[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/NvKc3OR.png[/img] [Img]https://i.imgur.com/MjvPQnN.png[/img][/center] [hr] Eurysthenes was gone, and with it, so too had the cold fury welling up inside the Architect's ancient bones departed. The worst of his concerns were now addressed; it would be some time still before the most dangerous one of those little gods invariably was drawn to the Core. Eurysthenes would have time to make preparations, and one could hope that its half-borrowed-half-stolen powers over the mind would enable it to drive off any prying fools that drew too close to the Core and the secrets that it held. Even here, at the very edge of the Barrier and boundary of the universe, the light of Heliopolis dimly shone upon the hollowed moon that housed the Architect's palace, light cascading down from the great fissure above into the darkened expanse of a flooded throne room so grand that it held a small sea. Great, elongated shadows of the columns all around rose from the water surrounding the island that was throne room's dry and raised dais. Together the assembly resembled the bars of a cage, though its function was anything but. The pillars merely obscured the view of whatever else lurked in the darkness of his endless hall beyond that lonely island crowned with a throne. The Architect came to realize that there was no longer any need to leave his throne room open to the outside world and exposed to prying eyes. With a snap he conjured a great magical barrier that walled off the skylight torn into the ceiling above, and then with but a thought that ethereal and invisible seal became a very real one made from tons and tons of solid stone, perhaps a mile thick. With that entrance gone, that wound marring the surface of his planet mended, there was now complete and utter darkness within his throne. But that was of no matter, for he did not need his Eye to perceive the world of his making. He waited in utter stillness and silence and darkness, a statue indistinguishable from all those stony pillars around except in size. An age passed, but to him it was not even the blink of an eye. His Eye hadn't blinked in untold aeons. He sensed the quarrels and plotting of the various so-called 'gods' as they squabbled among one another. As one tapestry of strife blended into another, he watched on and felt nothing. Perhaps there was some disinterest and apathy to speak of if such things could even be called feelings. He directed his interest not towards the vessels that he'd borne here and vested power into, but rather their creations. For the majority of the vessels, bearing such fruits was their purpose, their overriding imperative, the reason that they'd been called into this existence. And so they did, quickly and tirelessly...but even as their erratic work went at a pace far greater than any work that would have been borne of his slow and cautious hand, it seemed sloppy, marred, haphazard, and of a scale far too small and a plan far too shallow in scope. He saw much, and no flaw or weakness could help but be dragged out from the shadows by such a scorching gaze. And though his body had but that one singular Eye that seemed to sprawl across his face and swallow his entire head, it was truly just an outward reflection of the all-consuming, singular-purposed mind within. The Architect was grand, and enlightened, but also absolutist. He could look into his mind and see his own aspirations as easily as he could look to the left or right and pierce through the darkness to see the cavernous expanse of his throne room. When he looked into his mind, he perceived a path, a mighty road, and its every bend and contour was visible and already [i]meticulously[/i] plotted, and yet when he shifted his gaze away from the Imaginary and back into [i]this[/i] reality he'd created, where the road had yet to be fully paved, the makings and the route of the path were...different. And he loathed and abhorred it, and by extension, loathed and abhorred the wretched vessels that were paving it in tiny deviances to the manner in which he'd expected and intended it. There was a time, long ago, when he placed more value in control and his own power than in anything else, and that Architect would have never suffered the presence of any others in the realm of his creation. But time could wear down mountains and change even the most seemingly immutable, and so this Architect of the present had forsaken that control in favor of...brevity. He suffered their suboptimal and fallible creations, because even hideous and horrifically flawed (and that meant a great deal to him, for in his eye something was made ugly and near worthless by a single perceived imperfection), their creations served and worked towards his grand purpose. He only wished that he could have have both brevity and beauty. Frustration welled up inside of him, and he almost recoiled in shock--it was unbecoming and rare that he ever felt emotion of such intensity, or even experienced emotion at all. A brief meditation restored clarity to his mind and gave him perspective--perhaps there was a way. He had been thus far, out of habit, and perhaps for good reason... ... ... ... ...but why should he? If they were content to wallow in the muck, then he could take matters into his own hands, at least for a moment. In doing so he would also lay a challenge, set a precedent. He would descend down toward the proverbial mud, just close enough to not sully himself, and reach out to plant a single seed that might sprout into a blossom. Driven by example and inspired by what beauty could arise from the filth of imperfection, perhaps then they would rise in naive and foolish hopes at outdoing the work of their master. That would help bridge the gap between the quality of their works and his. He imagined that they would take to the challenge and be easily manipulated into creating better works through such a manner, and they would be more content and happier for it, as the alternative was that he [i]demand[/i] they do as he required, yet he knew that beings which thought themselves independent invariably chafed under the power of unquestionable decrees coming from a higher source. It was in their nature; with intelligence and greatness there inevitably and unfortunately seemed to come some yearning for independence, for something [i]more[/i].  His musing was interrupted by the soft [b][i]plop[/i][/b] of a single water droplet falling down from the newly-restored ceiling above. In breaking the oppressive silence that had reigned for so long, that water droplet might as well have projected the jarring sound of a falling boulder. Far from being a distraction, that sudden tumult was what guided the Architect's thoughts. The ancient being focused his senses upward (yet did not so much as even shift his neck or move his gaze!) to perceive the ceiling above. Already, stalactites had started forming above. He probed at the strange stones, feeling their every detail. Those objects would suffice. The palace trembled as he uttered two words, [color=lightblue][b]”Take form."[/b][/color] Far above, the stone of the wet and dripping stalactites bent and splintered. Small cascades of loose stone fell down into the throne room, rattling as they fell upon the tiled floor of the dais by his throne or spashing loudly into the waters around it. [center][b][color=lightblue]”LIVE!"[/color][/b][/center] In the very moment that the Director of the World roared that decree, the stones became sapient. Not just sapient, but also free. Released from the clutches of the ceiling above, they cascaded down, down, and down from the enormous height of the ceiling above. [color=2F4F4F]"AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!"[/color] screamed the first of the living stones to tumble. The fall would have been enough to shatter their rocky bodies, even if their descent ended upon the water instead of the rocky island of his throne's dais, but by the Architect's will this was not so. Unseen forces caught them and arrested their movement, and they were left suspended in the darkness floating somewhere halfway between life and death. Terror filled the mind of the first living stalactite, to be given life and stripped of it immediately seemed such a cruel fate. A fate that did not come to pass as he and the others that had fallen with him suddenly stopped their descent. The terror however did not dissipate, instead it was replaced with fear brought upon by blindness. No matter where his singular eye looked all there was to be seen was utter darkness. "Where am I? What am I?" asked the first. The others offered no words or thoughts of contemplation, only guttural bellows. Though they had existed for mere moments, the sense of falling was one that carried an intense, instinctive fear into their cores; though they hardly had concepts of self or the world, they already grasped what it meant to face doom. Even as cavernous as the palace was, it was so enormous that their shouts did not even echo. The darkness swallowed the sound just as surely as it swallowed their orientation. To say that the darkness was absolute would be a lie, though; they could not see one another nor their surrounding nor even that place above from whence they came, but they could [i]feel[/i] one thing--it was a great Eye, somewhere below, staring up intensely at them. As in for the first of their kind, his eye continued to flick around the surroundings, searching for something. It wasn't until he felt a nagging sensation somewhere within the depths of his mind that had been suppressed by the fear that his gaze fell upon apatch of darkness where he somehow knew to be massive orb. He wanted to be afraid, wanted to flail and scream as the others did, but his instincts forced such thoughts down. Whatever the orb may be, it was not a threat. At least not at the moment. So rather than be seized by fear, he continued to lock his eye with the only thing he could perceive. There was a visceral feeling, that of motion. The orb grew larger, and he understood this to mean that it was coming closer...no, that [i]he[/i] was approaching [i]it.[/i] And then there was a jolt, and what followed was the strangest sensation: he was on land, balancing precariously for the first time on the long and thick two appendages at the bottom of his form. [color=lightblue]”Synros."[/color] It was not an order, not a question, not a statement, but a name. His name, given to him by his creator. With a name bestowed upon him he was no longer the first of the living stones, but the first of his kind. Synros. He spoke the name over and over in his mind, for the first time feeling truly alive. What followed was a trail of thoughts that no ears could detect, audible to his mind but not to those of his peers. [color=lightblue][i]”Many are your kind, that you need never be alone. And great are your body and mind, wrought from stone. But for every sharpened point, there is a tip that must go before all else and clear the way, and unto you this task falls."[/i][/color] His creator was speaking to him directly, not only was he given life but also a name and a purpose. With great slowness, forSynros had not yet adjusted to having a body, he dropped down to one knee. [color=2f4f4f]"I shall accept this task and lead my brothers. I shall teach them, show them how to survive. As the first this is my duty and I shall not fail you. But I have to ask, we are made from stone but what is the strongest stone?"[/color] [color=lightblue]"Stone is not so strong,"[/color] the ancient answered, [color=lightblue]"for it, like you, has yet to prove itself. Steel is strong! Steel is what a humble stone can hope to become, if it is tempered and tried and yet survives,  triumphs, and thrives. Steel carries with it an aura of mystery and challenge; the world is a dangerous place, and it will test you. I have bestowed upon you many gifts--the drive and the knowledge to mold stone into steel, but that is all only in the mind. You must stay true to this art, holding on to it and never letting go until it has touched you not just in mind but also in body and in spirit; you must craft steel, contemplate its mystery, and come understand its discipline and incorporate that into yourself. Only then will you become whole."[/color] Synros lowered his gaze away from the magnificent orb, focusing instead where he knew one of his four arms was located. He felt strong, yet according to the creator this was a lie. If the world was dangerous he would need to become strong enough to not only lead his people, but defend them from threats beyond their strength. [color=2f4f4f]"I have no choice but to become like Steel. I will bend it to my will and make it my own. I shall be an example for my people, those who follow in my steps and remain true to the gifts you have granted us will become strong. These secrets we shall also keep, for you have seen fit to enlighten us and us alone in this manner. This I swear."[/color] [color=lightblue]"My Eye will be upon you,"[/color] the Architect vowed in turn. Suddenly there was light, and though it was faint by any other standards, in a void so black as the palace its radiance seemed more akin a roaring inferno than a flickering spark. The light came from somewhere behind Synros, but still it washed over him and engulfed his vision in its overpowering white. The other cyclopes, still suspended above, winced. Some instinctively shielded their eyes to stave off this strange and unfamiliar new burning sensation, whilst others squinted and tried to peer at the source. It was the bulk of a colossal crystal, light scintillating out from the heart of the great gem as it slowly rose from the water. The crystal was nearly perfect, save for the gaping hole in its side and a sizable hollowed cavity visible within. It beckoned to the cyclopes and their bodies, and they would have been helpless to fight its pull even if they had the desire to do such. So they were swept by unseen forces into the crystal, and then before their eyes, the crystal grew and sealed them inside. It was hard for them to gaze through to perceive whatever was beyond, for clear as the crystal was, it still was very thick. Furthermore, the darkness outside left them with little to witness. So they were not privy to where the crystal traveled, or even how it moved, but they were vaguely aware of the sense of motion. Theirs was a journey that felt long, but compared to the insignificant length of time that they'd spent upon this world even an hour might have felt like an eternity. The means of perceiving time and its passage had yet to impress itself upon their minds. The cyclopes rested within the crystal largely in stillness and silence, just as they had done for so long as inanimate stalactites. With all in the same circumstance, having been imbued by their almighty progenitor with the same knowledge, they simply found no reason to speak. But Synros was different--he had been told more, given more, and bore the mantle of leadership. Many of the cyclopes turned instinctively toward Synros in understanding of this natural hierarchy; however, there was another whose towering presence dominated the chamber. He was a giant of giants with bulky and sinewy hands, arms with bulging muscles powerful as iron bands. And those around that one were conflicted as they looked over their shoulders to Synros, yet moved their feet elsewhere as they gravitated toward the giant. They clung to his presence as they were trapped in a great storm that threatened to spirit them away and he a mighty palm, the only cover or hope left in the narrow world before them, a salvation graced unto them by their god himself.And as for the giant? He rested, leaning back against the wall in a way that made him look ever so slightly smaller (though still colossal!) as he waited with utter ease and solemn calm. The demigod took in his people with a tight expression upon his face. He had shown respect and courtesy to his creator, but a different approach would be required with the cyclopes. They were new, blank canvases just as he had been before the Architect filled him with purpose and knowledge. Like him they were weak currently. Mere stone. It was his duty to elevate them towards true strength, that of steel. As his radiant red eye roamed over his kin, it fell upon one that stood out from the others and not solely due to his towering frame. This giant exuded power and purpose, which meant he would either be a formidable obstacle or a worthwhile ally for the demigod. Synros made his way across the crystal, his upper arms crossed over his chest while the lower pair hung at his sides. He paid no attention the the cyclopes that divided him from the giant, most were aware enough to move out of his path while those that did not were pushed aside. He finally stopped when he was a couple meters away and lifted his head to meet the eye of the larger cyclopes. For a moment it seemed that he had become stone once more as he sized up his potential competition. It was his hope that they would be able to work together without a show of force, but he was prepared for that possibility, [color=2f4f4f]"You have also been chosen by The Creator it seems. It was arrogant for me to think I would be the only one."[/color] A stare from the cyclops' great eye answered Synros. At first it seemed like a baleful silence, but then it became clear that it was just the giant struggling to find his tongue for the first time. "Told that I am the [i]Might of the Cyclopes[/i]; like shaft of spear, part pushes the point. Because without pillar to hold up, stone crumbles." There was a small cluster of crystals that jutted out from the wall of the much larger gemstone that was their vessel. The colossus wrapped a brawny hand around the greatest part of the outcrop, a single chunk of quartz that jutted outward like an accusatory finger, and effortlessly broke it free. He held it between his two hands and pressed down on either end of the crystal, one hand on its point and another on the jagged edge that he'd torn free, and the gemstone held strong and true. But then he pressed but a thumb on the long flat edge and chortled as it broke in two. Then he let the shattered pieces fall onto the ground with a grunt, his demonstration finished. Synros watched with interest as the giant first removed a piece of their vessel from one of the walls before demonstrating the title he had been gifted by The Architect. He remained silent for a moment before letting his eye drop to the ground, examining the piece of quarts that had once been the point. While it was broken in two, the point itself remained in tact. The larger cyclops had proven two things, at least to Synros. A weak pillar lead to the breaking of stone, but even when the shaft breaks the head of the spear remains in tact. [color=2F4F4F]"[i]Might of the Cyclopes.[/i] It is a strong title, but a bit long. Were you given a proper name to go with it?"[/color] "Atlas," was the rumble that answered him. [color=2f4f4f]"Atlas. I am Synros."[/color] His voice wasn't nearly as deep as the rumble of Atlas's. He took a moment to let his gaze roam around their crystal chamber. All of their kind stared at the two, the ones furthest from them had their focus on Synros, while those closest were even more torn than they were before. Like the others they had an innate understanding of the hierarchy that made them look towards Synros for leadership, but they could feel the strength and stability that radiated off of Atlas. Command had to be established between the two. [color=2f4f4f]"We have a problem that needs to be fixed Atlas. Look around, tell me what you see."[/color] So tall was Atlas that his gaze drifted right over Synros' head, and indeed over those of all the other assembled cyclopes large and small, and found its way to the far wall. "A cage," he answered as hints of sudden realization and fiery rage crept into his eye. Those around him edged back as his fists and jaw were suddenly tightened, though the colossus hadn't even realized it. His eye narrowed briefly as he took in Atlas's words. He hadn't even considered that aspect, too focused on the divide that existed between their people. He had no way to know how long they had been contained within the crystal. [color=2f4f4f]"That is not what I had been talking about, but you are right. I do not enjoy being trapped. However our cage was made by the Creator. We will have to trust that we will be released when he believes the time is right."[/color] Synros turned to acknowledge the giant form of Atlas once more, taking note of the rage in his eye and hoped it would calm enough for them to address his concern. [color=2f4f4f]"Atlas our people are divided. As the [i]Might of the Cyclopes[/i] I want you to be my right hand. If we stand together, so to will our kin."[/color] "You already have two," the giant impulsively answered. His eye darted briefly to Synros' two right arms. Mentioning the Creator had at least seemed to quell his subtly rising before it had boiled over. He said without speaking that he would rather their wait be a shorter one, though. This one's blood ran hot.  "If you want...friend, ask for friend. Not for hand, not for tool." A grin spread across his face at the brashness of Atlas, the first time his mouth had moved in such a way. [color=2f4f4f]"You are right. I have plenty of hands, but far too few friends. Will you join me in leading out people?"[/color] Atlas put one of his great arms though the fork of Atlas' two right limbs, wrapping it all the way around the demigod's back and effortlessly bringing the smaller cyclops into a crushing embrace that lifted his feet from the ground. After a few moments, he half set, half dropped Synros back down. "Friends," he affirmed. Caught off guard by the giant's embrace, Synros felt the air leave his body. He gave a cough as he was set down, taking a moment to regain his composure. [color=2f4f4f]"I am honored to call you friend Atlas."[/color]  He tiled his head down in a slight nod before turning his attention to the Cyclopes surrounding them. [color=2f4f4f]"We are one. There is no great divide and no need to feel torn in allegiance. This was but our first trial, but it was also the first victory. We are heading towards our Creator's grandest work, hopefully sooner rather than later we shall arrive."[/color] [hider=Summary]Scene opens with The Architect no longer being pissed after talking with Eury. He then decided to close the hole in the ceiling of his magnificent home, to keep prying eyes and annoying light out of his palace.  He then gets frustrated over the fact that the other Gods create things fast but create ugly and terrible things, and thus decides to make something of his own. He gave life to the stalactites that hung above him, creating the Cyclopes. He hoped his creation would be seen as a challenge by other Gods to make true beauty.  Archie made them a leader, the four-armed demigod Synros. Synros and the Architect chat for a bit, during which the God beamed information into the demigod's head, discussing his purpose and rehashing the opening to Conan. After swearing to lead his people to learn to be as strong as steel, and Archie making a vow to be watching, Synros and the rest of the Cyclopes are dragged into a giant crystal.that begins floating down towards Galbar. Synros sees a giant Cyclops that some of the others are turned towards. He goes and speaks to the massive individual, who introduced himself as [i]Might of the Cyclopes[/i] and after as Atlas, a hero also created by the Architect. The talk and eventually resolve to be friends, to which Synros announces the first of their trials has been overcome but many more await them. [hider=Prestige] Atlas- Starting 0 Minor role +1 Jolly collab +1 Ending total=2[/hider][/hider]