Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 6:Doomish Temple!]
09-16-2010, 02:10 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
Konka Rar was... Well, there was no two ways about it, no mincing of words or saving pride with weaselly synonyms. Konka Rar was flabbergasted. Skeletal fingers traced the clearly-ancient carvings; his cybernetic eye focused and refocused, trying to find some hidden detail that would dispel the increasingly-impossible to deny fact that this dusty stone wall held a rather stylized image of one of the lich's first forays into cybernecromancy. It made no sense; every particle of granite that surrounded him oozed age, and while he had no way of knowing for sure, the carving struck the necromancer as extremely old. But the vacuum was made less than a year ago and had disappeared mere weeks before Konka Rar himself had; where did the carvings come from? What kind of prophecy would be this bizarrely accurate and about something so mundane and unimportant? It was... Flabbergasting.
He took a few steps back and cast a cursory ocular sensors reading over the other carvings that could be seen, storing the video data in case it became important. Now that he had something to work off of, a recognizable image that gave clues to the style and symbols of the carving, it was possible to start piecing the other initially-abstract carvings together. It was, from what he could figure out, some sort of narrative or perhaps a biography; it was extremely difficult for the rather linear-minded sorcerer to follow, but there was some meaning there. It didn't make itself readily apparent, but it was there. And it was intriguing. Despite the still-chiming sensors screaming silently that there was a source of great magical potential or power somewhere nearby, these carvings were extremely tempting.
The lich clicked his teeth together thoughtfully, staring again at the original engraving. Musing internally, he muttered, "Yes, that's definitely Eximo...". He gradually became aware that Maxwell had been attempting to talk to him since he last spoke; the boy had probably been nattering aimlessly since before the air had stilled from 'vacuum cleaner'. Rather peevishly, Konka Rar spat "What?"
The taciturn shard of entropy that was Vyrm'n had reverted once more to standing idly and unmovingly, shutting out the press of matter without and the troublesome thoughts within. While she couldn't be said to be ignoring the happenings around her, she certainly wasn't paying attention to them; her columnar posture was slightly sagging, and for as unanthropomorphized a being as it was possible to be, she was certainly evoking a very sulky air. She was unaware that most of Gestalt's attention was focused on her, rather than the humanoids, and probably wouldn't even have cared if she had noticed. She was content to simply loom quietly, a starry piece of rather disgruntled scenery.
She would have been content to stay so, too, if something the lich said hadn't cut through Maxwell's chatter and snapped her back to attention. A few near-forgotten syllables dredged up a guilty memory; inscrutable urges manifested, and a grey arm reached out of the blob of night, fingers beckoning towards Gestalt. After a moment, the golem passed over a pencil and held up a fresh page in a notebook. Vyrm's emaciated arm began to write.
I REMEMBER. BACK IN THE TWISTED WORLD, THE ONE WHERE THE SUNSET WAS KILLED, THERE WAS A MESSAGE. IT... WAS CONFUSING AT THE TIME. I TOLD HIM BUT THEN HE DIED AND I LEFT IT ALONE AND FORGOT IT, BUT...
The hand hesitated and stopped, as though the faceless was reconsidering passing the message on or wondering why she even felt the urge to bring it up in the first place. The faceless slumped even further, Gestalt said nothing, but the paper beneath Vyrm'n's pencil shuddered for a moment. With a roiling that could have been construed as a kind of sigh, she went on.
THE NAME EXIMO REMINDED ME AND I THINK IT MIGHT BE RELEVANT.
Gestalt waggled the paper in a 'go on' sort of motion; Vyrm'n paused, assembling the exact wording from a memory she'd considered pretty unimportant at the time. After a few moments of silence (save for the sounds of the lich and the fencer talking or arguing about something ), the pencil began to move again.
"TO THE ONE WHO FINDS THIS; I WISH TO DESCRIBE MY STRUGGLES, FOR I BELIEVE THEY MAY BE THE SAME AS THOSE WHO WILL READ MY WORDS IN THE FUTURE. I SPEAK AS AMETHYST, BUT I WISH TO CONVEY THE THOUGHTS OF MY COMRADES; DOKURUMETS, ALCARITH, EMILY, NATHAN, AEON, EXIMO, AND EVEN- I WISH TO BELIEVE- LUTHERION.
WE HAVE ALL BEEN BROUGHT HERE FOR THE SAKE OF SOME DIVINE BEING'S TWISTED SHOW, AND THAT WE SHOULD DESTROY ONE ANOTHER IS HIS DESIRE. THUS FAR, MY EVERY ESCAPE TO ATTEMPT THIS 'GAME' HAS BEEN UNSUCCESSFUL, AND EVEN MET WITH- AS I HAVE INTERPRETED IT- TAUNTING FROM MY CAPTORS. BUT DO NOT BE DISHEARTENED, FOR THERE IS A WORLD BEYOND THIS 'GAME.'
THERE MUST BE, FOR I HAVE SEEN IT. WE HAVE ALL SEEN IT BEFORE OUR TIME HERE. I DO NOT KNOW JUST HOW LONG THAT TIME HERE HAS BEEN- I CANNOT JUDGE IT FROM THIS WORLD- BUT IT CAN'T HAVE BEEN LONG SINCE I STOOD WITHIN A GODLESS WORLD, UNRESTRAINED BY THE WILL OF THE 'GUY RUNNING THE SHOW'
THE SPACIAL TRICKS HE HAS USED HAVE CARVED ME A CAGE OF NONEUCLIDEAN ALLOYS. THOUGH THIS MAY SEEM UNBREAKABLE, IT MEANS THEY MUST NOT BE MADE OF ADAMANTIUM. IF MY WIT ALONE SHALL FAIL ME IN THIS TASK, I ASK YOU WHO FINDS THIS: DO NOT BOTHER WITH LOOPHOLES, DO NOT BOTHER WITH WARPED SPACE. IF MY MAGIC WILL NOT BEND A TUNNER OUT OF THIS BARBED WIRE, THEN YOURS MUST TEAR A HOLE THROUGH IT. WE SHALL ATTACK FROM TWO POINTS, AND FIND THE WEAKNESS OF THE DIRECTOR.
WHETHER THIS IS FOUND IN THE FUTURE, THE PRESENT, OR EVEN- AND IT WOULD NOT SURPRISE ME AT THIS POINT- THE PAST. WE MUST NOT ALLOW THIS BEING TO PROCLAIM HIMSELF GOD. FOR IF MY WORLD IS GODLESS, I WILL RISE UP AS A GODDESS, AND TEAR DOWN THOSE FOOLS WHO HAVE PLACED THEMSELVES UPON PEDESTALS. PLEASE JOIN ME IN MY ASCENSION,
TO FOREVER DESTROY THE GRAND BATTLE."
Gestalt followed the mechanically-precise lettering without outward reaction. Inwardly, it was digesting the message with a combination of interest, curiosity, some amusement, and mild suspicion. It seemed fortuitous that the golem had received this missive immediately after coming to much the same conclusions itself; actually, it seemed a little too fortunate, but there was no reason to believe the message was fake or Vyrm'n was somehow colluding with the Grandmaster (or perhaps Grandmasters, if the letter was to be believed). What would the Observer gain by convincing his players to rise up against him? It certainly wasn't the entertainment he was looking for. It seemed safe to trust that this letter and its writer were genuine, and that whoever this Amethyst was, she was a potential ally in the quest for freedom and the fight against these divine tyrants.
Once Vyrm'n had finished and Gestalt had taken a few moments to digest the message, another pen slid out of a crate and began wiggling across the paper.
and what do you think about the contents of this manifesto
The dark surface of the faceless rippled and her arm didn't move. It was a very clearly noncommittal gesture; Vyrm'n apparently had very little interest in fighting grandmasters. Or much at all, if her apparent mood was to be believed. Still, Gestalt needed all the allies it could muster, and part of him suspected that the only effective weapon against a being as ostensibly-omnipotent as the Observer might be the cold emptiness of the dead universe within Vyrm'n's shadowy frame. By its reasoning, the only thing that could counter everything was nothing. It urged the pen onwards:
because i think that it is essentially at its core exactly correct
the flowery language and stirring prose mask an important truth
there is no longer a point in squabbling amongst ourselves or avoiding each other or simply busying ourselves with whatever pointless challenges the observer throws at us
we must unite against him rather than killing each other
the only one who deserves death is the one who would have us all die
Vyrm'n slid backward slightly, making no obvious response. Her necrotic arm held the pencil limply, but completely failed to produce any words. The golem pondered how to appeal to a creature as alien and unknowable as she; it tried to think back to the times it had felt her mind, to find some lever that would move the entropic bulk. As it thought, a voice that wasn't the animated tones of Maxwell and Konka Rar cut in.
"I... I rather agree, actually."
Both shifted their attention to Clara; they hadn't noticed that she had been hovering, and had no idea how much she had seen or heard. Their attention had been rather focused on each other. The nun cleared her throat and grinned nervously.
"Sorry, I know I shouldn't listen in, but those two were..." She waved a hand vaguely at the other humans. "And really, I think you're right. Um, Gestalt, was it? There's... There's really no excuse for this sort of thing and I'm becoming increasingly convinced that the purpose I was destined for is to assist in the downfall of these cruel gods."
Konka Rar was... Well, there was no two ways about it, no mincing of words or saving pride with weaselly synonyms. Konka Rar was flabbergasted. Skeletal fingers traced the clearly-ancient carvings; his cybernetic eye focused and refocused, trying to find some hidden detail that would dispel the increasingly-impossible to deny fact that this dusty stone wall held a rather stylized image of one of the lich's first forays into cybernecromancy. It made no sense; every particle of granite that surrounded him oozed age, and while he had no way of knowing for sure, the carving struck the necromancer as extremely old. But the vacuum was made less than a year ago and had disappeared mere weeks before Konka Rar himself had; where did the carvings come from? What kind of prophecy would be this bizarrely accurate and about something so mundane and unimportant? It was... Flabbergasting.
He took a few steps back and cast a cursory ocular sensors reading over the other carvings that could be seen, storing the video data in case it became important. Now that he had something to work off of, a recognizable image that gave clues to the style and symbols of the carving, it was possible to start piecing the other initially-abstract carvings together. It was, from what he could figure out, some sort of narrative or perhaps a biography; it was extremely difficult for the rather linear-minded sorcerer to follow, but there was some meaning there. It didn't make itself readily apparent, but it was there. And it was intriguing. Despite the still-chiming sensors screaming silently that there was a source of great magical potential or power somewhere nearby, these carvings were extremely tempting.
The lich clicked his teeth together thoughtfully, staring again at the original engraving. Musing internally, he muttered, "Yes, that's definitely Eximo...". He gradually became aware that Maxwell had been attempting to talk to him since he last spoke; the boy had probably been nattering aimlessly since before the air had stilled from 'vacuum cleaner'. Rather peevishly, Konka Rar spat "What?"
The taciturn shard of entropy that was Vyrm'n had reverted once more to standing idly and unmovingly, shutting out the press of matter without and the troublesome thoughts within. While she couldn't be said to be ignoring the happenings around her, she certainly wasn't paying attention to them; her columnar posture was slightly sagging, and for as unanthropomorphized a being as it was possible to be, she was certainly evoking a very sulky air. She was unaware that most of Gestalt's attention was focused on her, rather than the humanoids, and probably wouldn't even have cared if she had noticed. She was content to simply loom quietly, a starry piece of rather disgruntled scenery.
She would have been content to stay so, too, if something the lich said hadn't cut through Maxwell's chatter and snapped her back to attention. A few near-forgotten syllables dredged up a guilty memory; inscrutable urges manifested, and a grey arm reached out of the blob of night, fingers beckoning towards Gestalt. After a moment, the golem passed over a pencil and held up a fresh page in a notebook. Vyrm's emaciated arm began to write.
I REMEMBER. BACK IN THE TWISTED WORLD, THE ONE WHERE THE SUNSET WAS KILLED, THERE WAS A MESSAGE. IT... WAS CONFUSING AT THE TIME. I TOLD HIM BUT THEN HE DIED AND I LEFT IT ALONE AND FORGOT IT, BUT...
The hand hesitated and stopped, as though the faceless was reconsidering passing the message on or wondering why she even felt the urge to bring it up in the first place. The faceless slumped even further, Gestalt said nothing, but the paper beneath Vyrm'n's pencil shuddered for a moment. With a roiling that could have been construed as a kind of sigh, she went on.
THE NAME EXIMO REMINDED ME AND I THINK IT MIGHT BE RELEVANT.
Gestalt waggled the paper in a 'go on' sort of motion; Vyrm'n paused, assembling the exact wording from a memory she'd considered pretty unimportant at the time. After a few moments of silence (save for the sounds of the lich and the fencer talking or arguing about something ), the pencil began to move again.
"TO THE ONE WHO FINDS THIS; I WISH TO DESCRIBE MY STRUGGLES, FOR I BELIEVE THEY MAY BE THE SAME AS THOSE WHO WILL READ MY WORDS IN THE FUTURE. I SPEAK AS AMETHYST, BUT I WISH TO CONVEY THE THOUGHTS OF MY COMRADES; DOKURUMETS, ALCARITH, EMILY, NATHAN, AEON, EXIMO, AND EVEN- I WISH TO BELIEVE- LUTHERION.
WE HAVE ALL BEEN BROUGHT HERE FOR THE SAKE OF SOME DIVINE BEING'S TWISTED SHOW, AND THAT WE SHOULD DESTROY ONE ANOTHER IS HIS DESIRE. THUS FAR, MY EVERY ESCAPE TO ATTEMPT THIS 'GAME' HAS BEEN UNSUCCESSFUL, AND EVEN MET WITH- AS I HAVE INTERPRETED IT- TAUNTING FROM MY CAPTORS. BUT DO NOT BE DISHEARTENED, FOR THERE IS A WORLD BEYOND THIS 'GAME.'
THERE MUST BE, FOR I HAVE SEEN IT. WE HAVE ALL SEEN IT BEFORE OUR TIME HERE. I DO NOT KNOW JUST HOW LONG THAT TIME HERE HAS BEEN- I CANNOT JUDGE IT FROM THIS WORLD- BUT IT CAN'T HAVE BEEN LONG SINCE I STOOD WITHIN A GODLESS WORLD, UNRESTRAINED BY THE WILL OF THE 'GUY RUNNING THE SHOW'
THE SPACIAL TRICKS HE HAS USED HAVE CARVED ME A CAGE OF NONEUCLIDEAN ALLOYS. THOUGH THIS MAY SEEM UNBREAKABLE, IT MEANS THEY MUST NOT BE MADE OF ADAMANTIUM. IF MY WIT ALONE SHALL FAIL ME IN THIS TASK, I ASK YOU WHO FINDS THIS: DO NOT BOTHER WITH LOOPHOLES, DO NOT BOTHER WITH WARPED SPACE. IF MY MAGIC WILL NOT BEND A TUNNER OUT OF THIS BARBED WIRE, THEN YOURS MUST TEAR A HOLE THROUGH IT. WE SHALL ATTACK FROM TWO POINTS, AND FIND THE WEAKNESS OF THE DIRECTOR.
WHETHER THIS IS FOUND IN THE FUTURE, THE PRESENT, OR EVEN- AND IT WOULD NOT SURPRISE ME AT THIS POINT- THE PAST. WE MUST NOT ALLOW THIS BEING TO PROCLAIM HIMSELF GOD. FOR IF MY WORLD IS GODLESS, I WILL RISE UP AS A GODDESS, AND TEAR DOWN THOSE FOOLS WHO HAVE PLACED THEMSELVES UPON PEDESTALS. PLEASE JOIN ME IN MY ASCENSION,
TO FOREVER DESTROY THE GRAND BATTLE."
Gestalt followed the mechanically-precise lettering without outward reaction. Inwardly, it was digesting the message with a combination of interest, curiosity, some amusement, and mild suspicion. It seemed fortuitous that the golem had received this missive immediately after coming to much the same conclusions itself; actually, it seemed a little too fortunate, but there was no reason to believe the message was fake or Vyrm'n was somehow colluding with the Grandmaster (or perhaps Grandmasters, if the letter was to be believed). What would the Observer gain by convincing his players to rise up against him? It certainly wasn't the entertainment he was looking for. It seemed safe to trust that this letter and its writer were genuine, and that whoever this Amethyst was, she was a potential ally in the quest for freedom and the fight against these divine tyrants.
Once Vyrm'n had finished and Gestalt had taken a few moments to digest the message, another pen slid out of a crate and began wiggling across the paper.
and what do you think about the contents of this manifesto
The dark surface of the faceless rippled and her arm didn't move. It was a very clearly noncommittal gesture; Vyrm'n apparently had very little interest in fighting grandmasters. Or much at all, if her apparent mood was to be believed. Still, Gestalt needed all the allies it could muster, and part of him suspected that the only effective weapon against a being as ostensibly-omnipotent as the Observer might be the cold emptiness of the dead universe within Vyrm'n's shadowy frame. By its reasoning, the only thing that could counter everything was nothing. It urged the pen onwards:
because i think that it is essentially at its core exactly correct
the flowery language and stirring prose mask an important truth
there is no longer a point in squabbling amongst ourselves or avoiding each other or simply busying ourselves with whatever pointless challenges the observer throws at us
we must unite against him rather than killing each other
the only one who deserves death is the one who would have us all die
Vyrm'n slid backward slightly, making no obvious response. Her necrotic arm held the pencil limply, but completely failed to produce any words. The golem pondered how to appeal to a creature as alien and unknowable as she; it tried to think back to the times it had felt her mind, to find some lever that would move the entropic bulk. As it thought, a voice that wasn't the animated tones of Maxwell and Konka Rar cut in.
"I... I rather agree, actually."
Both shifted their attention to Clara; they hadn't noticed that she had been hovering, and had no idea how much she had seen or heard. Their attention had been rather focused on each other. The nun cleared her throat and grinned nervously.
"Sorry, I know I shouldn't listen in, but those two were..." She waved a hand vaguely at the other humans. "And really, I think you're right. Um, Gestalt, was it? There's... There's really no excuse for this sort of thing and I'm becoming increasingly convinced that the purpose I was destined for is to assist in the downfall of these cruel gods."