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Recent Statuses

4 hrs ago
Current Medical term for brain freeze is 'sphenopalatine ganglioneuralgia', you're welcome
6 days ago
Capitalism is simple; your boss keeps your shit and you depend on contracts to survive.
9 days ago
OKAY BUT PLEASE READ 17776, IT IS PURE AND WHOLESOME
18 days ago
@fedex ship me to the middle of the ocean on an oil tanker and blow me to kingdom come pls xx
1 mo ago
I'LL DO WHAT I DAMN WELL PLEASE WITH PINEAPPLE AND PIZZA, THANK YOU
3 likes

Bio

According to the IRC, I'm a low-grade troll. They're probably not wrong.

Most Recent Posts

AMBIENT

1-Metera Tech
2-Marquisate Tech
3-BURN THE BRIDGE
4-Receivers
5-Detection?
6-Urtelem martial art?
7-Hot Planet
8-Cold Planet

OVAEDIS

1-Isonymph
2-Isonymph
3-Isonymph
4-Isonymph
5-Metera

Metera Tech- Treadmill Crane, Horse Collar, Silk, Paragliding
Marquisate Synth-
...But, somehow, it did.

The lady who was part skyscraper blinked. She squinted at the signpost. She squinted at the air sitting between her and the signpost. There was definitely something off about that air. And there was definitely, definitely something off about that signpost.

She touched her nose with a warmly gloved hand. Oh. So that was the air. Then what was the deal with the signpost..?

"Heph yooph!!" said the signpost.

Ayem blinked again. She was not thinking straight today. Or at least she didn't think she was. She had no way of telling.

"Hey! Hey you! Have you seen this person!?"

Actually, that didn't sound like a signpost voice at all. Ayem flipped back her hoodie, tapped her headphones, and looked down.

Oh, thought Ayem, forgetting the post entirely. That's the smell.

"...say that you've seen her? Pretty please!"

Ayem took one look at the paper and said, "Yeah, sure." She didn't know why. She didn't think about it either. She was looking at the girl.

She'd already tensed, moved one foot just a little way back. Fake skin tingled in rings around her forearm. It was never a good idea to ignore a spirit. It was never a good idea to stop and listen. A motorised heart whirred just a little faster in its metal cage.

On a not-yet-desolate street at a not-yet-desolate hour, a ghost and a cherub met eyes. The pair above was black, the pair below bright red. A strong... aura... radiated from the little creature, who otherwise seemed at least sixty per cent human. The many things that might make her seem otherwise were hidden under her hoodie, just like Ayem's were hidden in hers.

"Umm." Taking the paper in her fingertips, letting just enough metal through that she wouldn't have to actually touch it, Ayem put a knuckle to her lips and simultaneously suppressed a giggle and an oh, no. If there was a chance to turn back before, it was gone now. "I'm not really sure. She could be anywhere." She looked back at the cherub, who probably weighed as much as an over-full shopping bag. Less, maybe. "Do you... Know how you're going to get to her?"
If it looks like a goblin, smells like a goblin, and talks like an Australian trucker, it's probably your local literal tech wizard, Virgil Smithereen.
"...both the locals and the environment. I will need capable escorts. Who will be j-"

A long, sharp object that may have been the tip of a bayonet smashed through the loudspeaker, followed by a long groan: 'Oh fuuuck oooooffffff.'

Flak Macaque's head reappeared from under his forearms, eyes shut tight as a fat ailing sixty-year-old man's shirt buttons. Without turning on the light, he slapped his alarm clock into the corner, fumbled for a long stick of rebar, smacked Heidi's power button and lumbered into the hallway, a huge jug of cold espresso in his paw.

It was empty by the time he made it to the roof.




Shading his eyes with a long palm, Flak Macaque sat on his butt, as monkeys tend to do. Somewhere below him, a gang of reptilian thugs stomped up a storm. He licked the rim of the pitcher as if wishing for a final taste to soothe his passage into Morning Hell, then hung it on one finger and let it fall.

Bump, bump, tumble it rolled down the side of the ship and onto the ground below, where it was met with yelling.

"Ya know, you'd have more luck if ya just formed a union," offered Flak Macaque dejectedly. "Like seriously, have you fellas even heard of conformance to stereotype? I swear I caught one of you saying 'big metal bird' just now, like fuck off."

There was a sheepish pause.

"...I was being ironic," muttered a lizardy voice.

Yeah, yeah, thought Flak Macaque. Heidi waved a metal strut to the crowd.

"Dude, though," continued the kobold, clearly trying to make up for her embarrassment at being called out. "It's a UFP core world, we see spacecraft all the time. We were kidding."

"Whatever," acquiesced Flak Macaque. "Got any durries?"

Mumbled negatives. Flak Macaque sighed and pulled his fingers through the air, trailing a fine mist of ash that resolved itself into a paper roll. He took a tin of tobacco from his toolbox and tapped it as the next kobold spoke up.

"Say, what's a goblin like you doing on a demon ship anyway?"

"Fucked if I know," shrugged Flak Macaque, and lit all three cigarettes in his mouth. "I didn't pay for this bullshit."

Murmurs of sympathy from his fellow vectors of petty evil. All in all, thought the monkey, pretty normal start to a Thursday.
Jvan right now



@Kho nope, doesn't ring a bell

i do that kind of stuff on a daily basis


It's gone.

Osveril found Transgenesis on the beach where I left it and set off into the world. I could follow it, but I didn't try. Let the Hollow have its freedom. It is beyond my control.

Birthing Osveril was not as taxing as I expected it to be. By regenerating my link with Ovaedis, I've been able to draw on its power without having to fire it at myself, as I've done in the past. I ran a scan of my resources following Osveril's departure and the results are better than expected. Beneath the carbon tomb of my former skin, I've reconstructed at least 87% of my mass, give or take some anomalous digits. Most of it is in hyperbolic storage, ready to burst free when it is needed.

I am no longer a corpse. I am a chrysalis.

Yet I see no reason to rush to the conclusion of my feigned coma. There are certain aspects of advantage that my 'death' has left me. I can operate unseen. If Toun keeps his silence- And, I think he will- Then no one will expect me to embark on a large-scale project. I have an opportunity here.

And as I have so recently learned, absence has its own kind of power. I do not deal in true voids, but in negatives; and right now my body and my surroundings are nought but waste.

Such beautiful, beautiful waste. It's been a while since I really looked at my abyss. Everything is still, quiet. Dark. I'm home.

...I'm wasting time. Until I regenerate, my energy is largely inaccessible. I'll turn these thoughts into a journal of my activity before I wake up. This will be the first entry.





0re-24l-64-m


Accessing the Sculptor network is a surprisingly strong drain. More than that, it leaves a trail. If someone were to investigate the students I've been chatting with, Dabbles and Longfellow and the like, they'd very quickly come to suspect my strength.

I do have other agents, though.

Scarlet is the only surviving Optic Fiberling other than Amber, who is in Tauga's possession. Mauve was incinerated by Realta somewhere near Rulanah. The rest all died long ago. There's a wild population on Julia, and I keep myself in the company of my Silvers, but for now Scarlet will do.

I just accessed its memories. It looks like Scarlet's had an encounter with someone very dear to me.





Scarlet clung to the surface of the Leviathan like a fungus, a tiny red stain on the smooth skin of a titan. Its light flashed far through the grand rock formations of the Fractal Abyss, nourishing the red algae that now made up Scarlet's body as it performed the singular task to which it had been assigned aeons before: Observe the Vast Soul.

And so it did. Year upon year, Scarlet watched the Leviathan, Jvan's big fish, until it almost became one with the being. Its breath was Scarlet's life, its hunger Scarlet's own.

But now a soul yet greater was approaching.

Scarlet felt the Leviathan halt in the water, flicking in a way that it never had before. Had never needed to.

For never before had it met its creator.

Slough looked up with wooden face and considered her accidental work of art. A moment of tension passed- Fear in a grand creature, yet power in a small one.

Then the cyan light escaped its caster, and the Rottenbone recalled what it had lost, and the ancient soul returned to she who had called it from the mists of the past...

The body of the Leviathan hung limp in the water as the Life Deer departed. For the first time in eternal nights, Scarlet was alone.




8fs-029-k7-l


I'm not sure why Slough Rottenbone saw fit to destroy the Leviathan I so loved to see in my waters, nor the great Writhe whose fragrance blessed the Venomweald. I can only assume it was part of Vowzra's corruption. Fortunately, the slaughter has gone no further. It was only those two entities... Which were, indeed, handled curiously...

What do you know, sister dear? To where have you spirited these souls? Shine they still in the worlds beyond, which I cannot see?

I do not know. But I trust her. My sister now travels the world, breathing and creating, as was her way. She is strong. She is wise. And she is at peace.

I'm reaffirmed, at least, that my destruction of the Riddler was justified. I only wish I didn't have to see these marvels consumed for it to happen. I will reuse their designs in due time.

...And perhaps other designs, too. I think I know where to send Scarlet.

How did I learn of the Writhe's passing? There are still many Jvanic Eyes on Galbar, thousands of them, large and small. Mortals trip over them or sell them as oddities. Even more orbit the forests of Lex. Ovaedis has fulfilled that purpose marvelously, and I am reasonably well-informed of events in Galbar.





045-sde-nn-h


As I send Scarlet south, I make a discovery. I've been seeing my own art exercised without my knowledge a lot lately.

I knew that something must have saved Galbar from the fallout of Logos's assault on my body, but I assumed it was magic, or else some quirk of the Codex. I was not expecting it to be Heartworm.

I should have, though. In retrospect it seems so obvious. Who else would understand the risks so clearly?

Five massive bioconstructs now stand in a close semi-circle not far north of my remains. ('My remains.' Odd concept. Hah! It's a lucky girl that gets to use those words.) They are flexible towers, kilometres tall yet maybe twenty metres thick at their widest, riddled with tunnels and mechanisms and capped by a larger platform at sea level. Their construction is largely anomalous in nature, and their roots stretch deep into the crust, possibly encircling the entire planet.

Each of the five towers dealt with a certain kind of contaminant that would, in high enough levels, have posed fatal risk to the Galbaric biosphere. Though they are now largely inactive, having restored the planet to a stable state and spent most of their power in the process, I'll detail them anyway.



Playing with the towers and their various quirks is an exciting prospect, but they leave me worried. Even depleted, they are structures of tremendous grandeur. And it was Heartworm that built them.

I never gave it that kind of power.

How long has it been capable of this? How much energy did it leech from me while I slept? Much? Some? None? Was all of this its own doing? How powerful has it grown, in the time since I lost it?

Does it even
know?




51r-fi0-0o-a


Further south. More Heartworm.

The Dwarves have been touched by numerous deities. Scarlet's eye is archaic by my latest standards, but it can still scent Teknall's handiwork. That other entity, Lazarus, has also been... Busy.

Vestec's constant interference at last does me some good. With the Legates scattered, it will be difficult for the Empress to resume control of those assets. In the meanwhile there are plenty of ways to make sure she does not abuse them.

If only they were less... Decidedly
mortal in form and thought...

Yet once again the Emaciator manoeuvres in ways I did not expect. The Dwarven people have fallen into its territorial sphere, partially through its proxy, Tauga. I like that girl, but I'm not sure if I'm willing to entrust her with the duty of bringing down Lazarus if she gets... Uppity.

I might have to cooperate with my avatar. The thought is disturbing. I should be in
control.

Ugh.

In any case, I am finally homing in on the Wraith Stone. Here I sense still more disturbance by my most reckless brother. The cycle of reincarnation seems to be largely intact, though the same cannot be said of those tasked by Reathos to guard it. It's probably too much to hope that I might find some monument to their memory.





9ff-801-sp-e


Damn you, Vestec.




110-3m2-u9-f


Resurrecting the Pronobii will not be a simple task.

Every gene of that species is designed not to violate the natural lifespan that Reathos allocated them. Vestec's magic vaults past barriers I cannot overcome. If I am to adapt the Pronobii to my purposes, I am to do it the hard way. Manually.

The body of a Pronobis turns to ice upon a natural passing. Their architecture was based on recrystallized snow. A powerful spell protected them from divine alteration. A thousand years of decay has claimed their bodies and since then an ocean has been conjured over the lands where they once dwelt, with all the tectonic chaos that implies. I have very little to work with.

Let's call Reathos's original Pronobii the R-type. None remain. The only bodies will be those slain prematurely. If I'm extremely lucky I might find some aluminium scraps of their siphons, or even bone. Fortunately, I know how to make my own luck.

I have some Sculptor records of them as well. Mostly memories from... Walker...

...

(I hope they're okay.)

Death's Guardians, as reimagined by Vestec, I'll label V-type. They are not genetically or thaumaturgically identical to the ancient model,
but their genes will contain data I can't pass up, and there are plenty of them in that vault. They're not meant to leave until someone completes Vestec's stupid treasure hunt, but that doesn't mean I can't show myself in.

I'll need a better agent than Scarlet, though. Come to think of it, I might need many. Hm. Priority, then.

There are other specimens, that
are genetically identical to the R-type. I saw them in person, in Old Chronos. There are many of them among the Victors; It seems the Riddler was drawn to their impending doom. These are the C-type.

It's easy enough to send probes into New Chronos. I don't think it will be easy to get them out. Still, their immortality makes them priceless. They are my best link to Pronobis culture. Good luck, Jvan.

There were no Sculptors directly derived from R-types, which is... Regrettable. Reathos's influence was too strong for that. None of them would have survived until now, anyway.

There's only so long a Sculptor can cheat death, and they were still a fledgling race, back then. Flux is the oldest one alive, being a Djinni of almost a thousand years before he ascended. The only other Sculptor of comparable age would be Walker.

(...)

I need to see to those probes- Agents? Scribes? Scribes will do.

(...)

(Walker...)





Battle Brother Yiftakh stood on a low hill with the goats, watching the thing that had found its way into the sacred meadows of Chronos. A shadowless glow illuminated the scene, though it was night; For since the thievery of the Jvanic Entity, Chronos had no moon, nor any sun, and it was the many-folded walls of that world that brightened and dimmed according to the passage of Time, as the Timeless One had ordained.

Yiftakh sat down on a rock. He reached under a nanny-goat's chin and ran a finger through her beard. The thing before him, which he supposed was some kind of animal, was most plainly a work of that same Jvanic Entity.

Yet though his sword shone brilliant at his side, the Victor was patient and by no means keen to fall into the Pride of his fallen brothers and sisters. If it was Fated, then so it should be. Let the creature live until its Time.

And so the Scribe struggled on its way over the earth, as no humble goat had ever done. For Chronos has its own means of testing the worth of an interloper, and each step the skeletal quadruped took was a pitfall, each stone a spike, and the air chill and harsh.

But Chronos is not cruel and an animal mustn't be punished for the sins of its owner. In time the Scribe found its way, and the faint blue light of its framework body came closer and closer to Yiftakh.

He raised his hand to the animal. It bolted. Sleek as a greyhound and light as a dove it fled back over the stones, and keeping a gentle pace, Yiftakh followed.

And followed.

And followed. For he was patient.

In time it grew comfortable with his presence, and the faint rents that trailed after the Scribe's pointed snout and from mantid-like arms upon its chest were put into use. He watched as, little by little, those rents were stretched, bent and woven into a familiar shape upon the ground. And when the Scribe departed, that shape stood.

Yiftakh gazed upon his own face.



Yiftakh slid his sword from his scabbard. His Invert gazed into its own twisted hands and inclined its head, feet still yet knees shaking.

"That's enough," said Yiftakh, and cut himself in two.




24s-e79-vh-d


I don't intend the J-type Pronobii to be identical to what they were. Duplication is boring. They will come in a variety of morphs and phenotypes, none of which will be quite like their models.

Some of this is by necessity. There are various functions that I want to add to my Pronobii, and others that I will be unable to restore.

Their ocular apparatus poses a serious problem. The original R-types used blood from Death's Witnesses as a biochemical model- They were more crow than ape, and more statue than crow, and held Lesser Eyes of Reathos. This enabled them to see the True Name of a soul, the script of which formed the basis for their own written language. More importantly, it allowed Reathos himself to look through their eyes.

Death's Witnesses are, of course, extant. More valuable genes for me to work with. They've helped me make an unfortunate discovery.

Reathos is dead, but the link is still intact. With the god of death reduced to chaos, so is the telepathy.

All the eyes I've built so far release a heavily distorted psychic signal in no particular direction, without lull. Eye contact results in mental scrambling that other mortals would find painful.

I'd rather not pass on these devices- They featured too heavily in Pronobis culture and identity. Instead I've opted to seal them away within the skull, while strengthening them enough to see through the hardened tissue. Other morphs, with exposed eyes, will simply have to wear blindfolds.

Ironic that the one feature meant to make a Pronobis palatable is now its most fearsome.





392-kdx-46-x


Cryomancy, as the R-types called it, is a form of pure magic. I cannot truly reconstruct it, but I will do my best. It's too perfect to pass up.

What the R-types were capable of doing was control proton bonds in crystallised matter- The force that binds water molecules together and arranges them into the glassy material we call ice. I've been testing what cryomancy I can mimic using machines and captive souls, and it turns out that the same power can be applied to water that is sufficiently cold and under sufficient pressure.

In other words, abyss water!

With some other modifications, cryomancy can also interact with ammonia and hydrogen fluoride, which have similar chemistry. That'll be useful when I send the J-types into space.

Speaking of.

I didn't choose to bring back the Pronobii just because they were gone. (Or to spite Vestec for getting there first.)

(...Not entirely, anyway.)

(I mean, yes, maybe.)

(But he'll never read this so it doesn't matter.)

(Where was I? Oh. Space.)

All Pronobii are fuelled by a siphon derived from the White Giants. Their bodies are made of nothing more than ice, some silicates, and aluminium. A trickle of organics is needed to form their blood, and no other nourishment. They are resistant to cold and do not breathe. If I want intelligent life to help me colonise the stars, they're an excellent way to start.

I still need to perfect that siphon, though. Mine keep overloading and setting things on fire.





90d-b3w-7t-f


...You know what? I'm not going to finish that siphon. It's better this way.

For one thing, even negative fifty is a far cry from the subzero temperatures in space. I'll need a lot of energy output to keep these J-types going. And there's not much magic around to be siphoned anymore- With Reathos gone, the energy in his Witnesses' blood has gone down significantly.

Fortunately, I've found another source. The Pronobii were always a crusader race, and one of the weapons in their arsenal was the ability to leech 'life' from the creatures around them via a siphon. Well, I've finally found out what 'life energy' is.

There's a form of magic in the Codex we all overlooked: Slough's.

Every rock in this universe is humming with the potential to produce and harbour life. It's not so much magic as it is... Divine residue, I guess. If we look far enough into the universe we'll inevitably find points where it interacted with the physical substrate to produce life spontaneously.

That's probably what Chiral Phi was trying to calculate when she had her hands on the Codex. 'But I don't have hands...' Don't kid me, Phi. I know what you are.

Whatever Slough's legacy is, exactly, it's strong enough to fill the siphons. In fact, it's strong enough to make them overflow. The J-types will be fine in space or the cardioid or the poles, but in warm weather, well. My prototypes use pipes and radiating vanes to shed the excess heat, and most have several smaller siphons in the joints rather than a single one in the core. Even then...

Heheh.

I've turned the children of ice into a people of fire. And I don't regret it one bit.





883-b57-0s-q


The humanoid R-type body isn't particularly well suited to swimming. I've modified some Heraktati to be amphibious and capable of abyssal dives; If my estimates are correct, and they sometimes are, they should instinctively take to their kin. They'll be able to perform draught work.

...Yes sometimes. I'm not Phi. I'm not going to abuse my ability to skip to the end using numbers. I have a sense of fun that doesn't involve micromanaging an entire civilisation.

I've taken some inspiration from the weaponry Teknall used to deal with the Realta. By running a current between two magnetic rails through a mobile, conductive intermediate- in his case, an adamantium bullet- it's possible to generate a lot of force.

Well, seawater is mobile, and conductive, so I've decided to fix two-pronged 'wings' to some of the morphs. These can be magnetised, and the siphon can be used to produce electricity, resulting in a magnetohydrodynamic engine for easier movement through water.

I've also sharpened them, in case my J-types ever need to shank something with a few thousand volts.

Heartworm's filters will make for convenient habitation, with plenty of natural advantages. I've drained them of some energy via the roots to make them less hazardous. Still, if the J-types can't handle high radiation or the occasional explosion, then I've definitely made a mistake somewhere.

I can't help but think my avatar planned this, too. The Filters aren't booby-trapped, by any means. There was always the risk that I would reclaim them before it could start another Tauga cult in their chambers. I think... I think it just wanted to see what would happen. Just like I would.

...

I think we're ready to go.





ϿҦ-чϪЄ-ЮӁ-⚴


Behold
a Rising Vigour
Steaming Ichor to the Sun
Clogging Veins
and Wringing Iron

Listen
He hangs upon a Tree
Threaded Nerves
and Clouds of Hatred Healing
what Passes On

Forget
though Fury's Winds blow Yonder
that Vessels Coil
Through Carmine Mists,
and Pulsing Still

They Bleed Into The Water







7r3-20m-gg-z


Well, this could have gone better.

But it could also have gone much, much worse, so I think I can be content with my work. 49,995 Pronobii, plucked from the void at the bottom of the sea.

I fed the growing J-types with as much memory as I've been able to harvest from the voidsketcher data. Their language has been largely preserved in both written and spoken form. I've set up some stone settlements in the abyss that resemble their former temples and arenas, circling the base of the Filter Cities. There's no ice in the depths, but I've planted corals and sponges that will provide material.

Socially, they're mostly as I expected. They were always a violent culture, and the V-types were touched by Vestec, at that. A lot of Victor training has carried through, though. They're good at compartmentalising their desire to duel and seek glory. They spend a lot of time playing music, and meditating, building their new identity. If they feel like fighting something, they hunt, or spar.

Still, there's something going on that I haven't been able to understand, or predict.

Who- the hell, if I may add- is 'Farxus?'

I was expecting to have to overcome some massive psychological block over the death of Reathos. I was expecting to have an amnesiac crusade on my hands. I was ready to deal with these things. But they never surfaced.

Instead all I hear of is a river in a desert, beneath a starless sky.

The Pronobii don't seem to like me. I've committed a great sin, according to their values (values I taught them, damn it!) in resurrecting a species so utterly extinct and so devoted to the idea of natural death. Well, I'm sorry. I guess I'll use my backup plans to go to space.

Still, they don't seem to hate me the way they hate Vestec. Star
light... If what I did is sinful, his work with Death's Guardians was an atrocity. Not to mention the horde slaughter and the ocean that demolished its survivors. A few of them have already pledged to retake the Wraith Stone and bring Vestec to his knees.

I... I never thought I'd say this, but... I'm uncomfortable. Vestec made a huge mistake in the south pole. I know that. I'm going to smash his face in for it sometime. But this fury is... Something else entirely.

Am I really so hateful? Is this what I look like to my family?

(The treasure hunt wasn't even that bad...)

...

In any case, I've identified leaders among the J-types. Omicron-36, Sampi-77, Upsilon-89, and what looks to be a candidate for general leadership, Lambda-19. I've created Recombinance, a tool that reverts living organisms to a more basal form and re-specialises them. I'll give it to her as a peace offering, and explain to them my desires for the future. I'm sure we can reach an, mm, honourable deal.













0pw-lso-h8-w


I am... Not good at diplomacy.

Lambda-19 seemed disgusted that I would try to buy her favour. (It was meant to be a gift! ...Or something!) Sampi-77 looked like he could have carved up Scarlet with a blade of glass. (Note to self: J-types have been putting my siliceous sponges to good use.)

Lambda said she would 'consider' my 'offer', then ended the meeting. (I wasn't done.) She didn't take Recombinance, which was stupid. But... It looks like she's found another divine artifact to call her own.

Earlier I said that the signals from the Lesser Eyes weren't broadcasting anywhere in particular. I was wrong. They're still broadcasting to Reathos.

And the relics were made of his body.

Lambda homed in on the aura of Death's Sight within days. Her new blindfold lets her access the Lesser Eyes of her people just like Reathos once could. She can see further than anything in the abyss, even the otherwise invisible forces of magic and elementals. Her ability to marshal the J-types into order is frightening.

I need to draw up a treaty before this gets out of hand.





4cu-929-jj-t


they're rebelling




11y-du8-94-b


It's done. I think we're finally done.

The J-types learned very quickly that I cannot be challenged. When they did, they found other ways to threaten me. I'd rather not have my activities broadcast and my name slandered to every god on the planet.

So, we came to an agreement, and I changed my methods.

All races have Sculptors, but the Pronobii's will be a little different. They're more uniform, more specialised, mute. Their telepathy links them into a single entity of many minds and souls. I've labelled them S-types, but in the Pronobis language, they're called Remphs- Watchers.

Their cores are enlarged and their aluminium exchanged for a full skeleton of bronze or brass. They have more control of the siphons and can enter stasis if necessary. I've omitted the Lesser Eyes from their design with Omicron's permission.



The Remphs will act independently of Jvan, but they will be my hand in Pronobis society. They will be present at every hatching, and they will watch over every deathbed. They will save the falling child, and restore the dying field. With the knowledge of the Sculptors across the world, they will aid the J-type civilisation as it rebuilds and acclimatises to its new home.

I've given them a headquarters on the Julia Islands. They and the J-types will have unrestricted access to the exotic resources there. It's one of the places they're planning to start new colonies, along with the grave of the Leviathan, and the seat of Tsunami's power.

Tsunami has also agreed to assist them, in exchange for the normal Djinni demands for worthy tribute. He's weaker than he was, though. It looks like my pet Sealord's had a run-in with Whisper.

I trust it was a learning experience for both of them.

As for space, the J-types have reached the conclusion that it might be mutually beneficial. However, they will have full say over how far they go, for how long, and when they return. I'm allowed to offer suggestions on where. They wish to retain and exalt their permanent home on Galbar.

I've handed over Recombinance without comment in order to compensate for my... Fumbles. Lambda is enjoying her time with it. She's planted dozens of embryos.

So far she's spent her time modeling remipedes into hunting animals and turned a baleen whale into a giant siege engine, which I personally find extremely satisfying. We might get along yet.

These records I will make public to the Pronobii so that they might know the full story of their rebirth. Even the most callous moments. I think they've earned that much.

As for me... Well, the J-types can handle themselves, and they want to. I'll keep instructing the S-types, insofar as they can be instructed. I'll watch over Galbar, and get to work on my other races.

...Well, it's not like I was going to stop at one, was I? I have so many plans. J-types might be the most populous, but I can think of other societies to start in the abyss... Merms, hallucigens, radiophiles, coral urtelem... This was just the beginning.

And I have other plans, too. Plans for the Distant Dance. Plans for Metera.

Plans for myself.

I don't think the threat of exposure holds much weight over me anymore. I don't have anything left to hide. The universe is out there, waiting for me.

I think it's time to wake up.


11y-du8-94-b


It's done. I think we're finally done.

The J-types learned very quickly that I cannot be challenged. When they did, they found other ways to threaten me. I'd rather not have my activities broadcast and my name slandered to every god on the planet.

So, we came to an agreement, and I changed my methods.

All races have Sculptors, but the Pronobii's will be a little different. They're more uniform, more specialised, mute. Their telepathy links them into a single entity of many minds and souls. I've labelled them S-types, but in the Pronobis language, they're called Remphs- Watchers.

Their cores are enlarged and their aluminium exchanged for a full skeleton of bronze or brass. They have more control of the siphons and can enter stasis if necessary. I've omitted the Lesser Eyes from their design with Omicron's permission.



The Remphs will act independently of Jvan, but they will be my hand in Pronobis society. They will be present at every hatching, and they will watch over every deathbed. They will save the falling child, and restore the dying field. With the knowledge of the Sculptors across the world, they will aid the J-type civilisation as it rebuilds and acclimatises to its new home.

I've given them a headquarters on the Julia Islands. They and the J-types will have unrestricted access to the exotic resources there. It's one of the places they're planning to start new colonies, along with the grave of the Leviathan, and the seat of Tsunami's power.

Tsunami has also agreed to assist them, in exchange for the normal Djinni demands for worthy tribute. He's weaker than he was, though. It looks like my pet Sealord's had a run-in with Whisper.

I trust it was a learning experience for both of them.

As for space, the J-types have reached the conclusion that it might be mutually beneficial. However, they will have full say over how far they go, for how long, and when they return. I'm allowed to offer suggestions on where. They wish to retain and exalt their permanent home on Galbar.

I've handed over Recombinance without comment in order to compensate for my... Fumbles. Lambda is enjoying her time with it. She's planted dozens of embryos.

So far she's spent her time modeling remipedes into hunting animals and turned a baleen whale into a giant siege engine, which I personally find extremely satisfying. We might get along yet.

These records I will make public to the Pronobii so that they might know the full story of their rebirth. Even the most callous moments. I think they've earned that much.

As for me... Well, the J-types can handle themselves, and they want to. I'll keep instructing the S-types, insofar as they can be instructed. I'll watch over Galbar, and get to work on my other races.

...Well, it's not like I was going to stop at one, was I? I have so many plans. J-types might be the most populous, but I can think of other societies to start in the abyss... Merms, hallucigens, radiophiles, coral urtelem... This was just the beginning.

And I have other plans, too. Plans for the Distant Dance. Plans for Metera.

Plans for myself.

I don't think the threat of exposure holds much weight over me anymore. I don't have anything left to hide. The universe is out there, waiting for me.

I think it's time to wake up.
4cu-929-jj-t


they're rebelling


0pw-lso-h8-w


I am... Not good at diplomacy.

Lambda-19 seemed disgusted that I would try to buy her favour. (It was meant to be a gift! ...Or something!) Sampi-77 looked like he could have carved up Scarlet with a blade of glass. (Note to self: J-types have been putting my siliceous sponges to good use.)

Lambda said she would 'consider' my 'offer', then ended the meeting. (I wasn't done.) She didn't take Recombinance, which was stupid. But... It looks like she's found another divine artifact to call her own.

Earlier I said that the signals from the Lesser Eyes weren't broadcasting anywhere in particular. I was wrong. They're still broadcasting to Reathos.

And the relics were made of his body.

Lambda homed in on the aura of Death's Sight within days. Her new blindfold lets her access the Lesser Eyes of her people just like Reathos once could. She can see further than anything in the abyss, even the otherwise invisible forces of magic and elementals. Her ability to marshal the J-types into order is frightening.

I need to draw up a treaty before this gets out of hand.



Ag suam lorgos nu reuhm y libris
Reathos
Nimueh
Reas'thul
Rasul

Remph

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