View source for Talk:Fragments of Time

=Part 1: Seeking the Confluence=
A clamour was heard in early Niuran, scraping metal and clanking gears stirring the citizens of Bloodloch, then Enorian, and finally Duiran to a state of alarm as a strange figure roamed in pursuit of something known only to itself. Though the citizens' initial search proved futile, the following week saw the appearance of a mechanical figure on the streets of Esterport, stumbling upon a sermon to the Underking while in the midst of its exploration.

Masses soon gathered to hear what the construct had to say. It introduced itself as Copperhead of the Third Spoke, an emissary of Kalchos, explaining that its purpose was to locate something known as the confluence. Little of substance followed as the Cogger failed to impress its meaning upon those present while rebuffing unwanted contact and executing Teflin Vyktaire in the process.

Another week passed and time itself crawled to a sluggish halt, violent storms causing rain to fly upwards in a bizarre moment of temporal fragmentation. As reality reasserted itself, Copperhead appeared once more in the Ruins of Masilia, where a metal door with of five locks barred the entrance to a newly revealed alcove. Upon communication with the doorway, the construct explained to the growing crowd that while it could pass the gate unharmed, critical danger would befall any other who tried.

It set the adventurers to the task of deactivating the barrier, and the first of five challenges - each allegedly designed to be solved at a certain time - ensued. After solving a complex riddle, unravelling a numbers problem to balance weights with blood offerings, deducing the ingredients for a potion, and manipulating the rings of a peculiar wall to align with the various incorporeal forms, only the fifth remained. Copperhead, ever observant and smug, announced that this would be the easiest and - sure enough - forty nine turns of a moonlit mirror, in keeping with the recurrent theme of seven that had appeared throughout, opened the main door.

Triumphant after days of gruelling riddlery and puzzle work, the adventurers flooded into the newly opened chamber where the aeonic confluence deviced hung suspended in mid air, electricity crackling around its shifting form. An oily smear daubed the skies to herald a coming focus, and no sooner had Copperhead begun inspecting the device, noting that it lacked the marring it had expected, when piping notes sounded out, and the Cogger immediately fled.

Bamathis the Warlord appeared in a flash of silver, accompanied by the skulking figure of Severn, the Manipulator. Strife immediately began surveying the device and with Caelestis ablaze in His hands, attempted to cleave it in twain only for His weapon to pass right through its centre, unharmed and unaffected. The Artificer explained that it was not truly present, not yet real, but a mere shadow, waiting for its moment. With the imminent focus making its presence known, the click of metal announced the sudden arrival of Damariel, the Unbound, manifesting to confront His siblings.

Scolding Bamathis with the tone of a disappointed parent, Damariel counselled caution, issuing enigmatic reminders to His Twin about something owed. A heated argument ensued between the three Gods, the approaching focus almost fully manifested. After a vexed growl from the Artificer, Strife and Truth agreed to let the mortals settle their dispute on the field of unstable ley, from which the confluence device was drawing power to anchor itself. The opposing Divine mustered Their forces for battle, troops soon marching in through opened gateways as a geyser of ylem pushed up through the ground and the fight began.

Violence erupted through all of Masilia with the clashing of troops and adventurers alike. Spirit and Shadow clashed again and again and again in pitched battles, attempting to wrest control of the geyser's surrounding points. Chaos reigned while death reaped its terrible harvest, divisions arranged throughout the Ruins awaiting orders that came in haphazard bursts as their commanders fought on with relentless energy.

Few moments of respite came, reprieve found only in scattered interludes as those recently defeated regrouped at their command posts, regathering their forces to once again join the fray. Division after division poured out of the portals to reinforce the fallen, the ylem geyser looming implacably over the area all the while. Each time it seemed one side had the advantage, yet more soldiers fell to their opposing legions, the bones of unshackled soldiers and argent legionnaires forming broken heaps across the bloodsoaked streets.

As their Gods watched on anxiously, the brutal exchange seemed unending in its ferocity. Magics elemental and esoteric ravaged the area. Hordes of Chaos and Astral entities rampaged. The clashing of countless blades and the roar of innumerable creatures drowned out all other sound. Victory seemed at hand as Spirit took control of three points, yet their final division patrolled without orders. Shadow then took the lead yet they too, could not cross the final bound. The butcher's bill continued to rise, the reek of death intense and pungent.

Desperation struck as the geyser began to lose strength, both Shadow and Spirit marshalling their forces for a final stand. Both pressed on without restraint, felling each other countless times as yet more troops sallied forth in search of victory. Yet it was not to be. The focus collapsed in on itself, the geyser disappeared with neither side laying claim to its energies, and the world released a held breath as the conflict ended without decisive result.

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 1st of Slyphian, in the year 498 MA.

=Part 2: Anomalies=
Mere moments had passed following the battle, the Ruins a littered grave of countless dead. Drawn by the din of violence and murder, a tiny spark kindled at the edges of the horizon. Soon it grew to nascent flame, filling the skies with black smog as the smell of sulphur descended upon the world. The heavens caught aflame, ignited in a beacon of inflamed rage, all burning beneath Its terrible gaze. Storms of ash and soot followed Its languid path across the firmament, accursed shrieks clamouring from within Its torrid heart. Fire rained from above, rampaging daemons converging on Masilia with blazing menace. Yvalamon, the Fury, had awoken.

Radiating an oppressive, all-consuming hunger to destroy, devour, and burn, the Fury smouldered, crackling embers seething their way through the Ruins. Wreathed in a corona of shimmering silver, Bamathis stepped forth to meet His hated foe, bellowing aloud a command to His forces to turn back the daemons. Blinding light then erupted from the confluence chamber, the Unbound Lord manifesting a brilliant aegis to shield both Himself and the device from harm. Fully aware of the Fury's intended target, Damariel urged His own children to join the fight, His expression one of intense focus.

Caelestis once more came alive in the Warlord's hands and battle began. His speed enhanced by divine might, Bamathis brought His sword to bear in a surfeit of savage blows, His merciless brutality matched only by the impossibly precise agility with which He struck the opposing Yvalamon. Explosive sparks burst from the Fury with each attempted strike, turning aside the blade as Its anger grew ever more inflamed.

The clarion cry of a hunting horn sounded, cut short by a guttural shout of exertion. The Ithmias shook with the passage of Haern, the Hunter, who appeared in Masilia through a gateway of bright, verdant flame. Rhythm's Spine yearned within His grip, His quiver slung across His back and filled to the brim with arrows. War paint smeared His snarling face as He howled, low and savage, before hefting His spear and launching it at the Fury. Unfathomable anger pealed from Yvalamon as the spear connected with Its calcified form and was devoured in a monstrous flare of white-hot fire.

Undeterred, the Hunter drew Whisper, a single arrow transforming to dozens in a passing moment. The volleys streaked towards Yvalamon from all directions, converging with deadly accuracy. Impassive and languid, It lifted a single arm, melting the arrows to blackened ash before refocusing Its attention upon Bamathis, smothering Him in a blanket of scorching, unquenchable flames. Writhing free of the encroaching blaze with a grunt of exertion, the Warlord pressed His attack in a frenzy of cross cuts and rapid jabs, yet despite bringing to bear the best of His skill, the Tumult blazed riotously, fuelled by hatred, anger, loathing, and barely bore a mark of harm.

Shadows boiled up from the ground with the reappearance of the Artificer, already moving with speed defying perception to join the fight, Blade of Artifice aloft in His hand. Strife and Shadow fought in tandem, Severn dissipating with each assault before reappearing elsewhere to launch another, then another, then another, unable to be caught by the searing Fury. Haern bellowed again, cacophonous thunder accompanying the drawn string of Whisper. A score of lances borne of rippling green fire hung all about the God in the air and He loosed them in a terrible swarm, lighting the sky to emerald brilliance.

Living darkness crawled about the burning Yvalamon by the will of Severn, wrapping It in blackened tendrils as Haern's projectiles struck true in a bloom of bright gemstone moss. Thinking It restrained and weakening and tasting triumph, Bamathis bore down, victory alight in His eyes. Then with a roar of wrath unparalleled It loosed Its pent-up hate, centuries of thunder magnified into a singular moment of disdain. Yvalamon shrugged off Severn's bonds and swelled to magnitudes unseen, blistering heat threatening to devour the world as Fury sought to claim Its kill.

Unfurling wings of colossal size cast Spinesreach into sudden darkness, the entire city quaking with unleashed might as a winged Goddess took flight amidst a storm of coruscating lightning. Her silver eyes blazed with draconic hunger, the firmament yielding to the passage of Tanixalthas with a thunderous sonic boom. She swept through the skies with effortless grace, wreathed in all the power of Sky Dreaming. Recalling well Her past hunger to battle It, Midwinter's Star had come to claim Her due.

Crying a challenge to the Ancient One, the Sun Drinker wheeled above Masilia, Her immense form tensing before She dove, fearless and sublime, toward Her enemy. Warlord, Hunter, and Manipulator were all turned aside with a dismissive shift of Her enormous bulk, and Tanixalthas trained Her avaricious eyes upon the flame-wreathed Fury, fully focused on Her prey. Rearing back, the air shattered with the magnitude of Her unleashed roar as She lunged, falling upon Yvalamon in a rampant frenzy of tooth and claw.

Fire scorched at Her craggy form yet She pressed on, undeterred, Her tail cracking like a whip alongside bolts of azure lightning erupting from betwixt Her tremendous jaws. The ravenous flames of the Burning God flickered and waned under the arcing manifestation of Sky Dreaming's merciless storm. With a callous squall of delight She struck true, hunger yielding to sudden terror as the flames encircling Yvalamon faltered, oppressive heat receding under the sudden wound.

Quelled to mere embers, a deafening howl of anguish ravaged the atmosphere as the Fury - wounded and weakened - at last conceded, Its form diminished before It escaped, scattering upon the air. Tanixalthas loosed yet more threats of destruction before taking wing in search of further sport, the Gods converging about the confluence in the wake of Fury's retreat.

Flurried, curt conversation ensued, the Warlord restless and eager to pursue His fleeing foe. Dismissing the counsel of Damariel - offered up in an attempt to ensure the device's continued protection - Bamathis assured all present that Yvalamon had only fled and would return - and in short order. Haern rebuffed the attempted praise from the Warlord and departed first, with Strife's silver portal following closely behind.

The Twins - one bright and radiant, the other dark and ominous - exchanged a look, eons of consternation wrapped up in a single glance. Glowering, Severn glided through the argent gateway, leaving only the Unbound God remaining beside the device. Frowning, His thought drowning in suspicion, He too finally departed, fading in a dim burst of light.

Now alive with electrical currents, the aeonic confluence had begun to undulate and ripple, spilling forth disjointed scenes in no discernible rhyme or reason, haphazard moments in fragmented time.

Meanwhile, in a place far from the Ruins of Masilia, a lone figure strode along a darkened pier.

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 1st of Slyphian, in the year 498 MA.

=Part 3: The Third Party=
Under cover of darkness they sailed, driven forward by the grace of a vigorous maritime wind. The vessel banked and crested over the ways as the captain reviewed a brief missive. Orders were clear; they were to dispatch the greatest threat prior to seeking their prize. As Sapience came into view, the course was set, and they soon moored near the docks of Enorian, unseen and unnoticed all the while.

With much of Sapience distracted by a prolonged ylem instability in the Aureliana Forest, opportunity arose. Seven of them disembarked and stalked the harbour in search of weak points. Concealed by crimson veil and armour black, they plied their clandestine craft with great efficiency, darting onto ships to lay explosives in their hulls and lacing the harbour with an array of rigged - and deadly - fusebombs.

Filing quietly back on board their own ship, the stealthy forces prepared for departure as the first of many violent explosions shook the city with massive force. The ensuing chain reaction was monstrous - ships soon caught fire and began sinking, the screams of countless crew and personnel filled the air as they drowned, smoke billowed into the sky. It was only after hauling up their anchor that realisation dawned: one of their number had been left behind. Nevertheless, they cut a quick and dexterous path out of the dock, speeding away from the shore.

The sea itself came alive to bar their egress, the ever-shifting form of Slyphe, the Maelstrom, rising monstrously from the depths in a whoosh of air and spray. Commanding it to stop in a voice bearing all the force of the oceans, the Sea God drew back Their hand, heaving globes of aqueous essence at the fleeing vessel in an attempt to destroy it. As each approached Slyphe's target, the divine might simply dissipated into harmless mist and steam, leaving it wholly unharmed.

Astonished and naming them Albedi interlopers, the Maelstrom brought forth a wave to rival the Vashnars in size, a terrible tsunami that They sent toward the ship. The waters frothed and churned as it fell upon the vessel at terrifying speed, yet as the sea returned to its calm seremity, nothing of wreckage or craft could be seen.

In the aftermath, the Maelstrom converged upon Enorian, showing no strain as They spoke regret at the invaders' successful escape. The Warlord then joined the growing crowd, His attention drawn by the Albedi incursion. Fully cognisant of Enorian's status as the sole naval power of note on the continent, He promised the aid of His Legion and offered His considerable resources to the rebuilding of the docks. Tense collaboration ensued between the Beacon and those of Strife, overseen by Rhulin Glintspear - grudgingly called out of retirement yet again - and Nok, a Kobold tinkerer loyal to Bamathis.

Investigations at the docks uncovered the occasional remnants of undetonated and inert fusebombs - close to the corpse of a veiled operative. In consultation with Braytal Haarfil - steward of Enorian's pylon - it became clear that the figure was one of the Haekathi - the bastard half-breed offspring of the Dreikathi. Uncertain of the reasoning behind Drakkenmont's involvement, those gathered set themselves to forming plans and commencing repairs, anxious of the Haekathi's inevitable return.

Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 8th of Slyphian, in the year 498 MA.

=Part 4: Of Fire and Fury, Copper and Brine=
With the docks of Enorian in ruins and Sapience on high alert following the Haekathi incursion, tension gripped the continent as the world itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting in anticipation for the next inevitable calamity to strike.

The wait would be a short one. Following a particualrly intense focus battle deep in the Hlugnic Labyrinth that left scores dead, the scorching presence of Yvalamon the Fury was felt once more. Sweltering heat washed over the entirety of Sapience as the Albedi Tumult attempted to sustain Itself from the conflict and violence permeating the air, growing visibly stronger as yet more hordes of enraged fire daemons poured into the tunnels.

As time wound on, Yvalamon began to manifest regularly at the site of pitched battles, Xaanhal and Arbothia in particular transformed to theatres of conflagrant war. Daemons by the hundreds assaulted Sapience alongside the Ancient God's appearances, Its calcine form infused with greater strength as it fed on the thrill of bloodshed.

~ ~ ~

Many speculated over the fate of Copperhead following its disappearance during the anomalous focus. Unseen since the battle of the Gods, the Cogger's plans remained a mystery until mid Haernos, when its now-familiar clanking tones issued a warning at level five: critical. Moments later, a full veiling of Haekathi operatives converged upon Masilia seeking the aeonic confluence device, but they had severely underestimated their resistance. The Cogger effortlessly dispatched the invaders, executing its combat protocols with deadly efficiency and disposing of the corpses with ease.

As adventurers flocked to its side, the emissary of Kalchos relayed the intelligence it had gathered: the Haekathi had moored off the coast of Scidve where its ship - known as the Midnight Serpent - lay in wait for the operatives' return. Seeing this as a challenge and ever-content for a chance at violence, the people of Sapience took up arms and raided the vessel in small groups, facing copious Haekathi reavers and sailors who stood in defence of the ship's captain: Xaseira.

Armed with restricted technology including an array of shockwave bombs, a gauntlet of peculiar provenance, and a weapon capable of launching projectiles at deadly force, the commander fought a hard campaign and proved a formidable foe, felling countless opponents that attacked her unprepared.

Yet the strength of Sapience prevailed time and again: forcing Xaseira to retreat and regroup before she re-moored elsewhere along the coast. Of the dozens that faced her on her own vessel, it was Tanthilos, Lim, Nipsy, and Whirran who most relentlessly harried the Haekathi commander, setting aside their everyday grudges in order to repel the most pressing threat.

Penned missives and field orders were discovered aboard the Serpent, revealing the Haekathi's twin objectives: to secure the aeonic confluence for the Autarch, and to cripple the naval resistance of Sapience in the process.

~ ~ ~

While Enorian worked in tandem with the Argent Legion to repair their docks, Rhulin Glintspear - still wearied by his interrupted retirement - proposed action: the building of a mighty warship to replace those sunk in the Haekathi's first assault. The plan soon took hold and the city, galvanised by the brazen attack on their soil, was roused to immediate preparations.

As construction began in earnest and donations of commodities and gold poured in - in particular from Xavin, Tinazin, Merek, Isia, and Jezreth - an excited din gripped Enorian. In the days that followed, the Vanguard and her subordinates found themselves sent on many a wild chase in search of aid: procuring a sailmaker after an inordinately difficult series of negotiations, and unearthing a barrel of pitch buried on Eftehl by one of Rhulin's more dubious associates.

As the grace of the Rekindled blessed the Beacon with a gift of a fresh-fashioned ship's wheel, only the matter of naming their burgeoning craft remained.

Dawnbreaker, it would be called. And it would be a mighty vessel indeed.

Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 24th of Ios, in the year 499 MA.

=Part 5: Summit of Midnight=
The Midnight Serpent continued to terrorise the shores of Sapience as time moved into Ios, and Xaseira's mission grew more desperate with each passing day. Now docking more frequently, the Haekathi found herself facing not the ragtag band of adventurers that first boarded her ship, but trained soldiers well-versed in her battle tactics.

Forced to retreat more rapidly with each confrontation, the commander issued further orders to her crew, promising a second attack on Enorian in late Ios and reaffirming the key objective of their mission: securing the aeonic confluence. Mention was made of the Cogger and its interference, references to a 'non-functional remnant' in Spinesreach posited as a way of distracting its gaze.

News of the imminent attack spread like wildfire through the streets of Enorian before a proud Rhulin announced completion of the Dawnbreaker's construction. Weeks of training exercises followed, and though the Enorianites struggled at first with manoeuvring the vessel, they soon found their sea legs under the efficient guidance of Church and Isia who had taken up the skill of captaincy with aplomb.

~ ~ ~

As Enorian prepared for the coming naval battle, the Warlord had but one thing on His mind: Yvalamon, the Fury, still loose and raging about Sapience. Reflecting on the prior battle with the Tumult - and indeed, with Heva before that - Bamathis knew the need for a powerful ally if the Sapient Gods were to prevail.

In a snap summit at the Temple of Thorns, the Warlord met with the Hunter in His own domain, formally requesting aid for the fight ahead. Tensions rose between the two deities as Their followers amassed in observation, those of Spirit and those of Shadow each staring down the other with barely-restrained loathing.

At first reluctant and savagely berating Bamathis, the Hunter's reticence slowly waned with the continued requests of Strife, finally assenting to lend His aid under one condition: that the Manipulator be barred from the battlefield.

The Warlord assured the Hunter that Severn had His own work to do, and the accord was struck. Bamathis took His leave and the two Gods began to prepare for what lay ahead.

~ ~ ~

Meanwhile in Masilia, the stirrings of the aeonic confluence had risen to greater frequency and clarity. Overseen by Copperhead, the Cogger once more indulged the questions and speculations of many adventurers, assessing the likelihood of Haekathi success as exceptionally low.

Though content in its observations of the locality, it was Iesid Mulariad who first made mention of the Haekathi's plot. Intrigued by the 'non-functional remnant', Copperhead made a final analysis of the confluence and took its leave - departing for Spinesreach in pursuit of a new objective.

The Kalchos emissary made known its presence with the familiar clanking of metal and grinding of cogs as it traversed the aqueducts and streets of the Lion, though its citizens searched with vain futility to locate it, and its mission remains unknown.

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 25th of Ios, in the year 499 MA.

=Part 6: The Break of Dawn=
With the attack on their docks imminent, Enorian began to arrange their forces along the harbour, Kalena Emerson given command of the defence. With crew and guards stationed and ready, the rest of the continent mustered at Masilia in great numbers, ready to repel any Haekathi interlopers. Bulrok of the Carnifex marched legions of horrors into the Ruins to bolster the defence while the land forces finalised their preparations, tension once more beginning to rise.

Bells soon rang out in sonorous alarm throughout Enorian as the Midnight Serpent emerged near the shore through a haze of gelid fog and mist. Its cannons trained on the Beacon, the Haekathi vessel approached with deadly intent, its goal and purpose clear.

Sweltering heat then descended with the appearance of Ethne, the Rekindled. Though unable to affect the Serpent directly, the Firemaiden drew immense amounts of strength unto Herself, the Grand Flame dimming with the exertion of so much might. Aglow in lambent brilliance She turned the sea itself to flames: rising waves of fire encircling the coast in a protective barrier. Its course stymied, Xaseira's ship prowled the waters, awaiting the arrival of its foe.

With a crew comprised of Jhura, Isia, Xavin, Eliadon, Orunmila, Aeryx, Velheima, Czcibor, Church, Kidos, Merek, Renault, Tinazin, Caitria, Jakarn, Rhine, and Sekeres, the Dawnbreaker took its leave from the port of Enorian under the eye of Rhulin Glintspear, ivory sails aloft as its battle stations stood armed and ready to fight. As the ship sailed out of the harbour, Kalena headed the city defence alongside Rasani, Sarran, Chassity, and Ayastia, ably supported by Whirran and Blodwyn of the Argent Legion.

Battle began in a flurry of exchanged fire - the Dwarven bomb throwers of the Dawnbreaker warring with the cannons of the Midnight Serpent. Landing several hits in succession, the confidence of the Dawnbreaker grew as Xaseira was forced to commit additional resources to speed and fled the scene. Haekathi sailors began to climb aboard and attack the crew, while reavers and operatives poured into Masilia in droves, hundreds of agents cut down by the might of those gathered as they continued to hold the line.

Both fronts felt the pressure of the incursion, Xaseira deadly even in flight. Emerging once more from a cloud of fog and spray, the commander brought a conch shell to her lips, eliciting a rich, resonant note that called a haunting melody to settle over the waves. The sea frothed in outrage, yielding to the emergence of countless mighty leviathans, the monstrous beasts battering the Dawnbreaker with all their strength. Caught in the grip of sucker and tentacle, the vessel heaved as it struggled to remain afloat, brought to a grinding halt by the sudden attack.

Their salvation came amid a writhing typhoon of incredible proportions, a pillar of sea and spray twisting into the figure of Slyphe, the Maelstrom. Trident in hand, the Sea God held back none of Their strength as They skewered leviathan after leviathan and tore the beasts apart in an onslaught of pelagic fury. Gathering a violent storm about Themself, Slyphe brought wind to bear, propelling the Dawnbreaker out of its captivity and setting it free.

While the Maelstrom continued to destroy the encroaching leviathans with no small measure of joy, the crew resumed their attack, rapidly catching up to Xaseira and launching unending waves of bombs from their throwers. Smoke gathered above the ocean as both vessels took heavy fire, but the resolve of the Enorianites was unshakable, their will girded for victory and their aim unerring. With a final calamitous explosion, a full battery of shots struck true, sundering the hull of the Midnight Serpent with a terrible groaning of broken wood and twisted metal.

Frantic orders rose from the bridge of the Haekathi vessel as the ocean sought to claim its due: pouring into the shattered hull and slowly dragging it under. Though it turned to flee, the damage it had sustained was fatal; the sea frothed in delight at its prize, a tempest of foam and spray cascading into the air with the Midnight Serpent's passage below the wine-dark deeps.

Raucous cheers erupted from the Dawnbreaker as victory was secured. Even Rhulin - infamously curmudgeonly even on a good day - could not help himself from shouting in elation, though his ability to pronounce "Haekathi" remains questionable at best. The threat extinguished, the Enorianites returned to port where the land forces shared in the thrill of victory. The guards at Masilia stepped over the bodies of endless Haekathi dead and released a held breath: the confluence, too, was safe.

Meanwhile in the north, Copperhead of the Third Spoke continued its search...

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 25th of Ios, in the year 499 MA.

=Part 7: Cogminds Think Alike=
While Sapience celebrated the defeat of the Haekathi and took a moment to relax, Copperhead had other things on its mind. Arriving in the City of Spinesreach, the Cogger commenced what would be a weeks-long search for the 'non functional remnant' to which it had been earlier alerted. Spirean reactions were a mix of alarm and curiosity as the familiar clanking of metal sounded through the streets. Search parties were dispatched yet for all their efficient scouring of the city, Copperhead remained elusive.

Examinations of the catacombs reminded the Spireans of an ancient construct therein, fused to the stone itself in an age long past. Questions to the irascible Vusbati revealed little, save that the construct predated him and dated back to the First Order. Vusbati explained that researchers of the Second Order had utilised it during his own time with them - to construct the orrery that lay in the catacombs. Though its head had been replaced with the guise of an Ankyrean, the construct's composition was - is - remarkably similar to that of Copperhead itself. Confidence grew, certainty that this was what the Cogger sought.

Under the advice of Sneak and spearheaded by the efforts of Legyn, the Archivists began to prepare a trap formed of geometric patterns in order to restrain the errant Cogger and interrogate it. Though they suspected its quarry, they did not know the Cogger's reason for seeking it. While the Spireans had no malicious intent, they worried for their home and laid in wait. Some days later, what once was a neutral clang of metal and whirring of gears transformed to mechanical indignation: the trap was sprung, and Copperhead - having located that which it sought - raged against the bonds holding it.

Interrogation yielded little of import from the Cogger save for maddened ravings, grief at the fate of what it termed a sacred work, and newfound hatred for the Spireans who - it assumed - had defiled it. When asked of its maker by Saidenn, Copperhead demanded freedom and the Chair - interpreting this as a request to bargain - gave assent. Legyn loosened the bonds and the Cogger broke free in a whirlwind of mechanical fury. Slaying several of those who stood present, it declared a state of war against the City of Spinesreach, felling several guards as it fled the scene of its capture and declared Legyn to be "an asset" for his hand in the liberation.

For weeks then did the Cogger terrorise the Lion of the North, seeking to undermine the city's foundations from below. It wrenched sewer grates free, murdered many more guards, woke rockworms from the earth with its rowdy workings, and came and went to and from the city without obstruction. Loudly broadcasting its plans to the world with each objective it completed, panic began to wrack Spinesreach as tremors shook the city and access to their aqueducts was denied. The citizens rallied to the defence of their home, organising guards and patrols in order to stop what seemed like a course toward destruction. But all efforts were futile.

Once more Sneak came to their aid, positing a theory that the Cogger had fashioned its own means of entering and leaving the city, denying access to the sewers in order to complete its objective. She explained, having obtained the information from Delve's Pious Wards, that Copperhead was a creation of Aechros, the Endless - the Albedi Helm-God of Time and Machines. Copperhead, it was revealed, was no mere machine, but a soul infused into a mechanical body. The broken construct in the catacombs was, it seemed, a similar construct of Aechros that the Cogger believed to have been profaned and defaced. While Sneak sought to locate it, she proposed a plan to capture it and utilise the powers of Yuef and Ef'tig to form a collective mind in order to shut down its attack.

The Numerologist tracked Copperhead to the Crags, where it had bored a tunnel of its own making through the mountains and into the aqueducts. Led by Vara, an enormous group of adventurers composed of Bloodloch and Spinesreach citizens both, gathered for an assault. First navigating a series of Cogger Coms deployed as security, the group cautiously entered the aqueducts, where Copperhead had transformed the simple sewers into a theatre of chaos. The ceilings began collapsing, countless explosives awaited disposal, fissures in the rock made passage difficult, and toxic sludge poured out of broken pipes. The Cogger's maddened ravings rose to a fevered pitch as the adventurers fell in droves, first to premature fusebomb detonations, then to horde after horde after horde of rockworms.

Though it took some time, the disparate group finally began to organise, carefully bracing the ceiling and disposing of loose explosive devices before blowing apart the Cogger's obstructions. In the midst of the chaos, Iesid Mulariad - the same man who had first alerted Copperhead to the presence of the construct - entered the sewers. Despite his valiant efforts to defend Copperhead from the assault, reclassified as an "asset" by it in the process, the Seer of Omei could not withstand the combined assaults and fell. Minutes later, with the rockworms quelled and the various obstacles cleared, the adventurers turned their attention to the water wheels and as one unit, opened all the valves. Water gushed forth to flood the aqueducts in a raging tide, overwhelming the Cogger and washing it into the catacombs, where Sneak awaited.

Losing no time, the Numerologist began to form the collective mind, taking advantage of the construct's weakened state. So it was that Ayukazi, Blodwyn, Dreww, Elene, Eoros, Feirenz, Galilei, Holbrook, Kagura, Kurak, Legyn, Lenoriel, Lim, Nebula, Nipsy, Pietre, Raevina, Renli, Rhyot, Saidenn, Sheryni, Teflin, Tekias, Toz, Whirran, and Wjoltyr relaxed their consciousness and became one in Copperhead's cogmind while Inkh, Mazzion, Xenia, and Reave stood guard over their empty bodies. There they faced an experience unlike any other: their thoughts disparate yet one, faced with countless choices requiring consensus derived from individual input in order to direct the whole.

Painstakingly navigating through the cogmind network, they examined Copperhead's core protocols, reviewed its key directives, and sought to reclassify its conflict directive as low priority. At first slow and scattered in their decisions, the individual minds soon began to yield to the will of the collective, becoming more dexterous in their traversal through the Cogger's brain. Language protocols were required to translate the archives into common. Motor operations enabled the retrieval of oil in order to conduct maintenance and repair core systems. Stray thoughts bubbled up into arguments between the separate thinkers, yet the collective prevailed. Rustguards attacked the one mind and had to be fought off by expenditure of will.

Disabling the security, they ventured into the classified archives to retrieve two codes before returning to the key directives cog. There, they successfully expunged Copperhead's conflict directive before returning to the archives, greedy for knowledge. Examining each and every document, their learning revealed much about the Spokes, the individual Coggers, the Thinking Engines, and Aechros - the Maker, who Copperhead noted with the alias "Sapient sanctitude preservation engineer". Delving into the Fleshsack Memories archive, it was further revealed that Copperhead was once a Tarpen by the name of Dapuna, the date of its voluntary consciousness transferrence unknown.

After more than half a day of analysis, the collective returned to the directives module and reprioritised Copperhead's confluence preservation order. The Cogger stirred then, woken from its stunned and disabled state. Fleeing through the main network, the minds of the collective returned to their bodies, and the Cogger regained its lucid state. Declaring Spinesreach irrelevant, it exhibited confusion as to its location before the directives reasserted themselves and it ambled away, back to Masilia and its prime objective.

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 23rd of Chakros, in the year 499 MA.

=Part 8: Into the Breakage=
Following His summit with Bamathis, the Hunter began formulating His trap to ensnare the rampaging Yvalamon. From His halls in the Temple of Thorns He set to work, brooding over the final components that lay in a place no one wanted to go. Creeping rot infests Dendara, an unending onslaught of encroaching filth that slowly devours the plane. Though so many work to keep it at bay, the advance of shadow is unrelenting, and nowhere more starkly feels this interminable degradation than the Breakage: the place where shadow seethes most strongly, where aberrations and rotspawn roam to spread their vileness. It was there that the Hunter's final materials resided.

In a quiet clearing, a humble cabin rests. Within that cabin, the Hunter counseled a Shaman known as Illidan, darkly commanding the man to say goodbye to all his loved ones and make his peace, for the journey into Breakage might not be a safe one. Unfortunately, this goodbye would not come to pass, for Illidan's wife, Valorie Aresti, had vanished from this world. Despite his best efforts to resurrect her, she was lost, destroyed by the confluence and trapped outside of time. With a breaking heart, Illidan instead attended Haern at the Great Oak, where the Hunter explained to Duiran that they would be walking into the thick of corruption, deep into Dendara. Rhydderch, the Runecarver, would open the way inside, spoke Haern, and then the God was gone.

Deep in Dendara lies a bloodied ritual slab, carved with the ancestral stories of champions past. It is to this slab the Shaman Illidan was led, and it was on this slab he swore anew oaths to the Guardians, to Dendara, and to Haern. Hushed voices of spirits whispered his name, passing it along as the trees joined in anxious onlooking. As the ancient ritual proceeded, aberrations broke through the Breakage, drawn by the essence of Life so potent and so vigorous in the air. Rage filled the Hunter as He abandoned the ritual, urgently coming to the defence of the Guardians before tragedy could befall them.

While the Shaman and Hunter did their work, Rhydderch the Runecarver led Duiran to the Valley of the Ancients and began carving a path through the fog to lead them into Breakage. Filth rose to meet them the instant they crossed into Dendara, hordes of rotspawn and aberrations surging forth to feast upon the new arrivals. The Duiranites took up their arms and began to fight, felling them with the combined fury of the wilds.

Meanwhile, Valorie Aresti had ascended into the heavens, so far away from the globe of Aetolia that it seemed as a mere dot to her. There, she met with one of the continent's famed constellations: Veithadros, the hopeful. The celestial entity was merely a memory of the mortal life that had presaged it, but with consciousness enough to possess a twofold purpose in summoning her.

The first of these purposes was to warn her of the peril in which her husband, Illidan, lay - and to this end, Veithadros revealed visions of his potential death, subdued and blighted against his purpose of Dendaric protection. Horrified, she listened all the more closely to him, promising anything in exchange for the power to save Illidan from his fate.

The constellation gave her his legend, though it was not the simple one the Mejevsavelnel had recorded in times past. He spoke of his life as a tailor, and of his lover and eventual wife Keviti, an Ankyrean of the Conclave of Science and Nature, and the romance that had blossomed between them. She had ridden off, leaving him bereft to watch for her, knitting her a fine scarf in anticipation of her return.

A return that never came.

The sky so pitied his circumstance that it raised him amongst the stars, transforming him into a constellation. Only then had he seen Keviti - dead in her grave, hand-in-hand with an Ankyrean husband, with descendants to honor their graves. Finishing his tale, Veithadros urged Valorie to do what he could not: bring her love back home.

In the final moments of their sidereal conversation, the constellation revealed that the confluence had been Aechros' doing, and that the Albedi God's goal in facilitating this meeting was to preserve the Hunter's existence, though its reasons for doing so were unclear. So imbued with the celestial power of legend, he sent Valorie back to the Prime to rejoin her beloved in the Valley.

With Haern on the back foot, caught between defending Illidan and defending the Guardians, it seemed the Shaman would die for naught, and be joined by the hale Hunter. In that moment, the stars aligned, and Valorie Aresti, now reborn as an Aetherial - one graced with the deep empathy of the stars - scoured the rot from the grove in bursts of calescent starlight. With Haern now able to complete the ancient, secret ritual, Illidan gave his life for the Wilds, and Dendara herself responded: wisps of Life from all across the plane traveled to the primordial grove to breathe life anew into the corpse of a Shaman that lie atop the deathbed and, in a moment of exultation, Illikaal rose, named Tiarna an-Kiar by the Guardians.

As the filth grew in numbers and in confidence, desperation struck a solemn tone within the Breakage, the seemingly endless legions pouring forth to spread their rot. Each time the forces of Duiran repelled them from one of the glades, fresh waves appeared to lay siege to another, and on and on it went for half a day, the enveloping shadow striving desperately to destroy the few remaining healthy glades. Respite came for the briefest of moments, a lull in the gruesome conflict that rekindled fresh hope in those gathered. The Duiranites dared to breathe. But then it came.

A seething aberration of monstrous, murderous proportions tore its way through the Breakage, eyes trained upon the western glade. Though they threw everything at it, the lesser rotspawn still surged in great numbers. Death presided on both sides, and as the great monstrosity broke through the barrier, it set to ravaging the western glade until naught remained but rotten foliage and dead, lifeless trees.

Moving between cairns at speeds only a God could manage, Haern delivered Illikaal and Valorie to the Breakage, still fresh from their trials. There, they witnessed a truly gargantuan aberration and, with a vicious bellow, Haern led Illikaal, Valorie, and the combined might of Duiran and its allies in battle against the monster.

Though many suffered, the Hunter and His cadre triumphed over the hungering rot, the beast's keening scream echoing across the shattered skies of Dendara as it fell. Haern retrieved what He had first sought to ensnare the Tumult, and with no small measure of relief, led the contingent back to Duiran, where they would live - if only barely - to fight another day.

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 25th of Chakros, in the year 499 MA.

=Part 9: Blood and Betrayal=
As war erupted throughout Sapience and Midsummer broke upon the world, the continent trembled in the face of seemingly endless conflict. Some speculated it was the work of Yvalamon, the Fury, Whose attendance at the battlefields of Sapience roused terrible lust for violence in the hearts of all who bore witness. Others claim that tensions simmering beneath the surface were due to boil over - regardless, bloodshed ruled the minds of so many, and so much death would be a fine harbinger of the Godsclash to come.

While the month wound on, the Burning God appeared without fanfare or herald above Masilia with a desperate need to destroy the aeonic confluence lurking in its ruined halls. Flame lashed the streets, sending countless dwarves fleeing for their homes in panic as the raging fires came together as one and formed Sa'mirjal: a Cinder of the Fury Itself. Dozens threw themselves at the daemon, its strength far outstripping the lesser chattel of its dread master. Though it claimed lives innumerable, even turning friend against friend in the clash, it finally fell to a combined onslaught of adventurers from across Sapience, and for a moment, there was peace.

It would not last. Mere minutes later the clarion of bugles called the world at large back to war - this time in Farsai where Haern, the Hunter and Bamathis, the Warlord, had laid a trap for Yvalamon and had engineered a great battle to act as bait. The fight began with death in droves, the loosed magics of all the world's professions arranged against each other with violent, murderous intent. Blades sang their sanguine song with each strike of steel against steel, arrows flew through the air, meteors rained from above, and all the while fire and blood ripped through the battlefield until - after some two hundred individual deaths - the dust began to settle and Enorian, owing much to the contributions of Czcibor Svin - emerged victorious.

Fire painted the heavens then, the skies set to burning by the arrival of Yvalamon, the Albedi God of War and Hatred. Unable to resist so vast and delectable a feast, It lit up the firmament like the coming of a bloodstained dawn and surged into Farsai determined to gorge Itself on yet more suffering and torment. Flames spread through the ruins with Its traversal, before an emeraldine mist shimmered into view, cloaking Farsai in a vibrant canopy fashioned of sudden rampant growth.

Battered architecture fell away in an abrupt shattering of woven glamour, parting with the twang of myriad arrows to reveal launchers arranged in ambush. Exposed in the moment of their strike, the constructs spew forth streams of twined bolas that arch high into the air, conspiring at the apex of their flight into a webwork of spirit given deadly purpose. As the barrage of bolas converged upon their target, a flash of spirit ignited within their heart, simple projectiles transformed in Dendaric, arboreally-accelerated apotheosis to become Gaethrin - living chains of life and leaf, vine and verdure that rapidly encircled the Burning God.

Yvalamon raged in defiance of Its bonds as the sonorous bellow of horns announced the arrival of Haern, the Hunter, His clever trap sprung. The Wild God cut a striking silhouette at His approach, clad in Stealth, Cloak of the Hunt with the Stag Helm atop His head. His living trap rebuffed the burning of the Fury, rapidly regrowing itself with each vine and plant seared away. In a flash of silver, Bamathis, the Son of Autumn, strode with confidence onto the battlefield, the argent warhammer Lurati Vontem held two-handed as His resolute gaze fell upon the raging monstrosity.

Relentless in His advance, the Warlord delivered blow after hammer blow to Yvalamon, virulent black smoke gathering about Its inflamed form with each subsequent attack. The Hunter - engrossed in maintaining His grip upon the trap - looked on with a set jaw of determination, sweat forming on His brow with the continued effort. Silver sparks began to surround the embattled Gods as the battle drew on, Bamathis losing no steam even as Yvalamon raged against Its snare, scorching away countless new life with each unleashed surge of Its fiery blaze. Smoking chunks fell from the Burning God as Bamathis pressed on, yet the Fury seemed to lose no steam, shattering ancient buildings as It lashed out with greater and greater ferocity.

Bamathis - concerned of the trap's longevity and anxious to at last defeat this eldritch foe - called out in wary tones, heedless of Haern's reassurances that the snare would hold its prey, and that victory was close at hand.

Darkness rose to consume Sapience in an obscuring pall of gloam, rapacious murk congealing in a confusion of inky smoke and jet black shadow. From its shrouded epicentre stepped forth Severn, the Manipulator, joining the Warlord in defiance of fire and wrath even as the Tumult writhed beneath Its living chains, rendering so much life as so much dust on the stultifying wind. Brief silence fell for a meagre moment, instantly replaced with the hushed promises and whispered utterings that have only one source. A single finger was the Artificer's sole gesture before darkness came alive at the God's unspoken command, a morass of non-light manifesting like a great black wave of impending gloom. Tension gathered in its sable dimensions, tremulous - and then the shape of it fractured, diverging into dozens of inky black tendrils slithering 'cross ground and sky to envelop the smouldering Tumult in a void-wrought lattice of unshakable bonds.

A roar of transcendental rage escaped the bound and irate figure of Yvalamon as the woven darkness crawled into position to bind It ever tighter. A shadow of consternation passed over the resolute face of Bamathis, yet the Warlord dismissed it with another swing of His mighty hammer, wisps of brilliant silver lashing at the Fury as the weapon struck true, the shadow parting in momentary revelation as the blows landed before violently reasserting themselves about their conflagrant prisoner.

The Manipulator's fingers scarcely shifted at His side, the God's age and mastery highlighted in the simplicity with which His shadow first infected, then reinforced, and finally supplanted His Brother Haern's blighted bindings. The profuse greenery that was the Hunter's snare twitched and trembled, rotting away under the devouring dark and unable to outpace shadow's consumption with its own rapid regrowth. Haern's bellow - thunderous and mighty and weighted with the unimaginable fury of Nature Divinity - boomed out in horror and protest both, grief-stricken and shocked to His very core. A great lamentation arose from the forests of Sapience, predator and prey alike keening to the sky in solitude with Haern's sorrow, His own cry splitting the sky to mark the death of a living, vital piece of Dendara, sacrificed in Bamathis' ploy for victory.

Wracked with sorrow and hurt, truly hurt by the weight of betrayal thrust upon His shoulders, the Hunter mourned for what had been lost, and the Tumult surged in sudden renewal. It drank deep of that well of sadness, feeding on the suffering and torment. Its diminished form flared in a whip of searing scarlet, heat unbearable accompanying its violent consumption. The Fury sloughed off Its bonds, shedding Itself free of trap and binding in a whirlwind of sibilant hissing and acrid smoke. The battlefield is cloaked as never before, belligerent flame straying to strike against the Manipulator's summoned shadow.

The enraged howling of Tumult and Triumvir drowned out all other sound as Bamathis lunged beside Severn in a swan song of final strikes, yet the Fury - roused to yet greater and more terrible power from Its feast, rebuffed Their attacks with a riotous explosion of white-hot fire, forcing Them back. Yvalamon stilled, flames flaring in the animate delight of imminent victory, before Its elongated, jagged, barbarous and repugnant form turned from Farsai to undulate away, Its traversal 'cross the firmament leaving blackened smears of sooty smoke in Its dread wake.

Howls of grief transformed to snarls of rage, blood-red anger flaring from the God of Nature as He tore Himself free of His helm, leaving it to clatter to the ground. Bellowing His rage at Bamathis, the Hunter's voiced disbelief at the perceived betrayal was in itself heartbreaking. He cradled the dying remnants of the living trap in His arms, disavowing Bamathis as His Brother. Though the Warlord argued that the woven snare was failing, and that Severn's intervention was needed to ensure Their success, Haern, inconsolable and furious beyond comprehension, cut them off with another incensed howl, vowing to never again sacrifice more of Dendara to feed Their foolishness.

As tensions seemed to reach the breaking point, and with the relationship between Warlord and Hunter perhaps irrevocably sundered, the mechanical tones of Copperhead broke the apprehensive atmosphere with a declaration that the confluence - all but forgotten in the throes of violent battle - was about to reach full locality and clarity. With unabated sorrow etched deep into the creases of His feral features, the Hunter turned away, disappearing through a lucent archway of wildflame. No words passed between Artificer and Warlord, an exchanged look - at once encompassing regret and trepidation - the sole concession of acknowledgement of the Tumult's escape. As the Gods took Their leave, dozens rushed to Masilia to observe...

Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 6th of Midsummer, in the year 499 MA.

=Part 10: Recollections=
At the confluence, lightning surged about the device in brilliant arcs, more intense and lucid than ever before. Beside it stood Copperhead of the Third Spoke, chrome-expression frozen in delighted observation. While more and more filed into Masilia, the Cogger counted down the cycles until the moment of full locality, and its arrival caused reality to splinter as time's maddened convulsions caused three displaced memories to spill forth in temporal recollection. Though the device had played jumbled scenes in fragmented orders for over a year, these three alone were rendered and subsequently recorded in perfect clarity:

~ ~ ~

It was at Creation's rosy dawn that you became aware of your consciousness, emerging spontaneously alongside your siblings. Seven of you there were, the first life upon the Prime. Then, it was an unfathomable expanse, filled with nothing but raw, untamed magic that had yet to form into the familiar planetoid. You were not the first to form; you know this. That title was claimed by your prideful sister, her winged body already soaring amidst the magic when first your eyes opened and looked upon that vast unknowable - that well of puissance waiting to be drawn. It was no surprise that you would find yourself with others. Magic was power. And power oft demanded sentience.

It was the sustenance of your kind, and upon it did you allow your gluttonous appetite to feast, and to feast, and to feast. Food was both plentiful and delectable, and your appetite knew no bounds. And thus you grew and kept growing, your size outstripping the others by measures. The others were a mystery to you, contented as they were to devour only their fill and drift upon the aether. As the planet began to form, you noted with disdain your slothful brother, the smallest and last to emerge already asleep upon its burgeoning, barely-tangible surface.

Magic thins about the newformed world as the planet grows larger and yet larger still: even larger than your impressive size. Weariness begins to seep into your body and bones; there is no longer food sufficient to sustain your prodigious, untenable appetite. No longer can your tired wings carry your weight. You descend from your final flight and settle upon the planet, now near-bereft of that which once sustained you, fed you, filled you. Beneath the terminus of your landing, the shell of the planet cracks like a world egg, its surface wrought into tectonic plates that shift, spewing lava from far beneath the ground.

Sleep takes you in its languorous embrace. You cannot wake. There is no longer fuel to stir you from your slumber. You cannot wake. And thus you dream, a somnolent reverie of millennia and ages countless, time passing with insouciant inevitability around you. Dirt and stone form upon your still body, trees and plant life growing, ecosystems taking shape as nature stakes its claim.

You cannot wake.

~ ~ ~

Thud-thud-thud. The footfalls of leather boots against the ground echoes throughout the vaunted steel halls of Drakkenmount as a crimson-veiled figure navigates the military district of the great city's central layer. Onwards she paces, until she comes to an abrupt and rigid halt, her destination reached. Before the secure entrance to a large vault she stands, presenting identification before the heavy doors - reinforced beyond imagining - commence their inexorable grind open to permit her ingress.

Strange weaponry and artifacts aplenty sit within the chamber, meticulously organised and catalogued upon the shelves filling the guarded space. She approaches the quartermaster without fear or trepidation, slamming her orders down onto his desk. The quartermaster, a Vierkathi, peruses the orders with brows raised yet remains silent for the long moments spent in consideration. A curt nod before he disappears amidst the shelves to retrieve the items requisitioned.

Time passes; she isn't sure how long the Vierkathi has been gone. When he returns, his arms are laden with a strange, barreled weapon of metal in one hand and a conch shell in the others. Xaseira accepts the provisions with her own curt nod, slipping on the accompanying belt and sliding the weapon into the sheath at her side. "Class II restricted equipment and artifact LS302, moniker: conch of Bjeornraed," declares the quartermaster in the Albedi tongue. As he checks off the items in his ledger, Xaseira pricks a finger, pressing it into the book as a crude signature before turning away to depart the vault.

The scene shifts, momentarily silence falling away with the rise of a brisk, maritime wind. Vision clears and Xaseira is aboard her ship, the Midnight Serpent, the vessel's first officer beside her in the captain's quarters. Their conversation is jovial and friendly, each speaking in tones bespeaking a familiarity and trust of years spent working together.

They discuss the benighted savages and debate over specific battle plans. They celebrate the victory in Enorian, and mourn the death of the lost agent at the docks. Vision flickers around the figures, scattered memory moving faster than real time permits. Joviality crumbles more with each subsequent frozen scene, the twin figures desperately attempting to salvage their thwarted assignment. Missives lay strewn across the captain's desk, reports and memoranda detailing battles lost and coastal ports surrendered in the task.

Darkness whirls into existence, shrouding the vision from sight. Ragged sobs permeate the veil before shadows dissipate, parting to reveal the final scene: Xaseira stands alone within her quarters, the insignia of her companion clasped tightly in her hand. In solitude she grieves before a booming clang of bells wakes her from her mournful repose. Taking up arms for the final time, she strides out of her cabin, cries of "Dawnbreaker" meeting her emergence above decks.

~ ~ ~

Three figures stand apart from each other, upon a high-set spill of silvery essence laid above the all-colourful gardens of creation. The sky is a mercurial churn of distant colour, gathered thick as though in premonition of a coming, cosmic storm. Tension presides, infusing the air with a wan, despondent pall. They are Gods - threefold - two plus One - and they grieve.

Though each in Their own right exudes divine might and authority, the Twins are younger and less restrained, absent the melancholy of strife's jaded centuries. Lanos, a pale and peregrine presence in His youth, is the first to speak, voice unstable with heated emotion as He addresses the Celestine.

The God of Truth gazes upon His Father, youthful expression a confusion of emotions. Uncertainty, underscored by His obedient silence. His hands shake at His sides.

"...and I will not destroy Her," declares Varyan, a shudder running through Him - perhaps of guilt, perhaps of repulsion, the way His face contorts. "I have already cast aside one daughter, this day. I will not suffer the loss of another - the fault of Her undoing does not lie with Her..."

Sevren, God of Reason steps forward, then, His own protest sharpened by grief. "I do not like this either, Brother," He begins, eyeing Lanos with genuine concern. "But Our Father's theory is sound. Her insanity stems from the conflict between who She was and what She has become now."

The Lord of Truth shakes His head adamantly, the timbre of His voice rising. "It goes too far," He protests, speaking forth by force of bravery and effort. "We cannot allow sentimentality to rule Us, Father. Our Jakrasul is gone. She will /never/ return." His eyes, as pale as His Father's in this time, glow with a confusion of emotion - ferocity, grief - bordered in by the glint of ill-quelled tears. Consternation is engraved in palpable lines across His features. "If You will not destroy Her, then..." At this, Lanos blinks once, steeling Himself for what He is about to say. "Then let the task fall to Me."

The God of Reason draws a ragged, anguished breath, staring at His Brother, unable to hold His expression of heartbreak at bay. "Lanos..." He begins. "...please." His voice threatens to crack beneath His pain, yet He presses on. "I cannot bear seeing You like this. If the burden is too much, let Me-" He falters momentarily, the weight of sorrow heavy on His shoulders, and grief burns gelid in His eyes. "Let Me take the burden. I will become the sole bearer of this hidden truth, if it spares You this pain." He gestures at Varyan, whose face - as flat as alabaster stone - remains unreadable. "Allow Father to take Your memory, too."

At this, the Celestine's blank countenance yields, shaping into a frown. The fullness of the expression is such that it bespeaks His exhaustion, so utter as to rob Him of His gravitas. "No." He states plainly, fatigue tinging His voice even with the single belaboured word. "You shall both safeguard My Creation in My absence." Authority reasserts itself in Varyan's deepening voice, His figure becoming more animate as He gestures to His Twin sons. "Jakrasul is not the only reason I must do this."

"There must be another way," speaks Lanos, as yet insistent. He looks first to Sevren, unbowed and adamant in the face of His Father's disapproval, and then to Varyan Himself, cold silver encircling the Celestine's coruscating essence. His voice is soft, shy after the initial rebuke, but He speaks nevertheless. "This plan... it cannot last. You must know that, both of You..."

"None can know of the prisons, lest disaster strike again!" These words hang in the air as if commanding a life of their own, the ominous threat and portent conspiring to deepen the tension. Lanos opens His mouth to argue, His own expression etched with anger and pique, but Varyan quells His imminent rebuttal with one of His own. "My time is running short, Lanos. I do not have the luxury of indulging Your arguments."

The God of Reason's throat is quivering, tense, and in an instant where He manages to catch His Father's eye, He gives a minute shake of His head, jaw tight with the unspoken disagreement.

"...yet I recognise the pain You suffer for it." The Celestine's tone softens, yet the authoritative resonance of a decisive Father remains pronounced. He considers for several long moments, the Twins exchanging glances of anticipation, and then addresses Lanos: "Ask of Me a boon, My Son, that I may alleviate Your suffering."

Lanos need not even think upon the matter before responding. "I would ask this of You, My Father: grant the mortals their own will, the agency to choose their own way. Set them free."

Grief and sorrow melt from Sevren as He rounds upon His brother, indignation burgeoning in the depths of His eyes to paint His face in outrage. "Lanos, do You know what You ask for? They cannot have free will. It will be the end of them! Father, You must know this is a terrible idea. Please, Lanos, ask Him for something else...!" He looks to the Truth God hopefully, but Lanos returns aught but an implacable stare.

Cold anger ignites within Varyan, the Celestine, as He asks, "You would ask this of Me, Lanos? After what Lurli has done? To You? To all of Us?!" He lifts His hands to His eyes, making a mock gesture of tearing them out even as His own roll in derision. A stain of red scores the sky at His back, itself a suggestion of blood. An echo of screaming rings in the red, primeval sky, a song of creation summoned forth by Their Sister's invocation.

In spite of this ruddy rage, however, the God of Truth stands resilient, undaunted by His Father's retort. Even His Twin has shied away the slightest bit, eyes deferentially lowered as though in anticipation of the Celestine's coming response.

"...very well!" scoffs Varyan, the sanguine hue melting from the air as suddenly as He had invoked its dreadful stain. "It shall be as You ask, and much good may it do You!" Sevren moves to object but it is in vain as iridescent light, sublime and magnificently white, surrounds the Celestine suddenly.

With outstretched hands He works, cradling Creation entire in the grasp of its Creator, painstakingly drawing memory from mortal and Immortal alike. Strands of history and time flow into His hands as though threads in a loom woven by ineffable will. His ten fingers become many, His hands a clever multiplicity through which the threads of existence effortlessly pass. All the light of the world seems to dim in sombre acknowledgement of that which it has lost, amassed memory coalescing into Varyan's grip.

While Lanos and Sevren - the Twins, Truth and Reason - look on, They alone unaffected, the Celestine fashions a large silver sphere, blinding in its effulgent, brilliant intensity. He pours memory into it, forming what would be a veritable source of knowledge without peer - before casting it into the heavens. There it dwells as the Celestial Star, and the Creator follows in its wake, drawn upward at an unstoppable speed like lightning as soon struck and retreated, lost to the sky's vast infinity.

Scarcely has Varyan departed than the Twin Gods clash anew, Sevren's rage turned directly upon Lanos. "What have You /done/? Do You even know?" He paces, agitated and furious. "You've doomed them. Condemned them to a fate they cannot ever hope to avoid. Because of You-" At this, Reason jabs a finger accusingly towards Truth. "They will never again know peace. Never again be content with what they have. /You/ have seen to this!"

"There will be sorrow, Brother. This We know." Lanos begins cautiously, His earlier grief softened under the boon of the Celestine. "But loss and struggle will only make them seek higher heights, strive for greater existence than that which /We/ have ordained-"

A litany of curses and protests erupts from Sevren in retaliation, but the Truth God weathers the storm of invective without falter. He does not speak, but waits instead for Reason to exhaust Himself, to stand silent and stultified, gazing upon His Brother with a mixture of grief, exhaustion - and most of all, wounded betrayal.

"Better free than forced to be happy," says Lanos at last, lifting a finger to His eye and drawing it away in an echo of His Father's motion. His sad smile is the last His Brother sees as He turns, striding away into the multiplicitous fog of creation.

Sevren simply stands there, grim-faced and trembling, until He, too, fades, as fleeting and insubstantial as mist.

~ ~ ~

Reality trembles as You reassert the timestream, shifting it pastwards many cycles to that first moment of awareness of the anomaly. A tremor in the ley. A place in the shadow of the world. Like Us, but not Us. [Urokos 341605, Thaos 100581, Kalchos -105014, Nenos -810796, Breinos 298925, Skeisos 708548, Leidos 467589]. The expected results diverge from the reality sprawling before You. There is a flaw in Your calculations.

Time moves futureward at a painfully slow crawl as You continue Your distant surveillance. Not the Other of Oblivion as You first feared; Your error margin was not that large. Yet something about that silver Creator still leaves you uneasy. You discard the feeling immediately; there was no room for such in Your calculations. Your now imperfect calculations.

Driven by the insatiable need for further data and examination, You observe the lives of these strange mortals and their Gods play out under the guidance of their Creator. Their existence is content, each soul properly ordered, catalogued, and assigned their duties at birth. The resulting force upon the Manifold is minuscule - nigh-irrelevant. You register Your disapproval briefly, immediately expunging the feeling in favour of continued analysis.

You would blink, had You eyes to do so. Weighing variable and sum upon Your ineffable scale, a thousand thousand calculations spin through Your vast, unfettered mind. The results remain unclear. This perturbs You. And thus You choose action - intervention - vouchsafing this reality as the subsequent future that You may continue Your work.

Reality interfaces with the Manifold in a different manner within their sphere of influence. You store this data, adding it to the inestimable variables around which Your theorems design. You prepare for what comes. They remain unaware that they are discovered. We - They - are coming for Them - and They do not know. You will create for them the time they need to defend. You prolong Their existence beyond what Their agency allows, and You return to work.

Folding in on itself, the aeonic confluence shatters in a panoply of electric-charged light, brilliantine forks of energy roused in a moment of sublime locality alignment. Whirling into a vortex composed of time, life, memory, past, present, and future writ upon the manifold workings of both maker -and- Manifold, the device devours itself and disappears, leaving spots of sparkling stars flickering in the corners of your eyes.

~ ~ ~

As this final vista of revelation fell silent, the confluence began to fold in on itself before shattering in a panoply of electric-charged light, brilliantine forks of energy roused in a moment of sublime locality alignment.

It whirled into a vortex composed of time, life, memory, past, present, and future writ upon the manifold workings of both maker -and- Manifold, and then devoured itself and disappeared, spots of starlight left behind in the eyes of those who bore witness.

Joy sang within Copperhead then, and the Cogger declared its directive complete. Preparing itself for travel with liberal splashes of oil and conducting a final routine maintenance check, it departed from Masilia to parts unknown, eager to begin its next assignment.

Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 6th of Midsummer, in the year 499 MA.