The Long View of History
The long view of history is a peculiar thing. For those who see history from beside it, the rising and falling of Corobel's great eye blurs together into a comfortable twilit hue. With such a view, it is not days but events with which life is punctuated and portioned.
And so, for the ataila of Etevaasin, these blurry years were like a time before time. They knew peace well; there were no wars, no tyrants, no catastrophes to punctuate those nascent days. They had no use for slaves when the heavens fed them well, they had no use for monuments when their legends never died, and they had no use for division when all was well and all manner of things was well. So they knew the long view of history.
Until the worm came.
On that day, there was great thunder heard throughout Etevaasin, though the sky was clear and bright. Instead, it was the land that thundered as the eld and venerable trees which surrounded the city fell and cracked under its mighty bulk. A pale mass, half-veiled by the dense Laaseran jungle, with a surface as craggy and sheer as a cliff began to slide around the city like a predator encircling its prey.
Etevaasin did not wait. Voices rose and horns were blown. The city's bravest rallied, though these ataila were peace-forged and untested, and were thankful that their trembling was hidden by the growing tremours and their whimpers by the deafening cries of the jungle as it shattered and died. And as those wisest ataila beckoned what citizens they could to safety, the Beast coiled tightly around the city -- not once, not twice, but three times. And when the thundering stopped and all became still, Ohm knotted itself at the highest point of the city like a noose and waited.
It was not the guard that approached Ohm first, nor the elders, but a young atai, still in training. It was mere coincidence: to avoid their tutors' lessons that day they had hidden within the upper terrace's gardens, above which Ohm's massive head now hung. The gardens were quiet. Whether it was curiousity, naivety, or bravery, the young atai stepped out from beneath the fruit tree they had hidden under and approached the First of Worms.
Ohm's massive eye watched them step forward as its many teeth shifted and churned. The young atai balled their hands into fists before they bravely spoke:
"Wh-Who are you? What are you?"
They winced as the great Beast spoke, its voice of tumbling stones coarse and deep.
" π ππ πππ, πππ π ππ ππ¦πππ£πͺ. "
"... And why have you come here? Have you... come to eat us?"
They dug their heels into the soft ground of the garden as Ohm's rumbling and cascading laughter threatened to knock them off their feet.
" πππͺπππ‘π€. π πππ§π ππππ πͺππ π₯ππ π₯ππ€π₯π π π π₯πππ€ ππππ ππ£πππ₯ππͺ πππ π¨ππ€π π₯π ππππ ππ₯ ππππ. ππππ€ πππ₯πͺ, π₯π π , ππ π£ π ππ πππ£π₯πππ ππ₯ ππ ππ₯ππππ€ ππππͺ ππ©π π₯ππ ππππ§π π¦π£π€. "
"So... you have come to rule us? Like a king?"
" ππππ π πΎπ π. βπ π¨ ππ π₯π π₯ππ π π₯πππ£π€. π½πππ, πππ π₯πππ πͺπ π¦π£ ππππππ£π€ π₯πππ₯ π₯πππ€ πππ₯πͺ ππ€ ππ π¨ ππππ, πππ ππ₯π€ πππππ€ ππ£π ππ π¨ ππππ, πππ π₯πππ₯ π₯πππͺ ππ¦π€π₯ πππͺ ππ π¨π π₯ππππ£ ππ£ππ€ πππ πππππ ππππ π£π ππ. πΈππ ππ π πππππ π₯ πππ§π ππ₯... " Ohm's maw spun and its teeth gnashed as it considered the banquet that was Etevaasin, " ... π₯πππ π₯πππ€ πππ₯πͺ πππ πππ ππ₯π€ πππππππ₯πππ₯π€ π€ππππ ππ ππ ππ π£π. ππππ€ πͺπ π¦ π€ππππ ππ ππ π£ ππ π π£ π π€ππππ πππ₯ πͺπ π¦, πππ ππ ππ ππ¦π₯ ππͺ ππ π₯πππ£ π€ππππ π£πππππππ£ πͺπ π¦π£ ππππ. "
"No."
Ohm's vast pupil contracted. It had not considered 'no.' No was a word for it to use, not others. Its maw spun faster as it reeled at this impertinence.
" ... 'βπ '? "
"No. I will tell them what you've told me, but I will not stay with them. If you truly mean to rule Tehwatzin, then I shall be your speaker and help you."
Again, Ohm laughed, and again the young atai stood their ground. What impetuousness! Ohm reared back to swallow them whole, but in that moment it caught something in the way they looked at it. There was a sort of opportunism in their gamble with oblivion, a willingness to risk it all to have it all... a similar hunger that Ohm knew so well.
It paused.
" πΈππ π¨πππ₯ ππππ‘ ππ π¦ππ πͺπ π¦ πππ§π ππ? "
The atai took a breath.
"You are... very large. Large enough that little things will escape you. I can see things that you can't see, and influence things that you can't reach. ... And I'm being trained to become a advisor someday, to aid the judge of my tribe; I know how Tehwatzin works -- surely you can find use for those skills?"
They swallowed hard and waited to see what it would do. There was an oppressive silence in the air as Ohm stared at them while its alien mind worked.
" ... πππ£πͺ π¨πππ. βππ₯π¦π£π π₯π πͺπ π¦π£ π‘ππ π‘ππ πππ π₯πππ π₯πππ π¨πππ₯ π'π§π π₯π ππ πͺπ π¦, π₯πππ π£ππ₯π¦π£π πππ£π. ππ πͺπ π¦ πππ€π‘ππππ€π ππ, π π€ππππ πππ§π π¦π£ πͺπ π¦. "
A sigh of relief and a smile. With an unpracticed bow, the atai turned and fled the garden with all due haste. Ohm watched them leave and in that moment knew that, someday, one would devour the other. Ohm truthfully knew not who it would be, but that was a concern for the long view of history.
The young atai ran to the protectors and judges of Etevaasin with Ohm's words. They spoke its demands with confidence and pride as befits their station, and quietly left as murmurs rippled through the crowd. The assembled ataila were uncertain of what to do; many feared death, but many more feared losing the precious gift of freedom that VelariΓ« gave them. No rational being lets themselves be shackled willingly.
And so, of course, they fought. Valiantly, in fact. And, though those peace-wrought warriors steeled their knees and fought as bravely as they could muster, they lost. The ataila did not lose when their spears did nothing to Ohm's hide, nor did they lose when their arrows did even less, and nor did they lose when one hundred and one of their greatest warriors charged the Beast and were, in one bite, swallowed whole.
No, it was when each atai there, who watched those heroes' charge with bated breath, felt dark fingers slip into their minds and steal away the memories of those warriors' voices, their faces, their lives, that they lost. And in the moments before those heroes' names finally faded away forever, the ataila had laid down their arms and wept, kneeling before their new master and its high priest.
(This is a late Turn 8 action. I intended to publish it on Saturday but had to push it back.)
(Omeara spends 1 to Command Avatar to take control of Etevaasin and the ataila who call it home via Corrupt City, bringing them under Ohm's, and by extension Omeara's, sway. 6 - 1 = 5 power remaining.)
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@febuwhump day 17 - Hostage Situation
Yet again, drawing is A Pain In The Ass, so we aren't doing it. This one is us pulling from a longer work. Don't worry about it.
The cell was bare. Vi clutched the package to her chest, wrapping her claws so tight that they threatened to shred the parchment, until they stopped trying to pry her claws open. She could hear them speak, talk of ransom and money and negotiations, contacting the Queen for her bee back, every conversation inspiring an ever-stronger feeling of dread.
Time was running out.
She could feel the tension build under her skin, day after day - the bars were wood and flimsy, her chains so brittle that her bare bee claws could ruin the finish. The steel collar around her neck chafed, but she knew it wouldn't be enough, knew it like she knew the cycle of the moon.
To be held until her employers paid the bail. To be held until her employers paid the bail. How long before Zoza noticed she was missing? How long before someone knew that her missive'd never been delivered?
Were she a year younger, she'd fear that she'd change any moment. Were she a year younger, then it would be unknown, unpredictable, unplannable - but Vi had spent a year beneath the desert sky now, a year by the lunar calendar of the Grasslands, a year mapping the nights when the transformation came.
The beast always, always, came on the full moon. And she could feel the clock slowly, slowly, running down to nothing.
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Timβs pretty sure Bernard has a concussion. The light is too low to see whether his pupil is dilated, but his speech is slurred, and heβs scared β theyβre all scared β but heβs clinging to Tim in a way he doesnβt, usually, when he knows Tim has to leave. Thereβs minutes, maybe, until the guards come back, and Tim has to be gone if he wants to slip out. He canβt do this in his civvies. Itβs the hope people need, more than just punching a few goons.
βPlease donβt leave me,β Bernard says, again, tugging at Timβs sleeve, and he canβt. He has to hope the promised bombs all over the city is some kind of lie, an exaggeration. These guys are new. Maybe they donβt know Gothamβs history, maybe they donβt know just how many bombs people have put βall over the cityβ in the long, long history of Batmanβs legacy, and every other superhero in every other city, too.
Heβd be more worried if they were at a crappier restaurant. This could easily pass for one of the highlights of Gotham, one of the nicest places in the city. Tim thinks maybe they only hit city hall, the city center, a couple tourist traps, a couple of the glamorous spots. Maybe only places people will be looking, anyway. And he knows thereβs a bomb here, one he can still disable, if they make a mistake and let him at it. So he stays.
βPlease,β Bernard says again, clinging to Timβs shirt and crying, hair rough against his neck where Bernard shakes too hard, muttering words that trail into incoherence and Tim has to hope thatβs only from terror, not from the injury getting worse. He strokes Bernardβs head as gently as he can, trying not to wince every time his fingers hit blood, because if Bernardβs not flinching over it, neither should he.
βIβm not going to leave you, Bear,β Tim says, softly, scooching closer, pulling Bernard practically into his lap, despite the anxious looks of the other diners, the judgmental expressions on a few faces. The city needs him, but Bernard needs him too. Bernard is repeating himself, so Tim repeats himself too, arms wrapped tighter and tighter, not letting go.
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