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A Time to Gather Stones Together [Nation Development]

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The Ctan
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A Time to Gather Stones Together [Nation Development]

Postby The Ctan » Mon Oct 01, 2018 3:10 pm

Jurnai, Duat, Supreme Crownworld of the Great Civilization

Devagni Pancholi ita Dyvanakh ita Merenakh, Proaldaconciga of the Great Civilization of the C’tan rose from her bed, slipping out of its whisperfields and letting it slip from her form, gravitics and featherelles moving aside as she swept toward the ground, her feet touching the concentrically inlaid tiles, rubbery softness comforting her feet. The last eddies of the interlaced gravitic fields coiled and plaited her hair out of the way of her face as she moved.

She wore an age in her fifties, though she suffered nothing of the infirmity of age, she was fashionably augmented, and then a little more. Above all else her mind was expanded and as she slipped to the centre of the room, where a shallow step of a few inches was surrounded by a partial railing of brass, she shook her head slightly, taking her body through the bone-deep sensation of the cleanser working, before slipping her housecoat on and drawing herself through the doorway from her bedroom to the breakfast room, a wide window looking out on the rolling hills, she sank into a basky chair, a woven chair of flexible fabric that melded traditional techniques and she set a hand on the low beside her, summoning short list of favoured breakfasts, and selecting one.

The synthesis unit built into the house did its work in a trice, and a displacer carried the dish she had created, richly fragrant but small portioned, and she at last composed herself to reunification.

The parts of her outside her physical self were extensive, identity was a matter of what she had extended herself into, not merely herself. But there was another story, there always was. The reknitting of her halo of linked devices and systems, artificial sub-selves and units was a process akin to stepping into a steaming bath.

She gingerly linked her mind with the experience beyond it, and inloaded with it the information of what had passed while she had slept. Nothing drastic, of course, or she would have been roused, but something must have happened, given the way her halo tenderly settled, there had been a lot of processing outside of herself, her opinions had been shaped by simulacra of her personality and knowledge, and she did not so much experience the news as remember it.

The news was one thing, and one thing only. Enuncia was the word on everyone’s lips - the phrase had become memetically amusing for its irony. The Sergar Library affiliated research group known as the Nunciate Foundation had finally announced the completion of their great work. It had been a task that had required many disciplines, and the news surprised Devagni as much as any had. Some had thought the publication and review of such a thing, a complete grammar and syntax of Enuncia had been centuries off.

Any discovery was important, and the Great Civilization had not neared the end of knowledge, not even significantly, but this had been a sacred grail that many had sought and even died for. Actually a great many had done that.

Enuncia.

She had not imagined it; she knew that this was not a small change, this was as epochal as the discovery of genetic sequencing, or perhaps, the discovery of hyperspeed, or the conversion of the necrons to the necrontyr once more.

Devagni sat back in her chair, and felt the number of high level and urgent contacts she had relieved. She was no expert, but as one of the tripartite council who formed the executive of the Great Civilization, there were decisions to be made.

Policy to form, senate committees to address, and of course, awards and statues to raise.

And then. Then she knew where things were going.

Enuncia.

The True Speech of the Old Ones.
__ __ __


Naogeddon, Homeworld of the Necrontyr

Lithesh moved with the customary reverence. The attention caused her scalp to itch beneath her mop of arnstoan-avid feather-pleated hair, even if the light from the ancient and dim sun didn’t. She moved with care, approaching the top of the temple. She wouldn’t be allowed to fall, but she knew that the stepped platform had been used so long that its steps had been worn to gravel many times and replaced, the Necrontyr had always honoured their scientists and every tier of the pyramid was decorated with the faces of those who had been instrumental in paving the way to where they were today.

“You ought to watch the steps not the sky,” she suggested, her lilting command of the tongue she spoke slipping through the air easily.

The woman who walked beside her returned her gaze to the steps before her, “My mind wandered far, I wonder what my ancestors would think if they saw me now,” Aileer Serenti said, “I may not even be first to be honoured here,” she said, but this…”

The procession was a shifting glimmer of metallic fabrics, though they moved under planetary shields that diffracted and dispersed the inferno-star’s radiation; the group who climbed the pyramid were dressed in historic attire. Here on Naogeddon itself, the oldest tomb-world, there was nothing but history and heat. Far overhead another baleful object hung, the Catastrofane, an ancient Necrontyr world destroyed by the Old Ones during the War. Some said that the inhabitants still lived, after a fashion. Aileer looked upward and wondered if she would one day be able to help disperse it; such things were possible, that much was known, but the knowledge was lost. So much was.

The Naogeddon System was rich with history, and unlike the rest of the Great Civilization, only the Citizens of the Great Civilization were not permitted to leave without express leave of the system’s council and many precautions; it was not the heart of the Civilization any more, but it was certainly its spiritual home.

Aileer’s people had visited the world many times, of course, during the Great Sleep, they had even settled the other surviving planet of the system, which they named Belithal’chen, settled by the dour folk who called themselves Exodites; Aileer was a Yvressi not a Belithal’cheni, and her tongue was slightly different. But since many had joined wholly with the Great Civilization they had been able to come and go as they pleased.

Still, her entire species, the Yldari - an ancient title had been changed by the Old Ones to use as weapons against the Necrontyr; and here she was, at one of the most sacred temples of knowledge the necrontyr had erected in ancient days.

The local dignitaries and spectators who watched them as they reached the top of their climb contained well known heroes, Kavri the Golden, creator of the fractal engine, Airaheri, not the most powerful mage of the entire culture by any means but perhaps the most famous, Himelon, who had by many accounts saved the Necrons from their greatest threat in history.

Devagni stood beside Jeylas ita Atun, First Cryptek of the Conclaves, a ceremonial role for senior scientists, elected and hotly contested, but nonetheless one that had this particular duty.

Aileer had never seen Jeylas Atun before, but she had heard of her, she’d expected more, perhaps, the woman before her was small and unassuming, olive-bronze skin and dark hair contrasted with the gorget and pectoral combination of her position, while she carried the ritual staff of a plasmamancer. “Torchbearers,” she said, “you are recognized and bidden to enter the Temple of Truth, you who have brought truth to us,” she said, “stand forth and be recognized. This will be the largest single admission to the rank of Cryptek in the last thirty years, and all of us here,” she said, one hand sweeping to encompass the observation platforms and drones that surrounded them.

Aileer smiled.

This was only the beginning.
"If any should be slaves, it should be first those who desire it for themselves, and secondly those who desire it for others. When I hear anyone arguing for slavery I feel a strong impulse to see it tried on him personally." ~ Abraham Lincoln
"The Necrons were amongst the first beings to come into existance, and have sworn that they will rule over the living." - Still surprisingly accurate!
"Be you anywhere from Progress Level 5 or 6 and barely space-competent, all the way up to the current record of PL-20 for beings like the C’Tan..." Lord General Superior Rai’a Sirisi, Xenohumanity
"Many races and faiths have considered themselves to be a threat to the Necrons, but their worlds and their cultures are now little more than interesting archaeology."

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