Re: The Phenomenal Fracas! (GBS2G6): [Round Four: The Warped Edifice]
11-29-2011, 06:02 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
A pair of the slightly-unsettling men had carried Eureka off into the gloom of their settlement while a cluster of them had begun tending to the bodies; one of the chain-weilders, her shotgun now slung across her back, had apparently appointed herself envoy and taken Muriegro aside.
"Do you... speak... Polish?" she had intoned.
The technically-correct answer was "no", but fortunately the power suppression inflicted on the battlers hadn't been so severe as to cripple its ability to understand meaning without bothering with language. Muriegro's head nodded on command, and Laguja forced out a sentence through the psychic miasma of the place.
"I am more comfortable with Portuguese."
If Laguja's suspicions were correct, Muriegro was regaining much of his autonomy as a result of the pincushion's weakened state; if that was the case, it would be beneficial to ensure he could follow what was happening without constant mental asides from his master.
There was a short pause, followed by "I believe... to be able... to talk... enough... of Portuguese."
It was just shy of being pidgin, but it seemed to suffice.
---
The woman, who had identified herself as Kahsh, had taken Muriegro and his hidden god on a brisk, confident walk through the twisted settlement that was quite at odds with her unhurried, broken speech. The pair had eventually managed to glean that this place was ruled by their benevolent, generous god, who provided them light and shielded them from "the warping" and that they were being taken to see him as was the custom with outsiders. This suited Laguja fine: were there really a god trapped in this near-literal hellhole, it might be able to be persuaded or coerced to fight the Prestidigitator as well; were it just an opportunistic trickster of a mortal, there were even more opportunities to be had.
By the time Kahsh had run out of hesitating explanations, they were descending into the pyramid and Muriegro was blinking in the light that certainly seemed to be provided as promised. They travelled in silence for a time, Muriegro taking in the bizarre scenery and Laguja reverting to its default activity of brooding and plotting. Just as it was beginning to wonder if the stairs were taking them below the structure of the pyramid, they opened into a wide, distorted foyer. Kahsh beckoned and quickened her step.
"Respectful he is... inside here room."
Muriegro caught up to her and kept pace, following as she flung the door open and stepped through. Grandiosity and plainness clashed oddly in the modified pool room beyond, but Laguja and its servant had eyes only for one thing in it: the seated figure on its golden throne.
"Greetings, mortals!" he boomed out again. "I am Xiuhcoatl, God of the Underlands. I must ask you for the benefit of my subjects: why have you come here?"
Muriegro of course didn't respond; Laguja sent out one shaky mental tendril and brushed it against "Xiuhcoatl's" mind... And would have beamed wickedly at what it found, had it the physiology to.
Laguja hissed to its priest "You know what to do," and fervently hoped it was right.
Muriegro certainly seemed to; he darted his hand into the pouch that held his god and withdrew it. The Warped Edifice had certainly muffled Laguja's own abilities, but it was always stronger when channeled through a mortal's willing hands. Perhaps that would be enough for this; it had to be.
As the pincushion thought out "You know why I have come," Muriegro concentrated on the man across the pool. Xiuhcoatl found his hands gripping the arms of his throne too tightly for him to rise, and found his mouth wrenched open; against his will, he intoned "Leave us, Kahsh; this is a matter between gods."
Kahsh obediently disappeared as Muriegro began skirting the pool, chest heaving from the exertion of keeping Xiuhcoatl in his seat. He thrashed, but the throne was too heavy to topple and his fingers refused to move.
"What the fuck," he growled in a very ungodly way, "is going on here?"
Muriegro approached and loomed over the man. Laguja's voice whispered in his mind, "You are meeting a true god, pretender."
To Muriegro, it hissed "Bind his arms and put me in his lap."
The priest moved behind the throne and wrapped his arms around Xiuhcoatl's elbows and torso; as he let the pincushion drop, Xiuhcoatl's hands came under his control again, but he still couldn't muster the leverage to break free or reach his communicator.
Once in contact with the false god, Laguja was much better able to exert its influence and abilities. It reached into his mind, searching and learning, but still at a frustratingly slow pace; where it should have been like watching an accelerated movie, it was like decoding a particularly arcane cryptogram that turned out to be a bunch of crossword clues. Nevertheless, some things became clear quite quickly.
"Well, Kolman, I see you've met some associates of mine already. There is no need then to inform you of the situation, as you know enough for my purposes."
It pushed deeper, then chuckled mentally. Agent Saenger tried to say something, but found it difficult to force out more than a gurgle.
"Xiuhcoatl... Mesoamerican? How appropriate. Here is what will happen, then: you will gather your subjects and introduce me as Huitzilopochtli, a god and your brother-in-arms. You have been waiting for me to come, you'll tell them, and together we will begin truly ridding this place of its evil influences and the dark gods who have made it so."
Kolman sneered. "The hell I will. Every scip with a little power thinks it's God, and I haven't seen one yet that can contend with a half-competent Mobile Task Force."
"Perhaps I have not made myself clear."
Laguja stoked the agent's glands, disappointed at how little it was able to do; nevertheless, it sent his heart beating painfully in his chest and his lungs squeezing shut.
"That was not a request or even an order. That was a statement of how things will be. Whether you have any free will left at all at that point is your choice."
It was a bluff of course; at the height of its power, it would have been able to wear the agent's skin with no effort, to dance him like a puppet and discard him when finished, but in this place it could barely maintain a hold on a few organs at once. It would pay to terrify him though, and it clenched tighter around his heart.
"But first, you will tell me about your Foundation and the other artifacts you have here. If I have to pull that information from your mind, who knows what all I might take with it and neglect to return?"
A pair of the slightly-unsettling men had carried Eureka off into the gloom of their settlement while a cluster of them had begun tending to the bodies; one of the chain-weilders, her shotgun now slung across her back, had apparently appointed herself envoy and taken Muriegro aside.
"Do you... speak... Polish?" she had intoned.
The technically-correct answer was "no", but fortunately the power suppression inflicted on the battlers hadn't been so severe as to cripple its ability to understand meaning without bothering with language. Muriegro's head nodded on command, and Laguja forced out a sentence through the psychic miasma of the place.
"I am more comfortable with Portuguese."
If Laguja's suspicions were correct, Muriegro was regaining much of his autonomy as a result of the pincushion's weakened state; if that was the case, it would be beneficial to ensure he could follow what was happening without constant mental asides from his master.
There was a short pause, followed by "I believe... to be able... to talk... enough... of Portuguese."
It was just shy of being pidgin, but it seemed to suffice.
---
The woman, who had identified herself as Kahsh, had taken Muriegro and his hidden god on a brisk, confident walk through the twisted settlement that was quite at odds with her unhurried, broken speech. The pair had eventually managed to glean that this place was ruled by their benevolent, generous god, who provided them light and shielded them from "the warping" and that they were being taken to see him as was the custom with outsiders. This suited Laguja fine: were there really a god trapped in this near-literal hellhole, it might be able to be persuaded or coerced to fight the Prestidigitator as well; were it just an opportunistic trickster of a mortal, there were even more opportunities to be had.
By the time Kahsh had run out of hesitating explanations, they were descending into the pyramid and Muriegro was blinking in the light that certainly seemed to be provided as promised. They travelled in silence for a time, Muriegro taking in the bizarre scenery and Laguja reverting to its default activity of brooding and plotting. Just as it was beginning to wonder if the stairs were taking them below the structure of the pyramid, they opened into a wide, distorted foyer. Kahsh beckoned and quickened her step.
"Respectful he is... inside here room."
Muriegro caught up to her and kept pace, following as she flung the door open and stepped through. Grandiosity and plainness clashed oddly in the modified pool room beyond, but Laguja and its servant had eyes only for one thing in it: the seated figure on its golden throne.
"Greetings, mortals!" he boomed out again. "I am Xiuhcoatl, God of the Underlands. I must ask you for the benefit of my subjects: why have you come here?"
Muriegro of course didn't respond; Laguja sent out one shaky mental tendril and brushed it against "Xiuhcoatl's" mind... And would have beamed wickedly at what it found, had it the physiology to.
Laguja hissed to its priest "You know what to do," and fervently hoped it was right.
Muriegro certainly seemed to; he darted his hand into the pouch that held his god and withdrew it. The Warped Edifice had certainly muffled Laguja's own abilities, but it was always stronger when channeled through a mortal's willing hands. Perhaps that would be enough for this; it had to be.
As the pincushion thought out "You know why I have come," Muriegro concentrated on the man across the pool. Xiuhcoatl found his hands gripping the arms of his throne too tightly for him to rise, and found his mouth wrenched open; against his will, he intoned "Leave us, Kahsh; this is a matter between gods."
Kahsh obediently disappeared as Muriegro began skirting the pool, chest heaving from the exertion of keeping Xiuhcoatl in his seat. He thrashed, but the throne was too heavy to topple and his fingers refused to move.
"What the fuck," he growled in a very ungodly way, "is going on here?"
Muriegro approached and loomed over the man. Laguja's voice whispered in his mind, "You are meeting a true god, pretender."
To Muriegro, it hissed "Bind his arms and put me in his lap."
The priest moved behind the throne and wrapped his arms around Xiuhcoatl's elbows and torso; as he let the pincushion drop, Xiuhcoatl's hands came under his control again, but he still couldn't muster the leverage to break free or reach his communicator.
Once in contact with the false god, Laguja was much better able to exert its influence and abilities. It reached into his mind, searching and learning, but still at a frustratingly slow pace; where it should have been like watching an accelerated movie, it was like decoding a particularly arcane cryptogram that turned out to be a bunch of crossword clues. Nevertheless, some things became clear quite quickly.
"Well, Kolman, I see you've met some associates of mine already. There is no need then to inform you of the situation, as you know enough for my purposes."
It pushed deeper, then chuckled mentally. Agent Saenger tried to say something, but found it difficult to force out more than a gurgle.
"Xiuhcoatl... Mesoamerican? How appropriate. Here is what will happen, then: you will gather your subjects and introduce me as Huitzilopochtli, a god and your brother-in-arms. You have been waiting for me to come, you'll tell them, and together we will begin truly ridding this place of its evil influences and the dark gods who have made it so."
Kolman sneered. "The hell I will. Every scip with a little power thinks it's God, and I haven't seen one yet that can contend with a half-competent Mobile Task Force."
"Perhaps I have not made myself clear."
Laguja stoked the agent's glands, disappointed at how little it was able to do; nevertheless, it sent his heart beating painfully in his chest and his lungs squeezing shut.
"That was not a request or even an order. That was a statement of how things will be. Whether you have any free will left at all at that point is your choice."
It was a bluff of course; at the height of its power, it would have been able to wear the agent's skin with no effort, to dance him like a puppet and discard him when finished, but in this place it could barely maintain a hold on a few organs at once. It would pay to terrify him though, and it clenched tighter around his heart.
"But first, you will tell me about your Foundation and the other artifacts you have here. If I have to pull that information from your mind, who knows what all I might take with it and neglect to return?"