Many days' journey from any civilized land, the Aleatoric Mountains cut through the sky at the edge of the known world, towering over the Plains of Possibility (whose similarity in name to any other geographic entity is purely coincidental). The plains—expansive, steppe-like, and empty—harbor the last few signs of life for any traveler so unlucky as to venture this far from, well, from everything else, really. A small, desolate village, starkly isolated here where the sky is so large, is the last outpost of humankind at the foot of the peaks.
The mountains' summits are sharp and snow-capped, blazing a brilliant white that is sears the eye, competing with the sun to dominate the cloudless heavens. The air is thin. The mountain slopes are barren and deserted save for the ravens who circle in the gaps between the peaks. Even the ravens make their nests out of sight. The monotony of the gray rock is broken only by one, single thread: the narrow stairs carved into the flank of the highest peak. Never winding, the stairs rise to the bottom of the great cliff that is the highest face of the tallest mountain. There, one league into the sky, the cliff face is carved with mysterious reliefs and mystical figures who guard the arch that forms the doorway into the mountain.
Inside, a long passageway is lit with torches. They do little to warm the air and compete for what little oxygen there is, but without their light one could not see; advancing into the cavern, the light from the arch behind—a last window to the sky—shrinks and vanishes. One may not progress into the temple without being accosted. First the guards with their bladed lances and exotic helmets, then the guardians with their robes and ghostly faces must be satisfied with answers to proceed. But who would come so far unbid? Only one whose sacrifices have gone unanswered, who has attempted every last resort, would make the pilgrimage this far to Margaret's shrine.
"Why are you come?" She asked me. The cavern's echo transformed Her voice, rich with the sweetness of victory and the strength of desperation, from a lilting melody into a booming, divine tone, reverberating through Her throne room.
"I needed... I thought... I had a question for you," I stammered, truly aware only now of my own foolishness.
"And what is that?"
"I have been blessed—" I corrected myself. "You have blessed me with Your fortune. I was undeserving, and You granted me everything. I have no complaint. But I am not come because I needed to see to believe, nor did my eyes need proof for me to know the stories are true. Only a simpleton would doubt. Prosperity has been given to me, and I will be happy, even were it taken away tonight. Truly I count myself your favored son."
I paused. She did not answer; instead, the air and majesty of Her throne room grew in the space and the silence and weighed on me until I could not breathe. She was not a politician who needed to answer ever statement, even if it was not a question. Royalty had time for grace and silence.
Somehow, I continued. "I have but one question for You; one thing I must know for my joy to be complete. It is known what pleases You: that the smell of burning rubber is a perfume to Your nostrils and the cries of rubber chickens music to Your ears. And we have learned to know Your will; we heed the voice of your xkoracle." Hesitantly, I raised my eyes to Her face and was surprised to find that she smiled at me. Surely this was a sign that my boon was to be granted. I pressed my luck.
"But what we don't know..." I couldn't go on that way. I dropped my pretentious act. "I don't get it," I said. "I'm lost, I don't know what to do. I think someone has stolen my name. I'm worried that when I pray for Your blessing, it is being given to another."
"Fear not, My child," She said, and Her voice filled me with warmth and reassurance. "Your prayers are heard. My priests may not correctly inscribe your name upon the xkoracle, but your fate is in My hands none the less."
"Thank you," I said, not sure what else I could. "Thank you." And then, timidly: "What must I do to ensure this doesn't happen again? What sin have I committed?"
"You need to save your text files as UTF-16," She said, "not UTF-8. UTF-16 LE and UTF-16 BE should both be fine, I think."
I took a knee, conscious that I had just been blessed once more. "Thank you, my Lady of The Random Number Gods."
"This information I do not impart to you lightly," She said. "You must go forth and spread this word to all who will listen. Liventia knows, for when they hold their games, it is My flame that lights their torches. I have to assume the Farves are aware, given their whole deal with names. But make sure you tell everyone else: UTF-16."
I bowed my head before once more taking my feet and looking to her, still astonished that I was thus privileged. "I will."
"Now, My child, you must descend once more. You must go out and take up arms once more, but be not worried, for My fortune shall guide you as long as you are true. Yet beware: if you commit heresy and spurn My Name, I will abandon you as you have abandoned Me. Victory shall turn to dust in your mouth, My luck will depart from you, and you'll be happy if you can make it to the Cup of Harmony. On the other hand, if you continue your rubber chicken sacrifices and follow my xkoracle, I will be with you, yes, and you shall truly be my favored son."
Retiring from her chamber with a bow, I departed the way I had come. As I started down the passageway, I thought I heard Her mumble something about me being a 'new favored child', Drawkland's broken qualification streak, and Baker Park. Then something about me: "If he boast not of his streak between the WC final and the end of qualifiers, I may allow it to continue." But I didn't worry. I had had my answer. I struck out once more to make my descent from those Aleatoric Mountains, setting my face set toward the point of light at the end of the passage—the sole glimpse I had of a sky that was only getting brighter.
