MTG - Xerexian

Key Data - Xerexian Planeswalker - WBRG - Fractal

[xerex-reshaper]

The Coldest Winter of Xerex

Mirror after mirror had finally made their way through the Omenpaths, back in the ruins of a church. Mauve stone gave way to null air, a sky simply blank of anything recognisable. No bustling godlike being, nor weather. Simple, plain purple. Drained like an overwashed bedsheet. And the incense had burnt out, yet its remains did not smoke nor sputter, they fought for nothing and waited for the waves of time to drown them. Silence kept them company, kissing and weaving in that mocking way that invokes the sheer emptiness further, the concept of something being hidden beneath an endless nothing without any real reason to hide.

The illogical silence was sliced open by the dragging of mirrors onto Glasswing’s old cart. A rugged thing, forged out of a stainless metal, not steel but some Incur blend of whatever had the highest stability and lowest melting point. Not physical strength, the alloy curved awkwardly whenever more than five mirrors was loaded onto it, but whatever remained bonded together easiest. It would remain through Pestoxian scourges, capable of devouring metals with a corrosive fume rather than the typical pestilence. It would pass Royal inspection of beauty, so long as it did not squeak too loud. The Shamashen held no regulations on materials, as any toxic potential they held was negligible until someone willed it to be. So long as the Raqsai did not react as if its toxicity was harmful, it would not be. Glasswing questioned its own logic, if it for a moment doubted the cart would the cart truly kill it? So long as it stayed within the bounds of rational truth, that no product should ever cause its user to die or sicken or falter for a moment, it would survive.

Whatever the end result of this logical spiral would be, Glasswing had begun the trek, facing skveldarve and beginning to move. Limb after limb flurried forwards, the interlocking wheels beginning to twirl as their pursuit of the Flawlessness began. She existed beyond conventional borders, in a space once seen as Raqsai turf. Now it is only a Flawless space, all others began to unexist when his presence settled in, a cool breeze slowly flowing through the cracks and collecting in each corner, sharpening them to a subatomic point. Colours arranged themselves, the lightest asymmetries took leave for a joyful reflection unable to change. Every attempt at something became successful, every abandoned piece turned to dust, then swept itself away from such a place. The borders were obvious, where others had taken to keeping a healthy distance rather than allowing themselves to morph or fall prey to a reflection. Glasswing took a break, passing through what it presumed to be homes now polished into perfect cubes rather than their heart-warped stucco and loose wood-like supports.

It took to sitting beside the cart, looking off into the distance. The world beyond the Flawless space had stalled, slowing until it ceased to move. ‘Bizarre.’ Glasswing shifted, catching a glimpse of something imperfect moving. A glimmering being, endlessly parroting a world no longer alive. Glasswings head turned into the mirror, and witnessed it. Shell upon shell upon shell, the recursive principle birthing clones which stifled, taking breathless steps as their lungless bodies collapsed, their pulses’ absence blossoming like an abscess within the jaws of unyielding eyes, again and again bodies morphed and spasmed from nothing and returned to it, the lives of kith and kin wilting as their screaming limbs took themselves away, pulling like loose knitting until… nothing. Not blankness, simple nothing. The quiet of parties ended, the stillness of a waiting room. The haze of staring into space. And it was Glasswing, this void. The simulacrum is never that which conceals the truth — it is the truth which conceals that there is none. The simulacrum is true. The [Far Xerexian] imaginary is neither true nor false; it is a deterrence machine set up in order to rejuvenate in reverse the fiction of the real.

And it knew all, the nothing that there was was finite at once. Elves sung Kamigawan hymns between conflicts with the Skaabs, where then they allied with the Phyrexians to eradicate their common threat. How comedic, it was, to be at one with both killer and killed, entwined with these hallucinations of a world all-too-real to ever be as such. The segments of this truth could be pulled, rewound and bound in tomes, these infantile imaginaries transfigured into a funeral tale, a heroic saga, a fable warning of good or bad. Each one was tangible, present in the miasma, lives ran centuries onwards, cycles flew from waxing to waning and woke again in fields of blue hydrangeas, after falling asleep in orchid tombs.

Sources:

Baudrillard, Jean, Simulacra and Similation pp. 1 and 4.

Blorblender, Jasper, @jasper-graphics, 'Mother Knows Best' Xerex Divider Set

[obscura-omenseeker]

Crime Tier List. Feel free to add. Just doing one per teir

S: Heisting. Theivery is a noble art, and heisting is the pinnacle of it IMO.

A: Deathtrapping. Best type of violence. You get to make a machine for it.

B: Pickpocketing. A classic, if a bit pedestrian.

C: Normal murder. What, you put a knife in a guy and he dies? Could be better. Make a machine for it.

D: Krongling. Don’t do that. It’s cringe. Brain matter isn’t supposed to do that.

F: Kidnapping puppies to make a coat. Surprisingly common. Barely anybody goes to jail for it. They just get shoved off a bridge by the dogs.

[xerex-reshaper]

S: Disturbing the Peace, I love this one in a Morning after my coffee, I just do a little duckwalk and detonate some fireworks and everything feels so much better.

A: Kidnapping, she’s such a classic and the torture she enables? UGH TIE THAT MAN TO THAT RADIATOR DIVAS!!!

B: Polygon embezzlement, it’s the sexiest kind of embezzlement but thats not something to be proud of, yknow??? It also can make your victim skinnier which is so annoying because at that point it’s free surgery yknow??

C: Assault and Battery, very cute very gentle but overdone. Like florals? It’s spring woah so original, or a sun-hat in summer. Grow up, be original.

D: Stalking. Like sometimes she’s a good time, I’ve got some weird fans sometimes and I do enjoy reading their stalker letters (I mean the creativity of finding a knitting magazine to ask for what you were asking for? Hilarious) but like because I’m the baddest bitch in the multiverse I’m safe, some people aren’t and that’s weird as hell.

E: Destruction of Property, she’s just a part of a good night out but isn’t THE good night out. Like if a club bathroom isn’t shattered (the whole thing not just the mirror), some guy’s car isn’t on fire (or wagon) and the doors are off their hinges I can still have a good time, but also like I won’t really remember any of those things the day after.

F: Stealing someone’s organs for a trade. That fish lady who lost her voice for legs was fucking stupid like serenade that knight from the sea and drown him he was chopped asf anyways. Also she was so hot I wish she didn’t turn to seafoam…

[xerex-reshaper]

To be Gorgeous Is to be Free, to be Free is Gorgeous

Gold. That was the only thing Knox's vision allowed him to see. This mirage of endless, shimmering surface rolled, thorned and screeched like walls would, unpapered church structures that recurred into themselves in sarcastic loops. What is will and has but isn't, but was it and when?

And at once, it opened. Peeling outwards like wallpaper, gold leaf wilting beneath the heat, up and around it roiled in glamourous, blazing waves. Strings guided the cascading crests in perfect coils, obeying the cosines and running tangentially away into the forever of a Dominarian sky, the romantic sunsets and gorgeous rises were being illustrated in the mere passage of these rays, arcing and cackling with the love songs every acre told. Their source became apparent quickly, sat at the heart of the abbey atop a throne, leg over one another. Her eyelashes batted, sparkling across her darkened eyes, glimmering against her skin. She was built from lions eye, the wonderful umbers of her skin shone as Knox's eyes followed the lines, to her glittering crystal bangles, revolving and clinking like chimes, following to her ornate nail set. styled like krises they arced side to side, encrusted with flaming diamonds. They pushed upwards, moving to her hair, now freed and blossoming outwards. Curls, millions of them, ran from her head to the floor, united in their freedom, burying into gold from their origin point of onyx.

"Your other half found where I am. She really works you like a dog when she grows bored does she not?" Her voice was stern, refined by centuries of pressure upon carbon layers within the earth.

"I wouldn't call Viridian my 'other half' but, yeah. It's just me and the support she thought I'd need."

"That's why I say you are her other half. Her stardom and her humanity, both here to somehow convince me to return to my position of abuse."

"O-oh. It's determined already then."

"Well go on then. Tell me thousands are dying. Tell me a replacement to me is ruining the plane. Tell me the Incur are hoarding all power. I will not go back."

"What about beauty? You made Xerex so beautiful, without you there's no reason for people to wake up or engage with people!" Knox's sudden raised voice stunned even himself. To shout in the presence of Opulence, despite her not being his queen, still carried the weight of all the gold on Dominaria.

"Oh?" She stood, her heels hitting the floor like a metronome, paced and piercing, "you want me to make things beautiful? You think I had not tried? It was in my every work, the ways a Sister's dress would fall, the ways a spire would be carved, the ways a song caught the air, the ways the seamstresses weaved and moved their arms. It was in the lettering of every page of legal document, and the armour of every enforcer. It even reached the Royals, their crowns were Raqsai, their coronations Pestoxian and power enforced by Shamashian rights. I was there, I made everything that could be beautiful gorgeous. Who are you to ask more of me?"

Knox had shrunken before her. Opulence stood, held the room in her palms and could eject him at any moment. And yet she hadn't, her palms remained lowered, she made no threat and even in her anger held no hatred.

"What... would make you come back? We can't continue without you, really."

"I would come back if I would not be challenged at every step of the way. No matter what I would do or suggested it would be met with resistance. So I believed what my fellow Representatives said, XereX first, no matter what. And then I was challenged again, treated as a pariah the moment I bowed down to their policies and worldview. I can handle challenge, but when the waves do not stop they wear away any coastline."

"That might be, difficult, I mean really it's-" but Knox was silenced. He caught the wet sound, the drear setting upon her face. Purple streaked through her black, smudging as her lashes fell. Strings of gold mixed with the slow, puffing around her face. "Look at me. There is nothing romantic, nothing gorgeous about what XereX did to me. My exhaustion, hidden from public eye, has devoured all that is me. I will rise to the challenge when I am able, but that time will not come quickly. Understood?"

"I understand Opulence. I won't bother you further. I'll tell Viridian that we-"

In that moment, Viridian appeared. Sliding in from nowhere, her standard affair when planeswalking somewhere she had not seen personally. "Sup bitches, so Knox you've failed getting Opulence back? Damn, a shame really. That's the only reason I got you out the house!"

"Are... are you fucking joking? I've been volunteering with a fire station and-"

"And shaking ass on the network to pay your bills, what's new?"

Opulence stood agape, her face shifting and clicking as she composed herself. Bags cleared, any signs of tears vanishing. "You. The heart of the performer and her arrogance. What makes you come here, the belief that mocking me will make me listen to you, my inferior?"

"Inferior? Oh that's new, the last time I saw you we were equals, I was like a daughter outside of your haus, right?"

"You were. And yet look at you, thinking yourself better than anyone else. That is what makes you fall into ruin again and again, sit down and listen to your elders, let me guide you back into being-" Opulence looked down at herself. Again, she was 'mother', again putting the pieces of another back together. "You will leave now. I won't tolerate you or your narcissism."

"Then I simply won't be narcissistic. In fact, I'll even give you something as a get well soon gift. How's that?" Viridian smirked, her teeth glimmering under the light of Opulence.

"Fine. Give your gifts and leave, but know I will discard them."

Viridian pulled a box from a higher space, manifesting the mahogany into both her hands. It was ladened with golden accents, presented through a kneeled bow before Opulence. A plinth above all reason, a pillar of artistry that held no need to be bound by physics or explanation.

"I made this for you, when all of us were one person. See, I can be kind." Opulence ignored her patronising joke as she unbuckled the clasp, lifting it with her willpower. Sound fled the room, making way for her to gasp and process the object within, while Knox stared over at the back of the lid. Shadows spilled out from the box, pushing all light aside. Opulence placed her hand around it, staring at the jet-black presence. "Where... where did you find this? How could you make this, this isn't anything you'd be capable of."

"I took some creative liberties. What matters is it is yours now, the core of the gift was taken from someone wicked and now you, the highest of all Representatives, have one. Go on, see what you can do with it."

Opulence had gone. The building shuddered, before staying still once more. Clearly now the sand of Dominaria had consumed Opulence's original escape. "So Knox, we're all alone now. You've been such a good aid this entire trip."

"Viridian, I don't wanna make a full spiel out of this. You made me walk for days in a desert with wine and, granted some good meat, and sun protection, and... heatproof clothing, and a weird dimensional bedroom I could hide in and... why am I mad at you this time?"

"If you don't know and I don't know. How about a little reward? A thank you, if you will, let your everything out. Lady V loves working with you and letting you be everything you'd wanna be."

"For an hour, fine. I'll play your game, and you'll take me back to Kamigawa. And maybe, I'll even remove the no-contact and total separation thing. And the money from our deal. Having a proper magical connection again has been... exhilarating."

"That's the wolf I remember. Now come on, I'll keep the focus on me and you ambush and devour."

As usual I want to thank @jasper-graphics for our dividers and @xenobladexfan for our Viridian and Knox cards!

[biilziebub-rakdos]

The air is dense with sweet smells and the sounds of celebration, echoing off the stone of the streets and buildings. No expense has been spared! For my birthday, I’ve filled the streets around Gore House with every festivity available, complete with importing my own Cirque Ziebub and some of the best performers from Rix Maadi below, and my fight club through the omenpaths. Food and game stalls fill the gaps between and before the foundries, workshops, and storefronts that fill Precinct Six, each strewn with banners, bunting, an oddly high number of doors, and glittering confetti enchanted to constantly swirl and drift through the air as though it were just released. Needing more than the space provided, a few probing tendrils of celebration are pushing into Precinct Two.

Bands are playing in pageant wagons, though Cannibal Voyeurism has been given a proper stage with proper pyrotechnics. Performers from my Cirque and various Rakdosi troupes are plying their various trades in booths or in the street, complete with, somehow, the rapid installation of a carnival wheel that reaches above most buildings in the district.

Following Rakdosi tradition, each Guildmaster and everyone else who’s anyone has been invited, in addition to everyone I like personally and everyone who happens to be nearby. For those of us with means, that tradition has grown with the omenpaths, and invitations to my party have been sent out to such positions of interplanar power as Queen Marchesa, those sitting on the throne of each little faction of Eldraine, the heads of the Capennan Families, even a few names I’ve never heard of such as the Lord Skitter and someone named Morcant. Many, of course, will not deign to show up.

Unlike that fateful party so many years ago, I am not starting the celebration hidden. I am instead stretched languidly across a litter carried by several strong and trusted low-ranking Rakdosi, my hair aflame, my makeup perfect, my hooves polished, my skin oiled, my upper half entirely exposed but for the chains wrapping around it in the style of my father. Surrounding me at all times are a buzz of servers bearing trays of snacks and drinks, always available to me and the crowd around me as I ride around the party.

[xerex-reshaper]

All chaos brings with it the pleasantries of presence. Of being seen, heard and silently acknowledged. With that in mind, Viridian has colour-coordinated this afternoon. An overlaying mix of crimson and charcoal triangles in harlequin patterns makes a puffy crop-top and sleeves, alongside a skirt fitted with enough bells to make most jugglers jealous. That old silvered pendant with the Rakdos symbol surrounds her neck, and climbs up through her now all-black hair to her face, coloured only in red and black atop her oddly pale skin.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

Viridian, clearly, has read the dress code. Walking through the crowd is enough to gain a small number of compliments, especially about her skirt and her structure, especially if she initiates conversation with anyone. Does she have any particular plans? Do any games or foods draw her to them? Is there anyone she wants to see, or desperately wants to avoid?

[xerex-reshaper]

She sparks some small talk, mirroring compliments at people, but keeps making glances at the wider crowd. The Emperor could be here. Whoever the edgelord with the triple question-marks on her communicator she argued with could be here. Hell, being surrounded by so many powerful people means a fights more than likely to break out.

But honestly? This is Biilzie’s day. They’d want to watch a fight right? A casual deathmatch with… well whoever starts one. For now, the dunk tanks look fun, and the caramel-coated fruit and fried… something? It’s a dough fried with some kind if filling but Viridian’s knowledge of Rakdosi food is ‘blood’ and this doesn’t tang with iron. Whatever it is, it’s wonderful, and watching people dipped in near-boiling water is oddly satisfying. They should add footage of the skin bubbling with the water to those communicator compilations, maybe between the clay-cracking and the sugar sheets made out of Innistradi lemon juice.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

All of the food is good, and most of it could fit at least some kind of aesthetic. In the meantime, or at least the time before someone has the gall to truly start a fight, the party is made to sweep along any attendee, allowing partygoers to truly lose themselves in the festivities. For a being as conceptual as a fractal, and especially a fractal such as Viridian, the natural tides of the party are strong. If it continues to wander, their eventual destination will almost certainly wind up being the epicenter, myself, or someone inclined to start a fight. Where will she be going?

[xerex-reshaper]

Viridian aims for the true epicentre of the event. She comes with a pair of gifts, the first an impressively bedazzled and spiked pair of sunglasses. They’re billboard-style lenses that sparkle and stab with an almost eyelash-style display of spikes, and the other gift is held between her fingers, a deed. ‘Biilzie knows how to own a place. Hopefully she’ll get this one the best.’

[biilziebub-rakdos]

“Viri!” I wave from atop my litter, my smile fanged and bloody, my non-waving hand holding a chalice of something red and alcoholic. I’m pulling myself to sit up as I catch her attention, barely spilling at all.

“How are you? How’s the party treating you?”

[xerex-reshaper]

“BIILZIE! I’m good, between political bullshit sessions. Yknow how it si.”

Her face shudders.

“?huH”

“Oh, nevermind. Temporary refresh of the sickness. My gift for you is… well with Snipe now. But it’s just some small stuff, the usual thank-yous for being a great friend. The party’s treated me well.”

[biilziebub-rakdos]

“Awwww, so sweet.” My smile is more genuine than I really want it to be, no matter how saccharine I can get the words. I really do appreciate Viridian, even if that goes against the image I’m supposed to maintain.

“I’ll try and get it from Snipe when I can. You’ve been enjoying the festivities then? Any favorite things so far? I’ve… mostly been stuck up here.”

[xerex-reshaper]

“I loved the food stands, but honestly the atmosphere is so gorgeous. The music, people, theming, you’ve done such a service to everybody! Ugh, I’m being too nice. You able to do a ton up there? I’d be down to swap places with you if it meant you’d have more fun!” Viridian’s eye-divets twinkle, they’re glimmering with the hope to be someone new.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

Considering this, I slide off the litter and onto the ground under the watchful eye of every Rakdosi in the near vicinity, grinning with something not dissimilar to malice. I slowly reach a hand towards Viridian, tail curling.

“Tell you what. Let’s see if you’re convincing.”

[xerex-reshaper]

“I’ve known a lot about you, I’m sure I can do you well! And look like you too.”

Viridian pulls at her hair, coming out as a flawless wig, and Biilzie’s hair springs out of her now crimson scalp. She pulls an arm away, and there’s Biilzie’s beneath it. Piece by piece, her polygons unravel to the ‘flesh’ of the Princess himself. With the minor differences of a notch within her tail, and purplish eyes instead of Biilzie’s standard colour. “How do we think? I pull off ‘you’ almost as fabulously as you do!”

[biilziebub-rakdos]

I let out a bright laugh as I see my duplicate, taking its hand and pulling her into a spin and a dip. “Beautiful, though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Standing us both up, I glance back towards the attendants. “You really don’t mind sitting as the center of attention for a bit? They want me visible, but I think a lookalike will serve just as well.”

[xerex-reshaper]

“You’re giving me like four months of life subscription or whatever people say, obviously I’m fine with it! If you want, you’re also welcome to wear the scraps of me. They’ll stitch and cinch into eachother by themselves. Just tell me when you want to swap back, and if there’s any rules.”

She’s smiling like Biilzie, then frowning. Then being disgusted? That’s when it becomes obvious she’s practicing more than just the flesh of Biilzie, but some of the soul. Enough to be her for an hour, but unable to keep a conversation going long.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

“Mmmmh, no real rules, don’t kill the guards or attendants and if you see one of our friends, tell them what’s going on. Until then…” I take her hand again, dipping her into a kiss this time, nice and drooly. Breaking it, I take some of the scraps of her shed skin. “I’ll be back?”

[xerex-reshaper]

Viridian kisses back, mimicking the burning aftertaste as best she can. Hers is more a cayenne pepper taste than Biilzies, but it suffices. “See you when you’re tired of being me. I’ll keep a seam in the face so I can prove I’m not you bullshitting for fun.”

It’s eerie hearing your own voice spoken back to you, and Viridian doesn’t even try to take the edge off.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

She can see my ears flutter for a moment as I hear my voice, one hand reaching down towards her tail… but… that’s not for right now. I take a step back, grinning widely, wings twitching a bit.

“We should do this again sometime. Or just each other when I get back. For now… I’ll be enjoying the party. Have fun!”

[xerex-reshaper]

“All up to you, you too!”

She clambers into Biilzie’s position, now seen as him. This spotlight is unique, the way the light falls is more of a harsh ray than a flickering of independent performances. Like the steel finish of a mast outwards into the sea compared to a gentle hum within the walls of a machine.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

The air is dense with sweet smells and the sounds of celebration, echoing off the stone of the streets and buildings. No expense has been spared! For my birthday, I’ve filled the streets around Gore House with every festivity available, complete with importing my own Cirque Ziebub and some of the best performers from Rix Maadi below, and my fight club through the omenpaths. Food and game stalls fill the gaps between and before the foundries, workshops, and storefronts that fill Precinct Six, each strewn with banners, bunting, an oddly high number of doors, and glittering confetti enchanted to constantly swirl and drift through the air as though it were just released. Needing more than the space provided, a few probing tendrils of celebration are pushing into Precinct Two.

Bands are playing in pageant wagons, though Cannibal Voyeurism has been given a proper stage with proper pyrotechnics. Performers from my Cirque and various Rakdosi troupes are plying their various trades in booths or in the street, complete with, somehow, the rapid installation of a carnival wheel that reaches above most buildings in the district.

Following Rakdosi tradition, each Guildmaster and everyone else who’s anyone has been invited, in addition to everyone I like personally and everyone who happens to be nearby. For those of us with means, that tradition has grown with the omenpaths, and invitations to my party have been sent out to such positions of interplanar power as Queen Marchesa, those sitting on the throne of each little faction of Eldraine, the heads of the Capennan Families, even a few names I’ve never heard of such as the Lord Skitter and someone named Morcant. Many, of course, will not deign to show up.

Unlike that fateful party so many years ago, I am not starting the celebration hidden. I am instead stretched languidly across a litter carried by several strong and trusted low-ranking Rakdosi, my hair aflame, my makeup perfect, my hooves polished, my skin oiled, my upper half entirely exposed but for the chains wrapping around it in the style of my father. Surrounding me at all times are a buzz of servers bearing trays of snacks and drinks, always available to me and the crowd around me as I ride around the party.

[xerex-reshaper]

All chaos brings with it the pleasantries of presence. Of being seen, heard and silently acknowledged. With that in mind, Viridian has colour-coordinated this afternoon. An overlaying mix of crimson and charcoal triangles in harlequin patterns makes a puffy crop-top and sleeves, alongside a skirt fitted with enough bells to make most jugglers jealous. That old silvered pendant with the Rakdos symbol surrounds her neck, and climbs up through her now all-black hair to her face, coloured only in red and black atop her oddly pale skin.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

Viridian, clearly, has read the dress code. Walking through the crowd is enough to gain a small number of compliments, especially about her skirt and her structure, especially if she initiates conversation with anyone. Does she have any particular plans? Do any games or foods draw her to them? Is there anyone she wants to see, or desperately wants to avoid?

[xerex-reshaper]

She sparks some small talk, mirroring compliments at people, but keeps making glances at the wider crowd. The Emperor could be here. Whoever the edgelord with the triple question-marks on her communicator she argued with could be here. Hell, being surrounded by so many powerful people means a fights more than likely to break out.

But honestly? This is Biilzie’s day. They’d want to watch a fight right? A casual deathmatch with… well whoever starts one. For now, the dunk tanks look fun, and the caramel-coated fruit and fried… something? It’s a dough fried with some kind if filling but Viridian’s knowledge of Rakdosi food is ‘blood’ and this doesn’t tang with iron. Whatever it is, it’s wonderful, and watching people dipped in near-boiling water is oddly satisfying. They should add footage of the skin bubbling with the water to those communicator compilations, maybe between the clay-cracking and the sugar sheets made out of Innistradi lemon juice.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

All of the food is good, and most of it could fit at least some kind of aesthetic. In the meantime, or at least the time before someone has the gall to truly start a fight, the party is made to sweep along any attendee, allowing partygoers to truly lose themselves in the festivities. For a being as conceptual as a fractal, and especially a fractal such as Viridian, the natural tides of the party are strong. If it continues to wander, their eventual destination will almost certainly wind up being the epicenter, myself, or someone inclined to start a fight. Where will she be going?

[xerex-reshaper]

Viridian aims for the true epicentre of the event. She comes with a pair of gifts, the first an impressively bedazzled and spiked pair of sunglasses. They’re billboard-style lenses that sparkle and stab with an almost eyelash-style display of spikes, and the other gift is held between her fingers, a deed. ‘Biilzie knows how to own a place. Hopefully she’ll get this one the best.’

[biilziebub-rakdos]

“Viri!” I wave from atop my litter, my smile fanged and bloody, my non-waving hand holding a chalice of something red and alcoholic. I’m pulling myself to sit up as I catch her attention, barely spilling at all.

“How are you? How’s the party treating you?”

[xerex-reshaper]

“BIILZIE! I’m good, between political bullshit sessions. Yknow how it si.”

Her face shudders.

“?huH”

“Oh, nevermind. Temporary refresh of the sickness. My gift for you is… well with Snipe now. But it’s just some small stuff, the usual thank-yous for being a great friend. The party’s treated me well.”

[biilziebub-rakdos]

“Awwww, so sweet.” My smile is more genuine than I really want it to be, no matter how saccharine I can get the words. I really do appreciate Viridian, even if that goes against the image I’m supposed to maintain.

“I’ll try and get it from Snipe when I can. You’ve been enjoying the festivities then? Any favorite things so far? I’ve… mostly been stuck up here.”

[xerex-reshaper]

“I loved the food stands, but honestly the atmosphere is so gorgeous. The music, people, theming, you’ve done such a service to everybody! Ugh, I’m being too nice. You able to do a ton up there? I’d be down to swap places with you if it meant you’d have more fun!” Viridian’s eye-divets twinkle, they’re glimmering with the hope to be someone new.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

Considering this, I slide off the litter and onto the ground under the watchful eye of every Rakdosi in the near vicinity, grinning with something not dissimilar to malice. I slowly reach a hand towards Viridian, tail curling.

“Tell you what. Let’s see if you’re convincing.”

[xerex-reshaper]

“I’ve known a lot about you, I’m sure I can do you well! And look like you too.”

Viridian pulls at her hair, coming out as a flawless wig, and Biilzie’s hair springs out of her now crimson scalp. She pulls an arm away, and there’s Biilzie’s beneath it. Piece by piece, her polygons unravel to the ‘flesh’ of the Princess himself. With the minor differences of a notch within her tail, and purplish eyes instead of Biilzie’s standard colour. “How do we think? I pull off ‘you’ almost as fabulously as you do!”

[biilziebub-rakdos]

I let out a bright laugh as I see my duplicate, taking its hand and pulling her into a spin and a dip. “Beautiful, though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Standing us both up, I glance back towards the attendants. “You really don’t mind sitting as the center of attention for a bit? They want me visible, but I think a lookalike will serve just as well.”

[xerex-reshaper]

“You’re giving me like four months of life subscription or whatever people say, obviously I’m fine with it! If you want, you’re also welcome to wear the scraps of me. They’ll stitch and cinch into eachother by themselves. Just tell me when you want to swap back, and if there’s any rules.”

She’s smiling like Biilzie, then frowning. Then being disgusted? That’s when it becomes obvious she’s practicing more than just the flesh of Biilzie, but some of the soul. Enough to be her for an hour, but unable to keep a conversation going long.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

“Mmmmh, no real rules, don’t kill the guards or attendants and if you see one of our friends, tell them what’s going on. Until then…” I take her hand again, dipping her into a kiss this time, nice and drooly. Breaking it, I take some of the scraps of her shed skin. “I’ll be back?”

[xerex-reshaper]

Viridian kisses back, mimicking the burning aftertaste as best she can. Hers is more a cayenne pepper taste than Biilzies, but it suffices. “See you when you’re tired of being me. I’ll keep a seam in the face so I can prove I’m not you bullshitting for fun.”

It’s eerie hearing your own voice spoken back to you, and Viridian doesn’t even try to take the edge off.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

The air is dense with sweet smells and the sounds of celebration, echoing off the stone of the streets and buildings. No expense has been spared! For my birthday, I’ve filled the streets around Gore House with every festivity available, complete with importing my own Cirque Ziebub and some of the best performers from Rix Maadi below, and my fight club through the omenpaths. Food and game stalls fill the gaps between and before the foundries, workshops, and storefronts that fill Precinct Six, each strewn with banners, bunting, an oddly high number of doors, and glittering confetti enchanted to constantly swirl and drift through the air as though it were just released. Needing more than the space provided, a few probing tendrils of celebration are pushing into Precinct Two.

Bands are playing in pageant wagons, though Cannibal Voyeurism has been given a proper stage with proper pyrotechnics. Performers from my Cirque and various Rakdosi troupes are plying their various trades in booths or in the street, complete with, somehow, the rapid installation of a carnival wheel that reaches above most buildings in the district.

Following Rakdosi tradition, each Guildmaster and everyone else who’s anyone has been invited, in addition to everyone I like personally and everyone who happens to be nearby. For those of us with means, that tradition has grown with the omenpaths, and invitations to my party have been sent out to such positions of interplanar power as Queen Marchesa, those sitting on the throne of each little faction of Eldraine, the heads of the Capennan Families, even a few names I’ve never heard of such as the Lord Skitter and someone named Morcant. Many, of course, will not deign to show up.

Unlike that fateful party so many years ago, I am not starting the celebration hidden. I am instead stretched languidly across a litter carried by several strong and trusted low-ranking Rakdosi, my hair aflame, my makeup perfect, my hooves polished, my skin oiled, my upper half entirely exposed but for the chains wrapping around it in the style of my father. Surrounding me at all times are a buzz of servers bearing trays of snacks and drinks, always available to me and the crowd around me as I ride around the party.

[xerex-reshaper]

All chaos brings with it the pleasantries of presence. Of being seen, heard and silently acknowledged. With that in mind, Viridian has colour-coordinated this afternoon. An overlaying mix of crimson and charcoal triangles in harlequin patterns makes a puffy crop-top and sleeves, alongside a skirt fitted with enough bells to make most jugglers jealous. That old silvered pendant with the Rakdos symbol surrounds her neck, and climbs up through her now all-black hair to her face, coloured only in red and black atop her oddly pale skin.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

Viridian, clearly, has read the dress code. Walking through the crowd is enough to gain a small number of compliments, especially about her skirt and her structure, especially if she initiates conversation with anyone. Does she have any particular plans? Do any games or foods draw her to them? Is there anyone she wants to see, or desperately wants to avoid?

[xerex-reshaper]

She sparks some small talk, mirroring compliments at people, but keeps making glances at the wider crowd. The Emperor could be here. Whoever the edgelord with the triple question-marks on her communicator she argued with could be here. Hell, being surrounded by so many powerful people means a fights more than likely to break out.

But honestly? This is Biilzie’s day. They’d want to watch a fight right? A casual deathmatch with… well whoever starts one. For now, the dunk tanks look fun, and the caramel-coated fruit and fried… something? It’s a dough fried with some kind if filling but Viridian’s knowledge of Rakdosi food is ‘blood’ and this doesn’t tang with iron. Whatever it is, it’s wonderful, and watching people dipped in near-boiling water is oddly satisfying. They should add footage of the skin bubbling with the water to those communicator compilations, maybe between the clay-cracking and the sugar sheets made out of Innistradi lemon juice.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

All of the food is good, and most of it could fit at least some kind of aesthetic. In the meantime, or at least the time before someone has the gall to truly start a fight, the party is made to sweep along any attendee, allowing partygoers to truly lose themselves in the festivities. For a being as conceptual as a fractal, and especially a fractal such as Viridian, the natural tides of the party are strong. If it continues to wander, their eventual destination will almost certainly wind up being the epicenter, myself, or someone inclined to start a fight. Where will she be going?

[xerex-reshaper]

Viridian aims for the true epicentre of the event. She comes with a pair of gifts, the first an impressively bedazzled and spiked pair of sunglasses. They’re billboard-style lenses that sparkle and stab with an almost eyelash-style display of spikes, and the other gift is held between her fingers, a deed. ‘Biilzie knows how to own a place. Hopefully she’ll get this one the best.’

[biilziebub-rakdos]

“Viri!” I wave from atop my litter, my smile fanged and bloody, my non-waving hand holding a chalice of something red and alcoholic. I’m pulling myself to sit up as I catch her attention, barely spilling at all.

“How are you? How’s the party treating you?”

[xerex-reshaper]

“BIILZIE! I’m good, between political bullshit sessions. Yknow how it si.”

Her face shudders.

“?huH”

“Oh, nevermind. Temporary refresh of the sickness. My gift for you is… well with Snipe now. But it’s just some small stuff, the usual thank-yous for being a great friend. The party’s treated me well.”

[biilziebub-rakdos]

“Awwww, so sweet.” My smile is more genuine than I really want it to be, no matter how saccharine I can get the words. I really do appreciate Viridian, even if that goes against the image I’m supposed to maintain.

“I’ll try and get it from Snipe when I can. You’ve been enjoying the festivities then? Any favorite things so far? I’ve… mostly been stuck up here.”

[xerex-reshaper]

“I loved the food stands, but honestly the atmosphere is so gorgeous. The music, people, theming, you’ve done such a service to everybody! Ugh, I’m being too nice. You able to do a ton up there? I’d be down to swap places with you if it meant you’d have more fun!” Viridian’s eye-divets twinkle, they’re glimmering with the hope to be someone new.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

Considering this, I slide off the litter and onto the ground under the watchful eye of every Rakdosi in the near vicinity, grinning with something not dissimilar to malice. I slowly reach a hand towards Viridian, tail curling.

“Tell you what. Let’s see if you’re convincing.”

[xerex-reshaper]

“I’ve known a lot about you, I’m sure I can do you well! And look like you too.”

Viridian pulls at her hair, coming out as a flawless wig, and Biilzie’s hair springs out of her now crimson scalp. She pulls an arm away, and there’s Biilzie’s beneath it. Piece by piece, her polygons unravel to the ‘flesh’ of the Princess himself. With the minor differences of a notch within her tail, and purplish eyes instead of Biilzie’s standard colour. “How do we think? I pull off ‘you’ almost as fabulously as you do!”

[biilziebub-rakdos]

I let out a bright laugh as I see my duplicate, taking its hand and pulling her into a spin and a dip. “Beautiful, though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Standing us both up, I glance back towards the attendants. “You really don’t mind sitting as the center of attention for a bit? They want me visible, but I think a lookalike will serve just as well.”

[xerex-reshaper]

“You’re giving me like four months of life subscription or whatever people say, obviously I’m fine with it! If you want, you’re also welcome to wear the scraps of me. They’ll stitch and cinch into eachother by themselves. Just tell me when you want to swap back, and if there’s any rules.”

She’s smiling like Biilzie, then frowning. Then being disgusted? That’s when it becomes obvious she’s practicing more than just the flesh of Biilzie, but some of the soul. Enough to be her for an hour, but unable to keep a conversation going long.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

The air is dense with sweet smells and the sounds of celebration, echoing off the stone of the streets and buildings. No expense has been spared! For my birthday, I’ve filled the streets around Gore House with every festivity available, complete with importing my own Cirque Ziebub and some of the best performers from Rix Maadi below, and my fight club through the omenpaths. Food and game stalls fill the gaps between and before the foundries, workshops, and storefronts that fill Precinct Six, each strewn with banners, bunting, an oddly high number of doors, and glittering confetti enchanted to constantly swirl and drift through the air as though it were just released. Needing more than the space provided, a few probing tendrils of celebration are pushing into Precinct Two.

Bands are playing in pageant wagons, though Cannibal Voyeurism has been given a proper stage with proper pyrotechnics. Performers from my Cirque and various Rakdosi troupes are plying their various trades in booths or in the street, complete with, somehow, the rapid installation of a carnival wheel that reaches above most buildings in the district.

Following Rakdosi tradition, each Guildmaster and everyone else who’s anyone has been invited, in addition to everyone I like personally and everyone who happens to be nearby. For those of us with means, that tradition has grown with the omenpaths, and invitations to my party have been sent out to such positions of interplanar power as Queen Marchesa, those sitting on the throne of each little faction of Eldraine, the heads of the Capennan Families, even a few names I’ve never heard of such as the Lord Skitter and someone named Morcant. Many, of course, will not deign to show up.

Unlike that fateful party so many years ago, I am not starting the celebration hidden. I am instead stretched languidly across a litter carried by several strong and trusted low-ranking Rakdosi, my hair aflame, my makeup perfect, my hooves polished, my skin oiled, my upper half entirely exposed but for the chains wrapping around it in the style of my father. Surrounding me at all times are a buzz of servers bearing trays of snacks and drinks, always available to me and the crowd around me as I ride around the party.

[xerex-reshaper]

All chaos brings with it the pleasantries of presence. Of being seen, heard and silently acknowledged. With that in mind, Viridian has colour-coordinated this afternoon. An overlaying mix of crimson and charcoal triangles in harlequin patterns makes a puffy crop-top and sleeves, alongside a skirt fitted with enough bells to make most jugglers jealous. That old silvered pendant with the Rakdos symbol surrounds her neck, and climbs up through her now all-black hair to her face, coloured only in red and black atop her oddly pale skin.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

Viridian, clearly, has read the dress code. Walking through the crowd is enough to gain a small number of compliments, especially about her skirt and her structure, especially if she initiates conversation with anyone. Does she have any particular plans? Do any games or foods draw her to them? Is there anyone she wants to see, or desperately wants to avoid?

[xerex-reshaper]

She sparks some small talk, mirroring compliments at people, but keeps making glances at the wider crowd. The Emperor could be here. Whoever the edgelord with the triple question-marks on her communicator she argued with could be here. Hell, being surrounded by so many powerful people means a fights more than likely to break out.

But honestly? This is Biilzie’s day. They’d want to watch a fight right? A casual deathmatch with… well whoever starts one. For now, the dunk tanks look fun, and the caramel-coated fruit and fried… something? It’s a dough fried with some kind if filling but Viridian’s knowledge of Rakdosi food is ‘blood’ and this doesn’t tang with iron. Whatever it is, it’s wonderful, and watching people dipped in near-boiling water is oddly satisfying. They should add footage of the skin bubbling with the water to those communicator compilations, maybe between the clay-cracking and the sugar sheets made out of Innistradi lemon juice.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

All of the food is good, and most of it could fit at least some kind of aesthetic. In the meantime, or at least the time before someone has the gall to truly start a fight, the party is made to sweep along any attendee, allowing partygoers to truly lose themselves in the festivities. For a being as conceptual as a fractal, and especially a fractal such as Viridian, the natural tides of the party are strong. If it continues to wander, their eventual destination will almost certainly wind up being the epicenter, myself, or someone inclined to start a fight. Where will she be going?

[xerex-reshaper]

Viridian aims for the true epicentre of the event. She comes with a pair of gifts, the first an impressively bedazzled and spiked pair of sunglasses. They’re billboard-style lenses that sparkle and stab with an almost eyelash-style display of spikes, and the other gift is held between her fingers, a deed. ‘Biilzie knows how to own a place. Hopefully she’ll get this one the best.’

[biilziebub-rakdos]

“Viri!” I wave from atop my litter, my smile fanged and bloody, my non-waving hand holding a chalice of something red and alcoholic. I’m pulling myself to sit up as I catch her attention, barely spilling at all.

“How are you? How’s the party treating you?”

[xerex-reshaper]

“BIILZIE! I’m good, between political bullshit sessions. Yknow how it si.”

Her face shudders.

“?huH”

“Oh, nevermind. Temporary refresh of the sickness. My gift for you is… well with Snipe now. But it’s just some small stuff, the usual thank-yous for being a great friend. The party’s treated me well.”

[biilziebub-rakdos]

“Awwww, so sweet.” My smile is more genuine than I really want it to be, no matter how saccharine I can get the words. I really do appreciate Viridian, even if that goes against the image I’m supposed to maintain.

“I’ll try and get it from Snipe when I can. You’ve been enjoying the festivities then? Any favorite things so far? I’ve… mostly been stuck up here.”

[xerex-reshaper]

“I loved the food stands, but honestly the atmosphere is so gorgeous. The music, people, theming, you’ve done such a service to everybody! Ugh, I’m being too nice. You able to do a ton up there? I’d be down to swap places with you if it meant you’d have more fun!” Viridian’s eye-divets twinkle, they’re glimmering with the hope to be someone new.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

Considering this, I slide off the litter and onto the ground under the watchful eye of every Rakdosi in the near vicinity, grinning with something not dissimilar to malice. I slowly reach a hand towards Viridian, tail curling.

“Tell you what. Let’s see if you’re convincing.”

[xerex-reshaper]

“I’ve known a lot about you, I’m sure I can do you well! And look like you too.”

Viridian pulls at her hair, coming out as a flawless wig, and Biilzie’s hair springs out of her now crimson scalp. She pulls an arm away, and there’s Biilzie’s beneath it. Piece by piece, her polygons unravel to the ‘flesh’ of the Princess himself. With the minor differences of a notch within her tail, and purplish eyes instead of Biilzie’s standard colour. “How do we think? I pull off ‘you’ almost as fabulously as you do!”

[biilziebub-rakdos]

The air is dense with sweet smells and the sounds of celebration, echoing off the stone of the streets and buildings. No expense has been spared! For my birthday, I’ve filled the streets around Gore House with every festivity available, complete with importing my own Cirque Ziebub and some of the best performers from Rix Maadi below, and my fight club through the omenpaths. Food and game stalls fill the gaps between and before the foundries, workshops, and storefronts that fill Precinct Six, each strewn with banners, bunting, an oddly high number of doors, and glittering confetti enchanted to constantly swirl and drift through the air as though it were just released. Needing more than the space provided, a few probing tendrils of celebration are pushing into Precinct Two.

Bands are playing in pageant wagons, though Cannibal Voyeurism has been given a proper stage with proper pyrotechnics. Performers from my Cirque and various Rakdosi troupes are plying their various trades in booths or in the street, complete with, somehow, the rapid installation of a carnival wheel that reaches above most buildings in the district.

Following Rakdosi tradition, each Guildmaster and everyone else who’s anyone has been invited, in addition to everyone I like personally and everyone who happens to be nearby. For those of us with means, that tradition has grown with the omenpaths, and invitations to my party have been sent out to such positions of interplanar power as Queen Marchesa, those sitting on the throne of each little faction of Eldraine, the heads of the Capennan Families, even a few names I’ve never heard of such as the Lord Skitter and someone named Morcant. Many, of course, will not deign to show up.

Unlike that fateful party so many years ago, I am not starting the celebration hidden. I am instead stretched languidly across a litter carried by several strong and trusted low-ranking Rakdosi, my hair aflame, my makeup perfect, my hooves polished, my skin oiled, my upper half entirely exposed but for the chains wrapping around it in the style of my father. Surrounding me at all times are a buzz of servers bearing trays of snacks and drinks, always available to me and the crowd around me as I ride around the party.

[xerex-reshaper]

All chaos brings with it the pleasantries of presence. Of being seen, heard and silently acknowledged. With that in mind, Viridian has colour-coordinated this afternoon. An overlaying mix of crimson and charcoal triangles in harlequin patterns makes a puffy crop-top and sleeves, alongside a skirt fitted with enough bells to make most jugglers jealous. That old silvered pendant with the Rakdos symbol surrounds her neck, and climbs up through her now all-black hair to her face, coloured only in red and black atop her oddly pale skin.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

Viridian, clearly, has read the dress code. Walking through the crowd is enough to gain a small number of compliments, especially about her skirt and her structure, especially if she initiates conversation with anyone. Does she have any particular plans? Do any games or foods draw her to them? Is there anyone she wants to see, or desperately wants to avoid?

[xerex-reshaper]

She sparks some small talk, mirroring compliments at people, but keeps making glances at the wider crowd. The Emperor could be here. Whoever the edgelord with the triple question-marks on her communicator she argued with could be here. Hell, being surrounded by so many powerful people means a fights more than likely to break out.

But honestly? This is Biilzie’s day. They’d want to watch a fight right? A casual deathmatch with… well whoever starts one. For now, the dunk tanks look fun, and the caramel-coated fruit and fried… something? It’s a dough fried with some kind if filling but Viridian’s knowledge of Rakdosi food is ‘blood’ and this doesn’t tang with iron. Whatever it is, it’s wonderful, and watching people dipped in near-boiling water is oddly satisfying. They should add footage of the skin bubbling with the water to those communicator compilations, maybe between the clay-cracking and the sugar sheets made out of Innistradi lemon juice.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

All of the food is good, and most of it could fit at least some kind of aesthetic. In the meantime, or at least the time before someone has the gall to truly start a fight, the party is made to sweep along any attendee, allowing partygoers to truly lose themselves in the festivities. For a being as conceptual as a fractal, and especially a fractal such as Viridian, the natural tides of the party are strong. If it continues to wander, their eventual destination will almost certainly wind up being the epicenter, myself, or someone inclined to start a fight. Where will she be going?

[xerex-reshaper]

Viridian aims for the true epicentre of the event. She comes with a pair of gifts, the first an impressively bedazzled and spiked pair of sunglasses. They’re billboard-style lenses that sparkle and stab with an almost eyelash-style display of spikes, and the other gift is held between her fingers, a deed. ‘Biilzie knows how to own a place. Hopefully she’ll get this one the best.’

[biilziebub-rakdos]

“Viri!” I wave from atop my litter, my smile fanged and bloody, my non-waving hand holding a chalice of something red and alcoholic. I’m pulling myself to sit up as I catch her attention, barely spilling at all.

“How are you? How’s the party treating you?”

[xerex-reshaper]

“BIILZIE! I’m good, between political bullshit sessions. Yknow how it si.”

Her face shudders.

“?huH”

“Oh, nevermind. Temporary refresh of the sickness. My gift for you is… well with Snipe now. But it’s just some small stuff, the usual thank-yous for being a great friend. The party’s treated me well.”

[biilziebub-rakdos]

“Awwww, so sweet.” My smile is more genuine than I really want it to be, no matter how saccharine I can get the words. I really do appreciate Viridian, even if that goes against the image I’m supposed to maintain.

“I’ll try and get it from Snipe when I can. You’ve been enjoying the festivities then? Any favorite things so far? I’ve… mostly been stuck up here.”

[xerex-reshaper]

“I loved the food stands, but honestly the atmosphere is so gorgeous. The music, people, theming, you’ve done such a service to everybody! Ugh, I’m being too nice. You able to do a ton up there? I’d be down to swap places with you if it meant you’d have more fun!” Viridian’s eye-divets twinkle, they’re glimmering with the hope to be someone new.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

The air is dense with sweet smells and the sounds of celebration, echoing off the stone of the streets and buildings. No expense has been spared! For my birthday, I’ve filled the streets around Gore House with every festivity available, complete with importing my own Cirque Ziebub and some of the best performers from Rix Maadi below, and my fight club through the omenpaths. Food and game stalls fill the gaps between and before the foundries, workshops, and storefronts that fill Precinct Six, each strewn with banners, bunting, an oddly high number of doors, and glittering confetti enchanted to constantly swirl and drift through the air as though it were just released. Needing more than the space provided, a few probing tendrils of celebration are pushing into Precinct Two.

Bands are playing in pageant wagons, though Cannibal Voyeurism has been given a proper stage with proper pyrotechnics. Performers from my Cirque and various Rakdosi troupes are plying their various trades in booths or in the street, complete with, somehow, the rapid installation of a carnival wheel that reaches above most buildings in the district.

Following Rakdosi tradition, each Guildmaster and everyone else who’s anyone has been invited, in addition to everyone I like personally and everyone who happens to be nearby. For those of us with means, that tradition has grown with the omenpaths, and invitations to my party have been sent out to such positions of interplanar power as Queen Marchesa, those sitting on the throne of each little faction of Eldraine, the heads of the Capennan Families, even a few names I’ve never heard of such as the Lord Skitter and someone named Morcant. Many, of course, will not deign to show up.

Unlike that fateful party so many years ago, I am not starting the celebration hidden. I am instead stretched languidly across a litter carried by several strong and trusted low-ranking Rakdosi, my hair aflame, my makeup perfect, my hooves polished, my skin oiled, my upper half entirely exposed but for the chains wrapping around it in the style of my father. Surrounding me at all times are a buzz of servers bearing trays of snacks and drinks, always available to me and the crowd around me as I ride around the party.

[xerex-reshaper]

All chaos brings with it the pleasantries of presence. Of being seen, heard and silently acknowledged. With that in mind, Viridian has colour-coordinated this afternoon. An overlaying mix of crimson and charcoal triangles in harlequin patterns makes a puffy crop-top and sleeves, alongside a skirt fitted with enough bells to make most jugglers jealous. That old silvered pendant with the Rakdos symbol surrounds her neck, and climbs up through her now all-black hair to her face, coloured only in red and black atop her oddly pale skin.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

Viridian, clearly, has read the dress code. Walking through the crowd is enough to gain a small number of compliments, especially about her skirt and her structure, especially if she initiates conversation with anyone. Does she have any particular plans? Do any games or foods draw her to them? Is there anyone she wants to see, or desperately wants to avoid?

[xerex-reshaper]

She sparks some small talk, mirroring compliments at people, but keeps making glances at the wider crowd. The Emperor could be here. Whoever the edgelord with the triple question-marks on her communicator she argued with could be here. Hell, being surrounded by so many powerful people means a fights more than likely to break out.

But honestly? This is Biilzie’s day. They’d want to watch a fight right? A casual deathmatch with… well whoever starts one. For now, the dunk tanks look fun, and the caramel-coated fruit and fried… something? It’s a dough fried with some kind if filling but Viridian’s knowledge of Rakdosi food is ‘blood’ and this doesn’t tang with iron. Whatever it is, it’s wonderful, and watching people dipped in near-boiling water is oddly satisfying. They should add footage of the skin bubbling with the water to those communicator compilations, maybe between the clay-cracking and the sugar sheets made out of Innistradi lemon juice.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

All of the food is good, and most of it could fit at least some kind of aesthetic. In the meantime, or at least the time before someone has the gall to truly start a fight, the party is made to sweep along any attendee, allowing partygoers to truly lose themselves in the festivities. For a being as conceptual as a fractal, and especially a fractal such as Viridian, the natural tides of the party are strong. If it continues to wander, their eventual destination will almost certainly wind up being the epicenter, myself, or someone inclined to start a fight. Where will she be going?

[xerex-reshaper]

Viridian aims for the true epicentre of the event. She comes with a pair of gifts, the first an impressively bedazzled and spiked pair of sunglasses. They’re billboard-style lenses that sparkle and stab with an almost eyelash-style display of spikes, and the other gift is held between her fingers, a deed. ‘Biilzie knows how to own a place. Hopefully she’ll get this one the best.’

[biilziebub-rakdos]

“Viri!” I wave from atop my litter, my smile fanged and bloody, my non-waving hand holding a chalice of something red and alcoholic. I’m pulling myself to sit up as I catch her attention, barely spilling at all.

“How are you? How’s the party treating you?”

[xerex-reshaper]

“BIILZIE! I’m good, between political bullshit sessions. Yknow how it si.”

Her face shudders.

“?huH”

“Oh, nevermind. Temporary refresh of the sickness. My gift for you is… well with Snipe now. But it’s just some small stuff, the usual thank-yous for being a great friend. The party’s treated me well.”

[biilziebub-rakdos]

The air is dense with sweet smells and the sounds of celebration, echoing off the stone of the streets and buildings. No expense has been spared! For my birthday, I’ve filled the streets around Gore House with every festivity available, complete with importing my own Cirque Ziebub and some of the best performers from Rix Maadi below, and my fight club through the omenpaths. Food and game stalls fill the gaps between and before the foundries, workshops, and storefronts that fill Precinct Six, each strewn with banners, bunting, an oddly high number of doors, and glittering confetti enchanted to constantly swirl and drift through the air as though it were just released. Needing more than the space provided, a few probing tendrils of celebration are pushing into Precinct Two.

Bands are playing in pageant wagons, though Cannibal Voyeurism has been given a proper stage with proper pyrotechnics. Performers from my Cirque and various Rakdosi troupes are plying their various trades in booths or in the street, complete with, somehow, the rapid installation of a carnival wheel that reaches above most buildings in the district.

Following Rakdosi tradition, each Guildmaster and everyone else who’s anyone has been invited, in addition to everyone I like personally and everyone who happens to be nearby. For those of us with means, that tradition has grown with the omenpaths, and invitations to my party have been sent out to such positions of interplanar power as Queen Marchesa, those sitting on the throne of each little faction of Eldraine, the heads of the Capennan Families, even a few names I’ve never heard of such as the Lord Skitter and someone named Morcant. Many, of course, will not deign to show up.

Unlike that fateful party so many years ago, I am not starting the celebration hidden. I am instead stretched languidly across a litter carried by several strong and trusted low-ranking Rakdosi, my hair aflame, my makeup perfect, my hooves polished, my skin oiled, my upper half entirely exposed but for the chains wrapping around it in the style of my father. Surrounding me at all times are a buzz of servers bearing trays of snacks and drinks, always available to me and the crowd around me as I ride around the party.

[xerex-reshaper]

All chaos brings with it the pleasantries of presence. Of being seen, heard and silently acknowledged. With that in mind, Viridian has colour-coordinated this afternoon. An overlaying mix of crimson and charcoal triangles in harlequin patterns makes a puffy crop-top and sleeves, alongside a skirt fitted with enough bells to make most jugglers jealous. That old silvered pendant with the Rakdos symbol surrounds her neck, and climbs up through her now all-black hair to her face, coloured only in red and black atop her oddly pale skin.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

Viridian, clearly, has read the dress code. Walking through the crowd is enough to gain a small number of compliments, especially about her skirt and her structure, especially if she initiates conversation with anyone. Does she have any particular plans? Do any games or foods draw her to them? Is there anyone she wants to see, or desperately wants to avoid?

[xerex-reshaper]

She sparks some small talk, mirroring compliments at people, but keeps making glances at the wider crowd. The Emperor could be here. Whoever the edgelord with the triple question-marks on her communicator she argued with could be here. Hell, being surrounded by so many powerful people means a fights more than likely to break out.

But honestly? This is Biilzie’s day. They’d want to watch a fight right? A casual deathmatch with… well whoever starts one. For now, the dunk tanks look fun, and the caramel-coated fruit and fried… something? It’s a dough fried with some kind if filling but Viridian’s knowledge of Rakdosi food is ‘blood’ and this doesn’t tang with iron. Whatever it is, it’s wonderful, and watching people dipped in near-boiling water is oddly satisfying. They should add footage of the skin bubbling with the water to those communicator compilations, maybe between the clay-cracking and the sugar sheets made out of Innistradi lemon juice.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

All of the food is good, and most of it could fit at least some kind of aesthetic. In the meantime, or at least the time before someone has the gall to truly start a fight, the party is made to sweep along any attendee, allowing partygoers to truly lose themselves in the festivities. For a being as conceptual as a fractal, and especially a fractal such as Viridian, the natural tides of the party are strong. If it continues to wander, their eventual destination will almost certainly wind up being the epicenter, myself, or someone inclined to start a fight. Where will she be going?

[xerex-reshaper]

Viridian aims for the true epicentre of the event. She comes with a pair of gifts, the first an impressively bedazzled and spiked pair of sunglasses. They’re billboard-style lenses that sparkle and stab with an almost eyelash-style display of spikes, and the other gift is held between her fingers, a deed. ‘Biilzie knows how to own a place. Hopefully she’ll get this one the best.’

[biilziebub-rakdos]

The air is dense with sweet smells and the sounds of celebration, echoing off the stone of the streets and buildings. No expense has been spared! For my birthday, I’ve filled the streets around Gore House with every festivity available, complete with importing my own Cirque Ziebub and some of the best performers from Rix Maadi below, and my fight club through the omenpaths. Food and game stalls fill the gaps between and before the foundries, workshops, and storefronts that fill Precinct Six, each strewn with banners, bunting, an oddly high number of doors, and glittering confetti enchanted to constantly swirl and drift through the air as though it were just released. Needing more than the space provided, a few probing tendrils of celebration are pushing into Precinct Two.

Bands are playing in pageant wagons, though Cannibal Voyeurism has been given a proper stage with proper pyrotechnics. Performers from my Cirque and various Rakdosi troupes are plying their various trades in booths or in the street, complete with, somehow, the rapid installation of a carnival wheel that reaches above most buildings in the district.

Following Rakdosi tradition, each Guildmaster and everyone else who’s anyone has been invited, in addition to everyone I like personally and everyone who happens to be nearby. For those of us with means, that tradition has grown with the omenpaths, and invitations to my party have been sent out to such positions of interplanar power as Queen Marchesa, those sitting on the throne of each little faction of Eldraine, the heads of the Capennan Families, even a few names I’ve never heard of such as the Lord Skitter and someone named Morcant. Many, of course, will not deign to show up.

Unlike that fateful party so many years ago, I am not starting the celebration hidden. I am instead stretched languidly across a litter carried by several strong and trusted low-ranking Rakdosi, my hair aflame, my makeup perfect, my hooves polished, my skin oiled, my upper half entirely exposed but for the chains wrapping around it in the style of my father. Surrounding me at all times are a buzz of servers bearing trays of snacks and drinks, always available to me and the crowd around me as I ride around the party.

[xerex-reshaper]

All chaos brings with it the pleasantries of presence. Of being seen, heard and silently acknowledged. With that in mind, Viridian has colour-coordinated this afternoon. An overlaying mix of crimson and charcoal triangles in harlequin patterns makes a puffy crop-top and sleeves, alongside a skirt fitted with enough bells to make most jugglers jealous. That old silvered pendant with the Rakdos symbol surrounds her neck, and climbs up through her now all-black hair to her face, coloured only in red and black atop her oddly pale skin.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

Viridian, clearly, has read the dress code. Walking through the crowd is enough to gain a small number of compliments, especially about her skirt and her structure, especially if she initiates conversation with anyone. Does she have any particular plans? Do any games or foods draw her to them? Is there anyone she wants to see, or desperately wants to avoid?

[xerex-reshaper]

She sparks some small talk, mirroring compliments at people, but keeps making glances at the wider crowd. The Emperor could be here. Whoever the edgelord with the triple question-marks on her communicator she argued with could be here. Hell, being surrounded by so many powerful people means a fights more than likely to break out.

But honestly? This is Biilzie’s day. They’d want to watch a fight right? A casual deathmatch with… well whoever starts one. For now, the dunk tanks look fun, and the caramel-coated fruit and fried… something? It’s a dough fried with some kind if filling but Viridian’s knowledge of Rakdosi food is ‘blood’ and this doesn’t tang with iron. Whatever it is, it’s wonderful, and watching people dipped in near-boiling water is oddly satisfying. They should add footage of the skin bubbling with the water to those communicator compilations, maybe between the clay-cracking and the sugar sheets made out of Innistradi lemon juice.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

The air is dense with sweet smells and the sounds of celebration, echoing off the stone of the streets and buildings. No expense has been spared! For my birthday, I’ve filled the streets around Gore House with every festivity available, complete with importing my own Cirque Ziebub and some of the best performers from Rix Maadi below, and my fight club through the omenpaths. Food and game stalls fill the gaps between and before the foundries, workshops, and storefronts that fill Precinct Six, each strewn with banners, bunting, an oddly high number of doors, and glittering confetti enchanted to constantly swirl and drift through the air as though it were just released. Needing more than the space provided, a few probing tendrils of celebration are pushing into Precinct Two.

Bands are playing in pageant wagons, though Cannibal Voyeurism has been given a proper stage with proper pyrotechnics. Performers from my Cirque and various Rakdosi troupes are plying their various trades in booths or in the street, complete with, somehow, the rapid installation of a carnival wheel that reaches above most buildings in the district.

Following Rakdosi tradition, each Guildmaster and everyone else who’s anyone has been invited, in addition to everyone I like personally and everyone who happens to be nearby. For those of us with means, that tradition has grown with the omenpaths, and invitations to my party have been sent out to such positions of interplanar power as Queen Marchesa, those sitting on the throne of each little faction of Eldraine, the heads of the Capennan Families, even a few names I’ve never heard of such as the Lord Skitter and someone named Morcant. Many, of course, will not deign to show up.

Unlike that fateful party so many years ago, I am not starting the celebration hidden. I am instead stretched languidly across a litter carried by several strong and trusted low-ranking Rakdosi, my hair aflame, my makeup perfect, my hooves polished, my skin oiled, my upper half entirely exposed but for the chains wrapping around it in the style of my father. Surrounding me at all times are a buzz of servers bearing trays of snacks and drinks, always available to me and the crowd around me as I ride around the party.

[xerex-reshaper]

All chaos brings with it the pleasantries of presence. Of being seen, heard and silently acknowledged. With that in mind, Viridian has colour-coordinated this afternoon. An overlaying mix of crimson and charcoal triangles in harlequin patterns makes a puffy crop-top and sleeves, alongside a skirt fitted with enough bells to make most jugglers jealous. That old silvered pendant with the Rakdos symbol surrounds her neck, and climbs up through her now all-black hair to her face, coloured only in red and black atop her oddly pale skin.

[lonesome-hunter]

Belly of the Beast.

Snipe woke up in a barren place. Cloying and cold gray fog surrounded them, with vague shapes in the distance. Their head aches as they remember. Right, they're not the proper Snipe, just a fragment sent after... someone, stuck within Xerex on a rescue mission. Their hair stood on edge. HUNT was somewhere nearby. But they couldn't spy anything beyond the shadows, so... They began to move, readying their rifle.

Movement. They fired a bullet marred by a sigil towards the shape. The shadows of some indistinct fiend. Not HUNT, but in pursuit of a god, sacrifices must be made, right? So the innocent dies, screeching out a distorted scream. Their name started with a B, right? They couldn't remember... Not that it mattered much, now, as the splintering bullet tore through them and shot into the fog.

Reload. Fire again, at another movement. Again, not HUNT. Some human. He was from Capenna, weren't he? A G name, they think. They just need to tear through these wisps to finally get at HUNT.

A shape. Fractalline. This must be HUNT... No. Squirms too much. Bleeds too little. V comes to mind, but who cares? They stood in the path of this accursed bullet.

No, these are innocents. You aren't supposed to allow innocents to come to harm. And yet, shot after shot, all that are struck are innocents. Blurred wisps, surely from the past, yet totally unfamiliar.

A disillusioned spectator draws away from this scene of continuous gunfire as time stretches to eternity before stepping into the Hall again. Looking at this stone coffin containing the small sliver of forever containing the fragment. Why would HUNT get rid of such excellent quarries by killing them? It didn't need to play by those rules.

In this never-ending hall, lined with arrays of stone coffins pulled up and down by metal chains, each containing whatever small fragments of the offspring of HUNT. A fractalline structure of perfect torment. A glimpse into Hell, spiralling ever downward as HUNT engorges and strengthens itself upon these myriad malices.

The spectator draws away from the Halls. Its role here is complete. To witness the torments of a fractured realm. It need not do more than simply watch.

[dozydawn]

[two-goblins-in-a-trench-coat]

a CRITTER? Carrying a BERRY?? Across a BRAMBLE VINE?????

[mirak-the-malignant]

There it stood. Months of craving. Weeks of searching. Days of talking. Hours of negotiation. All that for a few minutes of being back to normal.

Seconds after arriving, a small, blue-skinned, humanoid figure flew up to it. Her wings remind him of those she had seen on butterflies, one of the few species whose name they learned without needing to ask his least favourite people. "You must be Altren." The little humanoid said confidently. The ex-demon had taken up the name of its jail when approaching her, just in case she could take his name, as many sources seemed to claim their species to be capable of. If she could, she better do it fast, he hoped. Something inside it made them wish to squash the fae like an insect, just to see what would happen.

Instead he offered a short reply. "Correct, you must be Aphid then." she mumbled more to itself than to the humanoid. "How observant," Aphid teased, erratically fluttering towards Mirak, "shall we skip the small-talk?" Mirak swallowed, or at least tried to, this form doesn't have a mouth, nor a throat. Either way, something moved, and he made a noise somewhat resembling a whimper. Not exactly what it was aiming for but it'll have to do. The faerie briefly paused on hearing the noise but continued nonetheless. "The form you desire in exchange for the memory you adore most, that's the deal." Aphid explained happily, as if Mirak hadn't spent all that time bringing the memory count down to one.

They pause for a moment, considering if it's all really worth it. If anything she's tricking the fae, not the other way around. Removing that memory would make living a lot easier for them, even if they didn't get her body because of some trick. He nods.

Aphid claps her hands excitedly and kicks her feet, almost dropping down to the floor because of it. Mirak catches her before she does, wondering how it ended up in this situation. The fae begins to mumble in a language Mirak doesn't recognise and slowly float around it.

A thick mist begins to fill the inside of his head as everything grows heavier. Not much later it loses conciousness completely.

[mirak-the-malignant]

When it wakes up she finds herself somewhere different, still in a forest, just not the one he was in before. This one seems more homely? It wasn't sure exactly what made it feel that way.

She holds her claws in front of his face. It has claws again!!!! Their tail starts wagging enthousiastically when she realises this. Finally things were going his way. She attempts to jump up, but falls to the ground once again. Dying made them not realise how much heavier their normal body was than the angel form it was forced into, even despite being substantially smaller. They won't let this keep her down though, he jumps up a second time, this time landing on its feet sucessfully.

Once up it takes a proper look around. No wonder this place feels like home, it's standing in the middle of a Xerex elemental.

He spits on the ground before flying up above the elemental. She missed soaring trough the air like this, sure they could fly in the other form but it's not the same. After a few loops it turns towards a nearby settlement, hoping to get some bloodshed going. She races towards the buildings, angels shooting by in the distance, who he can easily outmaneuver.

Then they slam against a tree, and it all drops. Dazed, he scans the area, noticing she seems to be back in the Eldranian forest. Catching a glimpse of a small creature skittering behind a tree.

What had it given up?

There was a price to this body, but she can't remember any of it. What has she lost? He slumps to the ground, trying to remember anything. Instead he just hit that tree again, as if its branches extended into her mind and impaled all of her memories surrounding... something... something that meant everything to him, but it just cannot place its finger on what exactly it was.

It curls up into a ball and lets out a single quiet sob.

[mirak-the-malignant]

There it stood. Months of craving. Weeks of searching. Days of talking. Hours of negotiation. All that for a few minutes of being back to normal.

Seconds after arriving, a small, blue-skinned, humanoid figure flew up to it. Her wings remind him of those she had seen on butterflies, one of the few species whose name they learned without needing to ask his least favourite people. "You must be Altren." The little humanoid said confidently. The ex-demon had taken up the name of its jail when approaching her, just in case she could take his name, as many sources seemed to claim their species to be capable of. If she could, she better do it fast, he hoped. Something inside it made them wish to squash the fae like an insect, just to see what would happen.

Instead he offered a short reply. "Correct, you must be Aphid then." she mumbled more to itself than to the humanoid. "How observant," Aphid teased, erratically fluttering towards Mirak, "shall we skip the small-talk?" Mirak swallowed, or at least tried to, this form doesn't have a mouth, nor a throat. Either way, something moved, and he made a noise somewhat resembling a whimper. Not exactly what it was aiming for but it'll have to do. The faerie briefly paused on hearing the noise but continued nonetheless. "The form you desire in exchange for the memory you adore most, that's the deal." Aphid explained happily, as if Mirak hadn't spent all that time bringing the memory count down to one.

They pause for a moment, considering if it's all really worth it. If anything she's tricking the fae, not the other way around. Removing that memory would make living a lot easier for them, even if they didn't get her body because of some trick. He nods.

Aphid claps her hands excitedly and kicks her feet, almost dropping down to the floor because of it. Mirak catches her before she does, wondering how it ended up in this situation. The fae begins to mumble in a language Mirak doesn't recognise and slowly float around it.

A thick mist begins to fill the inside of his head as everything grows heavier. Not much later it loses conciousness completely.

[xerex-reshaper]

Ivory Maelstrom

I woke to the sound of seraphs, riding across the silvered Incur seas. Arising, each and every one of us, we approached what not could be. Doorways flung open, cold steel against warm stucco, glass tiled streets became alight with polygons marching, unison pulsing from our throats as songbirds allowed themselves free, to rise into the air and coast within the echoes of every voice they had.

I caught but one glance at the seraph’s conductor, a figure of impossible height and size, endless coiling wings of ivory flittering in the breeze, and at once I saw its full orchestra. No voice sung but our own, the wings of ivory echoed in such grandiosity we heard words, choirs that sailed from sky to sea and home once more in endless repetition, great oscillations from a horizon unknowable and into a new horizon’s first breath.

It gave us no name, no face, to even consider it a being diminished our thought of what it was. And yet we, each and every Fractal, could hear its clarion call, our understandings were selected from the moment we began to perceive its resplendence. Shoals, full of commerce from steel to trinket, ceased their labour to gaze into it, endless light spilling from segments of its body. Then, the first word was uttered, a Fractal parsing its meagre form to speak out, ‘Ympremēnōt’. At once, the lights fell, the seraph’s solo stifled and ran earthwards. Frantically, the ivories began to falter, collapsing into obsidian obelisks against the seas, blood congealing and bursting from boils which awoke from the earth. Shrieks echoed out, endless recursions of sound rending stone asunder, minds turned external and fleshes’ internal, a great inversion consumed the onlookers in glory, such ineffable glory.

We awoke to a colder realm, one tainted by a scent. A scent of nothing, null in all its intents, yet pungent enough to notice.