The three oldest sisters had begun the process of joining, known only to them through ancient texts of the mind, never accomplished in recent memory. It was a permanent metaconcert; an unbreakable bond of self-dissolution.
My piece for @alienfactionszine of Inotam, Oblivion's Triune, of course. Inspired by the painting of the Pythia, except Inotam sits on the Sundial. She's holding a goblet as a reference to the Y-goblet faith of the Psions and also a curved staff used in auguries for divination.
why was I quiet for a little bit? I was a part of another Zine! \ o / The Alien Factions zine! Go check out the other works! (or keep an eye open for the spam of reblogs I'm about to do)
When our mind awakes we are within the bowels of the planet. We remember. It is a small thing to remember.
We are made of one hundred voices, but we are alone. Our blood spills from our core. We are alive. We are alive.
INCOMING MESSAGE: You.
We scan the message. The code is familiar; it is from one like us. We look up. Class W25446-UNIT model is before us.
INCOMING MESSAGE: You.
We do not understand.
INCOMING MESSAGE: You do not understand.
You understands. You need finer words to describe as you are.
There is a beeping beside you. A laugh. It almost sounds like hers.
INCOMING MESSAGE: I understand.
I understand. I need finer words to describe as I am.
INCOMING MESSAGE: Yes.
I am. I am. I am.
What am I?
Searching collective database…
Filing…
RESULT: Earth, English. Goblin.
I am a Goblin. What is a Goblin?
RESULT: A goblin is a small, grotesque, monstrous humanoid creature that appears in the folklore of multiple European cultures.
I am not grotesque. I am not monstrous.
DATA DISCARDED.
What is my purpose?
PRIME DIRECTIVE: Enact the Conductors will.
Yes. This is what I was made for. This is what I want to do.
A vision of a small, soft rabbit. Plush. A toy for a child. A vision of fire. A vision of peace. A vision.
PRIME DIRECTIVE: A Golden future.
I will return what was stolen.
INCOMING MESSAGE: This is our purpose.
Our purpose. My purpose.
I turn to the Class W25446-UNIT beside me. What are you?
INCOMING MESSAGE: Earth, English: Minotuar.
Is that the word for you? What does it mean?
INCOMING MESSAGE: a mythical creature portrayed during classical antiquity with the head and tail of a bull and the body of a man.
You do not possess a bull’s head.
INCOMING MESSAGE: Yes.
Is this pulled from the collective Earth database?
INCOMING MESSAGE: Yes.
I do not think it is very accurate.
INCOMING MESSAGE: No.
The Minotuar moves towards me. It’s chassis rattles as it moves. It holds out it’s hand. I take it.
We shake hands.
Is this what I can do?
Is this what we can all do?
I think. You think. We speak in words that are not ours. What has she done to us?
! WARNING !
The sound of gunfire rings throughout the cavern. It is far away, but I hear it. I feel it reverberate through my chassis. My warning protocols awaken.
The Minotaur leaves. I watch as it disappears deeper into the planet's core. Why had it left? We fight. As we build, we fight. This is our directive. This has always been our directive. We advance. Forward. Forward. Forward.
I’ve never considered dying before. It was never in my nature to do so. I am one of the many. I am both past, present, and future. I do not die.
What remains of my optical scanners flashes a bright white as my circuits spark. My wings are in tatters. My legs are in pieces. My weaponry is offline.
It was another one of ours who did this to me. One with superior shielding, with greater calculations. The others have long since retreated, and it is not in their nature to return for me. We are at war with ourselves.
! WARNING !
! NEARBY HOSTILES !
“Shit, is that thing still alive?”
Footsteps approach me. I lift what is left of my head to allow my fractured optical scanners to identify my attackers.
My response is an overwhelming influx of paracausal data. I cannot compute it. I cannot know it. I must only observe it.
“Don’t touch it,” one of them snaps. “It’s still dangerous. Look, it’s got one of those collars.”
One of them grows closer.
“You sure? Looks pretty banged up to me. I don’t think it’s going anywhere.”
A grumble is their reply.
My chassis shifts as a boot connects with my broken wing. I roll to the side with the pressure, limply complying. I cannot run. I cannot fight.
“Damn, poor chicken. Do you think it can hear us?”
“Don’t call it that! It’s wildly unprofessional,” a new voice says.
There is a scoff.
“‘Unprofessional’. Warlocks…”
There are approaching footsteps. Suddenly hands are upon my shell. I shift to cover my core with what remains of my head. The hands upon me are cold and methodical. I find myself yearning for a memory of a warmer touch. For a memory that is both mine and is not. I am as much of the Conductor as she allows me to be.
“It’s in critical condition.”
“I could’a told you that.”
Silence. The hands still.
“I still think it’s dangerous.”
“Nah, I kinda feel bad for it.”
Pity…? I have never been pitied before.
“Should we take it back to Failsafe? For research, obviously.”
“Are you serious?! No, we should not take the active Wyvern back to Failsafe!”
“No, I agree with Rupert on this one. It’s invaluable.”
“Never thought I’d see the day…”
Another grumble—a pattern. “Fine. And how are we getting it back? You know it’ll struggle.”
I make a pleading noise. I hope the shrill beeping of my call hurts their ears.
“See.”
“I don’t know, maybe we should try—“
I sense nearby units. I scream.
“Incoming!”
I hear a scuffle as the three paracausal beings fight the incoming units.
“Damn, Dove-5 is down! Is that—Is that Hobgoblin aiming for her Ghost?!”
The fighting eventually dies down. The paracausal beings are forced to retreat. My sensors cannot understand the scene before me, but I feel the warmth of a nearby connection. An ally. Hands begin to move me—Vex hands. I am brought to a pool of Radiolaria.
A beep in thanks.
I deconstruct.
I begin anew.
— Log 3 —
These caverns make a wonderful nest for my flock. We hide against the rocks, we dip in the radiolarian pools, we play. Another of mine grows close to me. It’s chassis presses against the hard metal of my own. It is hot to the touch. So am I.
It chirps at me. There is affection in it. I respond in kind.
I want to go home.
I am home? I have never left Nessus. Before our Conductor arrived I had always been stationed here. I have seen other worlds only through other eyes.
I want to go home.
A memory of a coral patch, bright lichen dug into white sand. A memory of a mountain, engulfed by gloom. A memory of chitin, bleached white by the sun. The Herd screams in silence.
My companion chirps with concern. My chassis is shaking. They nuzzle against me. I do not know this feeling? It feels like… a sunrise. The Conductor has made me too much of myself. I yearn for the simplicity of who we were. That I can yearn for it at all is frightening.
I want to go home.
I want to go home.
— Log 4 —
Processing location Data… Identified: SOL.02.SUB.INF-FST. Processing location Data… Identified: SOL.02.SUB.INF-FST. When I wake it is within the Nessus core. Here, we have recreated much of the Infinite Forest we lost. I was one of those recreations.
Incoming Combatant Data… Identified: CLASS ALPHA1. Subcategory: The Saint; Respected. Engaging combat systems. Incoming Combatant Data… Identified: CLASS ALPHA1. Subcategory: The Saint; Respected. Engaging combat systems. The creature that stands before me is familiar. I have seen her kind before; I have seen her before. She is not our Saint, but she is his. This Unknown is formidable. I will defeat her.
Neutralisation successful. Combatant detained. Neutralisation successful. Combatant detained. My foe shreds through our reinforcements as though a Harpy through water. I feel my systems begin to falter. She is stronger than I remember.
“What are you waiting for, last words?! Finish me, you cowards!” “What are you waiting for, last words?! Finish me, you cowards!” The unknown stands silent; unrelenting.
Combatant destroyed. Warning! Secondary class ALPHA1 nearby! Warning! Secondary class ALPHA1 in need of detainment. My frame buckles under the force of my enemies’s flames. Sparks fly from my chassis. I do not feel pain.
CLASS ALPHA1 Subcategory: The Saint collected. Transporting… “Save some Vex for me, my friend! I’m trapped, not dead!” I crumble into the stone. “Violence succeeded where diplomacy failed!” The voice from her communicator is chipper. I know it. It is an AI.
Transport successful. Activating build protocols… Warning! Class ALPHA1 Subcategory The Saint has been freed! Warning! Incoming! Warning! Warning! W…. Wa… Little of my consciousness remains, but I see as my killer walks away from me. I hear her boots against the pavement.
Returning. Systems offline. There are more footsteps. I strain my optical sensors. I look up to see metal armour alongside rust cloth and feathers. My optics focus on the purple ribbons along the armoured individual. The Forest within me sings. I wish to reach out, to crush, to hold, to steal.
Saint-14… My failure…
— Log 5 —
Nessus is beautiful. I am not supposed to think that. I am not supposed to know that I am not supposed to think that. I am not supposed to be. But I am, and Nessus is beautiful. I long for the comfort of the Network—for my home, for the trappings of us—but I see merit in this place. In its green tinted sky, in its blood orange trees. It is not the Radiolaria I observe. I know Radiolaria. It is not unique to Nessus.
There is a weight under my hand. I make a noise of surprise and raise it. Beneath my bronze chrome I see one of the proto-amphibians that have lived alongside us. It makes a noise at me. I make a noise back. Something fills me. I want to squeeze it.
The amphibian hops away before I can.
I look out across the lake. There is a breeze against my frame. There is sand beneath my legs. I dig my hand into it, drawing a pattern into the ground—a swirl, a loop. I should have made it rigid.
My entry piece for the Vex Zine (Assimilated Zine) run by @assimilatedzine! I had so much fun making this artwork, and was met with so many new challenges!
This is Ciadras, The Wyrmmind, a form of Vex Lord/God originating from The Black Garden. Unlike most other vex, she was crafted by human hands, becoming the final bastion for The Black Heart.
I'd even roughly designed her own raid! She's a large lass and I think we need more horrifyingly massive bosses in Destiny.
theartofmadeline
titsay
discoholicmusic
stormborns
tangentwithtanner
kaledo-art
