DrBleep's Tales Sandbox

The earth shook and rocked, throwing the armies of Finfolkaheem to their knees. Triemides, from where she lay watched the sky with wide eyes, as holes appear in the rain-laden clouds. Two great streams of light, emanating from the techromancers of the so called Mekhanites, and the sorcerers of the flesh crafters.

A flash flies through the sky, followed by a second, and the earth trembles once more. As her vision clears, the horizon becomes clear and all within sight tremble and fall. Two of the 13 brought to Earth, in desperation. A great spider of gears and metal, stretching high into the trojan sky, glares through yellow eyes at a great undulating dragon of red spongy flesh. Mekhane and Yaldabaoth, come to wage their followers war.



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By looking far out into space we are also looking far back into time, back toward the horizon of the universe, back toward the epoch of the Big Bang.

Carl Sagan, Cosmos


1

The 3rd astral plane is empty. Dark. Silent. An utter void of nothingness with but a single exception. A figure floats in the seeming nothingness, an infantile being of omniscient power. One might say she has just been born, based on the fluid and sack in which she is contained. She floats in the nothing, unawares, yet to awaken.

A flash of light rends the nothing. Then another, and another, and on it goes. The nothing fills with light, and particles! The mortal plane below pops into existence, with a resounding clap of thunder so loud and intense it destroys the sack in which the figure is curled. The third plane becomes a mirror to it's mortal coil, particles racing outwards, colliding with each other, forming the very first atoms.

The figure stirs in its shattered sack. Four yellow eyes open for the very first time, and they behold the chaos of creation. Her hands reach out, her mind beginning to process all that is around her. She swivels, eyes alight with wonder and comprehension. Colors, light, and matter dance around her.

I exist? She spins her humanoid form, arms stretching out, grabbing handfuls of matter. The atoms bend and twist beneath her touch, before she throws them back into the mix. New colors, blue and red, particles with strange properties flowing from her hands into the youthful cosmos. The blue spreads throughout the Astral plane, and trickles bit by bit into the Mortal coil. The Red flows entirely from the Astral plane into the Mortal coil.

I exist! A smile spreads across her strangely human features, the fledgling deity is experiencing the thrill of consciousness! Her mind reaches across the growing expanse of hotly charged hydrogen gas. The smallest of particles colliding tickles her senses, electrifying every segment of her form.

In a single motion she shifts, a blob of astral flesh. Claws, eyes, tendrils, hands, feet, paws, stretching in all directions. There is no limit to her reach, and so she experiments, changing forms continuously in the blink of an eye. She inadvertently passes into the mortal plane, a flood of fresh sensations washing through her primordial being. Darkness, everywhere. Particles colliding and coalescing, heat building.

What's this? Gas is building, the very fingers of creation lifting into nebulae, pressure igniting intense flames as the hydrogen combusts. It tingles against her skin. Then there is light, bright unequivocal light, as the first stars are born. It happens so quickly, yet the universe is no longer so young. 200 million years have passed.

She soars from star to star, fascinated, by the forging of heavier particles within their core, and the immense heat and light they produce. Yet she detects no thought or awareness from these orbs. Smaller spheres made of new rocks and gas begin to form around younger orbs. She stares in awe as massive clusters form in swirling shapes, beginning to separate from one another. Yet no other consciousness or awareness presents itself.

A creeping realization settles across her chest.

I'm alone. She melts back into the Astral plane, now lit by a cacophony of different colors from the mirrored stars.

I exist, but why? A heavy melancholy settles along her pale chest. Her eyes weigh heavy with the exhaustion of sensation. What purpose do I serve if I am alone?

And so the young deity fades into an uneasy sleep, spurned by questions of her purpose. As she curls inwards, she fails to notice the 12 fresh sacks forming within the plane, surrounded by the blue and red particles made in the very throes of her awakening.


"Level 4 directors aren't told about the Myth of 13?" Its a question, although a strange one. The tiny bald man riffs through the two, thick, vanilla folders sitting on the metallic table of the interview room. A pin attached to the collar of his suit designates his position, a rank of great relative power within the hierarchy of the Foundation. A direct subordinate to O5-1.

Sherry and Leep Andrews exchange a nervous, awkward look. Red and Gold hair shifting as they turn back to the balding man. High ranking staff are never pulled into interviews by O5 subordinates.

"Sherry and I don't specialize in mythology based anomalies." Leep pauses, eyes scanning the man. "I don't think we caught your name?" Leep speaks carefully, his voice tight, his normally hooded eyes opened wide to maximize social awareness.

He waves away Leep's question. "You don't have clearance for that at the moment." He continues to flip through the folders. "Impressive backgrounds, high efficiency rate of containment, only five breaches in the past 3 years, excellent security record." The man mutters to himself.

Sherry grows visibly impatient, tapping her fingers on the table. "Is there a specific reason we've been dragged in here?" The emphasis in her voice circling the word dragged twinges in pitch, annoyance bleeding into the room. "I had two meetings I had to reschedule."

The man ignores her. He continues turning pages for three more minutes before he finally stops and closes the files. He strokes his beard momentarily and looks up. "So neither of you know the myth of 13?"

"No." The two say in unison. Sherry's eyes are narrowed, Leep's expression a mask of stoic calm hiding the nervousness beneath.

An unsettling smile spreads across Aaron's lips. "Welcome to level 5 clearance."

Sherry and Leep blink, in unison.

He slides a folder across the table. On the top, written in bold, black letters is 13 Watching Orkney.

"Congratulations you've been shang'hai'ed into O5-1's subordinate staff." He stands, slowly "I'm Aaaron. You have 30 minutes to read that and prepare questions." He starts to walk out of the interview room, but stops. "O5-1 will be waiting in your office. Don't be late." The door shuts behind him, locking into place on a timer of 30 minutes with several whirs and clicks.

They stare at the folder, faces wrinkled in disbelief. Leep opens it slowly, and they begin to read.

They both look up, and at each other.

"Did he say which of our offices?"


2

A sack shatters, and a humanoid shape tumbles slowly into the shifting space, infantile in its awareness. Its eyes open, red irises directing light into black pupils for the first time, as it spins.

Ugly. Order, too much order. It closes its eyes, a great silver beard decorating its humanoid face. The young tyrant raises his hands, and pulls matter and gas together, into a magnificent two handed clay-more. In his infantile rage he swipes, and slashes, rending space and time, introducing further bridges into the Mortal coil.

Something melodramatic about wanting to end the ordered ugliness.


The Thirteen:

  1. The Progenitor, first and most powerful; eldest of those descended from the astral plane. Stripped of power by star filled chains. The one they fear. (The Mither)
  2. The Tyrant, master of unbridled hate, envy of mortal life, conjurer of unholy storms. Sealed beneath the watching stones underneath the Orkney sky. (Teran)
  3. Clockworks, founder of machine and gears, metal of heart. Forever broken by a war with her lover. (Mekhane).
  4. Dragon of flesh, great devourer of worlds, who trailed life on that which they did not eat. Trapped within the heart of his lover. Feared, revered, and hated by those shapers of flesh, for its unbridled power. (Yaldabaoth).
  5. 5 terrible, unknowable arms, stretching into 5 different planes.
  6. One of carnal sin, and terrible pain. The red shah upon the sands around that great place at the end of the world. Imprisoned by the Progenitor before time itself, his red threads worming their way into that once great place of Alagadda, rending its parting. (The Scarlet King)
  7. One who gave their heart to feel the love of the universe, invested with great power. Benevolent friend, adored by the Progenitor. (Pangloss)
  8. Master of Death, split from his astral form into three separate mortal forms by the progenitor, brothers of that which ends the most sacred of all things.
  9. Trapped by his brother in many fragments, originator of darkness, shadow of the Astral plane. (He Who Made Dark)
  10. One who slew the Torch, and split them into infinitely many fragments. Burning light which shines from the Astral planes, hates man, trapped within glass by the Progenitor for his sins. (He Who Made Light)
  11. Consumer of the stars, slain by the light, and divided into infinitely many fragments, each set ablaze. His Astral presence remains trapped and forever out of reach of freedom. (See Children of the Torch)
  12. Consumption of thought, drainer of soul, great winding serpent of the body of Bengal. Thoughtless, stripped of sapience by the Tyrant, left to feed and drain any soul who had the misfortune of approaching. (SCP-3000)
  13. The Void, Great holes found in the centers of star clusters, perpetuated by some alien presence. Said to be terrified of the Progenitor, and the only one of the 13 who has never set foot on Gaia. Forger of the astral chains.

SCPs to consul for third tale.

[http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-2323]
[http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-2932]
[http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-2615]

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