Deep in the jungle of Mumlo, amid the sprawling green vines and towering trees sat an arc of dark stone. Like the flickering leaves of the heavy palmed ferns that littered the floor, the stone arc was wet and polished with an unending mist of rain. The heavenly spittle drenched everything and turned even the brightest reds of flowers and fruits into a damp kaleidoscope of colors. Despite the rain and the stormy clouds long hidden by the unbroken canopy and floating islands above, the forest was anything but quiet. Monkeys screeched and birds crowed at one another while even the insects screamed and chattered. It was an orchestra of nature, only to be broken as a light flickered and an electric hum crackled in the eye of the stone arc.
For a moment the forest fell silent as a blasting wave of light flashed and boomed, summoning a rift between the stone fingers of the structure, ripping a hole in reality itself. A nimbus of arcane power followed, spewing an incandescent shower of sparks and otherworldly light - and out stepped a pair of towering metal golems, their vaguely man-shaped steel bodies thundering out from the rift, each wielding a halberd crawling with veins of swirling light. The armored things had no eyes, though they did have faces, heads of metal etched into expressions of permanently, unmoving stoicism.
Behind followed a second pair, then a third, wielding massive unstrung crossbows, and between them all, a man-thing the height of a handful of jugheads, its long, pointed ears flicking in response to the sounds of the jungle. A flowing black-gold robe clad its body, and glowing blue eyes stared out from a pale-skilled face rimmed by long hair black as obsidian, flowing as if carried by a breeze.
“Pop!” A small cotton ball of cloud floated right in front of the elf’s face, letting loose curious crackles and pops.The statues froze - and the elf paused, silently reaching up towards the little ball.
"Hello there, little creature," they whispered, speaking in a breathy, sing-song tone.
[/i]”Crackle.”[/i]
“Dumpling?” A hollow, boy-like voice came ringing through the rain. “Dumpling, where did you go!?”
“Zzt…” The tiny cloud zipped away from the elf and spiraled towards the underbrush where it began to pop wildly. As if answering the call, the owner of the hollow voice came tumbling out of the brush, tripping on a root. With a wooden thud, the boy — or rather boy-sized construct consisting of a wooden frame and large claypot head — landed on what might have been a chin. On his back was a plump and overstuffed rucksack, jangling from the impact.
Dazed, the faceless jug-headed thingamajig tilted where a face might have been up at the procession. The tiny cloudling — likely known as Dumpling — swirled around the jughead, popping hysterically. Once again, the hollow voice echoed with a meek curiosity. “Oh, hello.”
"Hello." The elf replied, their face stretching into a warm smile. Its escort remained silent and unmoving, other than turning their heads to face the jug-headed creature.
"I - we - mean you no harm," they reassured him. It, perhaps? "I am a traveler. A scholar, if you would.And who might you be?"
“I’m Jasper… wait! Travelers!” The jughead leapt to his feet and clasped his wooden fingers together pleadingly. “Do you know the way to Clearwater?”
"I don't know what Clearwater is, even," they chuckled. "A settlement, I assume?"
Jasper stood tall in front of the group, or as tall as he could manage. Even with his wooden chest puffed out and fists on his hips, he stood maybe just a hair taller than half the height of his unknown guests. He nodded. “Clearwater has the closest eternal waterfall and bigjug, I was heading there but I got lost after last night’s storm…” He paused.
“Can you help me find it? You can see over the bushes better than I can.”
"I can help you find it," they nodded, stepping out from between the towering steel soldiers. Lowering themselves to one knee, they held out a single hand. "If you hold my hand, I will be able to find it faster. I can see the path you took to get here."
“Oh, okay.” Jasper agreed before taking the stranger by the hand.
Briefly surprised by Jasper's willingness, the stranger grasped his hand - and into his mind they looked, delving through his memories in an attempt to divine the location of Clearwater, only to discover that Jasper had never been to such a place, but only had tattered tales of the place told to him by his Grandfather. The Jughead was looking up at the stranger with what one could assume was an excited continence.
"...Hmm." The stranger muttered, releasing their grip as they rose to their feet. "You haven't been to Clearwater, have you, Jasper?" They said, still smiling. Strange as this little one was, he seemed friendly, at least - far friendlier than the stranger expected on the other end of a rift.
“No, I always stayed in Grandfather’s hut.” The answer came expectantly, as if answering this question might reveal Clearwater. A moment lingered too long and the Jughead shuffled.
“You’re still going to help me find it, right?” The boy’s question was punctuated by Dumpling.
“Pop!”
"Of course." They smiled again, pushing themselves to their feet after releasing their grip on the construct's hand. "The wildlife here - it isn't dangerous, is it, Jasper?"
“Well sometimes the small creatures take off with your spare parts,” Jasper admitted. “Not often though.”
”Crackle!”
“Shh!” Jasper hissed.
"...Interesting. Where we come from, there are many dangerous creatures - but it is a beautiful place, too." The mage said, glancing about as they pushed themselves back to their full height, searching for any sign of a path. "It seems... Rather pleasant here."
“And it’ll be better now that you’re here,” Jasper answered almost cryptically. “You’re not from here it sounds like, so I bet the people at Clearwater were waiting for you like Grandpa. We should get going!”
"Let's." The mage nodded, stretching out their hand as they began to walk. "Well tell me more about Clearwater, so that I can... Spot it when I see it."
“Oh… yeah I can do that!” Jasper nodded as he skipped after the mage.
Government Form: Mumlo is a scattering of many different settlements and municipalities, almost always under mayoral supervision. A mayor is often chosen from the populace by democratic vote, but there are some cases of mayors inheriting the position from a close friend.
Demographics: Mumlo is almost exclusively filled with the jugheads, though there are rare denizens of the rainforest that could be considered its citizens, such as the bumble stumps.
Population: Small (1 million or less)
---
Plane Description: Mumlo is a massive island amid an endless ocean. A thick jungle sits upon the island and swathes it in greenery and waterfalls. Above the rainforest and adjacent to any high cliffs are small floating islands with their own little rainforests crowned on top.
The flora and fauna that fill the ocean and forest are notably calm and benign. A few notable creatures beyond the usual happen to be cloudlings, tiny cotton ball sized clouds that seek out sugary treats to saturate themselves with, only to rain and give off tiny crackling pops of electricity. Another creature of similar fun nature is the flufflet, a buzzing ball of wool with big eyes and a curious nature.
History: 500 years ago, a clan of sorcerers and wizards escaped to the island of Mumlo. There they set up their utopian society based on their powerful magic. Massive towers and endless cities pushed the rainforest to the barriers of civilization. To upkeep these massive settlements and feed the pride of the wizards that owned them, the Jugheads were made — simple wooden frame automatons with clay heads and the need to drink water to remain active. The jugheads themselves were unable to conduct magic, but instead did every servile job for their masters — from smithing to farming. They were happy to help.
200 years ago, however, a war broke out between the most powerful factions among the wizards and with an explosive finish, they excused their entire ilk from existence, leaving the jugheads and the rainforest all alone. Quickly their settlements fell to ruin — except where maintained by jugheads who were sure their friends were soon to return.
Since some time had gone by since then and there were no longer any mages to fix, maintain, or create new jugheads, the fear of extinction and mortality became real — leading to the current crisis.
Culture and Society:
Jugheads live in simple societies that are often friendly and democratic in nature. Some live in the same hierarchy from the mage days as if waiting for their old friends to return and for life to pick up where it left off, while others moved on to create their own groups. Either way, the vines of the forest overtook the ancient ruins and the jugheads were forced to live in the rubble.
As mortality became apparent, so did the old words of the magisters, particularly when they were told that they did not have souls and as such were exempt from the afterlife. Particularly distressed by this notion, jugheads took to the tradition of collecting the head gears of any broken or dead jughead and to bring them to massive jugheads known as bigjugs that sat immobile under the waterfalls. There, they would toss the gears into the open head of the bigjug in the hopes that the deceased would live on in some way or another.
---
Governance and Politics: For the most part, the jugheads get along really well with one another, and since the only resources they need is water and magic (and there is no way to get magic), there is not much need for a complex government. Because of this, they’ll assign a mayor as needed to help lead group projects but otherwise act autonomously to each other — but keep each others’ feelings in mind, just in case.
Technology and Magic: The jugheads proudly use the technology of old, including crop rotation and the forging of steel. While they also have saved the tomes that the magicians of yore once wrote their secrets in, the words are useless on the jugheads — unable to use magic. Despite this, some artifacts left behind can be of use to the jugheads, most notably any rare artifact that could create more jugheads… but those are mere rumors and speculation, a veritable holy grail among the jugheads.
Military Overview: Beyond the rare encounter with a disgruntled creature of mystical nature often found in folklore rather than real life, there is not much need for a military — let alone weapons. Though the few and far inbetween jughead explorer or adventurer might have a broadsword strapped to their side, though that’s mostly for the symbol of their lifestyle.
---
Additional Info: Some farming communities have been active for the 200 years since the loss of humankind. Jugheads don’t eat food. They are doing this in case someone stops by for dinner.
Episode: A jollyriffic first contact <3 Starring: The Recusant Army and the Astolanian Remote Forces
I
A low and long groan came from Core-Keon, his face screwed up with disgust. The sun of the Termina’s eastern coastline reflected off his metal-pocked face and outlined the features of his comrades. Most were standing up straight while a few slouched, a long march throughout the night still pulsing in their sore legs and feet. A few Eidolon guides had warily joined the group, but otherwise kept their distance.
The scene all around was nothing short of peaceful. Large rolling hills of emerald grass made up most of the view, with the hillocks hiding various dips and valleys up until it stretched closer to the beach. There it turned into a large berm of coarse soil and sand, slowing abruptly to the water-lapped coast below. Dark blue water — very much unlike the stagnant pools of the All’s End Sea — washed lazily over the saturated sand, pushing a small army of hermit crabs to and fro with each breath.
On the wind was the smell of salt and in the ears of the recusant, the calls of shorebirds and gentle songbirds played alongside the whispers of the eastern ocean — it’s only challenger being Core-Keon’s groan. His legs were throbbing under his greaves and he could barely feel his feet. No matter how much he padded the inside of his leather boots with Xo wool, it never felt like enough. He was just glad he didn’t get hungry anymore.
“Damnit Keon,” a tall man known as Core-Faulo quickly snapped. He stood behind Keon, with dark eyes stabbing into the other man’s back. “We all marched the same distance, stop your whining.”
“Yeah?” Keon turned to look over his shoulder, never sure if Faulo was an unlikely friend or just a jerk. “But not all of us have blackmetal feet, you big-mouthed jackass.”
Faulo shot a breath through his nostrils and stabbed a finger against the back of Keon’s cuirass. “It’s not my fault you were given a metal-plated asscheek instead.”
“Core-Faulo!” The bark of Cosi-Werria scattered the bickering as both soldiers stood up perfectly straight. The Cosi stepped beside the two. Like the rest, she was in complete scouting uniform. From leather boots and gloves, to blackmetal greaves, cuirass and pauldrons. Her head was uncovered, letting jet black hair freely fall over her armor. Her hand was ever attached to the hilt of her sheathed blade, a habit a lot of the hard-asses tended to possess.
“Yes, Cosi?” Faulo looked to his officer with as much respect as he could muster.
A small grin cracked on the side of Werria’s lips. “Are you harassing our one-cheeked-wonder once again?”
“Cosi-Werria!” Another voice came bounding onto the scene. The owner was scrambling down one of the grassy hills, an Eidolon guide and another Recusant soldier right behind him. This soldier was wearing his full face-mask, but even so, the excitement in his voice was palpable.
“What is it?” The words were light — Cosi-Werria’s tone seemingly couldn’t help but mirror the excitement.
“Junt-Cailen located the vent, she’s requesting we all meet at her location to begin a full perimeter scan.”
Keon’s face brightened, though he couldn’t help but feel at least a little nervous; he never met the Godstriker before. Faulo shoved a hand against his back, knocking him forward. This time a bubble of anger popped in Keon’s gut and he rolled his eyes. “Hevel’s own, were you always such a dick?”
Faulo simply shrugged, starting his march as if he didn’t do a single thing.
II
Second Generation Prime Days were long. It wasn’t because the work was hard (which it was), or because they worked far from home (which they did), but because they never slept. They never ate. They never relaxed. Second Generation Prime Astalonian platforms had the shared feature of being unable to go into standby mode. This meant that they had to experience every second of their days completely conscious and bored out of their minds.
And bored he was, the Prime who’d taken the name of Biter. You see, he had been assigned to one of the worst types of missions available to the Servant Armada… That of Vent Maintenance.
Vent Maintenance was simple, right? You were given a bunch of system upgrades that allowed you to perform highly skilled tasks and directly control two wings of drones, and then you were sent off on a predetermined route to check up on a given number of vents, to make sure they were working well enough to not cause a catastrophe.
The issue was that expedition-grade drones needed to charge for eight hours a day, and guess who had to wait sitting around doing nothing while the drones soaked in the godlight? Exactly.
His current route had taken him almost an entire year so far, and the next Vent was the last one he had to check before going back home to Astalon to check up on his descendants.
Three hundred and five days of walking and fault finding… It was at times like those that Biter missed having an organic body, one that could sigh.
About time now, he thought as he felt the first of the drones booting up. Full charge, it reported. Before the others woke up from their long nap, Biter squatted down, grabbed a pebble from the ground and stuck it into his mouth. With a powerful bite, he crushed the pebble and caused it to let off a few multicolored sparks. The latest A.F.M. System was really pretty handy and went along with his theme, not just because it gave Biter an actual mouth to bite with, but also allowed him to measure the potency of the Aethelic Flow wherever he was. Useful when one’s job involves tracking Flow Blockages for a living.
AETHELIC FLOW BUILDUP DETECTED. TWO THOUSAND SEVENTY SIX METERS BELOW, SEVEN HUNDRED EIGHTY FIVE NORTH NORTH WEST.
One last fault to fix and then he could go home, Biter thought. Then the rest of the drones came back online and assumed formation. All 7 Guardians formed an arrowhead above the treetops, and all 7 Engineers trailed behind Biter himself as he shifted into a quadruped form, then they shot off towards the Vent nearby.
III
Core-Keon stood in shock. To his left was the half of his scouting squad, and to the right was Faulo and his other half, but in front of him stood the fabled Junt-Cailen, the warriors discussing something with Cosi-Werria. Cailen wore the uniform of the leadership, her entire body covered in plates of blackmetal save for her blazing eyes and oddly enough everything below her elbows. She was unique in that she didn’t carry a blade on her, instead being renowned for the use of her fists, that of which were naturally plated in metal by her infection.
The spectacle of seeing Cailen for the first time almost overshadowed the discovery of the vent for Keon, but in the end he couldn’t help but notice the strange metallic grate, a hot hiss of air ripping through it and causing the wild moss that dressed it’s perimeter to shake with life. Already, the logistics core had placed several large wooden crates by the vent, and Keon could only assume the parts for the tabular dial were enclosed within.
As exciting as meeting the Junt was, the realization that this would be the easternmost vent in current Recusar territory was not lost on Keon, his mind already piecing together what the tabular dial would look like hovering above the vent — not that he had any idea what it looked like. He frowned. Or did.
His observation of the Logistics Core ended abruptly as he caught sight of his comrades pointing up at the sky. As soon as Keon himself craned his head up he saw seven identical trails of white smoke painting the sky. They weren’t clouds.
Muffled, hurried whispers came from the group around Cosi-Werria. The Cosi herself stared up at the skies, as if expecting something to come crashing down. Keon’s hands started to sweat and without realizing it, he rested his left hand on the hilt of his blade.
Then a sound like thunder rolled over the land.
Many flinched and covered their ears, while others like Cosi-Werria and the famous Godstriker held fast. In his entire career, he’d never seen his superiors as tense as now. He had never seen them holding so tightly onto the hilts of their sheathed weapons, or seen the subtle way their fingers shook in the case of Junt-Cailen. Though Keon couldn’t tell if the Godstriker’s fingers were shaking in fear or excitement.
A distant hum grew closer and closer, until even Keon could tell that it wasn’t just one hum, but seven. Closer and closer, until he heard both the hums and the whirring.
“Do not move a muscle.” Called out the Godstriker.
Seven figures burst forth from the canopies of the trees to the southwest. They were made of metal, they were loud, they floated, and they all trained their sights on different members of the expedition. Their shapes all differed slightly but they all had a single round eye at their front, which glowed a bright and angry red.
Keon froze, his eye meeting one of the flying automatons’ as it observed him closely. That gaze made his legs feel like they were made of stone. The smoke that began to trail out of the holes of both barrels that lined the flying automaton’s undercarriage lit up all the warning signs in his brain. Do not move, Keon thought as hard as he could, for Hevel’s sake do not move!
His peripheral vision caught movement. All the automatons caught it too.
The sound of a blade being unsheathed. A hiss of smoke. An intense hum as the automatons all turned. It was Core-Faulo.
“NO ONE THREATENS US! ATTA-”
It was as if the very air shattered. A deafening cacophony of thunder after thunder, explosion after explosion rang out. Keon’s eardrums nearly popped. Most of the Logistics Cores’ screamed. Keon himself took a step back, stumbled, and fell onto his backside.
A foot hit someone in the face. An arm shot up and entangled itself in a tree. Rotten organs splattered and covered Keon and three others in their blackened juices. A dented metal skull fell through the grates of the vent.
All that remained of Core-Faulo were pieces, his anchor ripped apart. A stray bullet had taken a piece of Cosi-Werria’s face off, but the hiss of her smoke was already slowly repairing her fractured skull and relining her face — the Cosi not even flinching.
“First protocol!” The order went up. Keon could hear his old training Cosi’s words, Protocol One: no quarter. A silence that lasted only a fraction of a second punctuated the change — ending with the cacophony of blades being drawn and battlecries rattling the ground. Metallic boots slammed down and recusant soldiers launched through the air towards their prey. The wind hissed by Keon’s own eyes as he followed behind the Junt.
Streaks of fire followed bullets and flashes of metal blinded the periphery as the two vanguard’s clashed. Smoke hissed for every bullet that punched through the flesh of a recusant and the scream of tearing metal followed every sword strike against the drones. One such drone flew by Keon, but he was quicker and managed to stab out with his blade, knocking it off course and putting a heavy dent into it. The machine wobbled, guns firing haphazardly into the sky — only to stop as a blackmetal fist came plowing through it’s form, launching sparks in every direction.
The ominously steady gaze of Junt-Cailen burned into Keon’s memory as she stood there with a drone impaled on her right arm, the fire of battle raging behind her. In his astonishment, Keon barely noticed Cosi-Werria spinning wildly behind the Junt, her twin blades whirring through enemy after enemy — until reaching a taller robot in a humanoid form; a prime.
IV
GUARDIAN 6 OFFLINE
GUARDIAN 3 OFFLINE
CRITICAL DAMAGE INCOMING.
Sparks flew and explosions ensued. The smoke momentarily enveloped the leaping Recusant’s body and when she finally emerged closer to him, her body was covered in grievous burns and cuts.
Both cooling fans on his back spewed forth fire as he forcefully engaged all the vitae in his body. He shot his left arm up. One of the twin blades sunk into his reinforced metallic chassis and with a single step he threw the homuran off balance. He parried the second blade and with a single move he unsheathed his own blade and cleaved off both of the Recusant’s arms.
The smoke-flesh fell to the ground and smoke hissed out of the Recusant’s stumps.
Only two of his Guardians remained… In a moment of respite, he caught a glimpse of a heavily battered Guardian on the other side of the clearing. With a single thought, all seven Engineers under his control rushed out of hiding and towards that drone. Four of them crashed into the Recusant soldiers, and the other three retrieved the drone. There’s no need for you to die a second time, boy.
A male Recusant jumped down from a tree, landing on Biter’s back and nearly knocking him down. A long dagger dug deep into his thorax. He let out a demon-like wail as he felt the tip getting stuck on his core’s shielding. The last Guardian drone, rather than continuing to defend itself, turned and shot a single explosive bullet at the Recusant on Biter’s back.
The Recusant’s stabbing hand exploded in a shower of smoke and Biter’s visor cracked under the shockwave. In that instant, he turned his head around completely and bit half of the Recusant’s neck out.
The stealthy Recusant fell to the death-stained ground with a gurgle and wide bloodshot eyes, until Biter stomped on his chest, crushing his Anchor.
The buzz of electricity and an ensuing explosion alerted Biter to the destruction of his last Guardian, and so he stood straight up and stared at the approaching Recusant soldiers.
Biter had been keeping count. With just himself and seven Guardians, they had managed to reduce the Recusant squadron to one third strength. He felt nothing as he looked at the carnage spread all over the area. There was no blood, only smoke and rotting bodies.The Recusant were not truly alive, and therefore deserved no empathy.
His Central Pump roared as he fired his Vitae up once more, this time to push the blade stuck in his left arm. It shot out and buried itself in the Twin bladed Recusant’s torso.
His grip tightened around the hilt of his long blade.
“Seventeen down, ten to go.” He said, his voice box distorted. Out of the ten remaining Recusant, only one was confident enough to approach. She was a fist-fighter, capable of punching through reinforced metal plating, and something about the way she walked seemed familiar…
V
Cosi-Werria fell off to the Prime’s side, arms severed and a blade sticking out of her stomach, but otherwise completely alive and unharmed. Junt-Cailen could see that there was the energy of health still in the Cosi’s eyes, but between her and the Godstriker herself was the final enemy, a prime. Without wasting any time, Junt-Cailen fell into her stance.
She shifted her feet and squared her shoulders, cocking her elbows and bringing her fists up in a martial pose. Fire still scorched the wild grasses around her, making the final battlefield a charred and burning valley between two helpless hillocks.
The prime seemed to hesitate once Godstriker fell into her pose, but instead of thinking too much on it — Cailen let loose a fist. Biter went to dodge, but the fist Cailen threw froze halfway — a feint — her other arm came in a wide arc, giving the prime just enough time to leap back from the strike… or so he thought.
A third punch was thrown, this one straight and bearing the Junt’s entire weight behind it as she stepped forward and gave a powerful shout. Thrusting like a piston, her fist plowed into the Prime’s chest and blasted through every layer of circuitry and shielding with a disarray of sparks until her metal hand came exploding out the back of the robot.
Cailen’s face was mere inches from Biter’s as she held her final stance — but his body was unresponsive, his core clutched in the fingers of the fist that had impaled him, wires rattling with excess energy. Godstriker could feel the metallic body go limp against her arm — it was over.
Recusant Date 1.2.13 Initial battle report Eastern expeditionary lands Junt-Cailen in opposition of Biter
Auxiliary fragment of the 1st logistic core successfully locate the vents designated V3 on the Eastern Coast by the hillocks designated S1. Auxiliary fragment successfully deliver their tabular dial to the site under the supervision of Junt-Cailen the Godstriker.
Shortly after delivery, the second generation Prime known as Biter (an engineering prime) and his squadron stumble upon the expedition and a skirmish broke out. Sixteen of the twenty-seven recusants were killed in action (a seventeenth lost their anchor to a blast, but remained intact outside of the body, their anchor is being shipped back to Leadership for proper regeneration) while the entire Prime escort, including Biter, were neutralized. The vent location has been secured and set up of the dial is underway.
Suggested retraining of forces to better handle explosive rounds and reconfiguring chest blast shields to prevent penetration.
Request reinforcements for proper settlement.
Biter’s core to be relocated to Leadership control.
Witnessed, written, authorized, Cosi-Werria of the 1st Logistics
Outside the main keep of Keltra but still behind the exterior walls, the ten recusant soldiers that made up the Keltra Vanguard Garrison were scattered. Two sat off to the corner, eyes closed and a gentle hum on their throats. Their masks were removed, revealing metal scarred faces. With hands outstretched towards each other, a pool of recusar smoke hazed above them, metal fragments moving in the swirls like liquid. One was Core-Garren, a fit young man trained in wisp-welding, the other was Core-Ophi, his twin and fellow welder. Though they were first generation recusants, their homuran mold ended up being identical except for gender, making them one of the first recusant twins.
In front of them, armed and masked, was Core-Naulty, his weapon drawn. Across the way from Naulty were most of the others being led by Cosi-Dern. They were marking areas of grass with notches made into the ground by sword. Apostate was nowhere to be seen, as well as Core-Xan and Core-Soth, the three allegedly out for a walk.
“We can use stone to lay the foundation,” Dern was saying to Core-Veldin. The woman’s mask hung off of her hip as she listened, showcasing that she was missing her left eye to a rash of blackmetal, her bottom lip cleaved with a strip of the same material. He pointed to the outer wall of Keltra, it’s interior face right next to them. “We’ll use the existing wall as a backing to save resources.”
“Understood,” Veldin answered, a slight lisp in her serious tone. Dern pinched the bottom of his mask and thought for a moment.
“Can you measure the paces along the far wall? Maybe we could save even more resources by making the barracks long and curving along with the wall.”
“Of course.” Veldin nodded before spinning on her heel. With purpose she walked off from Dern and the others, her working eye settled on the far side, a good fifty feet away from everyone else. A small pool of sky lilies sat at her destination, fluttering to life whenever a small breeze sank into the area. Instinctively, and mirroring a common trait of Apostate, she rested her hand on the hilt of her blade as she walked.
Scuffing to a stop, Veldin pushed the lilies with her boot. She cleared her throat and gave the pile of flowers a serious look. Her working eye rolled to the side and she glanced over her shoulder — her comrades were deep in their own work, too busy to be looking her way. Looking back at the small pile of pink petals, Veldin quickly kicked them up into a plume, smiling at the display.
The petals caught the breeze and started to flutter away, taking Veldin’s short enjoyment along with it. With the area mostly clear of the funny little flowers, Veldin put her hand on the cold wall of Keltra and set her boots along its side. Clicking her front front heel to her back foot toe she started to pace out the steps of the wall.
“Core-Veldin!” Dern’s voice called out.
“Yes?”
“We misewell get a full measurement, mark were you started and head the other way until you loop back to us.”
Veldin looked down at her feet, only four paces in. The prospect of walking the entire outer wall suddenly felt daunting, but she looked up with resolve — not that Dern was looking at her. “Very well.”
The soldier turned around and started pacing in the opposite direction, one hand brushing the wall as she walked.
“One…”
“Two…”
….
“One-hundred and Seventy.”
It was monotone at the start and now without the view of her comrades, it was even more monotone. The interior grass was all the same, and the sky lilies were too far and inbetween to provide too much entertainment. Verdin almost felt like she had been walking in place this entire time, and if the keep itself hadn’t been cube but rather circular, she figured there would have been little to tell her otherwise. That is, with the exception of the miniature encampment that was slowly coming to view further up ahead consisting of a tiny canopy nestled up against the wall and a set of ropes heading up onto the ledges above.
“... Two-hundred and Ninety Three.” She muttered as she finally reached the canopy, held up by flimsy wooden sticks and made up of several large red leaves. Below it laid a small figure curled into an even smaller ball. It was a young, olive-skinned girl who wore a spotless white and gold dress, with a long furry cat tail and a pair of twitchy feline-like ears on top of her head. She slept peacefully, the only sound coming from her being that of her slow breathing and the occasional murmur, squeak or whimper.
“Oh,” Verdin said, curious. She recognized the little girl from description. Thoughtfully, she was about to step around the canopy but then froze — that would ruin her pace count. She needed to walk under the structure. “Shit.”
She marked the ground where she stood with a quick notch of her sword. “Two-hundred and Ninety Three.” She named the mark before stepping away from it and putting her weapon away. Gulping, she crouched next to the sleeping girl.
“Erm. Lorelei.” Her lisp made the name come out peculiar, almost as ‘low-ah-lay.’ She tried saying it slower. “Lorelei.”
“Hhrmmm…” Lorelei groaned softly, rolling onto her other side with a yawn and a quick wipe at the corner of her mouth. She shivered a little and muttered, her left eyebrow twitching a couple times. “... Gray...”
“Lorelei.” Verdin hesitated a moment before prodding the girl with her bandaged finger, making her jump a little before opening her eyes. “Excuse me.”
Lorelei yawned again and rubbed at her eyes. Her hair was disheveled, her ears pointed in completely different directions and drool stained one of her grass-marked cheeks. Groggily, she sat up and squinted her eyes at the mask dangling off of Verdin’s hip.
“I need to step through here,” Verdin said. “I’ll only be a few seconds, then you can go back to napping, deal?”
The girl’s squinty eyes darted back and forth several times between the mask and Verdin’s face. “Y… You’re not P-Primes?”
“No, I’m Core-Verdin, a recusant soldier.” Verdin stabbed a thumb into her chest, punctuating her introduction.
“Mm…” Lorelei nodded after a moment and stepped out from under her canopy. “What’re you d-doing?”
“Measuring the wall.” Verdin answered as she swapped places with Lorelei, hunching under the canopy. She realigned her feet with her mark from earlier and started again. She got seven paces through the canopy before she was out on the other side. Kicking the ground with her boot, she marked the 200 pace mark and turned to Lorelei. “Thank you.”
“Would you like some assistance then?” Pride asked, as she announced her presence from behind Verdin, where she had stood silent and still until speaking.
Verdin flinched, her fingers clenching and unclenching. Stiff, the soldier turned to Pride. She blinked her working eye. “Do you already have a circumference measured out?”
“I have walked across the entirety of Keltra. I’d be happy to share its measurement, if you’d like.” Pride answered, offering the soldier a small bow - before looking past her and at Lorelei with a content smile.
“That would be great,” Verdin answered. Folding her arms behind her back she awaited the measurements. “I assume this is at your pace?”
Pride tilted her head as she considered the question, even resting her chin on one hand while she hummed. “Hmm… I’ve counted my steps as I walked, which seem equal to your own divided by two and a half, so through simple mathematics we can ascertain how many of your paces I’ve walked. You’re seeking the perimeter of the keep’s exterior which is twenty one thousand, one hundred and twenty of my steps. If we divide that number by two and a half, we come to eight thousand, four hundred and forty-eight paces.”
“Are you sure?” Verdin couldn’t help but raise a skeptical brow. “Maybe it would be safer if I just finished my pacing.”
“You’re currently at two percent completion regarding your task then. There are still eight thousand, two hundred and forty-eight paces to go. I also wouldn’t recommend keeping track of the doors; Mother often changes their locations and sizes.” The small champion said, as she walked past Verdin and stood next to Lorelei, who seemed unsure on who to look at.
Crossing her arms, Verdin stood up perfectly straight. “I’m getting the feeling like this is going to be a pain in the ass. Do the perimeter sizes ever change or just the doors?”
Pride crossed her arms as she pondered again. “Hmm… I’ve never seen the keep itself alter its size, but the outer wall has opened and closed before. I’m afraid the shape of Keltra isn’t something I get to decide. Speaking of which, did Apostate bring you all this?”
Pride then turned to Lorelei, and gestured with a hint of bemusement to the small encampment that had been setup. “Oh!” Lorelei perked up, “No. I made it all. Dead sticks, l-leaves, y’know!” She said with a sheepish smile.
“One of life’s greatest mysteries is how you always keep finding so many things to build here. I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me come up with ideas on what to build in the future. I’m no architect, but it’s my intention that Keltra would have a great many sights and wonders to behold.” Pride proceeded to ask, with a meek mixture of modesty and excitement, and then holding out her hand towards Lorelei, which Lorelei grabbed with a grin of her own.
“Cosi-Dern and the others are mapping out the fore area for barracks, armory and welding locations,” Core-Verdin stated with a puff of smoke. “Well, I suppose it’s only the fore area for now… We’ll have to ask Homura for her plans, so we can build stable structures.” A thought occurred to Verdin.
“But while I have you both here, I ask that you stay away from any welding.”
Pride glanced at Verdin with a raised brow. “When you say welding, what exactly do you mean?”
“Making metal hot and pushing it together, p-probably.” Lorelei explained, her grip on Pride’s hand loosening a little as she started to clean her face and fix her hair.
Verdin nodded her head. “The manipulation of metals, correct.”
“So be it. Are you still planning to continue your task now?” Pride inquired, turning her attention primarily upon Verdin to avoid chuckling at the sight of Lorelei.
“Not with the knowledge that the fortress can change at whim, I’ll have to report the findings to Cosi-Dern before deciding our next steps.” Verdin paused, hesitating with a finger poised. “I just really want to go over this one more time, just to make sure both of you understand for posterity. Please do not approach any welders or be present at any welding stations. It’s not a simple ‘so be it’ situation, your presence around the recusar smoke could chance infection. This is your formal notice.”
“C-Can I watch if I wear my suit? It filters the air.” Lorelei asked hopefully.
“I can’t guarantee your safety, but that might be enough,” Verdin answered honestly. “Just note that you’re watching at your own risk.” The soldier tapped her left eye, finger panging against the blackmetal that grew over the mutilated area. “You could lose an eye.”
“Eeeh!” Lorelei took a step back while scrunching up her face, “T-That’s some really intense welding!”
“Indeed it is.” Verdin looked at Pride. “Do you also understand?”
“I’m well aware of the dangers you’ve brought here. You needn’t concern yourself with me, Core-Verdin.” The small champion answered, before she simply sighed, and looked back at Lorelei and casually shrugged.
Verdin frowned and stepped back into Pride’s line of sight. “Not to be stubborn, but we are supposed to be working together. I just need confirmation that you understand what I’m telling you.”
The smaller girl nodded and stole a sideways glance at Pride. “S-She does! She’s just being…” Lorelei chuckled, “Y’know.”
It was Verdin’s turn to let loose a long sigh. Tucking a frown into her cheek, she nodded. “I know…”
Pride shook her head with frustration in response. “Hmph, how amusing. As I’ve said, I understand. And, now my sister advocates such, so will you continue to pester me with the same question until Mother or Uncle comes and tells you the same?”
“You’re just a very mean person, aren’t you?” The words were more of a statement than a question. Verdin’s frown grew and she turned away from the Champion. “Well, either way it was nice meeting you, Lorelei. I’m sorry for disturbing your nap.” She started to walk away, and held up a hand.
“If either of you have any questions, feel free to ask any one of us.” There was a pause. “We are at least willing to work with others.”
“I remember when they were all just nice, quiet, and sleeping. They also weren’t so rude back then.” Pride remarked, looking past Verdin to the corner where hidden on the other side soldiers gathered and did their work, marking various locations and spewing forth their smoke. She was most uncertain how she felt about their presence.
“You’re being mean, Pride. Keltra is supposed to be a S-Sanctuary, isn’t it? How can it be a Sanctuary if tall people aren’t allowed in?” She asked with a pout.
“They didn’t come here seeking shelter… Lorelei. Hmm… you’re right, I’m being mean. I can’t help it, these fools have come here acting like this is their home when everything they do seems to bring Keltra closer and closer to destruction. I’d rather they leave, but I’m not so mean as to just banish them all of a sudden.” Pride answered, eyes shifting back and forth with thoughts as she explained herself before she became overwhelmed by both pondering too much and fatigue.
Lorelei huffed and shrugged, flicking her tail violently a couple times. “Wanna go p-plan out the things we want to add to Keltra?”
“I think I’d like that very much.” Pride replied with a small smile.
The soldiers are building welding and barrack stations. We meet Core-Verdin more intimately and find out that Pride is still a stuck up ho about everything. Lorelei backs Verdin up like a homie and the post ends with Pride and Lorelei talking about interior design.
Oh also high levels of recusar smoke (such as during welding) is contagious.
When Hevel awakened the sleeping humans that Homura had gifted him, he empowered and kickstarted their waking lives with his divine energy; however, while doing so, the God forgot about the infectious nature of his presence. Unbeknownst to Hevel at the time, he had infected every last human with a phenomena later deemed the recusar infection.
Hevel himself didn’t notice the infection starting to take hold until the day he met Arvum, when under the pressures of the god of agriculture, the humans reacted independently against Arvum’s grasp whilst showcasing the basic symptoms of the infection: such as exhaling black smoke, and aggressively defiant behaviour. While this concerned the god, it wasn’t until after his meeting with Homura that the limits of the infection became clear.
An unknown interloper had come and went, undetected by any — but left a lasting mark on the infected. Whatever this divine rogue had done, it greatly pushed forward the rate of infection, making it impossible for the humans to ignore it any longer. One day, they started feeling bolder and more confident. Their need to drink or even eat faded away alongside any notions of sleep. On top of that, lacerations from a long day at work stopped drawing blood — in fact no one could bleed anymore. Any injury would hiss that black smoke and close up on its own. What was more alarming was that different people started to age at drastically different speeds, with pregnancies changing in gestation. Even only being alive for a matter of weeks, already a baby had been born in full health, just as mutated as the others.
As concerned as Hevel, some of the humans consented to harmless observations and anatomy studies. The god used his divine senses to analyse the slowly changing creations of Homura and discovered a startling fact. Indeed, every organ in the bodies of the humans was now vestigial and dead, in fact the very flesh had changed composition — each cell was made of that black smoke, cleverly mimicking flesh and not so cleverly replacing bone with the blackmetal of Hevel. While the god found every organ dead, he couldn’t help but notice one organ was missing entirely — the heart.
Instead of finding a beating heart, Hevel found something much more concerning. In the chest of every human of the garden he found a beating shard of twisted metal akin to his own. Each had its own rhythm, some slow and some fast — some quickly deteriorating and thus causing age, others taking an extremely slow pace. He quickly surmised that this was the sole source of energy in these humans, their only vital spot. Through hypotheticals and divine visions, Hevel further observed that because of this, the infected creatures before him would no longer suffer the fatality of exsanguination or loss of limbs — with each appendage slowly hissing back together. Not even beheadings stopped this fact, no, this meant that the only vital and fatal blow left for these people was their anchor.
It was no longer right to call them human, Hevel and his people thought the same. They were no longer the creation of Homura, but creatures of the smoke — they had become the Recusant.
At first, Hevel was mortified and guilty, but little did he know that the Recusant also inherited pieces of his personality and desires. Intrigued, he listened to them speak and soon learned that they didn’t hate him for their mutations, nor did they despise how it turned out. Most notably, the woman who had punched Arvum spoke out and told him that she, along with her friends, didn’t wish to simply survive on the Galbar at the whims of whatever powers that be, but to take the fight to the front like Hevel himself alongside him. Quickly, the god rectified such an organization of the Recusant by applying a loose style of peer-leadership, and allowed any willing soul to join the movement — or leave — as desired… thus the Recusant Army was born.
Of course, every army needs equipment, and as fortune favored, the infection brought along a little bit of Hevel’s own ability to manipulate the smoke within and create the dark metal. He named the ones skilled in the manipulation of the smoke, Wispwelders, and taught them to forge a massive anvil on which to work it. While it took many Recusant to make only a single blade of dark metal manually, Hevel gave the Army leadership plans before he left to check in on Lorelei, plans for a factory powered by…
“Junt-Cailen.” A slim looking man stood at the entrance to the Junt’s home. He held a big smile on his face, the creases of his grin moving a sea of metallic freckles on his right cheek. Inside the soil walled home sat Junt-Cailen the God-puncher. She was sitting on a wooden stool by her open hearth. Both her hands glistened a metallic sheen against the fire and her eyes flared with ambition.
“Core-Indel” She greeted with a nod.
“We found a vent.”
It was Cailen’s turn to smile, showcasing her blackmetal teeth. She rose to her feet and gave a groaning stretch. “Well, let’s go secure it then. This war won’t supply itself.”
Quickly put, the Humans that Hevel woke up were infected with the recusar infection. This infection eventually melded into their very cells and transformed them into the Recusant. The Recusant don’t bleed, eat, drink, or sleep. They can only be destroyed by rupturing their anchor, or metallic hearts. Their hearts age at different speeds, with some aging incredibly rapid and others not so much. They retained their human personalities, but also now share many personality traits with Hevel himself. As such, they requested to be organized into a military force, birthing the Recusant Army.
The Recusant army was tasked with finding a vent so they could construct their first blackmetal factory, and here with have Junt-Cailen (Junts are the highest tiered peer leader) being informed by Core-Indel (the most common tier peer) that they have successfully discovered the location of a vent.
Check vigor summary for a breakdown of the recusant’s abilities.
Yesaris and Apostate, total spent: 6 (4 from Apostate, 2 from Yesaris)
Recusar infection, stage 1: 0 vigor (discounted): The humans of Hevel by accidental association with the God of Defiance have laced some of his smoke into their systems. As a result, the population has a tendency for defiance and aggressive emotion. On top of that, when repressed, they can summon a tiny pool of strength to defy the odds .
Recusar infection, stage 2: 2 vigor: The Recusant no longer need to eat, sleep, or drink — their organs having died and their cells converted to condensed smoke and blackmetal mimicking bone and flesh. Smoke exhales from their lungs with each breath.
Recusar infection stage 3: 2 vigor: Metal mottles their skin, they no longer bleed, and their body reconstructs itself around a single anchor (metallic heart). As long as the anchor is intact, the Recusant is alive and able to regenerate missing parts
Recusar infection stage 4: 1 vigor: the lapses of their anchors have chaotically varied times, making some recusant age or even gestate rapidly, while others take much longer. This has resulted in one case of a pregnancy lasting a week before producing a healthy infant infected with the recusar mutations.
Wispwelding: 1 vigor: Recusant are able to concentrate their smoke into objects made of blackmetal, similar to Apostate. This takes a lot of time and strain, usually requiring a lot of Recusants to make a single blade.
Just past the foothills that caressed the Garden’s western border was a veritable range of mountains and crags. Among this range was a clade of ancient spires that were named the Frawkian Mountains by a small kingdom of Dwarves some odd centuries ago — but that’s not important right now. What is important is that among these sister mountains, defined by their wind-scarred heights and sparse vegetation, was a lonely cliff face that faced the dangerous sea to the north.
Broken into the cliff face was a window, a symptom of the vast burrows and tunnels long since bored into the body of the mountain, and from this window, one could watch the crashing waves and witness the churning mists of the darkest and deadliest sea the Galbar had to offer. Though anyone else might feel a sense of dread or even doom at the sight of the infamous sea, one particular man felt no such thing, but rather used it as a pleasant view for his morning tea.
This man was more of a dwarf than a man, and was named Frawk — not to be confused with the great hero that founded the kingdom this cliff sat in — Frawk (this Frawk) was a hermit. He lived alone, or so any other dwarf would tell you. They would also say he spends all his hours and all his minutes crafting simple arts that were useless to the pragmatic, but he always did so with a gentle smile.
His face was about square, his nose was pocked with age, and his cheeks were rashed. In total, he looked more like the face of a fruit than a man — or dwarf. While his visage might be considered homely, whatever his hands created was anything but.
Frawk sat at his dining room table. It was carved of stone and yet it was done so fancifully, it could have been mistaken for wood — as could his chair. Simple runes decorated the edges of the furniture, black as if it was burned into it — but again, that was simply the trick of his skill. On the table was a kettle of glass, which was actually once again just stone, shaved to such a small width that it was translucent. It matched his tea cup, but not his tea plate — which he had curiously carved his own bubbling smile onto.
He sat by his window, feeling the ocean air coming pushing in and out of his small little home, but he didn’t sit alone. Across from him sat his wife — an identical cup of tea cradled in her hands, though the liquid was untouched and cold. One might wonder how a hermit who lives alone could have a wife, but this one did — if not with a catch. Oh no, nothing disturbing or dangerous or uncomfortable — his wife was very much alive and very much inlove with Frawk, and by her own will, I’ll add.
To get back to the story, she sat there across from him, a simple content smile on her face — and what a face it was. She was the definition of beautiful. Frawk’s wife was the most stunning Eidolon woman anyone might have ever seen. Her body was curvaceous and her face marked with freckles in all right spots so as to highlight her gentle cheeks and coaxing eyes. She wore a gown that seemed half as graceful as she was whenever she moved, despite its superior quality. One might notice though, after hours upon hours of study and after hours upon hours of being lost in her beauty, that she too was of stone — another artwork set by Frawk’s own hand.
Despite all this, she loved him just the same and he loved her. Her name was Gala, and while she herself couldn’t open her mouth to enjoy the tea along with her husband, she very much liked to hold the cup and pretend. Gala found it much more intimate if she could at least make believe she had certain capabilities she didn’t have, and oftentimes it was as simple as holding a cup.
“Have you heard about what’s been happening in the valley?” Frawk asked Gala, knowing very well she rarely went that far from home. The stone woman was silent for a moment, before reaching out with a hand.
“Could you hand me my thoughtful face, dear?” Her voice was liquid silk.
Frawk slapped a pile of stone masks onto the table and began to hastily filter through them, until he found one that mimicked Gala’s face if not adding a cocked brow and thoughtful purse of the lips. He handed it over and the woman gently placed it over her visage.
“Hmm,” she thought out loud. “No, I can’t say I have.”
Frawk sipped at his tea and leaned back in his chair. “They say an entirely new group of people have arrived.”
“Ah yes!” Gala dropped her thoughtful mask, opting for her natural gentle smile. “The Ekotone.”
“No, no!” Frawk waved a hand, and Gala quickly slapped on a mask of surprise. “Newer than Eidolons, even! They were brought in on giant machines and now dwell in the garden with the brooding warrior.”
“Oh my,” Gala swapped back to her thinking mask. “That certainly is a big change. I didn’t know the brooding man was interested in any company.”
“Other than the small child that he had brought there that one time.”
“I believe that was his daughter, dear.” Gala corrected.
Frawk tilted his head in suspicion. “That’s merely our assumption, of course.”
“Of course.” Gala agreed, making sure to wear a mask that contained an eye roll.
“There’s more though,” Frawk continued. “I took it upon myself to take a stroll down there the other day.”
“Was that three days ago?” Gala sat up straight. “I had wondered where you went off too for so long, and when the dishes needed to be done as well!”
“Dear, please,” guilt etched on Frawk’s face.
Gala crossed her arms, but not before putting on a stern mask. “Dear, please, nothing! You’re doing the dishes tonight, then!”
“Fine, fine, but can I finish my story?”
The stern mask dropped and Gala sat back in her chair, bringing her cup to her stone lips with a clank. “Of course, dear.”
“Infection!” Frawk all but blurted, not sure how to enter this part of his story.
A confused mask found Gala’s face. “Infection?”
“There are rumors jumbling about, that the people there are infected with some sort of incredible disease. I heard it from one of them while I was sulking about, looking for stones by the shore.” Frawk placed his empty cup down. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but from the sounds of it, a lot of the people are feeling strange pains in their stomachs and hearts — and their skin itches. Some are saying that they stopped feeling the pain altogether, but are feeling something else, something new.”
Gala fumbled her pile of masks. “Oh, shit.” she cursed as she sorted through them all to find one struck in suspense. Clearing her throat (well you get what I mean) she slapped the suspenseful mask on. “Something new!?”
Frawk held his mouth open, but no words came out. The sly smile of a storyteller found his plum cheeks and he sat back in his seat. “I guess we will just have to wait and see.”
Oh boy. I’m actually very disappointed you’re reading this for a post like this. But anyway, the only important bit here is that there are rumors spreading around the Garden of Hevel that the humans there are infected with a strange disease that is potentially causing pains in various organs only to suddenly stop hurting in the more developed patients.
Also we meet Frawk and Gala, a lovely husband and wife — dwarf and golem.
Farwaen walked behind Hafface, his eyes studying her intently. She was rather weak looking and though she walked with purpose through the forest, he couldn’t help but notice her clumsy footfalls. He could only assume her parents were of a weaker stock — and noticing the abundance of lumber all around and the lack of the danger of the plains, he could think of why. Even still, he knew she was his guide to his quest, and beyond his judgement all he could feel was appreciation for her humble acceptance of his presence.
“Thank you once again,” He called out to her, causing her to flinch. The spattering of greens surrounded them as silence dominated the area following his voice. It took her a moment before she replied, much more carefully and quieter than he was speaking.
“Why are you following me?”
He frowned, clearly he wasn’t clear. “I’m on a quest.”
Hafface stopped to look at the Eidolon.
“What does that have to do with me?”
Farwaen gave a sheepish grin. “I don’t know where my quest is.”
“Remember my second question?” Hafface asked.
Farwaen opened his mouth, but before he could get an answer out, the roar of a bear came trampling through the underbrush. The serene noises of the forest were replaced with heavy growls and snapping branches. A massive beast of brown fur and teeth burst out of the green foliage — Farwaen’s eyes doubling in size, and a rattling scream coming from Hafface.
Instinctively, Farwaen punched out with his shield, catching the beast twice his size on its rim. His arm felt no weight thanks to the magical properties of his bulwark, leaving the bear snapping its jaws around the edge of the shield. Farwaen’s surprised expression turned to one of deadly seriousness.
“By Hevel…” he swore. Blinking eyes of all sizes were twinkling all around the scene and beasts of many sizes were emerging from the dark forest. Even the songbirds above began to circle angrily, screaming revenge at the trespassers. They were surrounded. Farwean bit down and bared his teeth at the salivating bear.
“See me through my battles, oh Lord.” His prayer was a growl. Hafface dove behind the knight and Farwaen’s blade flashed, catching the sun. All at once, the forest charged.
Farwaen stabbed out with his blade, slipping by his shield and dispatching the bear with a clean strike through the lung. The bear fell off his bulwark and he spun in time to use the edge of the circular shield to break the neck of a barking wolf. Without losing focus, he swung his blade around, slicing through a hovering songbird and landing into the neck of a deer with a fleshy thunk.
Squirrels bounded off the tree branches, tiny teeth and claws aimed for the Knight and his ward. Farwaen caught three on his shield, one with a stab of his sword, and bucking out his head, he knocked another one clean out of the sky. His boot came down to finish the beast with a splatter, putting him back into a fighting stance.
Wolves were circling him now and deer were stamping the ground. Farwaen gave a bestial roar and not waiting for his enemy, he brought the fight to them. Hafface screamed about something Farwaen couldn’t see, his vision as red as his sword as he dove in. He dodged a bite, uppercutted the jaw of a buck with the handle of his blade, drove a wolf to the ground with a stomp on the head, and brought his bulwark down to decapitate it. Blood sprayed and another wolf came snapping at his legs, but Farwaen was quick to strike its nose with his elbow, spinning to drive the point of his blade through its back and out it’s stomach.
The scene was painted red as more and more of the forest’s denizens attacked the knight with a maddened fury that could only be described as supernatural, but Farwaen was unshaken. He danced among the macabre scene, scoring the trees with the blood and flesh of his enemy, until at last the only sound left was Farwaen yanking his blade from the skull of a moose.
“Ha…” Farwaen mocked, only to spin on his heel and strike out with his blade. A sneaky polecat was now impaled on the end of it, the rest of the blade struck into a tree. Keeping pose, he looked over at the reddened Hafface. The elf was peeking up at the warrior through her fingers, only her face free of speckled sanguine.
She sputtered her words. “The… Beast Queen…”
“Beast Queen?” Farwaen pulled his blade free and gave it a flick, spraying blood off the sleek metal. He gave it one more flick before sliding it back into its scabbard.
“You want a quest?” Hafface found her resolution. “Then I think I have one for you. Come with me, I’ll bring you to Noetal. He knows everything there is to know.”
-0-
Along the outskirts of Masol’s settlement there was a house of sticks. While nothing should be noteworthy about such a thing, the house of sticks was one of a kind among the elves. It consisted of poles driven into the ground, then woven together with smaller branches. Curved to a round top, the entire home was complete and a blanket of moss was cut to curtain the entrance. Most unique about such a structure, though, was that it was much too small to contain a pile of elves.
Inside it’s soil smelling walls was only a single elf. He was a tall elf with a prominent nose and serious face. Something in how he stood showcased both a strict demeanor and a strong distaste for caring about his surroundings — in so much that he didn’t care for the politics or company of the other elves. Besides that, his seemingly tired eyes were hiding the glint of intelligence he was known for in the earlier days of the elves, before he retired to his house of sticks.
Being so insular in his behavior, Noetal had long since lost his shallow friends and the companionship of most of the village. One such exception was his good friend Hafface, to whom he never ostracized for her ugly scar, but rather enjoyed her seperatist way of thinking. It was hard to say how much he cared for her, but he did sample small smiles and grins whenever she was around, amused by her antics and pleased by her company.
It was at such a moment that he should have been smiling as he was looking right at her, but he wasn’t, since he was horrified…
“What happened!?” He all but screeched, standing at the entrance to his tiny home, his eyes glued on the blood pasted Hafface and her Eidolon companion.
“Ho.” Farwaen greeted and stabbed his blade into the ground before kneeling behind it. He tilted his head so that it met the cold pommel. “I am the Knight known as Farwaen.”
“He came from the sky,” Hafface explained quickly, summoning a disgusted look of confusion from Noetal. “But more importantly, he’s untouchable, and very stupid.”
“Hey!” Farwaen frowned from his kneeling position.
“I think he could be the one to fight the beast queen.”
“Fight the Beast Queen?” Noetal scoffed. “Are you mad?”
Hafface aggressively grabbed Farwaen and stood him up. She pulled on his arm and forced him to showcase his weaponry. “He’s equipped with special tools, and… and…”
“Where is this… Queen of Beasts?” Farwaen cut them off. “If vanquish she must be, then I shall deliver.” He punched his sword into the air and stood tall. “Hevel wills it!”
Noetal scrunched up his face. “Hevel?” Shaking his head before Farwaen could answer, he explained. “The beast queen is a myth, one brought forth by a particularly troublesome elf who is now long since banished.”
“A myth!?” Hafface huffed. “We were just attacked by every manner of beast in the forest… the BEAST QUEEN’S FOREST! She exists, and she intends to keep us from the woods.”
“Oppressive.” Farwaen rubbed his chin. “Pray tell… where can I find this exiled elf of trouble?”
Noetal let out a long breath. “Nimueh is her name. You’ll have to find her to get any further in this mad inquiry of vengeance. As for where she is…”
Farwaen rip and tears a bunch of forest animals sent to kill him by the Beast Queen’s curse. Hafface takes him to her friend Noetal in the hopes of explaining that Farwaen could be the hero they need to kill the Queen. Noetal explains that the Queen is a myth and that only Nimueh knows the truth. Farwaen insists on finding Nimueh.
Farawen: 2
Plus 1 for being the main character Plus one for being there :)
They marched southwest, through the red forest of Kel-Phelenia, until the trees turned verdant, and the song of the eastern sea was too far to hear. They traveled until the dead sea and the cursed soaring stones above it were visible in the west, and they had walked along its shores where menacing mist spilled forth from, where there was a terrible taste in the air, putrid like the stench of something foul and rotten.
Homura was not surprised by the lingering presence of Iqelis and his power that was so profuse in such a gloomy realm, but her lack of surprise did not mean that she wished to be anywhere near it. The red goddess also detested its close proximity to Keltra, as well as the other lands where life was found and cultivated. She scowled in the direction of the dead sea, and hoped that her infuriating brother could feel her scorn.
Her procession consisted of the three colossi burdened with thousands upon thousands of sleeping humans, the massive machines piloted by her three champions; Courage, Kindness, and Curiosity. Their journey had been peaceful, and Homura found herself free of stress for a moment as her gaze turned south to the great sea of grass that glittered beneath the light of the receding sun. She would divert more of her attention to the creatures she had seen spreading across the land at a later time, as she could not delay her delivery any longer.
The garden Apostate had described appeared in the distance, and it seemed their journey was coming to a close. The goddess was curious to see what Apostate would make with the humans she gave him, but the duel he had also mentioned only reminded her that he was still a fool. A fool with a good heart, she supposed.
Though the sun was descending, the light of day did not diminish as her golden spear blazed brightly like a second sun, Daybringer illuminating the path ahead and the world around her. Homura looked to see if the God of Defiance was nearby.
With her godly vision she didn’t need to strain her eyesight and quickly spotted the bandaged man sitting next to a much taller statue of his true form. Her gaze met his, even at the incredible distance, but he didn’t stand up — he stayed sitting with his legs criss-crossed in the grass and a long stemmed leaf threading between his fingers, a defiant gleam in his eye.
Despite their size, the colossi approached like the whistling wind, every step in otherworldly silence as though they were only ghosts that walked the land. Closer and closer they came until their shadows loomed over the Garden of Hevel. From atop the three titans, three champions waved at Apostate before convening on the middle colossi where Homura called to them. Her voice was clear, regardless of the distance that separated them from ground far below.
“There is no need to rush. Lay them on the ground around the statue, then wait while I speak with my brother. You are not to wander now, we can return another day. Those are your orders.” Homura said, as her champions bowed before setting out to their task. The red goddess leapt from the crown of the colossus to the ground close to Apostate.
“I have arrived. Your humans await your touch. Do you wish for me to explain anything, or are you aware of what you want?” She asked as she stepped closer to the seated god.
Apostate looked up at Homura (for the first time) and furrowed his brow. Flicking the leaf away he sucked in a breath. “I’m nervous, you know?” Despite the words, his voice showed no hint of nerves, but rather confidence.
“I will let you know if you make any mistakes.” Homura replied, her impassive mask and stern tone concealing any thoughts or opinions she may have. As she spoke, a mechanical whir and a grinding noise came from the middle colossi, as pillars and paths formed leading down its legs and along its equine body. The three Heralds of Honor had collected a few of their kin and laid them upon stone wheelbarrows that they raced down the newly created ways of getting to the ground.
“It will take them some time. I hope your patience is not worn before they are finished. Hmm… your temperament is fickle even at the best of times.” The red goddess commented.
“I’m made of smoke.” Apostate gave Homura a dirty look before standing up. Brushing stains from his pants, he then straightened himself out, now towering over the small goddess. His hand instinctively found the handle of his blade and gripped it. A pained look came over his face for a moment, a groan rumbling deep within him.
“Do you think they will be strong enough?” Apostate asked quizzically.
“That depends on the rest of the pantheon. No mortal is strong enough to stand against the fury of the Divine in war, but they are resilient in many other ways. Humanity is not a weapon to be wielded, brother. They are our opportunity to prove we are worthy of being called gods and goddesses, and are meant to walk beside us on the Sacred Path.” Homura answered, and her red eyes peered at the God of Defiance with an inquisitive shimmer, as though seeking something unknown in his visage.
Apostate frowned. “I think I was the one who told you that mortals are not tools — but what I don’t remember is what you said the Sacred Path was.” He turned to match her gaze. “So, what is it?”
“Hmm… Some things are difficult to describe using thoughts and memories, especially when I cannot see it in its entirety, but the most apt way of wording what the Sacred Path is… transcending the traditions and conventions that contain us, and changing our current situation where we cannot see each other from the other’s perspective. We are locked within a prison, and the Sacred Path is the way to free ourselves. If we stray, and wander lost and alone… we will all be annihilated, and there would have been no meaning to any of our creations, our choices, our struggles. I hope that you understand what I am saying… I fear that I will eventually be lost and alone when I discover that none of my kin wish to walk beside me.” Homura spoke with conviction at first, though she seemed to seek the proper words that would convey her inner truth, but as she continued, the memories of all the gods and goddesses that rebuked her reminded her that this journey she has embarked upon may not have a happy ending.
“I understood parts of what you’re saying,” Apostate admitted, “but then again we often hear and see the same thing but think differently — or so it always seems. In the end, I also don’t find the prospect of holding burdens alone to be too appealing, but that’s why we allied ourselves, right?” The god closed his eyes, for whatever reason, Homura didn’t know.
“Indeed. It is quite the arduous task, trying to understand each other, I think. Do not laugh, but I have trouble understanding my own Champions, and wonder whether I will ever truly know what they are thinking. I can see the shape of their inner fire, peer through their memories, and I know what their bodies will do before they have even moved, but I still do not understand why they act in the manner they do. Why can they hide their perspective of myself and the world around them, and create these barriers that prevent me from sharing my own perspective? Hmm… I know their minds lack the power to process information as fast as mine, but then why do my kin lack this ability as well? Apologies, I am wasting words now.” She bowed her head slightly in shame, and returned to watching the trio that were carrying more and more humans to the ground now.
Apostate leaned forward so their eyes would meet even with her looking the other way. “You don’t need to apologize, Homura. I prefer it when you speak openly, it reminds me that…” He furrowed his brow, thinking about his words.
“I don’t know,” He continued, “you can be rigid sometimes, and you either block out or pretend to block out so much. Sometimes I feel alone among the gods, or well I always do, except when you show that you’re capable of thinking like a mortal.” He paused and looked away, opening his mouth to say something but then closing it.
“You mean slower?” Homura tilted her head, bemused by Apostate’s words. “I prefer to think that I can be quite flexible when it comes to new ideas. It is everyone else that appears rigid… so stubborn at times, from my view.” She continued, and looked upwards to the sky. “Am I making another mistake?” She asked aloud, letting the question soar up towards the sky, to the dancing stars, and the darkness beyond.
“Well, you’re talking to me — so that’s not a good sign,” Apostate said simply.
“I would rather be elsewhere. There are still others among the Divine that I have not encountered, and more and more of our creations are being killed while I waste time trying to find a solution that may or may not exist. There is a point of no return, and if we let the world suffer too much, we will have failed our Lord, ourselves, and those that we love. I know there are other deities not like you, who will seek to undermine my efforts. We need to talk to our siblings and organize ourselves.” The red goddess replied, speaking indirectly to the god beside her, speaking to herself, and praying that perhaps her words were heard by more than just the two of them. “It could be worse…” She muttered, and looked to Apostate with a forlorn smile. “At least you haven’t stabbed me in the back with your smoky sword, or something like that.”
“I’d prefer not to.” Apostate pinched his chin before smiling back. “Do you want to see one of my favorite things this existence has to offer?”
“I tend to disagree with what you find favorable, but please show me.” Homura gestured with her hand for Apostate to take the lead.
The other god took three dramatic steps until the pair was behind the statue. There in the shadow of the monolith, a lone yellow flower bobbed happily in the slight breeze of the gardens. Apostate grinned at the flower then looked back at Homura.
“This is it.”
Homura pondered what she saw for a moment, before looking at Apostate. “Hmm… why do you consider such to be, one of your favorite things, as you put it.” The red goddess asked, attempting to imitate the deeper tone of his voice, but failing to achieve the desired result, before she peered back at the flower.
The god of defiance snorted a chuckle before looking over at the other god. “I guess you’d have to see it from my perspective. I can show you that, if you want.” He held out a hand, his fingers turning into wisps of smoke that hazed upward. “Only if you want.”
“Show me.”
“Breathe in.” Apostate’s entire hand puffed into smoke, the tiny cloud washing over Homura, and though she did not need to breath, she opened herself to allow the smoke to pass through her physical form. Her inner fire shaped itself accordingly, trying to accommodate the smoke that pressed against it. At first, a deep anger erupted through her — only for it to quickly subside into a heavy pounding pain that rumbled in her chest. As it pained her, she saw Apostate himself mimic a look of pain for each jab on his face, but then through the overwhelming emotions, she felt something cool.
A radiant gold flickered hidden behind all the oppressive pain, and as her eyes fell to the flower, she felt it’s tiny defiant dance. Every shake of the flower seemed to quiet the pain, until all the harshness of before turned into a backdrop, a certain canvas for the better to be painted over. The flower was at peace, in odds of everything and in defiance, it was truly calm and the pure unaltered bliss that the flower put out was now beating softly in Homura’s chest.
Apostate hummed once, the small rhythm of his quick vocalization matching the beat of the bliss. He was looking at Homura, as if testing that she felt it as well. Appreciation shimmered in her being, an aura of reverence and revelations consisting of cascading colors and an otherworldly melody that resonated with the joyous motions of the little flower. It matched the hum of Apostate, and released its own cadence, though it reached out and gently caressed the yellow plant. She spoke, and her words reverberated throughout her body, but the sound originated from deeper within her. From the blinding light of sacred flame.
“Would you say this flower is more symbolic of Defiance, or Honor?” She asked, and both amusement and curiosity for whatever his answer welled up and filled her, easy to sense from behind the mask she wore. She had yet to banish his presence, and remained tolerant of the emotions and sensations he created from his smoke.
“I don’t know,” Apostate answered, “but I do know that in spite of everything that has happened and that could happen and that is happening, this flower dances. It knows that life is a fire, with each tendril of flame twisting and turning every which way, so that no flame is alike another — no life is identical to another, each guided by their own path to make a beautiful mosaic in the end. Independent, but together — free, but reliant. In the end I guess I just think it’s beautiful, it’s so simple and a god didn’t even think of it.” He looked at Homura but didn’t say anything more.
“I want to protect this beauty. If I have failed to make my intentions clear, then let it be known now. It has always been my sole prerogative to preserve such, and I will fight to defend it from those that seek to defile it.” Homura proclaimed, and the heat within her increased until it was hotter than any fire Apostate had known, and deep within the flames were things sharp and serpentine, like the shadows of sinister snakes, coiling and entwining themselves in the blinding fire.
Slowly, the smoke that had seeped into her was expelled, and Apostate could only see the mask once more. “You know, you have been rather rude to the flowers and trees of Kel-Phelenia. You do not have to disrupt their peace with every visit.” She said, crossing her arms while she looked at the God of Defiance. Daybringer simply stood by itself beside her, shining like a beacon as twilight bathed the land in dim light.
Apostate’s hand returned to its physical form and he gave it a shake. “There’s the chastising Homura, I was worried you were lost.”
“Your concerns were unfounded, as I would not wander astray so easily. Your words were… unexpected as well. Much more poetic than usual, I would say.” She tilted her head, and that inquisitive look returned, as though she was looking for something, but did not know where it was, only that Apostate seemed to be hiding it. “Why did you challenge me to a duel?” She finally asked.
“So I could defend those who couldn’t,” Apostated said, his brow furrowing. “I needed to be stronger, and I suppose I still do — but I don’t really want to fight you anymore, not like that at least.”
[b]“You are stronger. We fight together now, and your next foe will not not know what hit them. Know that I never had any desire to fight you as well. I saw no reason for us to duel, so I wondered whether I had offended you unintentionally, or if you were using this duel as an excuse to attack me. My concerns are now alleviated.”[b/b] Homura replied, and allowed herself to smile slightly, relieved upon hearing that the danger she fretted so much over had proven to be a test she considered passed now.
“I am certain there will be other times you will be called upon to fight. Our brother, Tuku, has had the honor of fighting beside our Lord. The King in Heaven will see your strength, and summon you when you are needed.” She continued, hoping her words helped him as well, though something he had said continued to prod the back of her mind.
“Maybe,” Apostated conceded. “But I am glad to hear your confidence in me. So the duel may be off, but we could still learn a lot from sparring with each other, no? A friendly bout... With friendly wagers.”
“Hmm… what do you have in mind?” Homura asked, as her arms unfolded, and she grasped Daybringer once more. The weapon lazily resting against her shoulder as she stood facing the God of Defiance with a readied stance.
Apostate tapped his cheek. “Well I’d be remiss as the attendant of Defiance if I didn’t pick something thematic.” He hummed to himself in thought. “If I win… you will do everything your own champions ask of you for an entire day — they will have free reign.”
“Then if I win, you will directly apologize to the denizens of Kel-Phelenia for your reckless behavior. Speaking of reckless, you apparently have not heeded my words. Why have you refrained from forging a weapon with which to properly defend yourself? I cannot invigorate it if it does not exist.” Homura pointed her golden spear at him, and exuded an aura of frustration as she spoke. Her smile had vanished, and her eyes accused him of being guilty, but the flames of her ire were mild, and she did not move to strike.
Apostate drew the blade from his hip and hefted it so as to point it back at Homura. As always, the blade was massive and if not for Apostate’s godly strength, holding it with one hand as he was doing would have been impossible — except this time something was different about the blade. Before, it shared the exact same aura as Apostate since it was a piece of him, but now it felt separate. He squinted at the Goddess. “Oh is that right?”
“Have you given it a name?” Homura inquired, lowering her weapon’s point to the ground, satisfied by his display.
Bouncing his eyes from the blade and back to Homura, Apostate cleared his throat. “Cleaver?” He said it more as a question than an answer.
“Cleaver…” She repeated, and she tilted her head in consideration of the name, letting the word shape itself in her mind. “It is a rather simple name, but perhaps that is appropriate considering its wielder. I have a suggestion, ignore it if you wish… but I would call it Warbreaker.”
“Warbreaker?” Apostate said, confused. “Why Warbreaker? Also, did you just call me simple!?”
“Though it is a weapon, its purpose is to protect life from death and destruction. To defend yourself from those that would harm you. When war comes, it will be broken upon your blade… a quicker end to avoid needless suffering and bring peace. I hope my reasoning makes sense to you.” The red goddess replied, and avoided answering the second half of his question with stoic silence.
Apostate rolled his eye at Homura’s silence and slammed his blade back into its baldric. “Fine, then. I’ll name it Warbreaker.”
“Come with me.” Daybringer embedded itself in the ground where the soil had turned scarlet, then the shaft of the golden spear suddenly and swiftly elongated, carrying Homura further and farther, higher into the sky as she held onto it. The God of Defiance arched a brow before flying up after her.
The opposite of a falling star, Daybringer’s light reached towards the heavens, soared towards its bright and fiery kindred whom illuminated the night sky. The two divine traveled far from the land, from Galbar itself, until they came to halt among the sea of stars, and cosmic beauty shone all around them. The red goddess stood atop the spear now, free from the weight of the world. Her hands reached outwards, and her voice echoed across the void.
“I am Homura, celestial servant of the King in Heaven! I invoke His name and command you! Heed my summoning and bend to my will!” Her words rippled in the darkness, and the stars heard the power of divinity in the small goddess. Daybringer pulsed, and was answered by a second pulse from one of the many children of light.
A rainbow river surged towards Homura, crashing down upon her, and washing her with its myriad of colors. The hands of the red goddess began to weave the stream, channeling it, directing it, and the two began to dance to the rhythm of an otherworldly melody. Slowly she moved, and slowly the light coalesced into a smaller shape. The celestial song continued, touching the fabric of the tapestry, sending reverberations through reality, as the music reached its crescendo.
Then it was over, and Homura held in her hands a small ruby. She looked to Apostate, and gestured with one hand for him to come closer.
"Should I be worried?" Apostate quipped as he floated towards Homura, eyes stuck on her hands.
“Unsheathe your blade.” Homura said, with the slightest shake of her head as she held out the shimmering stone suffused with divine power. It reflected the appearance of Apostate in its flawless facets, every edge sharp and clear, and in its depths was something more. A fire that blazed with life, the essence of a star.
"Ever the forward one." Apostate gripped the handle of Warbreaker and ripped it free from it's baldric. The blade reflected the light of the stars and with a toss he hefted it softly towards Homura.
The sword hovered before her, while she gracefully ran a hand along its length, heating the metal with her inner flame until it was searing white and ready to be melded once more. The weapon shifted and sang as she spoke to the ruby she held in her other hand.
“Protect him. That is all I ask. Know that I shall come when you sing, child of light. You will never be alone.” Then she pushed the red gem into the blade close to the base where it met with the handle, and the weapon was awakened further, infused with even greater power, before returning to its original shape. Afterwards, the Goddess of Honor returned Warbreaker to its wielder, and bowed her head respectfully.
“It is done.”
Apostate held the blade up to his face and turned it to watch the gem shimmer. He looked past the weapon and at the goddess in front of him. A soft grin formed under his bandaged eye and he tipped his head.
"I appreciate all you've done."
Homura allowed herself to smile slightly, pleased that her efforts had not been in vain, to not be rejected in the end. “Now that you have a proper weapon, I feel confident in advocating your strength when I speak with our Lord. We should… return to Galbar, my heralds will have finished by the time we get back.” The red goddess quickly climbed down her spear, until she had firmly grasped the shaft, and then descended backwards to the distant planet. Apostate was shortly behind her.
"You're going to tell the Monarch about me?" He questioned as they approached the Galbar.
“You are a warrior. You seek battle, to better understand yourself and your strength. I am the same. I will tell our Lord that we would like to partake in the fight against those that threaten creation. Are you opposed to this?” Homura queried back, her eyes closed and features returned to the expression devoid of any emotion.
"No, because I'll be fighting regardless — it's who I am." Apostate answered.
“It is only appropriate that you are recognized for your dedication then. Pain is a powerful motivation, but it should not be your only one. Seek rewards, brother, and feel pride. That is one of my beliefs.” The two deities came closer and closer to the land they had departed, and they could see that the three champions of Homura had almost finished their task. The Garden of Hevel was once more illuminated by the presence of Daybringer, and Apostate and Homura alighted upon the ground.
The Goddess of Honor pulled the bottom of her spear from the red ground, and the color quickly faded, returning to what it was before with no sign of being struck earlier. Homura looked all around her at the thousands of sleeping humans arranged around the statue. Her champions carried one more load down before approaching the two deities.
“Ninety thousand, all laid down here without any trouble. It’s time, ya?” Courage asked, as she and her two sisters approached. When they stood before the God of Defiance, the trio proceeded to respectfully bow.
“An honor again to meet you, your grace.” Kindness said softly, as the three of them arose.
The God of Defiance shook his head. “You still don’t need to bow to me.”
“It just feels right. It’s sort of selfish of us, but it makes us feel better. Maybe because we came from the Goddess of Honor, I think.” Courage replied with a chuckle, before silently signaling to her sisters. Without further word, the brash champion leapt from where she stood and alighted upon the head of Apostate’s metal effigy.
Curiosity joined her, and let out a gasp of wonder. “We weren’t struck down, Kindness. Come on, get up here!” But the third sister remained on the ground, and stepped beside her maker. Homura herself gestured to the sleeping humans and spoke to the God of Defiance. “Awaken them, brother. Let them experience the joy life offers them.”
Apostate furrowed his brow the moment his eyes found the humans. A hesitant twitch was on his lip and the sheen of worry was evident in his face.
“Joy,” he mimicked Homura, or perhaps was feeling the word for himself. He closed his eyes and held out a hand towards the many sleeping forms. Slowly his hand unraveled into wisps of smoke, climbing up his arm until pieces of his shoulder were missing. Flakes of black metal formed his face and his eye glowed like coal. His mouth moved and Homura could have sworn she heard him apologize.
The wisps of smoke shot from his arm and bloomed into a great hurricane, each pillar of smoke finding their way to the nostrils of the sleeping forms. The air whoosed and the sky turned grey as each human felt their lungs fill for the first time, eyes snapping open. As quickly as the smoke shot from Apostate, he recalled it — leaving the lungs of the stirring people, and letting them suck on fresh air.
Homura and her champions merely watched as their kin’s slumber came to an end, and the power of Apostate began to shape them. In a matter of seconds the awakened humans held the variety expected of a human, with shades of skin and hair of many colors — their eyes just as unique as well as their personalities which were already being formed around them.
Suddenly alerted, Apostate blinked and spun on his heel, staring at something far to the south. Looking in the same direction, Homura saw two Eidolons who stood watching the spectacle of the humans. They were wearing simple woolen shorts belted at the waist and hanging down to their knees. One held a sling, the other a wicker basket.
“Hmm… you should tend to your humans, I will speak with the newcomers.” Homura said, before she began striding towards the two eidolons from the south. She moved with otherworldly grace and was suddenly standing before them, though they had watched her come closer and closer, yet it also seemed she had appeared in the blink of an eye.
“I am Homura. I have no intention of harming either of you.” The red goddess said.
The one with the basket all but stepped in front of the other, cutting him off. “I am Tarowwe.” He stated with his chest puffed. The other gave him a sideways glance and answered.
“I am Cabel.”
“Hmm… There is no need to be afraid. What is the name of your Maker, young Tarowwe and Cabel?” She asked, her eyes on neither of them and both of them at the same time, shining more brightly than any fires they had ever seen.
She spoke softly, but her voice seemed to shift the air, to command it and the world all around. Her lack of horns and markings did not interfere with her ability to communicate through their kinetic empathy, as her mind brushed against their minds, and her thoughts were surprisingly gentle in comparison to her stern visage.
Cabel held out a steady hand and Tarowwe mimicked. Cabel spoke first this time. “We come from Avros… are you a spirit?”
“I am the sister of Avros. Do you know where my brother can be found? I wish to speak with him.” Truth and desire both danced together in her words and bright - almost blinding thoughts, her mind unlike any others the two eidolons had encountered. She believed in her own words, even if they sounded like madness, and her conviction washed over them like a warm breeze.
The two both knitted their brows, clearly confused.
“Avros is dead.” Cabel answered.
“Hmm… is Avros not the name of the deity that created you? I sense the still living essence of the divine within you. Your maker is not dead.” Homura replied, her thoughts shifting too fast for them to be understood by either of them. It was almost overwhelming, and then suddenly the connection was gone, and neither Eidolon could sense her with their kinetic empathy.
The pair started to back away, clearly distraught. Cabel put his palms up as he did. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, spirit, but we mean no disrespect to you or your family.”
“We really don’t,” Tarowwe added, “In fact, we love your family, right Cabel?”
Cabel made a face at Tarowwe before slowly nodding, but maintaining his retreat.
Then she vanished, and her voice announced that she had appeared behind them. “I am not a spirit, I am the Goddess of Honor. Do not lie in my presence again. Ah, you are as pitiable as those creatures in the north. Ignorant because your Maker was inept.” Homura said, between them and their planned route of escape.
“Homura!” Apostate’s voice boomed, causing the two Eidolon’s to flinch. The man was walking towards the group, and as he stopped on the other side of the Eidolons — trapping them in between the gods — he spoke again. “Are you harassing these mortals?” His voice was deep, but he had a friendly gleam in his eye.
“Of course not. I was about to offer them wisdom, and ask a favor of them.” She replied, and held up a hand, while pointedly looking at Apostate before turning her attention back to the duo. “You do not need to fear him either. He is more friendly than he appears, unless you are his enemy, I imagine.” She continued.
Apostate rolled an eye and turned away from the conversation, his ear still to it. Cabel shook his head, as if collecting a jumble of thoughts.
“I have a request!” He spoke confidently, though a sense of worry was laced in his words.
“Speak, child. I will hear your request.” Homura stated, and maintained an imperious aura despite the difference in height between her and the two Eidolons. Both of them squirmed in place for a moment before shifting on their knees, squatting a bit until they were eye-level with Homura.
“We ask,” Cabel glanced at Tarowwe then back at Homura, “we ask that you allow us to cultivate this land. Our people have dreamed about this place ever since we lost our pastures to the south. We need it.”
“Hmm… and what do you mean by cultivate? Why do you need it?” The red goddess asked.
“Our flock needs to eat its grass, and we need to drink its water,” Cabel answered. Tarowwe nodded enthusiastically.
“And perhaps we can take its wood to build, as well?”
“Then this is my answer; your flocks shall not eat its grass, you shall not drink its water, and you will not take its wood to build. The sins you have committed were forced upon you, but I offer you salvation. You may come to these lands, and you may cultivate them, but your carnage and crimes will be left behind. You will know love and generosity, truth and compassion, you will be the first welcomed in freedom’s fortress, where hunger and death has been banished. You may return from where you came, if you desire. The choice belongs to you.” Homura proclaimed, and standing so close to her, the two Eidolons could feel the power within her, more vast than the land they stood upon, more potent and terrifying than any enemy horde. To defy her was to defy the rising sun, the rain that fell from the sky, the burning touch of fire, the changing of the world. It forced them back.
They stepped backwards, nearly bumping into Apostate. They both looked confused, their mouths agape. No words came from their mouths, but as if reading their thoughts, Apostate answered for them.
“What do you mean?”
“You will not have to fear your neighbors, nor fear the pain of an empty stomach. Your herds will be safe, and you will have a home where you may rest when you are tired. Your families would be with you, away from the danger of those that prey upon the living. You would be allowed to focus on what is sacred and righteous, instead of worrying whether you will die a meaningless death. That is what I offer you. You may refuse and return to where you came from, but I expect your tribe will be disappointed. These lands have begun cannibalizing themselves, and though you may be blind to the consequences of your Maker, the results speak for themselves. Out of curiosity, why do you carry that sling? What is its purpose?” Homura ended her speech with questions directed towards Cabel, still speaking directly to the two Eidolons.
“What are you proposing?” Apostate interjected and stepped between the mortals and the god. Cabel and Tarowwe shared a glance and took a step back. Apostate was studying Homura’s face. “What do you intend to do?”
“They have known only oppression, brother. I wish to free them from the system that forces them to cannibalize each other, and alienates them from the beauty of the world. Their tribes are fighting among themselves, killing one another because our siblings have abandoned them. They have enslaved the beasts that roam these fields, and ravaged the plants that grow there. If I do not intervene, the cycle will continue and consume this land.” Homura answered, now facing Apostate with her common cryptic expression.
Apostate narrowed his eyes at Homura and crossed his arms, standing tall. “Cannibalize? Oppression? This is the strawberry all over again, isn’t it!?”
“Brother… These people need our help. We are the Divine, we have the strength to help them. Please, I am asking you to think about what will happen if we leave them to their own fates after instilling a hunger that cannot be sated and providing nothing to sustain them. The weak will become meat, and the strong will eat. It will be a feast for tyrants.” She continued, remaining still with empty eyes that refused to look away from the God of Defiance.
"I know they need our help," Apostate snapped before closing his eyes. Sighing, he placed a hand on Homura's shoulder and looked at her again with his emotional intensity. "How can you be so sure that your way is the right way to do that? You're the one who dispersed an entire race of your own only to judge and criticize how they live and the people you gave them to. I've been trying to tell you that the world needs change, it needs an end and it needs a beginning — that's the beauty of mortality, the beauty of your creation. You can't hide it away, it will wither. If you take away the needs, you're left with the wants — and an eternity of mistakes. I always hear you, but you never seem to hear me, or the others. Mortals drink from moving water, not the still — another lesson the universe taught them before us."
Homura averted her gaze, looking away from Apostate, to the land all around and seemed to consider his words in silence for a time. She spoke, but her tone remained in the same emotionless state. “You understand that you are making no sense. You are right, I do not know if my way is correct, but I can see that the current path we have laid will crumble beneath our feet. I am not refusing change, I am advocating it. Let us change this system. The universe did not teach them to drink water, brother, as their way of life was taught to them by us. The water was created by us. The mortals were created by us. It is the fact that our siblings seem to have casually discarded their creations which irks me. No mother or father should abandon their child before they can stand on their own. Please, let me help them.”
Apostate let go of Homura and crossed his arms again. “Tell me your plan, and let me judge you for once.”
“First we must end the fighting. Too many corpses litter the land south of here now, and more will follow if we remain uninvolved. They must learn how to live in harmony with each other, not afraid that their kin may lash out at them because there is a shortage of food, or because they seem vulnerable. The animals and plants will be stronger if they support each other, not consume each other. I suggest we allow these two to guide their people here, or bring them to Keltra where they can learn how to protect and sustain themselves. Then they can begin their journey on the Sacred Path. I even believe they have the potential to travel farther than us, brother. So… that is the basis of my plan. Truthfully, I would like to acquire more information regarding what we are dealing with before providing a more detailed plan for the future. It is too easy to make a mistake that we do not realize even exists.” Homura’s mask seemed to slightly slip away, as fire flickered in her scarlet eyes, and both conviction and hope faintly manifested in her voice.
Letting out a groan, Apostate pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to tell you that I agree with some of what you said, in the fear that I’ll disagree with how you intend to do some of those things.”
Homura merely nodded, before she continued. “If at any point you think that my methods are either inefficient or only worsening things, then please intervene. As I have said, I do not know if my way is correct. I am a rather pathetic goddess… I only know that there are those that need us, and they are dying because we have already failed them. I want to atone for my mistakes by saving any and all that I can.”
“I’d intervene even if you didn’t say please,” Apostate admitted, “if nothing else, it’s who I am to defend all against any force that pushes or pulls and limits freedom, no matter what that force may be.” His face twisted with a thought for a moment, then reset.
“That alleviates many of my concerns. I am much the same, though I find that freedom is too varied a term. I like it, and I often encourage it, but here is my experience with it. There is no such thing as true freedom. We are always bound by the unseen forces that weave through each and every one of us. However, these forces are not necessarily evil or good. You may fight against them, or embrace them. Apologies, I am wondering aloud again. Shall we help these two then?” The Goddess of Honor offered her red ribbon covered hand to him, and her head tilted to the side like a curious animal that had seen something interesting.
“Freedom is volatile, and so am I.” Apostate gripped Homura’s hand tight. He rolled her hand inside his palm gently for a second before arching a brow. “Why the ribbons?”
“I will tell you another time. It is nothing worth being noted. We have frightened Cabel and Tarowwe, so let us ease their fears now. This is your garden, would you prefer they come and live here, or would you prefer I escort them to Keltra? Ah, first we should ascertain whether they wish for our aid.” Homura bowed her head in deference to Apostate, and allowed him to speak with the two Eidolons.
Apostate blinked and then spun around, Cabel and Tarowwe already at least fifty sneaky steps away with their backs turned. “Hey!” Apostate boomed, causing them to flinch in place. “You can use this land, bring the others!”
“Thanks!” Cabel shouted back before starting a hurried walk, dragging Tarowwe by the shirt behind him.
Homura was walking back to the nascent humans scattered across the garden, passing through the crowd to reach her three champions who had begun tending to their awakened kin. The lively voice of Courage as she shouted inspiring words, and taught them how to stand and walk. Curiosity and Kindness provided support for those that stumbled, and needed some help before they had found their own balance, and understood their own strength.
The red goddess watched, and allowed any of the awakened humans to approach her if they desired. The light of Daybringer was not harsh to their eyes, it gently passed through them and revealed the shape of the land, the song of the sky, and the truths of the world, akin to the presence of the sun when it was high above.
“So why did you give them to me?” Apostate’s voice came from behind Homura.
“You are the one that claimed them. I have faith that you will protect and guide them. Otherwise, they will serve as another reminder of why I fight. For each piece of life that is lost, my dedication to defending it from the depredations of our kin only strengthens. Why did you accept my gifts?” She questioned back, and felt no need to turn to face him then. Her mind did not enjoy the paradoxical reasoning for her stance.
“Truthfully? It’s because I didn’t trust you,” Apostate answered. The god stayed behind her, paused in thought. “Why I’m still taking them, that’s debatable.”
Her head slightly shook in response before she spoke again. “Debatable how? Are you saying that you have some trust in me, brother?”
“We struck an alliance, I wouldn’t have done that otherwise.” Another pause. “Will you trust me in my choices?”
“Know that I have not turned my back on you out of disrespect.” Homura replied, as she contemplated what would become of the future, and wondered whether this was another step on the path of annihilation, or a step towards something wondrous and beautiful. She could only hope it was the latter, but the choice belonged to Apostate now. He could strike her down, or he could walk beside her and create a new world.
Apostate shifted behind her. “I didn’t think you did. I just want you to know that I intend to give these humans choices.”
“Indeed. I am against the idea of enforcing our will upon our creations, but we must also prevent them from destroying themselves. It is something I still struggle with. Perhaps you will have a better time than I.” The red goddess said, as she turned to look at him, and evident sorrow was visible in her eyes that were shrouded by shadows.
Resting his hand on the pommel of his blade, Apostate’s eye flickered over Homura’s exhausted visage. “I think we talked enough for one day.”
“Hmm… I should return to Keltra. The air dances with apprehension, so I assume another calamity has befallen elsewhere. Remember our promise, and perhaps one day we may even have the opportunity to spar for a time…” Homura stepped back, and her three champions suddenly looked towards her. An unspoken command went through them, and each began saying goodbye to the humans around them.
“Until then, farewell, brother.” The Goddess of Honor bowed to Apostate, before she returned to the crown of the colossi with her heralds.
“Don’t forget to rest,” Apostate said as he stood up straight, a small groan rumbling in his chest. “I’ll return to Keltra to fulfill another promise soon enough.”
-Homura and her entourage journey to the Garden of Hevel to deliver Apostate his promised 90,000 humans. -While her champions unload the sleeping humans from the colossi, Homura and Apostate have a conversation about their plans, what their favorite things are, and some of the struggles of what it means to be a deity. -Homura invigorates Apostate’s sword which he names Warbreaker, afterwards Apostate awakens his humans. -The two Divine talk some more and encounter some Eidolons from a nearby clade that is seeking new land. -Apostate and Homura eventually agree to let them come and live in the Garden of Hevel. -Homura and her champions say goodbye to Apostate and his humans.
Cycle 3 Homura's Vigor total: 7. -5 Vigor to empower Warbreaker (Artifact) Illumination: much like Daybringer, Warbreaker is easily capable of illuminating an entire city on its own. Its light passes through solid walls, and banishes even magical darkness. Greater Resilience x2: It is nigh impossible to damage Warbreaker. Protection: Warbreaker is aware of its surroundings and will actively defend Apostate from hostile attacks. It can react as fast as the speed of light. Resonance: Whenever Warbreaker's inner star sings its song, its voice is always heard by the inner star of Daybringer, letting the spear-wielder know when and where the wielder of Warbreaker is. Vigor spent: 5. Remaining Vigor: 2.
Apostate starting: 7
3 Vigor spent on creating Warbreaker: Warbreaker has two unique abilities from Apostate. The first being that it changes its size to match its wielders and the second being that in being a divine blade, it can cut through things that normally can’t be cut — I.E gas, liquid, ethereal bullshit
Apostate ending: 4
Courage, Kindness, and Curiosity gain 3 Spirit. (+1 Minimum, +1 Collab, +1 Medium)
I'm not really a bird.
[center]-0-
Where did I play,
A land of twisted branches,
A kingdom of clay,
A swamp of memories,
A never-ending day,
Where did I run,
Across the dawn,
Through the sun,
Across the sky,
Through laughs and fun,
Where did I walk,
Pristine grass green,
White cliffs of chalk,
Pools of sky so blue,
Orchard stones that talk,
Where did I sit,
By the gates of silver,
Near endless pit,
By forever horizon,
You may remember it.[/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">I'm not really a bird.<br><br><div class="bb-center">-0-<br><br>Where did I play,<br>A land of twisted branches,<br>A kingdom of clay,<br>A swamp of memories,<br>A never-ending day,<br><br>Where did I run,<br>Across the dawn,<br>Through the sun,<br>Across the sky,<br>Through laughs and fun,<br><br>Where did I walk,<br>Pristine grass green,<br>White cliffs of chalk,<br>Pools of sky so blue,<br>Orchard stones that talk,<br><br>Where did I sit,<br>By the gates of silver,<br>Near endless pit,<br>By forever horizon,<br>You may remember it.</div></div>
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