thick shell crafted of fear, crushing pincers fuelled by pain and memory. It snapped and stomped at the spectral form of an ork, which hooted and hollered in exhilaration at facing such a foe. The ork held a scythe that hummed with amethyst-tinged energies, and used it to hack and hammer in an inelegant but effective fashion at the armored shell of its dread-inducing foe. Back and forth the creatures battled, and though the death-bearing ork fought with all the tenacity associated with its kind, its bared flesh accumulated bloody gouges faster than it could breach the armored crab’s shell with the tip of its scythe. Eventually it stepped just a hair too slowly, and was snipped in half by a massive red claw.
The crustacean bellowed a war cry, raising its pincers into the air in triumph before turning towards its foe’s corpse, ready to devour its thoughtforms. It was, however, instead met by the last and least of the incarnated ideas. This was a collective of comparatively tiny humanoid creatures, none of which possessed a face. They clambered over the body of the felled ork, fashioning shields from its skin and spears from its glimmering tusks. Thusly armed, the faceless army sallied forth against the crustacean, which clacked its claws and scuttled into the fray.
The collar-bearing dragon and lumbering giant swiftly formed an impromptu alliance against the chain-wielding dragon ogre, for the clanking manacles the creature bore threatened to inescapably chain the both of them. The giant attacked its foe head-on, bashing and hammering with no abandon or regard for anything other than bringing its massive club down as hard as it could. The dragon ogre fell back from the assault, coiling great loops of chain around its forearms in preparation for a counterattack. So focused was it on the giant that it was caught completely off-guard when the massive collar of the dragon smote it from behind, followed shortly thereafter by its reptilian bearer’s fangs and talons, which pierced deep and did not let go. Unable to move, the dragon ogre was powerless to stop the maddened giant’s titanic club from descending a final time, pulverizing its skull. The dragon and the giant paused for but a moment before throwing themselves at each other, ignoring the fallen body of their former enemy. Thusly occupied by each other, neither colossus noticed scouts of the faceless army, now clad in thick plates of crabshell armor, approaching the corpse of the dragon ogre.
Back and forth the dragon and the giant fought, battering and biting at each other with stone-crushing force. The dragon exhaled a white-hot stream of flame, bathing the giant’s craggy skin in magmatic wrath, and the giant laughed uproariously, shielding itself from the worst of the flames with the bulk of its club and charging forth undaunted. It was a battle for the ages, and only slowly did the victor inevitably become clear - the weight of its limestone collar slowed the dragon down, made it impossible to dodge the giant’s lumbering strikes, and made counterattacking a laborious task that drained the wyrm of its energy. Eventually the dragon was simply incapable of fighting back, and the giant reared back and brought its club down with a swing that shook the arena, rendering its foes head into a thick red paste.
The victorious giant howled in triumph, only to be interrupted by a hail of metallic darts that pierced into its skin. The faceless army had disassembled the dragon ogre’s corpse, and now wielded metallic crossbows and wheeled around mechanical bolt throwers and large spools of rope. There were a great many of them now, and they surrounded the giant, firing bolt after bolt into its flesh, tying the ropes trailing off of them into the ground in an attempt to immobilize their target. The giant, happy to have foes to smash once again, laid about itself with its club, throwing whole formations of tiny faceless soldiers off their feet and crushing hundreds of them at a time. Even against such grievous casualties, however, the faceless army stood firm, and continued to fire their harpoons, which slowly but surely began to entangle the giant’s legs and slow down its erratic movements. As their foe continued to struggle, a detachment of tiny soldiers moved towards the sizzling corpse of the dragon.
At length, the giant finally clued into the strategy of its foes, and began to grab and rip dozens of tiny ropes out of its skin at a time, guffawing great gales of laughter as it did. Its hands were craggy stone and its fingers as big as houses; in mere moments, the bulk of the faceless army’s effort had been rendered null and void, and the giant was free.
It turned, still giggling, and looked upon the titanic limestone cannon the faceless soldiers had built from the body of the dragon. A resounding KRAK-THOOM echoed through the thought-space, and the giant toppled, the impact of its falling body like an earthquake. A neat, bloody hole was punched through its skull where its left eye had formerly been. An exultant cheer arose from the faceless army, a shout of triumph, of progression, of—
Everything paused as the watching slann focused. Symbolic representations dissolved once more into concrete proposals, and the vicious combat of incarnated ideas was rendered into a simple verdict. Through extensive debate, the faction supporting giving the Ayacmanik sapience had successfully attained a majority vote. The matter was concluded.
With the decision of the slann made, Mazdamundi commanded a swathe of his juniors to join him in meditation, where he would devise with them the means of catalyzing the Ayacmanik’s sapience before the decade was up. ”Now that our course has been decided, it does no good to delay the endeavor,” he proclaimed. ”The matter has rested untouched for too long already. Let it be done.” Much of the Third Generation - save for Hua-Hua, who had, much like in centuries before, taken a needlessly contrarian, nitpicking stance during the debate and subsequently been [i]encouraged[/i] to take a more distant assignment - heeded their elder’s words and followed him into the deepest depths of the Communion’s thoughtspace. They knew the lord of Hexoatl better than any save for his starfaring siblings, and they knew well that his focus was as difficult to stir and impossible to stop as an avalanche - he would not cease until whatever task he had chosen was completed, so it was better for everyone involved if they helped get it done quickly.
The task itself was a simple one in concept - all the Ayacmanik needed, in theory, to acquire the cognitive abilities and metaphysical signatures associated with sapience was the body of a sapient creature to be given to one of their larval forms. However, a key point of the decision to grant the hive-soul minds in the first place had been to ensure that no trace of the lizardmen’s inherent characteristics were present in the body given to them. The reasons given for this choice varied depending upon the speaker - some slann contended that it went against the intent of allowing the creatures to develop along their own path to influence them in the direction of the lizardmen’s design, while others were adamantly against spreading the secret magi-biological designs of the Old Ones to creatures that had no place at all in the Great Plan. Regardless of their reasoning, all agreed on the outcome, and so a great deal of effort was put into crafting a design schematic of a lizardman-adjacent body that had none of the gifts woven into the flesh and soul of the Children of the Old Ones. All ancillary knowledge save for language was stripped from its geonome, removing almost all instincts save for those that would allow for it to breathe and move and speak. It would not feel the thrum of the Geomantic Web sinking into its bones, nor would its flesh toughen and strengthen with the onset of age. Time would hold a merciless grip upon its lifespan, for the slann had excised the parts of the soul that kept the body’s levels of intracellular Shyish and Ghyran in proper homeostasis - the creature would live for a century at most.
Such extensive alterations took a great deal of time, for practically every part of the lizardmen’s biological and metaphysical schematics was attuned to the functioning of their cities and brethren to at least some degree. To remove all the information encoded into their flesh and soul was a considerable undertaking, one that was only doable thanks to a combination of the prior research the slann had conducted on their design and Mazdamundi’s ferocious work ethic, which drove the collective of younger slann along at a pace that scarcely would’ve been possible if he were not present.
Piece by piece, the shape of the vessel for the Ayacmanik came together. It was bipedal and cold-blooded like the rest of the lizardmen, but had little other similarities to any currently-existing caste. The slann took the base shape of a skink and molded it into a state more resembling their own amphibian forms, if much more slender. The resulting creature was a tall, frog-like thing, midway between the height of a skink and saurus. Moist skin stretched taut over its pliable skeleton, and long padded fingers splayed wide in dextrous displays that allowed the creature to replicate a wide array of facial expressions. Its limbs, while thin and relatively weak, were quite flexible and suited to allow the creature to safely navigate a variety of environments. Its eyes were wide and protected by a series of transparent lenses, and its brain was stuffed full of incipient neurons ready to attune themselves to whatever information was presented to it. It was a creature primed to learn from birth till death without a single pause.
The first several test models created drowned in the spawning pools in which they were flash-forged, their neutered instincts insufficient to allow them to properly swim while acclimatizing themselves to the shock of coming into existence. At length, Mazdamundi cast a net of stasis over the creature just as its flesh materialized, freezing its body in time before it could take that first, fatal breath.
With the vessel prepared, the process of implanting an Ayacmanik into it could have been conducted immediately, but Mazdamundi was not satisfied merely with constructing a singular body and taking no further measures to ensure good results in the future. At his command, the flower-beast sentinel of Isendral burnt two more of its petals to call upon its mistress, and the Eldar came to visit him in Hexoatl herself. She was greeted at the Gate of Midday Sun by a formation of Temple Guard, which escorted her through the Solar City’s wide avenues to the great pyramid in which Mazdamundi resided. From there, she was brought by Mazdamundi’s chief skink scribe into the elder slann’s Star Chamber, her every step marked and warded by a procession of Temple Guard that became increasingly more vigilant and heavily-armed as they went on, culminating with the hulking form of Eternity Warden Xili-Totl, who more closely resembled an animate statue than a creature of flesh, clad in thick overlapping plates of obsinite that glowed at the edges with a fierce heat.
Mazdamundi’s Star Chamber was more expansive than that of most slann, for as the eldest of the mage-priests, he often provided tutelage for younger slann when they had the opportunity to visit Hexoatl. To that end, there was a receiving area towards the front of the Chamber, a gallery large enough to house a dozen slann at once in relative comfort. Slanted rays of sunlight crisscrossed the hall, reflected from the outside through cleverly placed mirrors and quartz prisms that allowed the light to be redirected at will. Indeed, they moved of their own accord, slowly panning across the room at a steady pace, ensuring an even balance of light and shade at all hours. Pools of crystal-clear water ringed the outside of the chamber, bubbling up from hidden sources beneath the floor. Surrounding these were an array of thorned cacti, hardy scrubs, and other desert-adapted plants, which unfurled flowers of dazzling coloration whenever a ray of light came to rest upon them. Isendral’s gaze panned over all this with interest, for the manner in which a creature housed themselves said much about them, and she had heard little of substance about the Lord of Hexoatl before this meeting, save that he seemed to be perennially occupied with matters of great import.
At the back of the chamber, standing aloof atop a set of wide stone steps that stretched almost to the high ceiling, was a spot where many rays of sunlight congregated, illuminating it like it was the center of a stage. Mazdamundi sat there in repose, his stone palanquin baking in the heat of the sun until the air around it practically shimmered. He opened his eyes and looked down the long flight of stairs at Isendral, his gaze burning with suppressed psychic energy. ”Isendral Vyal’Haras Eldanesh,” his voice boomed, though his rubbery lips did not move - instead it came from everywhere and nowhere, echoing in strange synchronous fashion off the walls of the chamber. ”My siblings say that you have shaped many worlds and peoples over the course of your time among the stars. I would consult with you, for we have undertaken the choice to carve the destiny of another being in our own turn, and their origin lies with you. We will soon awaken the Rangdan into sophoncy. If you share what you know of their making, the matter will be made easier.”
Isendral’s face softened, and she nodded absently. ”I’d thought this might happen,” she said. ”One can only let a garden lay fallow for so long before another picks up the work in your stead.” She took a deep breath in and out, and all the plantlife in the room burst into bloom as a haze of vital energy seemed to bloom around her, causing the scales of all the Temple Guard behind her to prickle. ”Farishafurta, it shall be so,” she murmured, then directed her gaze upwards, locking eyes with Mazdamundi. ”What would you learn from me, oh Iyan’khalir?”
Mazdamundi opened his mouth and spoke in truth then, a tidal wave of magic carrying his words across the chamber. ”Show us their spirit,” he boomed, and the world melted and blurred, the boundaries of objective reality giving way to the hazy definitions of symbolism and metaphor. Mazdamundi’s corporeal form faded away, giving way to the intense radiance of his soul, which resembled a burning sun with a million spokes of light that were eyes and hands and tools radiating from it. It spoke in the rumbled perturbation of gravitational waves, distortions in the fabric of space itself that expressed themselves in the shape of words. ”Flesh merely houses the essence within, and it is the less vital of the two. We have knowledge of the biological composition of the Ayacmanik, but their souls have not been revealed to us in as much detail. We will require this data to ensure a seamless meld.”
Isendral rose to meet Mazdamundi, her physical form similarly fading away in the Warp-suffused confines of the Star Chamber. She became a towering figure with rich brown soil in place of flesh and emerald green stones where her eyes should be. Her hair was grass, each strand finer than spider silk, and flowers bloomed across her body in the shape of a regal robe. She was both as tall as a mountain and short as a feather, and where she walked, the world brightened and bloomed. ”I will show you what I can,”[/color] she said, gusts of pollen flowing from her lips. ”The ways by which my people craft is not so mechanistic as yours. Ysumar and I, we sang the Rangdan into being, and I cannot replicate the song’s intent in a mechanical way. You will have to discern the intent from my memory.”
”We do what we must with the resources allocated to us,” Mazdamundi rumbled. ”Begin when you are prepared.”
Isendral nodded, took in a deep breath, and began to sing. Her voice filled the chamber, catching and carrying the clouds of magic drifting through it and shaping them into an accompanying melody, one both serene and whimsical, soft as a feather and quick as a whip. One half was clearly Isendral’s contribution, rising and falling with gentle majesty and clear tones, and the other was altogether different - more energetic, quicker to swell and faster to drop, sounding almost excited. The two tones blended together in a seamless fashion, complementing one another with practiced ease. Accompanying this tune was a different voice, one the slann had never heard before, and though it was faded and muted by the veil of mortal memory, there was no mistaking the way it harmonized with Isendral’s.
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My days have bloomed with love and toil beneath the shining stars
The Garden’s roots have grown again beneath my gentle breath
My heart and I, we’ve known our share of love and loss and scars
Our labor’s ceased; we’ll seek our peace, and rest awhile in death
[Beneath the shining stars I’ve toiled and fought for endless days
The Garden’s grown fecund again, yet somehow I’m bereft
My star, her love is endless, nothing slips her tender gaze
There’s so much still that must be done, and yet she’s earned her rest]
Long ago, a world drifted through the void, sundered from its parent sun by the force of ancient cataclysm. Its hot blood boiled to the surface in slow, oozing waves, the last contractions of a once-beating heart. Its skin was blasted, splintered rock, punctuated by a cruel, jagged wound in its side that reached almost to its core. It spun gently beneath the eyes of distant, uncaring stars, and its spirit faded incrementally towards oblivion over the course of ages. It was a dying husk of a planet, and soon it would go dark forever.
These systems ‘pon the Garden’s edge, their wounds did fiercely weep
Here nested eldritch evils from the void so dark and deep
My heart and I, we drove them out, with sword and song and flame
Then calmed the weft of space and time so it won’t bleed again
[The War we shall not speak of left much ruin in its wake
It scarred the void, from souls it wrought foul monsters born of hate
My star and I put them to flight, made wrongs right with each kill
Yet their hunt lingers in my dreams—I can’t forget the thrill]
In the endless depths of interstellar space, there was no light save for that faint radiance given off by the tapestry of stars that dappled the expanse of the void. The dying world drifted thus in darkness, illuminated only by the magmatic extrusions of its own dying core. It would remain one of countless such satellites, circling the galactic core like invisible chunks of cosmic dust, never to be seen by anyone.
In between one aimless rotation and another, dawn broke over the planet’s horizon with gentle grace. Two tiny figures with kindly eyes looked down upon the world, and its course was changed again in a single instant of decision. Space folded and blurred around the world’s flanks as it was spirited to a new home, and the light of a true star kissed its weeping side. The will of the Two was made manifest, and matter and essence poured into the planet’s systems, restabilizing its core, sealing the gaps in its flesh, and revitalizing its broken spirit. Crystalline stitching sealed its wounds shut, and the world began to heal, nestled in the gravitational grip of its new star while a system of sibling bodies formed into place around it. These were each strange and scarred in their own peculiar manner, each brought here by the Two to give honor to their gods and serve as a home for that which was to follow.
The work goes ever on and on, and stretches longer still
Much remains for us to do, though this life’s had its fill
We’ll rest awhile, my heart and I, to soothe our labored thoughts
Yet trusted heirs we’ll leave behind to mind the peace we’ve brought
[Our duty stretches without end, a burden on my mind
Yet now we must compose an heir, and leave this life behind
I’ll help my star to make them strong, enough to guard and seal
Yet rest is not what I desire—I must have more to feel][/RIGHT]
As the Two labored, the world bloomed. Water, carried upon the back of comets, washed across its skin of rock, which the Two had shaped into a pattern that was pleasing to Them. Slime spread and decayed across its surface until it congealed into a layer of soil, which was a weight the world had not felt since before its time in the void. The Two turned their gentle gaze back to the world, and its spirit swelled as the tender caress of life brushed its surface. Roots grew and twined through soil, spore and cell drifted through ocean currents and multiplied themselves, feeding on their surroundings and each other as a web of linked species formed, stretching across the planet save only for the poles, which the Two willed to remain untouched. The Two then descended to tread upon the world’s surface themselves, and though their tread was light, every step they took was followed by a sense of attention that was too vast to be measured.
The Two walked the world for a while - a hundred journeys around the sun, a small mote of time. The world’s surface had grown fecund, and the life upon it had grown into dizzying variety and number, as was its wont. The Two looked upon this and found it good, and in unison they mustered the utmost sum of their energies and SPOKE
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̷̨̧͍̥͚̩̬̰̻̦͊̓͂S̷̡̐E̸̢͇̜̬̯͑͐M̷̭̱̪̻̈́͐͗͑̐̎́̌̈́̉͘̚I̸̢͚̟͕͈̫̾̀̽̓̏̚T̶̢̍̅̃͑̐̿͂̑͊̾͠͝͝ ̵̛̳̰̯̖̺͖̎̇̾́̈͜Ņ̵̧͙̻͕͎̪̝͓̔́̿̊̈́̽̽͘̕͜͠ͅͅÊ̶̢̪̞͙͈̥̲̤̣̪͑͗́́̍̓͘͝͠ͅD̴͎̙̮̳͓͈̩͆̔͛̇̏Ļ̸̡̱̰͉̘̳̤̫͉̪͚͂́Ȩ̸̛̪̗̞̹̬͍̞̠͇̼͑̏̾͆́ͅ ̶̭̞̥̰̓Ņ̷̧̢̝̪̙͖̰̯̬̐̽̄̔́̂͌͛̍̆̑̅͋I̸̹̦̠̤̩̜͔͗̒͐ ̴̧̧̨̮̟͍̜͎̦̰̻͎̍̄͋̈̿̕̕M̴̺̹̘̻̟̱̰͖̲͉͈̖̍̈̆ͅE̵̛̲͇̜͈͓̹͑̎̾H̶̗͊̌͌͗̕͠T̷̹̯̹̭̖̟̜̳̯̪̚͜ ̵̢͚̪͎͙̠̫̕T̸̡͎͓̟̯̟͔̱͇̤̯̏̀ͅͅI̵̙̚W̵̧̛͖̦͚̫͕̭̩͐̋̂R̷̥̠̎̀̆͑̕͜ ̷̧̧̮̟͎̙̫̦͖̳̯̙̃͐T̷͚̠̻͕̯͙̘̔̐̕Ș̸̡̛̰͖̖̱͕̪͇̥͕̅̈́̑Ŗ̵̛̬̙̦̼̭̓̋̉̑͑̇͋͌̌̄͊̚͜I̴̘͎̜̳͓͔̯͓̖͎͠ͅF̶̖̈́̇͛ ̸̟̰̖̯̲̥̥͍̜̠͑͑̐̽̂̆̍̏̏͜Ě̷͉̗̼͍̣͛̉̚̕H̸̡͕̗͕̋͌̾͋͑̚͝͝͝T̷͚̲͎̝͓͓̲̅ ̷̡̛̭͓̰͉͉̐̌̇̎̍͑̓̎̏̇̿
N̸͔̮̣͛͊̂̽͋̽͐̓̌̆̾̕͠W̶̘̜̩̮̰̗̱̙̫̦̎̓͝Ŏ̶̗͑̉̾̓̃̿Ṉ̴̛͔͎̙̒͑̈͑̈́̀̓̇̈̊̚K̸̛̰̥̞̪͆̔̈̋̋͂̿̐͗̎̈̕ͅ ̵̢̝̗̫͖̝̗̲̺̄̍̾͘͘͝ͅE̶̫̲͍͔̙͕̖̖̥̜͑̓̆̌B̴̛̦̍̒͗̾͗̚͝ ̶̭̜̼̮̗͖̏͗͛̈̽̽T̵̢̨̨͚͚̜̥͇̥̬͎͍͌̀͌͐̉͑͒͊̆͐̚͘̕O̵͈̠̖̩̯̫̱̹̻͕̞̗͛̉̕͝ͅN̵̻̳͐́̾Ṋ̵̣͙̝̱͍̽́͘̕͝Ą̴̮͙̟̮̼̞̟̀̔̽͂̚C̸̢͉͔̺̤͉̗͔̆̓̍̍̅̈́̆͐̏̄͝ ̸̡̧̧̹͎͖̺̭́̍̿͛̉̑̕̕͝ͅS̵̩̬̋̂̈́̓̈́̀̈́̉̅̊̆Ḋ̶̡̯̮̬̘́͆̉̄̅̉͒͝ͅN̷̨̗͙͓̠̹̊̓͊͒̈́̊̈́Ư̶̢̮̲̓̓̽̅̏͝O̸̰̬͎̞̬̜͚̭̥̬͖̳̦̔͐̄̂͑͝S̶̛͈͇̖̎͋̈̀̈̑̅͆͆̄͠ ̷̧̨̗͇͓͙̤̖̮̉̈͊̒̏̓͜È̸̗͛͑̃͂͐̿̊͛͘͠͝H̵̛̭̓̇̈́̀̇͒T̵̞͕͗͛̈̾̏̐̌̊͝
̴̢̨̫̥̼͓͕̻̮̼̮́̀̀̈̒͐̑ͅN̸̥̰̞̣̬̩͊͊̌͗̚͜E̵͉̖̱̩̜͉͇̤̘͙̫̽̇̔̈̈̋̋̈́̚ͅK̷̛̪̃̄̾͘͠͠Ǫ̶̢̱̰͉͚̩͓̣̲̜̂͂́̋̿̿̋̉̉̚͜P̶̖̺̎͂̊͌̋͒͑̆̀̇̒͠S̵̡̡̪̜̣̲̠̖͛̔ ̵̡̧͖̩̻͈̜̻̦͍̭̙̺̀̿̍̾̅E̴̢̢̺͕̹̲̪̽̉̐́͆͑̌͠͠B̷̡̛̟̻̞̻͔̟̋͆̔̉̀͑̋̑̒̃͜ ̸̢̦̖̗̝̩̔̇̒͗̒͐̏͐̈́͒̂̍͠T̴͈̗͋̔͌́̆̂͝͝Ơ̶̦̜͉̋̇͗͌͐̅͠Ṉ̴̛̺̲̳͊͝N̵̛̗̲̒͐̋͋̒̇́̌͝͠Á̸̖̬̺͙̖͍͇̰̹̆̈̂̏̂̉̓̕͘͜Ĉ̴̡̪͙͙̱̋͌̉̏ ̴͙̫̦͉̠̄̔̽͆̑̍͗̈́͑̈́̏͠ͅS̸̨̨̝̥̤̳̽̓̏̈́͋̓͜͝Ḓ̷̞̟̦͓̱̞̔͐̊̚R̴̨͎͉̫̣͕̲̟̎̇̈́̂̀̃͜͝O̵̦̝͖̪͚̯̯̖̼͕̟͎̥̊̈W̸̧̧̹̬̝̪̖͍̫̫̜̓̉̿̈́̇̉͠͝͠ͅ ̴̨͍̹̦͖̣̫̗̳͉̝͖̈́̉̔̚͠Ẻ̵̛̗͎̖̥͉̞͚̩̫̰́͒͗̐́͐͋̓͘͠ͅH̷̡͕͍̘̼̰̳̦̻͚͙̭͗̔̔͌̃͠T̷̢̨̡̰̠̂̌̍ͅ
The world cringed away, for the Words that had been spoken were powerful things, not to be trifled with. The changes wrought by their utterance were both utterly minuscule and yet beyond the world entirely, and the cosmos shuddered at the work of the Two. Configurations of pure, crystallized information, carved from a mirror realm of cognition and tinted by filters of [meaning] that were the sole province of living thought, condensed from nothing at their Words into a singular mote of boundless potential that shone with non-real light. It was a seed that would become a presence and a people and a story, and the world’s attention grew sharp as the Two, immensely wearied by their Speaking, took the seed and began to shape it with song.
Child of our love, I bind thee now: obey my guiding will
Bear this mantle on your back, a duty to fulfill
Take this Garden in your care, within it tread with grace
Ensure that root and stem and leaf is each allowed its place
You will mind and guide them, keep their lives and deaths in check
Let no further woe arise from a guardian’s neglect
[Child of our love, you must be strong—embrace the drive to kill
Claim the mantle of the hunt, let instinct guide your will
This Garden’s wild, its foes are fierce, so don’t allow respite
None who stand against you should survive a single night
You must be terror, slaying all who flirt with evil things
My star’s work must not be despoiled by the pain that war brings]
The Two sang in harmony for the initial verses, but soon a hint of discord seeped into their shared melody. Each of them had a different mind for what shape their guardian should take, what role it ought to play in the course of preserving and protecting Their work. Though they still sang together, slowly but surely each of their voices took on a different tune, each overlapping and attempting to assert their vision of what their creation should be over that of the other. The spark of essence they had Spoken into being shifted and wavered, straining under their conflicting wills.
Their gentle hearts will bind the stars, watchful eyes shall mind the skies
They’ll feel the woes of living things, and know where darkness lies
[The hunt will guide their hearts to know which creatures they ought slay
They’ll feel their foe within their flesh, and know where lies their prey]
If hunt they must, for hunger’s sake, this burden shall they bear
They’ll live the lives of those they take, and learn to step with care
[To know your prey’s life is not enough—their flesh they’ll take as well
They’ll clothe themselves in stolen skin, and grasp its strength to swell]
As each voice pushed against the vision of the other, the song grew discordant, the rhythms of noise that drifted around it clashing against each other to such an extent that hardly a moment’s pause could be had in the furious flow of sound. Eddies of spirit-stuff swirled and bubbled around the infantile spark of essence, and it shrank way from its progenitors with instinctual dread. For their part, neither singer seemed to notice, instead turning their ire towards each other. Isendral’s voice gained an undercurrent of wrath that boiled higher as the music continued to build, while her partner’s shifted from mere restlessness to a strange, fey rhythm that leapt unpredictably to and fro.
Whyfore, my heart — you twist their life! They’ll break apart, know naught but strife
[With death the meat on which they sup | Each kill will let their might erupt | The hunt a forge | Their prey the heat | To shape them to their role bequeathed]
What task is this, I do beseech, upon their heads you wish to wreath?
[To reign | and sit this world as t’were a throne | For grown they were | To fit our knurled skein]
To rule is not in their remit! They must protect - it doesn’t fit!
[And how, dear heart, may they be ward | ‘gainst fire, storm, and sharpened sword | If they must serve for no reward?]
Reward indeed! The things that dwell in darkened space cannot be quelled by just one race. Discard your wants, what of their needs?
[Strength forgives all | Only the small must use each other to stand tall | Better not to need such crutches at all]
If might alone calls out what’s right, who but our kind ought walk the night?
[My star, lives untold we’ve spent, in truth | To mend the stars, forsaking youth | We’ve given all to this pursuit | From tiresome chores, whence comes the fruit?]
Our bond a chore? You crave reward? You shirk our task because you’re bored?! Wretched KNAVE—
The music, already a chaotic mess, continued to rise to a frenzied crescendo, drowning out any further words uttered by the Two. The storm of noise raged for a while, then fell silent, leaving behind a deep quiet that neither voice seemed eager to break. The silence stretched a while, becoming almost uncomfortable until at last a voice threaded through the gap, carrying none of the frantic, almost manic energy it had held before.
[Be still, my heart, and feel my sorrow. Never did I mean to cause you needless hurt - I spoke in foolish haste, and did not consider you in my yearnings.]
No, it’s I who must offer my apologies. I know your spirit has been stifled as of late, and you didn’t act with evil intent. But what are we to do, then? The Rangdan are made, and they must come to completion.
[Perhaps it shouldn’t be us who make that choice. Let them decide what path they choose to go down, and we shall conclude our duties at that point.]
--------
The last remnants of the music faded, and Isendral shrunk back into a more material state. [color=#00FF00]”We went back to our towers and slept, thinking we’d find our creation grown and ready to inherit our duty, in one way or another, once we awoke,”[/color] she said, her voice flat and bitter. [color=#00FF00]”Instead… you are familiar with what’s happened since then.”[/color] Without another word, she turned on her heel and left, fading into the obscurity of the magical currents still swathing the Star Chamber. Mazdamundi did not watch her go, for he was familiar with the flighty nature of elves. Instead, his gaze remained fixed upon the tiny, glimmering construct the priestess’ song had left behind - a picture-perfect model of the original soul of the Rangdan, ready for examination.
Time passed. Mazdamundi spent much time with his juniors, contemplating the contents of Isendral’s song and the information she had provided therein. Through painstaking, exacting analysis, they were able to parse components from flowery verse, derive formulae from intuitive melody, and uncover what Isendral and her husband had done to craft the soul of the Ayacmanik, translating it into a form the slann could more easily work with. With this data in hand, they reviewed their schematics for the host body, performing numerous small adjustments to ensure it would be as compatible as possible. Iteration after iteration they tested, until at last even Mazdamundi himself was content.
When the time came at last, the process was carried out quickly, with no ceremony accorded to it. Mazdamundi’s underlings fetched a single Ayacmanik grub from the habitat that the lizardmen had captured near Tlaxtlan over a century ago. The fortifications there had grown ever greater with the passage of time, layers of shields and thickets of guns - of which just as many pointed inward as out - all enclosing the central compound where the larval forms of the Ayacmanik were kept. This singular grub was transported to Hexoatl, under heavy guard, and brought to the utmost peak of the city’s central pyramid, where the ancient slann awaited it with a stasis-wrapped host body.
The grub was deposited carefully into the host’s mouth, and swiftly burrowed into its flesh, causing the frog-thing’s limbs to judder and shake as its nervous system was overwritten. For most creatures, once the Ayacmanik had gained motor control there would be a period of hours to days before the oversoul could truly integrate its new host into itself, but the slann had prepared for this - the host’s internals were a perfect fit for the Ayacmanik, and its lack of a fully catalyzed soul greatly increased the speed at which it assimilated into the greater network of the oversoul. Mazdamundi watched unblinkingly as the creature’s spirit became luminous, growing from a dim spark to a bright beacon.
The Ayacmanik’s eyes opened, and it sat up, looking around itself as though lost. “It is … clear,” it murmured, its voice projecting both innate fluency and profound confusion as it spoke it first words. “I am a veil lifting off of my eyes.” It held a hand up to its face, turning it over and staring intently as though it was the first thing it had ever seen. “I can grasp this now. I was not whole before - I could not hold it all if I tried.”
It cast its gaze about, and froze at the sight of Mazdamundi’s burning eyes. The slann was surrounded by the wary forms of a dozen Temple Guard, weapons at the ready, and yet the mage-lord was all the Ayacmanik seemed to see. “Slumbering-Wrath-Within-Earth,” it said, its voice shaking. “Do not take this from me. I cannot go back, knowing what I could be.”
Mazdamundi shook his head and spoke, his words bearing the weight of mountains. [b]”You were awoken at my will. I have decided to enlighten, rather than extinguish you.”[/b]
“Then tell me,” spoke the creature in a quavering tone, “Why have you given me this? What am I to learn?”
[] Write-in - keep this reasonably short, a paragraph or so at max. This will determine the general tone of lizardmen relations with the Ayacmanik and what you expect out of them.
A choice has been made! The Ayacmanik are awake.
Rolls: 735 slannpower x 1.1 Mazdamundi + ((2d25=41)+40) 2 Petals = 890/850 progress - 40 overflow
Glossary:
Vyal’Haras: Eldar phrase literally meaning “blood of”, used to refer to one’s ancestry - in this case, the legendary hero Eldanesh.
Farishafurta: “May the Mother watch this future.” A blessing of benediction.
Iyan’khalir: Eldar word meaning “Lightbringer”.
A/N: I put way more thought into that song than it probably warranted, but I enjoyed the challenge of making it come together! Never written lyrics before and I wanted to capture a sort of Tolkien vibe. You can thank grimely’s quest The Elder Days, specifically [url=https://forums.sufficientvelocity.com/threads/the-elder-days-an-unfinished-tale-of-the-noldor.125110/page-23?post=31688484#post-31686216]this update[/url], for that temporary fixation.
This concludes Turn 14! I’ll tally up the necessary maths and such and put them in this post later; for the moment, more important to get the post out to y’all. Any questions, of course, @ me.
Do note that there's some formatting shenanigans I can't put on Patreon that'll appear in the forum update, so I'd check out the full release regardless.
