Zerrer
patreon
Applying Exotic Metaphyiscs (Truth 19.4)
🕑 Added 2024-08-24 04:58:42 +0000 UTC“Forgive me for not knowing of you, dear guest,” Sotha Sil said. He brushed his skirt aside so it wouldn’t get in the way, and sat at one of the chair surrounding the table. “It is not uncommon for arcanists or mystics to come to the Clockwork City, seeking advice or knowledge. I am merely Sotha Sil.”
It was funny. When I’d first seen him, I’d seen Sotha Sil as something majestic. A brilliant scholar, Divayth Fyr on steroids. I’d expected him to be working on projects beyond me, or talking in official, clinical terms. But here he was, in a sitting room in his clockwork city, daintily eating some mashed ash yam. He just looked… Old. Old and tired.
“This isn’t the first time we’ve met,” I responded. “But I’d understand if you’d forgotten. Maria Manatsoni.”
“You do look rather familiar,” He says. “But people these days… They blur together.”
“It was some years ago,” I responded. “The day you and the Tribunal returned from facing Dagoth Ur. Empty-handed.”
His eyes glaze over for a moment… and then he nods.
“Yes. I remember now. We had… lost. And you were different.”
“I reminded you of the Imperfects, right?”
“Yes.” He said. “... So. Do you seek wisdom?”
“In a way, I suppose.” I asked. “What have you been doing, since that day?”
“... Working on my City.” He responds. “It is incomplete. It will continue to be incomplete. But my time is limited. I must construct it in such a manner as to allow it to construct itself.”
“Is such a thing even possible?” I ask. He sighs, and for a moment, he looks old. Older than Voryn ever had.
“I believe so. But it will not be easy. And my people… they, too, must dream of something more, as I once dreamt of for my own kind.”
“... You say ‘once’.”
“Yes.” He responded. “Once…” He stops for a moment. “I saw within the Heart of Lorkhan potential. And similarly, potential in all of the Mortal Realm.”
“What kind of potential?”
“To be perfection. A utopia. Idealized, with no sharp edges. No points of failure. But the people were imperfect. Their lands were imperfect. Their gods were imperfect. And even the power within the Heart… It, too, was imperfect.”
“It despises perfection.” I added.
Sotha Sil paused… and slowly set down his spoon.
“That is extremely precise wording.” He says. “But it is accurate. I saw that very thing, and realized that I must create the world I desired from new soil. And from there, create the people I desired. And from there…”
“Become the god you desired?”
“No,” He said, and he looked tired. “That too must be created, because I’m imperfect as well.”
With that, we lapsed into silence.
“You must be a powerful mystic indeed, to have found your way here.” He says. “I’m afraid whatever guidance I have to give may not be what you seek.”
“I’m not exactly an apprentice, but I’m nowhere near as good enough a conjurer to swim the waters of Oblivion. Not directly.” I said. “I had to use an artifact that the Nerevarine lent me.”
He didn’t move for a second. Tired eyes locking onto mine.
“His reincarnation finally arrived? Is there a reason he hasn’t visited me to tell me himself?” He asked. “I still recall the words Azura spoke when we broke our oaths. Where is his prophecized vengeance?”
“Azura does not get to determine what Nerevar’s choices are.” I said. I saw the corner of his lips quirk up, the first emotion I’ve seen from him. “The Nerevarine- Kirat- is a friend of mine. She’s a khajiit, and it’s her that showed me how to find you.”
“A khajiit. Azura’s pet project.” He says, closing his eyes. “It was never my intention to break our oaths, to be clear. My intent was to be asked to be released from it. To ask from my king the permission to continue. But Veht’s words were pretty, and Ayem’s lies were sweet.”
“So-”
“I do not claim innocence. I would never say it was not my fault. It may not have been my hands that acted, or my words that were spoken. But the plot’s birthplace was my mind. I am as guilty as the others.”
“Nerevar doesn’t blame you.” I said. “She doesn’t even blame Voryn. The only one she did blame was Vivec, and that was because it was his spear that killed her.”
“Then why has she not come to meet me?” He asks.
“... You do realize it’s not exactly easy to come to the Clockwork City if you’re not an extremely powerful conjurer, right?” I asked. “You’ve been locked in your dome for centuries, and trust me- this Mazed Band would not have worked if Kirat tried using it.”
I held it out. He glanced at it for a moment. Then huffed.
“I suppose that’s true. I’ve been… hiding, I suppose, since I felt my connection with the Heart of Lorkhan break. I've been... afraid to find the Nerevarine. To see what they would make of me.” He says. “I’ve only met with mystics that seek information or guidance. Guidance I can scarcely ever offer.”
“I guess it’s a bit selfish of me, but… I’ve been seeking guidance myself.” I said. “Mannimarco has only just become a god. He doesn’t yet know much about Mystery. Divayth Fyr is like a father to me, but he’s too grounded in the law of the world.”
“I cannot promise anything,” He says. “But I can give what little knowledge I have. What do you need?”
“I need to know what I am.” I said.
He looked. Really looked at me. I could tell he was feeling out with his magic, his anima analyzing me down to the deepest, barest level.
“... Tell me your story,” He said.
So I did.
===
There we were, sitting in a small room in the Clockwork City, made up to resemble a chimer mud hut from the first Age. Light from an alien sun shines in through the windowsill. Some kind of tea made out of the synthetic plants sit in front of me, barely touched.
I’d been talking a lot, and Sotha Sil had been listening. He’d nodded grimly at some points. Scowled at others. But at points- like when facing Mehrunes Dagon- he’d outright congratulated me. But now he was thinking deeply, staring into nothing.
Then suddenly, he sat up, and adjusted his headpiece. His eyes locked onto mine.
“There was a moment, soon after my mourning period. When Almalexia was peddling our godhood to the newmade dunmer. When Vivec was writing the madness he’d found in the Heart’s power. When I sat alone in my room, mourning my student’s end.” Sotha Sil said. “I came to a realization. I knew exactly what I was. Who I was. All of my abilities and attributes, laid out like upon a sheet of paper. Everything I was, who I was, enumerated into mere words and numbers.”
“... Was it…” I trailed off, not even wanting to think of the word.
“I had achieved the Psyjjic Endeavour. I saw mere numbers on a page, and realized it would be as simple as a quillstroke to alter things forever. To multiply one’s understanding tenfold. To make one as powerful or as brilliant as they wished. In that moment, I knew all things were the same. All of it mere words. All of it, run in a calculating machine so powerful and grand that nothing in this world could equate to. Run in a sleeping mind so beautiful that it could contain all of us in a dream.”
My form wavered. Lyg held me back. I focused on listening without listening.
“I’d found it horrifying. Disgusting. I’d had my pride, back then, beaten and battered as it was, and I couldn’t bear the weight of what I learned. I hated the idea of being so small. So nothing. Something contained only in the single mind, where my story would never spread. My teachings, my wisdom… All of it would be lost as soon as the dreamer awoke. But the Heart’s power held me back. It anchored me into existence. It kept me from erasing myself, from having never have been. I rejected Chim, but I remembered what I had learned.”
I nodded. I knew the feeling intimately, now. What it felt to be there and not-be-there at the same time.
“The Heart spoke to me.” He said. “It told me that the Dreamer had Eyes. the Dreamer had Ears. It could hear, and it could speak. All stories would be known. All tales would be told. Other tales could be heard, could inspire the Dreamer. It is that which gives me my desire to build a utopia, a perfect world.”
I didn’t hear of any of this. Not in the Sermons, not in any of the books. It wasn’t even one of those things I’d somehow learned.
“... Lorkhan, like Lyg, does not exist.” He says. “It is not the Missing God because it is simply lost. It is Missing because it is a hollow point in the world. Lorkhan is that gate to the outer world. Lorkhan is the mouth that tells the Dreamer’s Stories. Lorkhan is the ears that hear the tales of other worlds, of other dreams.”
“... I’m something that passed through that gate?” I asked.
“I am not like Vehk, to pontificate and play with words, so I will tell this to you as simply and plainly as I can. But know that I know nothing, and can be certain of even less.”
“A-alright.”
“The agent of Daggerfall, as many heroes are in this world, was simply the Dreamer’s ear, listening to the whispers of another world. The mind of another person, imprinted onto a hero. You know these entities as Shezzarines. The Warp in the West happened as you told it. Time was split and reforged. Then… months later, my student and his friend were seeking the Dwemer. They were seeking gates. Doorways to Adjacent Places. And they found one.”
“They found me.”
“It is in the nature of beings to have minds. To live. And when you were pulled, you became a being. You needed numbers on a page, for the Dreamer to recognize you. And when you were forced into existence, the Dreamer took what it could find. It found two things. One of the two was impossible, so it was disregarded, and so it focused on the other. It found the echoes of the Agent, and wrote them out in truth. As completely as it can, based on the memories it found. It invented a copy of what it had been listening to, and laid them out upon the Gate.”
“The gate?” I asked. “Didn’t you say that was-”
“You are that gate.” He said. “Through your perception is another world. You are the Shadow. The Doom Drum, the Sower of Flesh. Sheor, Shor.”
I froze.
“Sep. Shezarr. There are other names, and I’m sure you know them.” He smiles softly. “As clearly as I can say it… You are a living personification of the Missing God, given the mind of the last Shezzarine to have been channeled.”
“...I’m Lorkhan.”
“The greatest trick the Missing God ever pulled was not creating the world. It was in convincing the world he ever existed at all.” He says. “It would only be a matter of time until he convinced himself, and became you. More tea?”
Comments
Evil Legend
Lol. I find it funny how much sense this makes. Congratulations on realizing that you are the protagonist of the story, and that the world of the story exists because of you. The only other story where this has happened (and was at least as well written and developed as this story) was when the protagonist rejected the idea of his existence as a protagonist and simply continued to live in the equivalent of a post-singularity endgame society. (I'm talking about Worth the Candle) Zerrer has handled the whole meta thing so far in an amazing (and very mystical) way. I'm really curious to see where this case will lead. I hope it won't lead straight to endgame, I'm enjoying reading each chapter of this story too much for that.
Templar9999
... Yeah, that does sound like Kirkbride.
