Appointments: Empowerment
Someone suggested win-condition fic a long while back. This isn't it, but it's what came of the idea. There'll be two sister drabbles coming along to accompany it, eventually.
Minor FOIP warning for extrapolated speculative mindset.
* * *
A monarch rises. Above the last whisperings of sentient life, above the twisted spires of the geomantic cathedrals, above the twitching, quivering peaks of the Cradle. He has come here, to his throne.
It took seconds for the last cries to fade. Minutes for the blood to dry, caked onto his leathers. Days to leave the ravaged fields behind. Months for the armour to rust, to be torn away.
A year's journey, to reach here. There were easier ways, certainly, but he would not make a mockery of such a pilgrimage.
Here, it made sense. Here, it was clear. What was his, always was. His birthright.
Here, every cry of sorrow, every drop of blood, every memory lost was for all to see. Every indignity thrust upon him, every atrocity committed by his hand. This is what they were all for. This is Justice.
Here, he settles on his throne. An eternal, surveying the infinte.
Time passes.
His theurgic nodes quiver slightly, a dancing sensation from where they are embedded in his corporae. His senses focus.
"Agent."
A shift
The eidolon appears, more and less real than the vista that circumscribes him. Black veils reminiscent of a figure, a glowing brand of gold. He bows.
"Exarch."
The monarch nods.
"Regards New Utopia, Exarch. Primary insurgence containment was successful, minimal collateral. Cogitative forecasts predict a diffuse secondary initiation in two to four decades."
"Suggestions?"
A blink, a dutiful pretence at hesitance. "The Greater Southern Republic is approaching the end of its cohesive arc, Exarch. A more profound response to a localised insurgence would offset tertiary initiation for at least two centuries. Logistic predictions estimate an investment of one hundred active essences to initiate the insurgence. Four thousand for the response, plus equivalent in theurgic support. Expected release rates in the region of seven hundred thousand."
A nod. "Go ahead. Tell me when I can get involved."
"As you wish, Exarch."
A pause.
"What is it, Agent?"
A sigh, delicately crafted. "The Jezerim Conspiracy, Exarch. Information containment is operating behind the four-generation schedule. Personal analysis has revealed Conspiracy association with the Exarch of Essence herself."
A grunt. "Let her play her games. Saves her putting the rest of us at liberty. But keep watch. She's welcome to toy with her existence, but not mine."
"By your will, Exarch."
Another shift
And he is alone.
Minor FOIP warning for extrapolated speculative mindset.
* * *
A monarch rises. Above the last whisperings of sentient life, above the twisted spires of the geomantic cathedrals, above the twitching, quivering peaks of the Cradle. He has come here, to his throne.
It took seconds for the last cries to fade. Minutes for the blood to dry, caked onto his leathers. Days to leave the ravaged fields behind. Months for the armour to rust, to be torn away.
A year's journey, to reach here. There were easier ways, certainly, but he would not make a mockery of such a pilgrimage.
Here, it made sense. Here, it was clear. What was his, always was. His birthright.
Here, every cry of sorrow, every drop of blood, every memory lost was for all to see. Every indignity thrust upon him, every atrocity committed by his hand. This is what they were all for. This is Justice.
Here, he settles on his throne. An eternal, surveying the infinte.
Time passes.
His theurgic nodes quiver slightly, a dancing sensation from where they are embedded in his corporae. His senses focus.
"Agent."
A shift
The eidolon appears, more and less real than the vista that circumscribes him. Black veils reminiscent of a figure, a glowing brand of gold. He bows.
"Exarch."
The monarch nods.
"Regards New Utopia, Exarch. Primary insurgence containment was successful, minimal collateral. Cogitative forecasts predict a diffuse secondary initiation in two to four decades."
"Suggestions?"
A blink, a dutiful pretence at hesitance. "The Greater Southern Republic is approaching the end of its cohesive arc, Exarch. A more profound response to a localised insurgence would offset tertiary initiation for at least two centuries. Logistic predictions estimate an investment of one hundred active essences to initiate the insurgence. Four thousand for the response, plus equivalent in theurgic support. Expected release rates in the region of seven hundred thousand."
A nod. "Go ahead. Tell me when I can get involved."
"As you wish, Exarch."
A pause.
"What is it, Agent?"
A sigh, delicately crafted. "The Jezerim Conspiracy, Exarch. Information containment is operating behind the four-generation schedule. Personal analysis has revealed Conspiracy association with the Exarch of Essence herself."
A grunt. "Let her play her games. Saves her putting the rest of us at liberty. But keep watch. She's welcome to toy with her existence, but not mine."
"By your will, Exarch."
Another shift
And he is alone.