Post by littlekreen on Mar 18, 2020 20:13:50 GMT -6
Both affinity and affection for its newfound interaction with humankind satisfied the deepest parts of a massive trundling psyche. Even if it had restraint in its dealings with them by its lack of direct knowledge of its enemies past and enemies new. The Cohortes Localia a rank expressed to the Ratatoskr as a group was a thing the machine could not and would not acknowledge without a living Emperor. Though it could tell the machine knew. In a place where enemies were born then so too there were allies as a balanced dichotomy that well satisfied both the overbeing and the Great Machine. The storm knew not. It swirled and probed at the walls to merely hunger. Myrkul did its best to ensure that remained so and this it thought would end well that it had allies the storm may care for more than itself and the Great Machine at least knew bore some direct link to humankind.
Thus it repurposed a small cognition now devoid of its purpose. Though not entirely so as its servitors gathered flotsam for the central axis. The storm chewed at the machine ever-building a thing not of chaos, but entropy, as the two forces forever moved against one another. While they couldn't remove parts from the Great Machine nor truly manufacture them should the black storm tear parts free they could use those just fine. At times this left servitors returning with parts difficult to use in their inherent purpose but still too valuable to merely toss to the storm to bash open upon its shores. Perhaps dark reflections of intruders reduced to charnel by the storm then reforged anew by the Great Machine.
One bit of gears and axels bore a particular order it recognized by bent circles holding spheres high upon its surface. The earliest of its distant memories of times long past and the rare view of desiccated parchment slipped free of the Necropolis they could not enter. Messages in a bottle of ships that once were to sail the deepest raging parts of the void to build this place. This was but a small thing compared to the vast images it had seen but a small stick survived well the sustained antipathies of the two horrors of forces that defined the shores of its world. Bent in places. Roman columns and decorations were not magical things but reflections of former order contorted by raw entropy and the sensibilities of the Great Machine. The heart of a void craft were things it could not build for the way was lost. Things of human ingenuity that could not be built under the shadow of the Veil. At first Myrkul was unsure if there was a place the Ratatoskr could even ignite the heart of a void craft under the veil they found outside. Though it would try as perhaps the Ratatoskr would find a way to fuel that fire and venture in or to repair the Bulwark's bleeding wound.
Then it came to be a small key tethered to the Great Machine wandered into a place that could possibly serve to build the void craft. Keys had very particular natures to those of magical persuasions. Especially those forged to draw upon a particular name for its authority. This authority an aethermechanic spirit extant within the gears of the central axis and etched on the surface of every harvested and reconstructed part. As yet it lacked the structure to reach so very far to the key its knowledge in order to serve that bound key certainly did. As minder of that Great Machine's idle servitors such things were also known to Myrkul's Vein should it care to look.
Exposure to Humankind was an appeal to the inventiveness that it lacked to weld together broken assemblies into a finished whole or even varied purpose. They were humankind enough that even the Great Machine acknowledged the light of logic within them. Though even if by turning as it always had it might destroy them. This end required a servitor of the flotsam codices to reassemble the shattered knowledge ever drifting out of eddies flowing from deep within the Necropolis. Though one that could hold and discover parts as well. Its servitors retrieved the arm from that fallen humankind as they returned with it to the Central Axis. A rare inspiration to a new puzzle to fit pieces of servitors into.
Thus it soon came to be a servitor lopes in darkened fur through the hedge and into the Fae lands. Impressed with the image of man's own servitor long-faced quadruped sniffs at the air in chase of that faint scent of the key always some indistinct distance away. Black dogs the size of a horse tend to be a bane of weaker things but did not give chase to fleeing small creatures. The matte furry servitor had no concept of what a black shuck would be to know why they might fear. Though this particular servitor had one large prosthetic front leg the others were far more burly. Myrkul had forged something in the image of the Molloser from the age of its progenitor mankind. Despite the trade of intellect for creative power understood what it was looking for. No base beast yet the lack of care for eating lesser creatures did not disabuse them that it might. As the large black dog and its ivory-copper mechanical leg climbed over a fence where medium-sized creatures clamor in alarm though it did not care of them either.
Its heavy metal collar clinks from the small label as gleaming teeth and four blue eyes fixate on a stump. Fuel for its inner fire after traveling so long under the starving veil. The part psionic creature did hunger just not for the complexities of still-living intelligent animus that did little for rapid digestion. The rot of the stump and smaller plants were easier to break down. A thump on its hindquarters the large creature's ears perked craning its neck to see what was there. An animal with large curly horns and hooves backed up slowly as the four eyes canted in confusion. The ram at some farm close to where the key's scent lingers raced forward in a soft whump against the servitor's long-furred ebon flank. The impact made it lean slightly but the servitor huffed at the obstinate creature's ineffective attempts to protect the rest of the flock. The four blue eyes blinked erratically and the ram stood its ground. The servitor had no interest in eating the living thing nor did it care to leave. They both continued about their desired business.
Thus it repurposed a small cognition now devoid of its purpose. Though not entirely so as its servitors gathered flotsam for the central axis. The storm chewed at the machine ever-building a thing not of chaos, but entropy, as the two forces forever moved against one another. While they couldn't remove parts from the Great Machine nor truly manufacture them should the black storm tear parts free they could use those just fine. At times this left servitors returning with parts difficult to use in their inherent purpose but still too valuable to merely toss to the storm to bash open upon its shores. Perhaps dark reflections of intruders reduced to charnel by the storm then reforged anew by the Great Machine.
One bit of gears and axels bore a particular order it recognized by bent circles holding spheres high upon its surface. The earliest of its distant memories of times long past and the rare view of desiccated parchment slipped free of the Necropolis they could not enter. Messages in a bottle of ships that once were to sail the deepest raging parts of the void to build this place. This was but a small thing compared to the vast images it had seen but a small stick survived well the sustained antipathies of the two horrors of forces that defined the shores of its world. Bent in places. Roman columns and decorations were not magical things but reflections of former order contorted by raw entropy and the sensibilities of the Great Machine. The heart of a void craft were things it could not build for the way was lost. Things of human ingenuity that could not be built under the shadow of the Veil. At first Myrkul was unsure if there was a place the Ratatoskr could even ignite the heart of a void craft under the veil they found outside. Though it would try as perhaps the Ratatoskr would find a way to fuel that fire and venture in or to repair the Bulwark's bleeding wound.
Then it came to be a small key tethered to the Great Machine wandered into a place that could possibly serve to build the void craft. Keys had very particular natures to those of magical persuasions. Especially those forged to draw upon a particular name for its authority. This authority an aethermechanic spirit extant within the gears of the central axis and etched on the surface of every harvested and reconstructed part. As yet it lacked the structure to reach so very far to the key its knowledge in order to serve that bound key certainly did. As minder of that Great Machine's idle servitors such things were also known to Myrkul's Vein should it care to look.
Exposure to Humankind was an appeal to the inventiveness that it lacked to weld together broken assemblies into a finished whole or even varied purpose. They were humankind enough that even the Great Machine acknowledged the light of logic within them. Though even if by turning as it always had it might destroy them. This end required a servitor of the flotsam codices to reassemble the shattered knowledge ever drifting out of eddies flowing from deep within the Necropolis. Though one that could hold and discover parts as well. Its servitors retrieved the arm from that fallen humankind as they returned with it to the Central Axis. A rare inspiration to a new puzzle to fit pieces of servitors into.
Thus it soon came to be a servitor lopes in darkened fur through the hedge and into the Fae lands. Impressed with the image of man's own servitor long-faced quadruped sniffs at the air in chase of that faint scent of the key always some indistinct distance away. Black dogs the size of a horse tend to be a bane of weaker things but did not give chase to fleeing small creatures. The matte furry servitor had no concept of what a black shuck would be to know why they might fear. Though this particular servitor had one large prosthetic front leg the others were far more burly. Myrkul had forged something in the image of the Molloser from the age of its progenitor mankind. Despite the trade of intellect for creative power understood what it was looking for. No base beast yet the lack of care for eating lesser creatures did not disabuse them that it might. As the large black dog and its ivory-copper mechanical leg climbed over a fence where medium-sized creatures clamor in alarm though it did not care of them either.
Its heavy metal collar clinks from the small label as gleaming teeth and four blue eyes fixate on a stump. Fuel for its inner fire after traveling so long under the starving veil. The part psionic creature did hunger just not for the complexities of still-living intelligent animus that did little for rapid digestion. The rot of the stump and smaller plants were easier to break down. A thump on its hindquarters the large creature's ears perked craning its neck to see what was there. An animal with large curly horns and hooves backed up slowly as the four eyes canted in confusion. The ram at some farm close to where the key's scent lingers raced forward in a soft whump against the servitor's long-furred ebon flank. The impact made it lean slightly but the servitor huffed at the obstinate creature's ineffective attempts to protect the rest of the flock. The four blue eyes blinked erratically and the ram stood its ground. The servitor had no interest in eating the living thing nor did it care to leave. They both continued about their desired business.
