View source for 5567/Herald of the Black Engine

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/11/12
|Location=Contaminated Flatlands
|Synopsis=Bloody Revelations meets, of all people, someone sympathetic to her cause.
|Cast of Characters=1139, 1124
|Tinyplot=Wrench in the Works
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:1139|All-Seeing Eye (1139)}} has posed:'''<br> 'Water-W by 11-Fire. 12 Descending Air, 13:00 hours.' This cryptic, pre-recorded message is sent to Revelations' personal frequency every couple of hours. The voice identifies himself only as 'a friend.' The coordinates are an archaic form of cartography, originally used by the Deliberative and adopted by the Realm out of convenience. <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Should the Abyssal care to actually look this up, she'll find it refers to an area a few hundred miles south of the Ebon Spires of Pyrron, just east of the bend in the Yanaze river. And should she actually arrive at the specified time, she will find an armored figure waiting for her, looking like a First Age Solar. Or an automaton built by one. <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A gleaming marble and orichalcum faceplate conceals the figure's face, and much of his form is similarly concealed by ornate white-and-gold robes beneath a machined breastplate. A brown half-cloak with motifs of golden gears is draped over his left side, and his right hand wields a massive adamant reaver daiklave, elegant despite its size, currently resting upon the ground in a non-threatening manner. <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And should she approach this figure, he will offer a greeting, his voice vocoded not unlike an Automaton's. "Bloody Revelations?"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1124|Bloody Revelations (1124)}} has posed:'''<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Any Abyssal Exalted should be a busy person. Even amongst those less uniquely independent and strong-willed, there are the constant orders of the ever-demanding Deathlords above them, and the endless work of rallying the Underworld into anything approaching organized. Phoning someone over and over and over again is already annoying by itself, so it would be no small wonder if someone doing so, with such specific coordinates, was met by a horde of the dead at sundown, rather than their intended person, as a quick and dirty way to get rid of them.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They must have been banking on this particular one being different from the rest. Loathe as she is to turn herself away from the examination and disassembly of a certain interesting artifact, answering the unknown has worked to Bloody Revelations' advantage so far.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Being the middle of the day somewhat limits her options in what to bring, so long as the particularly obnoxious daystar of Creation continues to exist, so she doesn't appear right away. Rarely ever walking the body of Gaia itself, her approach is, as always, announced for a mile around to the Essence sensitive by the deathly fabric of the world below bubbling and bleeding upwards into the daylight world. The uncanny shortcuts she knows through the realms few dare to tread make it a quick and pinpoint affair, despite the proximity to another Deathlord's domain, stepping through the temporarily weakened veil between worlds in a circle of blighted grass, mere minutes away.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She doesn't like the figure she sees. Clad head to toe in ostentatious orichalcum, such a presence might impress or terrify most, but the colours of gold and diamond only blow a fanning breath on the long-smouldering embers of a particular hatred within her. Already spiting the Unconquered Sun by walking under his broad daylight, however, she refuses to be provoked. Yet.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"That would be the name I answer to. Don't repeat it until I hear yours." she says, stopping at a longer distance than is conversational, but shorter than would be safe. Her arms are already crossed impatiently, lurid red eyes flicking up and down the man's arms and armour. She's equipped with practically nothing by comparison, but daiklaves and full plate had always felt too blunt and overwrought for her anyways.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"You know, you're distracting me from some very entertaining work, and hardly in the most polite manner. You have a limited amount of my curiosity, and nothing else, so wisely use the time it lasts to come up with a better reason for me to stay and listen."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1139|All-Seeing Eye (1139)}} has posed:'''<br> "Very well." The figure remains motionless, his robes billowing slightly in the gentle river breeze. <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; For one who claims to embody death, her modes of thinking are as organic as the living. Fine--he will pique her 'curiosity' and cut to the chase in one swoop. "I have studied your radio broadcasts. Our goals may be aligned." From the shore of the river, a crab trundles its way up the banks. The figure is so still that the creature crawls across his foot in search of a spot to burrow. <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "Death is inevitable. Reincarnation is futile. As long as the cycle continues, so will the suffering of mortals. True, or false?" He agreed not to use her name again, and he doesn't. But he won't provide his name, or his true identity, until he can ascertain her motives for himself. <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "The mortals of this world would better be served by eternal death than the fleeting illusion of life. True... or false?" <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The figure's orichalcum faceplate meets seamlessly with his neck, as if it slipped right on. Or, perhaps, it /is/ his face. Either way, it makes his expression as hard to read as his continued, rigid stance. It's like speaking with a statue.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1124|Bloody Revelations (1124)}} has posed:'''<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Well now. That's quite a claim to make" says Bloody Revelations. One finger taps at the inside of her arm, her hips cocked in a posture of mildly impatient disbelief, but she doesn't move. "Death being inevitable is an obvious truth to anyone. Not even the gods live forever. The longer something exists, the greater the chance of it dying approaches one. Entropy is a constant. The end is inescapable. The fifth Truth. The Truth of Void." That much, she sounds intensely confident in as a matter of near-religious rote.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Reincarnation is pointless. True. It's an old and broken mechanism for a world that doesn't work the way it was designed anymore, which keeps spinning only because the exploitation of hapless mortals is what makes the wheels of heaven turn. Without it, prayers dry up and the gods go hungry, but reincarnation is worse than death. Not having a pulse is nothing close to the death of the self." That part, sounds deeply personal.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The next bit, however, causes her to narrow her stare. Just a little. "I very seldom entertain anyone talking to me about the ideal nature of death. It serves too many people in too many ways for anyone to ever appreciate what it for what it is. Almost anything would be better than this sham they insist on calling 'life', though; this laughably short, comically useless, disgustingly brutal little cosmic blink, where a human being is expected to play the role of labour, resource, worshiper, and plaything to the entire rest of the universe, then forget everything and start all over."<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I heard once, that the Exalted once rose up and fought the Primordials to overthrow that kind of revolting, futile slice of hell, but it looks like their precious Exalted only brought them slowly spiraling back to square one. They broke everything to have their fun, then left it a shambling, dysfunctional, hopelessly corrupt mess, slowly dying of its own accord. The fact that an alternative came out of it is the only good they ever did."<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I'll have as many people throw off these shackles as I can, and then I'll burn this rot down to the ground. Nobody deserves to live in this festering corpse of a world. It's already breathing its last without its makers."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1139|All-Seeing Eye (1139)}} has posed:'''<br> It seems as though his analysis of the Abyssal's motives was correct. She is passionate about this--which is a weakness. But her conviction burns just as brightly, and that will be a strength. "The Void is truth," says the resplendent figure. Where Revelations espouses the sentiment with religious rote, his is more... robotic, befitting his obviously synthetic voice. <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The crab beneath him begins to burrow a spot next to his heel. "You speak truth." And, upon considering Revelations' story of the Exalted and their creation, he adds, "You have heard truth. The gods wanted rule without responsibility. At their behest, the second-generation Exalted were made to fulfil this parameter. Their flaw is Creation's flaw. Broken machines functioning outside of their purpose." <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "You will burn this rot down to the ground," he says, parroting her previous statement. Then, an addendum. "From the ashes, you will build a new society. You will throw off the shackles of reincarnation. Of self-theft. True, or false?"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1124|Bloody Revelations (1124)}} has posed:'''<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Bloody Revelations has just experienced one of very few times she's ever heard anyone speak of the Void outside the underworld itself. She has also just experienced the only time she has ever heard anyone but an Abyssal, a Deathlord, a Nephwrack, or someone else maddened by the whispers of Oblivion, speak any one of the five Truths, even if only by accident. It is fundamental human nature to vehemently deny the inevitability of the end; to look into the true nature of things, and recoil in disgust, rather than face it. It's a nature someone has to be broken out of. Or built to accept.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"You're one of those things, aren't you?" she finally says. It's blatantly clear that no shining Solar would ever dare even lie with such words. "Forgive me for not noticing, but there are certain expectations that are only sensible to have here." When he continues his questions, though, this time Bloody Revelations only slips him a coy smile, wagging her finger from the crook of her arm. "I'll stop you there. A lady is entitled to a few secrets~ I have a plan for after, don't you worry. I'm not one of those mad bastards so done with everything that they're willing to take it all with them. When the Deathlords throw themselves to the Abyss, or when /I/ throw them into it, I'll be the last one standing, just you watch. What comes after that, well, you'll just have to find out~"<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;There is a certain line here, where her willingness to share plans divides from her willingness to share philosophy. It's the line drawn by a canny schemer, or perhaps more accurately, a talented strategist.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1139|All-Seeing Eye (1139)}} has posed:'''<br> "I am." The same certainty which colors all of his speech is present here. His form begins to shift. Thousands of tiny motors beneath his skin begin to change his features, starting with the faceplate. <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; It reveals glimmering, crystalline skin and a stern, square face. His exposed arm warps and shifts into a tightly packed bundle of synthetic musculature, with faintly glowing starmetal circuit pathways leading all the way up his arm to just beneath his vacant blue eyes. Set in the center of his forehead is a square-cut diamond with throbbing, inky veins worming their way into it. <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; His clothes, too, shift colors, the whites and golds of his outfit shifting to subdued blues and purples. "Designation: Herald of the Black Engine. As Creation, Autochthon is dying. This truth has been evaded since he first left Creation. It will be evaded no longer. His champions and his people will prepare for his death and adapt to it." And though Revelations doesn't outright say that she's going to build something new, she did admit that she wouldn't burn /everything./ That knowledge, in itself, is sufficient. "Two peoples separated for five millennia will come together in the Void. Where your Necromancy cannot provide for them, our Technology will." <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "I have studied your radio broadcasts," he repeats. But, this time... "Our goals /are/ aligned."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1124|Bloody Revelations (1124)}} has posed:'''<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Now this is news. Bloody Revelations could profess to having little interest in, and even less knowledge of, Autocthon. A closed off world with closed off people has closed off problems. It has neither offended nor inspired her, and only those who interfere with her business, become her business. Hearing this little truth, however, with no reason to doubt the 'man' before her, changes things up considerably.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Herald of the Black Engine. I like it~" she begins, a little flippantly. Giving him the look up and down again, it's clear that she appreciates his new look considerably more. "I must admit, this is a new experience. I've not had anyone particularly on my side since . . . well, not anyone alive, at least, depending on what you call yourself. I hope you don't mind me asking, however. Autocthon is supposed to be one of the legendary Primordials, correct? The beings that the Exalted were forced to come up with strange and unnatural ways to kill, long, long ago, which even then didn't quite seal the deal. How can he be 'dying'?"<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Neither her tone nor her body language challenge. In fact, she sounds less disbelieving, and more like she's eager for the answer. This might make little to no sense, but she is plainly listening, ready to absorb any information, as to how a mighty Primordial could be expiring all on its own.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Gradually her hand falls to the sword across her hips; not a daiklave of any description, despite its strange and slightly unnerving scabbard. Its not an aggressive gesture. Almost a comfortable one. "And, tell me, how exactly do you expect to hurry it along?"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1139|All-Seeing Eye (1139)}} has posed:'''<br> As expected, Revelations has questions. The Machine God hasn't been seen or heard from in nearly five thousand years. Her first question relates to simple curiosity--but he can indulge that, and earn a measure of trust. "I will tell you, and we will both know." <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "Gremlin syndrome has afflicted the Great Maker since before even the first Alchemical Exalt. Since Creation's earthen crust had scarcely cooled. He is Primordial. He is legendary. But so is his illness." <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "When it first took me, I sought to fight the truth of the Void." That illness may have something to do with the pulsing black veins in that gem of his... and upon the adamant lens set upon the back of his sword hand. The Abyssal wanted to know how he planned to speed it along? "Then the whispers came. The dreams. When our world was thrust into this one, I saw it." <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "The Eye of Autochthon. The means of our liberation. Do you know this item?"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1124|Bloody Revelations (1124)}} has posed:'''<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"You'll have to forgive me if I've never heard of 'Gremlin syndrome'. I imagine it must be quite the sickness if it can afflict, and even kill, a Primordial of any kind, but I've never come across it, or a reference to it. I suppose that's what so long a separation will do." Briefly, the Abyssal pauses to consider something. Namely, she briefly toys with the idea that Autocthon had intended to sequester himself as a means of quarantine. Unlikely. If ancient lore is to believe, he already did far worse to his 'brothers' and 'sisters' in the drafting of the original Exalted. She can only wonder if such a thing would infect Creation itself, then, if the Great Maker favours humans so much as to let them inhabit his body.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I /have/ heard of the Eye, however. I'd like to think most scholars of the occult have. There are plenty of stories of it cropping up in Creation, here and there, raising up some nation-altering change, and then destroying the one who owned it. Some of them are even loosely credible. I can't say I've given it much thought. Lusting after lost legends and mythical artifacts is something done by weaklings who know their only refuge is in borrowed power, but I have reason enough to believe it exists. You cant go astray listening to the whispers of the Void~ They may be hard to make sense of, but somewhere in it, all the answers are there. But . . ."<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"You're telling me the Great Maker's own eye will /kill/ him?"<br> <br>
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