event } this ain't a scene, it's a deus ex machina (act one)

[seeingyou]

WHO: All y’all.
WHAT: Act One of This Ain’t A Scene It’s a Deus Ex Machina
WHERE: On Navi; Rizyeria and New Estos on the planet Merox.
WHEN: This month of April.
WARNINGS: Add these to your comment subject lines as needed! And if you get yourself smote, please report it on the death page.

scene one.

Navi has an announcement for everyone, and as per usual, it’s being broadcast right into your brain:

Attention, passengers.
I apologize that it has taken so long, but I believe I’ve found a solution to the problem where some of you have been transposed into a body that is not yours.
We are approaching an anomaly in the current galaxy known as the Blenga Zone. This area is known to be a hotspot of strange energy - some even describe the energy as “mystical” in nature. I believe that plotting a course directly through it may provide the catalyst to reverse your consciousnesses back into your original bodies.
I do admit this is not an area in which I have any expertise, so if any of you do have experience with this sort of thing, I am willing to listen to your advice.
For the rest of you, you’ll find sturdy restraints emerging from the walls. Please be ready to strap yourselves in - I imagine this part of our voyage will be less than smooth.
Please stand by …

As promised, wherever you are on Navi, a padded harness emerges from the wall nearby, ready for you to utilize when the turbulence begins. And what turbulence it is! The shaking begins gradually, but quickly increases in intensity until the movement becomes severe, and Navi shouts for everyone to strap in and brace for impact. Warnings blare over the PA, lights flicker out and are replaced with the dim red glow of emergency lights, and it seems as if Navi will be shaken apart at the seams. The ship pitches in varying directions, over and over again, until the crash of final impact can be felt, and Navi flips over a few times before skidding to a stop. On the bright side, Navi landed right side up.

On the even brighter side … at least you’re back in your body now?

scene two.

Eventually, through your combined powers of investigation, it becomes apparent that Navi is offline. The glyphlinks won’t connect, everything on the ship is in low-power mode, and even the drones are nowhere to be found. It’s not hard to guess that Navi has sustained some injuries after that extremely rough landing. Luckily, the loading dock is still functional, so you can still leave the ship to check out the planet!

Checking out the planet means discovery that Navi’s crash ended not far from a walled city, and what looks like a factory town on the outside of that wall. Any passengers curious enough to investigate will find themselves soon met - with wariness and suspicion - by local inhabitants, and escorted into the heart of the slums to meet with their leader, who resides with other locals in a large, abandoned warehouse. Roughly made tents are scattered throughout the warehouse floor, giving it the appearance of a refugee camp more than permanent housing, and a small crowd of children is seated around a larger hooded and cloaked figure seated on a stack of wooden crates. He stops imparting whatever wisdom the children had been attending with rapt attention and glances up at the newcomers.

“I see we have some visitors,” he says, in a neutral, slightly metallic voice. “Welcome to Rizyria. We don’t have much, but if you come in peace, we’re quite happy to share what we have.” He stands and pushes back the hood from his cloak to show his unobscured face, which is covered in numerous fluttering miniature wings, which are in turn covered with even more eyes. “My name is Hanna’morith. What brings you to us today?”

scene three.
Once the exposition cutscene has been cleared, Hanna’morith offers to assist with healing Navi, and he promises to recruit some of the other Rizyrians for the effort as well. There’s just one thing he’ll ask in return - your assistance in locating the Imrathic Shattershards, which are scattered to various public buildings and private collections inside the walled city of New Estos. All you will need to do is locate one of the shards, liberate it from its current abode, and return it to Hanna’morith for eventual reconstitution.

A handful of Rizyrians appear at Hanna’morith’s side to start planning the various infiltrations, and Hanna’morith asks to be taken to see the injured Navi. Feel free to mingle while you wait, and once your plans are finalized, you can head out whenever you’d like - though sooner is better, obviously. If not undertaking this high-risk scavenger hunt, you can head back to Navi, or stay in town to take in the entirely terrible sights.

Comments

[laughing_magician]

[John grimaces deeply, he knew what he expected out of Murmur and it's almost painful to be proven wrong. Not that he has any proof that Murmur means it. Besides, what the hell is a sentiment worth if there's no action behind it? So Murmur has a better script than Manny did, so what? It means nothing while people are suffering and angels sit on high with hands lifted away from the dirt and blood.]

Some have more value to the creator than others. [The tension around John is almost palpable, he's so terribly human, no amount of magic can strip him from his feelings and his love and his pain and his powerful small set of morals. He's tried in the past, life would be worlds easier if he didn't feel so much. But he wasn't successful and now, he's here trembling with rage and something awfully painful in the presence of something divinely created with the power to change fate. But that also refuses to.

They're always on the side. John should be used to it by now. Where were all the angels and god's great power when his father took his anger out on John? Where were the angels when poor Astra was dragged to hell? He suppresses a shudder, bites back his anger as he waits for another answer that will probably anger him.

And it does. But not in the way John really expected it to. Murmur seems too real to him compared to Manny's bullshit, or Gabriel's arrogance, or the breathy cherubic bullshit he's gotten from others. And it keeps throwing him off, taking him out of his center, leaving him further on edge and worse? Gives him that just enough feeling of hope in something that's supposed to be better than him.

That's the part he hates the most. That Murmur almost makes him believe that angels are potentially more than what they've proven him to be.

John is happy to push all that bullshit away for a minute. To focus on what Murmur has asked.] Oh, me? Well, I'm going to raise little hell. [It's what he's good at, after all.] It'd be easier back home, I've got all sorts of nasty things saved up from that galaxy. But I'm a resourceful man, if nothing else.

[albatrossomen]

[Murmur is starting to suspect John's just looking for a reason to be angry with him. Fair enough, he supposes, add another to the ever growing list. It's better than the usual, he can deal with a human disillusioned with the church and disillusioned with his absentee Creator. It's much better than the interrogations and suspicions that surround his own past, and the main reason he'd not volunteered John a name.

Also that the man hadn't asked. No ask, no action. There were rules Murmur must abide and regardless of John's feelings on them he remained beholden to them no matter the universe.]

Is that what you think? [Bored of perching and listening for answers that weren't going to be forthcoming he leaped off his perch. One fluid motion more graceful than any man who looked like he lived under a pile of books near a conspiracy board had any right to be. A few moments spent ensuring he'd not uncovered any part of skin that wasn't already uncovered, that being his face and neck, while he made a show of straightening his clothing before looking to John expectantly. If he's going to get another lecture he might as well get something out of it.

They never did understand why the angels sat on the sidelines. The fragility of free will, and the destruction left in the wake of an angel taking action. Surely John had read the stories, certainly he'd heard the preachers and their gospels? An angel wasn't a cure all for the human condition, they were the nuclear option. There to wipe the slate clean to start again. So far humans have demonstrated themselves to be remarkably capable of not internalizing that lesson.]

Very well, John, show me what it is you hope to accomplish by doing that. Let us see your resourcefulness in action. And whether or not your judgement is sound.

[That last bit was the most damning hint for Murmur's own hesitance to act. Sure, he could depose of one space dictator only for another to rise and take their place. No, these things were delicate. Playing with the course of mankind wasn't his place and continues to not be his place but... it couldn't hurt to have a look. Who knows, maybe John can convince him this situation would benefit from Divine Intervention as it were.]

[laughing_magician]

Is there any reason to think otherwise? His holiness makes it fucking obvious. [John watches as Murmur descends, glaring at the feathered bastard's grace. He's still full of anger, righteous fury building up beneath the veneer of nonchalance that he's tried so hard to cultivate for years.

John has heard all the stories. Some from angels themselves. He thinks he's met the creator himself, actually. Didn't get any better answers from him. But from how he sees it? If you make something, you're responsible for it. Which is why John has worked his entire adulthood to avoid dragging a poor child into existence. A child doesn't want to be made, it doesn't ask for it, and it deserves protection from the people who created it and who form the family of it. And if god is this great almighty parent, creating many? Then he should fucking do something. Free will is nice, but so is actually doing something instead of sitting on the sidelines.

Humans never asked to exist, after all. The same goes for the victimized people here.

There has to be a better way than this.

There has to be a better option.

Not that it matters now. Maybe it never mattered. Not that John has time to think about it at the moment. That sort of thought process is a luxury, and war has little time for luxuries.] I told you, I'm something of a dabbler. Right? And since the powers that be have graciously provided me with a good amount of dead? I figure it's time for them to face their victims. Literally.

[He makes a sharp sound, his breath is coming fast in stress and anger. There's also something excited in John, even if he won't admit it right now. It's a rush, being forced to accommodate the differences in environment and components all in the name of taking down an arrogant group of elite bastards with a shitty faux angel army.] Haven't made a golem in ages. But I think it'll be much the same. They're not that different than humans when it comes down to what counts. [Blood, bone, soul, muscle, maybe not formed the same way but all are things in common.]

[albatrossomen]

Does He? What makes you say that? [So help him if this is another 'bad things happen to good people' whine fest he'll be tempted to dangle John off a building for making him suffer through another one. He's heard it all and he is Very Tired. While Murmur would insist he has no strong opinions on whether or not one is responsible for the things they make that isn't entirely true. He was there when the Flood was called to wash away the Nephilim his brothers created. He helped call down the water while they screamed in despair. Angels dealt with their own abominations in the only way they knew how: execution.

Of course if they wanted to talk about how His Holiness was a terrible father then boy did Murmur have some stories for John. One angle the humans always forgot was that the angels are creations as well. They weren't involved in the making of mankind, many of them didn't agree with the whole thing. They fought a war over it! No one seems to consider the cost of demanding assistance from beings many of whom might prefer to see your species annihilated might not be as brilliant a course of action as anticipated.

If there is a better way then it would be by their own hand and own decisions to deliver it.

He made a face at John's suggestion. One part intrigued and several disgusted. Toying with souls is an abhorrence, but he won't tell John not to, it's not his place to dictate free will.]

And you are expecting this task to accomplish... what, exactly?

[Chaos is all well and good, Murmur would just like to understand the intended outcome. It would make driving toward a goal more clear. John's further explanation did seem to draw some interest in the angel.]

Fleshweaving?

[He's dabbled himself, back when his feathers were charred and he didn't have to worry about the slightest mistake severing what small link he still had with Heaven again.]

[laughing_magician]

I think it's pretty bloody obvious. Doesn't take a genius to see that our heavenly father is just as shitty as the earthly bastards he stick us with. I could start listing examples, but I've got things to do and I'm not in the mood to sit around and bitch and moan about it.

[If John knew that, well, there'd be the queen mother of all shitty bad-things-happen-to-good people whinefests, curated just for Murmur. The greatest feast of them. Perhaps even the Vitellius’ Feast of whinefests. But thankfully he doesn't, so he won't purposefully be a pain in the arse about it.

Besides, he's got things to do that are far more important than that. His mind is set on war, and he's going to bring out the troops shortly.

John isn't entirely hateful towards Murmur and his kind. John understands the roles of angels, and in his heart he knows that they don't have a great time of it either. He knows they're just another shitty creation in a whole host of shitty creations. It's the self-righteous arrogance of them that really leaves John seething, though. None of them are worth a thing, none of them valuable, most of creation are just sad sods trying to get by. He figures they're all cut from the same worthless cloth, demons, angels, humans.

All of them god's anything but perfect creations.

But even if John is just another worthless bastard, he's a bastard that's going to do something. And the rage is giving way to excitement, John's heartbeat runs faster now, his eyes bright with malicious mischief. He hasn't had an excuse to go all out in a long time. So even if he hates the circumstances, a part of him is gleeful at the chance to weave destruction out of intentions.]

I don't know if I've got it in me to take out the prophet blighter on my own, no clue how strong he really is, but I'm sure as hell able to make things very inconvenient for him and anyone who serves him. Golems are special like that. They don't hurt, don't feel, don't need to stop and breathe. So every weakness that those bodies held in life? Gone. [He snaps his fingers, magic sparking in a dull golden glow between them.] Just like that. Imbue a little extra magic, twist a ritual, and at the end of their second lives they go out with a bang. [He takes a breath, and rifles through a pocket for a cigarette. He needs the nicotine, and badly.] So that's that. I can have a small explosive army at the ready in forty-five minutes or less, I figure. And then all I have to do is send them out, and follow after to dish out a little hell of my own.

[albatrossomen]

[There's a subtle twitch, an icy look coupled with the faintest hint of a sharp decline in temperature so brief one might be inclined to write it off as a stray breeze. Were they not in the middle of a desert, at any rate. That said, Murmur held in his ire remarkably, understanding that this pain of John's is real even if the target of his lashing at the moment is one the angel is designed to take offense for.

He tears his eyes away, instead letting his gaze sweep the walls that contain the city. Such a fragile barrier against the cost of status.]

I wouldn't know. We've never met.

[It's better to redirect than to address John's accusations directly, there's little to be gained from reminding him that the fallen world is a result of actions taken. He hardly needs to put the salt in that wound, and most certainly would prefer to spare himself further headache by giving John ammunition. The man has proven himself a threat and Murmur, for his part, can be very good at dodging those. He's had ample practice.

Ah but the change in demeanor is refreshing, less of this useless whining and more action. That's what he likes to see. After a thoroughly long look at the wall nearby his eyes sweep back to John, taking in that flicker of magic in eyes that could watch the ripples far beyond what John could ever hope to see.]

Not unlike the machines themselves. Of course... the size of their forces has not yet been determined. Should one not familiarize themselves with the battlefield first?

[He wants to have a look around but he needs an excuse. Maybe if he can press John to utilize a tiny bit of tactics, he can set his own plans in motion.]