Gorgeous... [FT - Closed]

[Vortim]

"Hü'kákíi Aaské"

"Follow blindly, a leash around your throat.
Do as your told or you will fucking choke.
Baaa and Bray, a sheep in mind and heart.
Your ignorance is what tears the world apart."

Come in, come in, we are getting closer. The land of continents and white towers, we are on our way, to bring a better day tomorrow. The ball, er, planet of toxins, really something could be salvaged for sure. If you listen closely enough, you can hear a faint song rise from the Planet's core, you can hear it oh so softly. Life among the dead, indeed that was a good way to put it. From what I hear, life is like a cycle on this planet, need not say that cycles do not function in the lives of our own as well. Creations are nurtured, and those who receive not will be fed through the system of the masses. Across a jewel we had come, we had come across something precious, gorgeous for that fact. It was pretty.

We travel aimlessly, searching for jewels to shine and gems to mask in their glories. We not set path on our never-ending journey, we float in our vessel of life, drifting throughout the empty void that is outer, or internal on that note. We'll float with our own kin by our sides, going nowhere fast, waiting for something to happen. Gradually, we move onward.

" Ru-hué íshii nuo-nuo, üfercláank jao-ji?" ^ʝ
"Where are the children, cleansing is near?"

" Bufe'i jiang nu-ákiki wong? "
"Who says we know, united?"

Many bodies among one shared mind, our relations grow farther and farther into oddness, no, they become odder and odder as time goes on. How does one love another if truly they are merely loving themselves? How does one make love to another when really it is just them in a different physical manifestation. The single self is gorgeous, but it is not unique when sliced into two, then four, then sixteen, then two hundred and fifty six and so on. We can not communicate in the way of man, for we are joined together by a single stream of conscious, we are different yet the same, our roots directly trace to a single organism. All else is beautiful, all else is gorgeous.

We float, drifting off on the edge of the planet's outermost dwellings, we almost touch the jewel oh so slightly. Are we being scouted from afar, or very close yet as if a contorted memoir?

"You are free to do as you're told!
You are free to do as you're told!
You are free to do as you're told!
You are free to do as you're told!"

[Rentusera]

The world did not come from magic or any (conscious) god. The world itself might consist of gods and goddesses- almost all of which hate us to the bone- but itself? No. It comes itself from the darkness of the void, via Sol. Not God.
But is the background radiation of the universe itself a god? That is the interesting question.

-Dr. Meran, Whalt wis ar Natura oz Manaf?

Liftoff
Third Day of the Third Moon of Soleire Changtiandi, 3899 in the Age of Divine Sound
Atop the Tower

A white suit of armour hovered along the thick paths, as if to contrast the blue, circuit-laden platforms of the external Central Tower; white wings tapered with black, breastplate in silver clad. The figure within pushed forwards with the grace of a swan- a metaphor that would seem apt if any still existed- and with a very definable purpose. The Blast Line destroyed utterly anything going through it without the Tower's shielding; the launch point at Glasden Maxim would be reached only by foot, even after taking the quickest shortcut possible. Underneath the suit, the woman huffed uncomfortably; walking kilometres upwards doesn't do wonders for a person's mood. She had to do it, of course; the Ammue Sensors has a report, and it wasn't a very good one; and what better time is there but a new species to test the newest technology on?

As she walked, a short glance over the near edge leading into the mass of greenery and flowers below gives her reason for a smile. The world had long ago abandoned them, had long ago decided that they were no longer worth existence except as sources of power; but the destruction of Cheriel certainly stopped that outdated ball of fire from spreading her disease. At least for a while, but a while was more than enough to fortify and build the Undershield Worlds. The world had abandoned them, yes; but they had abandoned the world, a long time ago. Even as she walked, Revyateils and Grathmelders constructed and Revyatologists researched, their songs extending, building the world around the Tower and strengthened its formations; already OMNIS=MARTA had bridged the gap between it and SOL=CLUSTER. A marvel of contemporary engineering over hundreds of kilometres, shielded with a Tonelico generator- just in case the planet decided to get bitchy.

She reached the tip, breathing heavily the recycled air of the Tower; Glasden Maxim is brand-new, a monument to the power of modern construction under her rule. She created it herself, and before her it extends, gleaming ivory towers, a miniature XP Shell pointing the opposite way. Upwards, not downwards. That is her constant plan of rule, and it serves her quite well; unlike the Cluster fanatics who wished to 'fix' the world, to look downwards instead of up.

"Administrator!" a woman shouted; a tattoo is clearly visible on her abdomen, her Installation Port. Azruillia immediately recognizes her. Auratillia, the miniature Song Server. She smiles to herself and walks towards her gently, her imposing armour identifying her clearly. "Auratillia. What are we facing?"

The girl's eyes widen as she realizes that the Administrator knows her name; then again, her fame would make that quite obvious. She was chosen to administrate Glasden Maxim for a reason- no amplifier could sing by itself but her. As soon as it sinks in, she immediately fumbles for the datacrystal within her rather exposing suit's numerous pockets- a few seconds later, she hands it over, and the Administrator inserts it into her side-loader.

Immediately, a large red outline appeared in her visor; the contours were presented crisply, and her eyes became rather large as she took in the sight. "Is this a joke?" she says, tapping her hip-armour with her clad fingers, creating a rather menacing noise. It seemed to follow a tune; deactivation. Not a good tune. Auratillia quickly puts her hands in a halting motion. "No, no! It's what the Ammue detected!" She stepped back a bit. Being around when the Administrator was displeased was never a good idea.

"Did you attempt to communicate?"

"It's not connected to any network; we can't send waves out-atmosphere. We'll have to speak with them directly."

"Get it ready." the Administrator said, as she points to the central Shell.

"Already is." Auratillia walked up to it, beckoning the Administrator to follow.

Ma num ra aulla.
Aullaeh sos fwal en zahha,
martavallis -> 1248312 ini iem.

The door opened as the words finished, allowing them into Glasden Maxim itself; an imposing open chamber reaching upwards for a whole four kilometres, constructed out of pure song; searing sunlight reached down and illuminated the blue and black chamber, the huge magnet-tower surrounding them refracting the light in beautiful patterns as columns of Binary Field data opened themselves to purveyance. The magnets themselves were covered in silver harps and trumpets, oboes and various other instruments, gleaming in the brightness; and before them laid the Vinan Fwirlla, the White Plumage; more than just an airship, constructed as if it did not need propellers to fly- but it was not meant to fly, no, not merely to transcend land but to transcend the heavens. Its tip was a sharp, tapering white point, the entire thing white as snow. The whole thing filled an eigth of the tube, gentle grey lines criss-crossing it and what looked like ventilation shafts- ejection ports for reaction 'mass'- disrupting them. The whole thing came together as if it is meant to be, natural, entirely perfect. Azruillia marveled at it for a bit before resuming her smooth 'stride'- as far as a floating person can stride- towards the central door, clearly demarcated by OMNIS=MARTA's insignia. Would be the insignia of the world, if not for the fact that the Administrators of the other towers still bore some thought for their 'sovereignty'.

Auratillia stepped in front of her and repeated the chant, the door sliding back seamlessly into itself, opening the entrance to the dark corridor; sheer darkness compared to the radiance of the railgun. The central beam contained a lift, the two other sides opening to the reactor; but overall it was a very lightweight ship. The journey up to the command shell was quick- a shining, illuminated chamber with huge percussion instruments upon the walls; wind instruments visible through plexiglass, a huge trumpet's center at the opening of it. Amplification devices. Anybody who attempted to board the ship would get a rather unpleasant- or pleasant, depending on whose side you were on- welcome. String instruments entwined with them, ready to begin any tune at any time. The pinnacle of refinement; calibrated exactingly. A giant dome of a monitor-screen showed the external world in exacting detail; and in the centre of the mess was a Dive Chamber.

"We will lift off soon, Administrator. Please prepare yourself." she said, whispering a few words to open the Dive Chamber and allow her access. She would dive into the 'consciousness' of the machine- the primitive artificial intelligence that worked as an intermediary between her and the Vinan Fwirlla. Laying back into the machine, she threw a foreboding look at Azruillia before the Dive Machine's cover went upon her- and the music of the ship's 'mind' began to play, and she began to recite the maintainence commands.

Wasye rinceh hymmnor yor sos chs fwal-fwala.
Mana inieh nnoini chnawai iem.
Chnawa => Tonelicopauwel
Chnawa => Leathymmnos
Chnawa => Ryushedand
Chnawa => Dopleheath
Chnawa => Gigeadethit
I will be happy to become one with your melody; for you shall be the wings that carry me.
Initialize the first checks.
Check: Amplifiers
Check: Instruments
Check: Engine Ports
Check: Cooling Systems
Check: Cameras

And so it went- every function returning green, as the entire world appeared around her- and she found that she was the ship, she was everything. The tendrils of her mind reached out, to initiate a feedback loop with the reactor and the railgun- the inertial dampeners preparing as she activated the magnets and began to sing- to sing from her heart. Within the machine's primitive Cosmosphere, she felt, at first, almost lonely- but she did not care now, for she was one.

And she was on her way to see her... new friends.

[Vortim]

三

"Can you hear it sir, can you hear it?
Listen, listen hard. I can hear it, I move to such effortlessly.
Its gorgeous, I'm hooked. Now we follow..."

Can you hear the song oh so softly playing from oh so near? Listen my son, listen hard. Listen with me, for we are one, listen with us, listen as one. Oh, the song is so delightful, I crave for more! We crave for more! We are one, we crave as one! Move towards the song, command such immediately. The Red, the red flare to our side, move towards such. I, nay we demand it, yes, yes, for we are one among ourselves, we are only and but, we are all and nothing. Move towards the source of this hymn, do so with great elegance, do so to impress the pretty. Showtime.

"They're coming, lets not be rude to our new friends, our new peers.
Lets go on our own, lets come to them as they come to us.
Thus, our kind."

Look, oh look there. Is that a sign? Indeed, our new associates approach, or am I seeing false? Indeed, we must approach in the way of our opposition, we must mimic their elegance whilst proving our own to such. Why can we not do as we wish, why can we not be as the masses be. We are one divided, our perfection crushed by the voids of our divisions, and thus we are a broken magnum opus of the creator.

"Perfection divided, seven broken, breakaway pieces. Wisdom, intelligence, strength, character, humility, beauty, flaw."

We approach the gorgeous hymn, nothing changes during our change. We are divided, now clarity in the fog. Once the perfect being, our physical state, us, were divided into seven by the plagues, the disgraceful plagues. The traits of our perfection? wisdom, intelligence, strength, character, humility, beauty, flaw. Yet, this division led to the wise lacking intelligence, strength, sole character, humility and so on, as did this effect us in the other divisions. Thus, the most entirely imperfect are perfect yet divided, united through a single conscious. I am conscious. I am perfection. Yet, physically I am hardly such, I crave the elegant, the gorgeous. I crave perfection. I crave it all.

"Sing to Us, sing to us some more."

三

[Rentusera]

Collision
Third Day of the Third Moon of Soleire Changtiandi, 3899 in the Age of Divine Sound
Among the Stars

She is stirred from her reverie with a... strangely compelling message. To sing. To sing; that was the fundamental command. And so she sung from her heart the emotions she kept within; the verse flowing as if it were pre-written; the feelings tangible even if her voice was not. H-waves transcended sound waves. Within only minutes she begun to probe, to probe into the minds that she found- but the whole thing was hazy, and so she could not see- she must get closer. She must get closer and closer...

And closer.

With an almost deafening strike, the collision sent shockwaves throughout the ship as they slowed down within the hull, leaving no heat- only whispers. They impacted, luckily, in the cargo holds; and so nothing disappeared from her. But what she felt within- what she felt within was indescribable as she gazed upon the souls laid before her. Fractured. Splintered. Crushed.

Inhuman.

She recoiled immediately in horror; getting shocked out of her dive-state and into reality. She had bitten down on her tongue in shock, and blood filled her mouth, and outside she immediately became aware of a hard banging, steel on steel. She barely enunciated the open command.

Wasyant aullehin.

Immediately, she was socked in the face by the white fist of the Administrator- evidently by accident, as she drew back her red-stained hand with horror. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, but- you idiot, you crashed us straight into the ship." The Administrator had suffered minimal injuries, but the scratches on her face seemed to contrast with her divine nature, streaks of red falling slowly from them as she yanked Auratillia out and chanted softly over her wounds, singing quietly even as she spoke. "What are we going to do now?"

So they waited, unsure, as Azruillia quickly grabbed onto the electrodes nearby and stuck them to her skull. If the aliens were pissed off, they'd at least put up a fight.