Canada staggers blearily into the room, surrounded by the refractive, broken light of a half formed shield forming in response to the sudden danger that had grabbed her in the dark. It's a device formed of pure conceptual power - the shattered reality of her own darkening reflection, her purest self, but even this legendary barricade is no defense against the crashing tidal wave of words that slams into her and pins her against the wall as securely as any chain of the Annunaki. Set is [i]talking[/i].

If her mighty shield is no proof against the flood, then neither are her shining eyes a deadly enough weapon to cut through the onslaught. A gaze that could stun a charging salamander glances pointlessly off of Anathet's forehead as she goes through pages like an industrial scanner. Perhaps that melodic voice is trying to get a word in edgewise but that is a mistake - what 'um' or 'er' or 'excuse me' could disturb a world where djinn are dying, gods are falling, and the earth is saved through the publication of sufficiently accurate textbooks? 

And then it stops, and Canada starts like she's just realized that this is a test and she should have been taking notes instead of mentally inventorying bruises. "Uh," she gapes for a second. "Gee-lll-gee - Gilgamesh? Like the dude with the gold? Didn't he live eight thousand years ago or something?" She trails off and goes a little bit red. Thanks for your contribution, Canada! Super insightful! While Anathet was studying the true nature of the ancient alien invasion that defines this planet's history, [i]you[/i] were studying the [i]blade[/i].

"I mean, uh... I don't actually -" she coughed and reddened a bit more. "Can you explain how this helps us, um, practically? They didn't, you know, beat us by pretending to be gods so much as by... you know... beating us."