Post by anaris on May 20, 2006 20:53:50 GMT -5
“Settle down. We could use the entertainment, even if they are Xenos scum.” Across the rim of the bowl, humans conversed, united in confusion as they would never be in purpose. A world of scheming and infighting, this one. The name was not important. Kiamtageth, the world of Firefall. A Maiden World, named for its former state, a ruined world of heat and pain. Here, Suitheakion-Eliath performed, as they had performed since the world was formed. The Endless Dance stood still, waiting for the sun’s fall.
Dathedi idling, they stood. At last light, the audience silenced. Twin suns blazed on the rim, lapping at each other. Trails of incandescent gas arced between them, visible even from here. A confluence that occurred once every two hundred years, one that would eventually tear the world apart. Across the surface of Kiamtageth, ancient technology flared in response. Psychoactive crystals cut the ties of the suns’ gravities for a heartbeat, controlling the redoubled force of the event. But the machines were old, and the stars sunk below the bowl as they failed, and the ground shook.
Into a world of cataclysm, the Harlequins danced. Dathedi flickered now, what the men called domino fields. Red and yellow flared as the troupe pirouetted, flying and falling on the whims of the world. Kiamtageth as it was before. The woris cried, voices lifted in the ancient cries of a planet. The audience sat, and stared.
In a flash of destructive glory, the dathedi died. The Harlequins faded into the night around the central figure. Outlined in white by ancient bones, Death stood. Kiamtageth’s death. And into it, Isturrithnovav danced. Fate. The fate that had led the Eldar to this world, in this time before their Fall from grace. His movements were pristine, the cold, clean facelessness of destiny. And Death danced alongside.
Fate and Death danced the knife-edge. Kiamtageth’s Death, or its Fated life. Dathedi flared, and fractured images matched steps. A thousand facets of Isturrith matched the Death Jester for a moment, manifold paths. But in a flare of white, Death met the salvation of the world and struck it down. A shadow passed over the performance as the light faded from the sky. Below, the light faded from Isturrith. Darkness reigned supreme.
In night, the troupe froze. Behind his faceless mask, Isturrith allowed himself a small smile. They had the audience, but it was not about them. It had never been about them. This was about Kiamtageth. Dathedi dark, he waited.
Death danced triumphant. But in his folly, he missed the light. As the third and smallest sun crested the bowl, a spark lit within Fate’s still form. In light, it danced, growing stronger. The chorus sang no longer. They danced to the rhythm of the world, now.
Fate descended into fire, into Kiamtageth’s light. And with him rode the Eldar. A pair of Harlequins followed their god into the fire, and they wrought changes. Flame became hard rock, and the Eldar planted seeds. Kiamtageth blossomed. For an impossible time, the Harlequins danced the dances of old, of celebration, of peace and joy. For a time, Kiamtageth was pure. Pristine. Perfection wrought by forgotten artifacts was brought forth upon the sandy floor of an ancient rock formation.
The chorus struck up again, but it was not joy that they cried. It was pain, yet also pleasure. It was decadence, it was hedonism. Isturrith held his mind tight, fearing what he knew was to come. And come it did. The grief-cry, the requiem for what they had built, for what they had been. The troupe’s minds, screaming into silence. No matter how many times he heard this, the old otEsdainn would never like it. He had danced here but once before, but this cry was the cry of the Fall.
Like a shadow, darkness crept over Kiamtageth. The sun sunk away again, its manic orbit swallowing the light. A figure appeared from nowhere, and yet he had always been there. The Laughing God wept and sadness entered his dance.
Around him, the Eldar pushed themselves. To the limits of their bodies and beyond. Millions of souls died to feed the growth of that stationary figure. Lights died, and Fate re-entered the dance. This time, he moved beside Death, no longer fighting. The Eldar cried their corruption to the stars, but Fate guided them as Death took them. They came to the Kionash, the Craftworlds, built in secret.
And when the last of the corruption died, Fate led the Kionash away. The last remnants of the Eldar faded from Kiamtageth, and from all the worlds of their race. And in the darkness that they left behind, the lone figure awoke. He moved slowly, and the supposedly dead Eldar jerked to un-natural life. Their souls burned in the fires of the Child God, and his birthing pangs chased their lives, their minds, their very beings through the cavernous vastness of JiorQuas, the Warp, the Otherworld. They wept as they died a thousand times over. Even the Laughing God fled that terrible face.
The Solitaire danced alone. Always alone. He who trod ShenestraBellah, the Path of Damnation. Slaanesh danced his dance of death. The dance continued around him, but he was always alone.
There would be no victory against him. The fiery avatar of Khaela Mensha Khaine was shattered by his poisonous touch. The Gods rose against him, one by one, and one by one they died. Only the Laughing God hid, deep in the caverns of Sercam-Belach, the Webway. Only he survived that which consumed the souls of all others.
Pleasure grew strong, and even the humans were horrified. For a moment, Isturrith had forgotten they were there, but now, their unified emotions touched his walls. He felt their terror.
And into the darkness came light once more. This time, no sun brought it, but the glow of a few thousand souls, escaping into the darkness. Dathedi lit the night in warmth. The Kionash survived. And Kiamtageth fell. No more was it a world of fire, but the birthing of a god had scarred it. Its trees would never again grow, its soil never again bloom. The world fell to the humans, and to desert.
And that was the next phase of the dance. As the sun touched the skies once more, humanity came. The suns would not fully rise, the light of the world never be restored. Eldar danced their discovery, joyous movements stunted by oafish forms. But the sun would not stay. Light faded again, the darkness descended on the planet as it had in times past. The Eldar knew this, and the humans finally understood. As the troupe departed, one by one, through the Gate, the humans finally saw what they were, and what they could never be. They saw what the darkness meant, and Isturrith smiled.
Two hundred and forty-seven prisoners sat shocked, awed by what they had seen. The penal colony of Firefall saw few visitors, and these the strangest. And then a man laughed. A joke, at first overloud in the silence. Gradually, noise came back. Firefall recovered its senses, and forgot what it had seen.The world circled its twins, and the three orbitted the stars, unaffected by the dance. Suitheakion-Eliath passed from their memories for another two hundred years.
And in the darkness around the world, there was nothing but the laughter of a dark god.
Dathedi idling, they stood. At last light, the audience silenced. Twin suns blazed on the rim, lapping at each other. Trails of incandescent gas arced between them, visible even from here. A confluence that occurred once every two hundred years, one that would eventually tear the world apart. Across the surface of Kiamtageth, ancient technology flared in response. Psychoactive crystals cut the ties of the suns’ gravities for a heartbeat, controlling the redoubled force of the event. But the machines were old, and the stars sunk below the bowl as they failed, and the ground shook.
Into a world of cataclysm, the Harlequins danced. Dathedi flickered now, what the men called domino fields. Red and yellow flared as the troupe pirouetted, flying and falling on the whims of the world. Kiamtageth as it was before. The woris cried, voices lifted in the ancient cries of a planet. The audience sat, and stared.
In a flash of destructive glory, the dathedi died. The Harlequins faded into the night around the central figure. Outlined in white by ancient bones, Death stood. Kiamtageth’s death. And into it, Isturrithnovav danced. Fate. The fate that had led the Eldar to this world, in this time before their Fall from grace. His movements were pristine, the cold, clean facelessness of destiny. And Death danced alongside.
Fate and Death danced the knife-edge. Kiamtageth’s Death, or its Fated life. Dathedi flared, and fractured images matched steps. A thousand facets of Isturrith matched the Death Jester for a moment, manifold paths. But in a flare of white, Death met the salvation of the world and struck it down. A shadow passed over the performance as the light faded from the sky. Below, the light faded from Isturrith. Darkness reigned supreme.
In night, the troupe froze. Behind his faceless mask, Isturrith allowed himself a small smile. They had the audience, but it was not about them. It had never been about them. This was about Kiamtageth. Dathedi dark, he waited.
Death danced triumphant. But in his folly, he missed the light. As the third and smallest sun crested the bowl, a spark lit within Fate’s still form. In light, it danced, growing stronger. The chorus sang no longer. They danced to the rhythm of the world, now.
Fate descended into fire, into Kiamtageth’s light. And with him rode the Eldar. A pair of Harlequins followed their god into the fire, and they wrought changes. Flame became hard rock, and the Eldar planted seeds. Kiamtageth blossomed. For an impossible time, the Harlequins danced the dances of old, of celebration, of peace and joy. For a time, Kiamtageth was pure. Pristine. Perfection wrought by forgotten artifacts was brought forth upon the sandy floor of an ancient rock formation.
The chorus struck up again, but it was not joy that they cried. It was pain, yet also pleasure. It was decadence, it was hedonism. Isturrith held his mind tight, fearing what he knew was to come. And come it did. The grief-cry, the requiem for what they had built, for what they had been. The troupe’s minds, screaming into silence. No matter how many times he heard this, the old otEsdainn would never like it. He had danced here but once before, but this cry was the cry of the Fall.
Like a shadow, darkness crept over Kiamtageth. The sun sunk away again, its manic orbit swallowing the light. A figure appeared from nowhere, and yet he had always been there. The Laughing God wept and sadness entered his dance.
Around him, the Eldar pushed themselves. To the limits of their bodies and beyond. Millions of souls died to feed the growth of that stationary figure. Lights died, and Fate re-entered the dance. This time, he moved beside Death, no longer fighting. The Eldar cried their corruption to the stars, but Fate guided them as Death took them. They came to the Kionash, the Craftworlds, built in secret.
And when the last of the corruption died, Fate led the Kionash away. The last remnants of the Eldar faded from Kiamtageth, and from all the worlds of their race. And in the darkness that they left behind, the lone figure awoke. He moved slowly, and the supposedly dead Eldar jerked to un-natural life. Their souls burned in the fires of the Child God, and his birthing pangs chased their lives, their minds, their very beings through the cavernous vastness of JiorQuas, the Warp, the Otherworld. They wept as they died a thousand times over. Even the Laughing God fled that terrible face.
The Solitaire danced alone. Always alone. He who trod ShenestraBellah, the Path of Damnation. Slaanesh danced his dance of death. The dance continued around him, but he was always alone.
There would be no victory against him. The fiery avatar of Khaela Mensha Khaine was shattered by his poisonous touch. The Gods rose against him, one by one, and one by one they died. Only the Laughing God hid, deep in the caverns of Sercam-Belach, the Webway. Only he survived that which consumed the souls of all others.
Pleasure grew strong, and even the humans were horrified. For a moment, Isturrith had forgotten they were there, but now, their unified emotions touched his walls. He felt their terror.
And into the darkness came light once more. This time, no sun brought it, but the glow of a few thousand souls, escaping into the darkness. Dathedi lit the night in warmth. The Kionash survived. And Kiamtageth fell. No more was it a world of fire, but the birthing of a god had scarred it. Its trees would never again grow, its soil never again bloom. The world fell to the humans, and to desert.
And that was the next phase of the dance. As the sun touched the skies once more, humanity came. The suns would not fully rise, the light of the world never be restored. Eldar danced their discovery, joyous movements stunted by oafish forms. But the sun would not stay. Light faded again, the darkness descended on the planet as it had in times past. The Eldar knew this, and the humans finally understood. As the troupe departed, one by one, through the Gate, the humans finally saw what they were, and what they could never be. They saw what the darkness meant, and Isturrith smiled.
Two hundred and forty-seven prisoners sat shocked, awed by what they had seen. The penal colony of Firefall saw few visitors, and these the strangest. And then a man laughed. A joke, at first overloud in the silence. Gradually, noise came back. Firefall recovered its senses, and forgot what it had seen.The world circled its twins, and the three orbitted the stars, unaffected by the dance. Suitheakion-Eliath passed from their memories for another two hundred years.
And in the darkness around the world, there was nothing but the laughter of a dark god.