A false ascent to divinity warrants a truly promethean intervention, and since fire has been done to death I am concerned with stolen dreams. Many Majin are erring in their attempts to claw a place for their species from the outside world, but the poodle's core is the unrealized potential from within. Whether that is an integration of the strewn-about ingredients in a wildly divergent species or a matter of agarthan journeys is left to the reader.
This Eleventh is born to Thonodreth, and thus to a barren race. The Stigma did the rest, and the baby was swiftly abandoned. Through fate or divine intervention, it was equally swiftly found by Dennitsa, a young outcast pivotal to coming history and story providentially abroad the routes of Gramrouth Syn Yordoucka in the earliest day of his ventures. Accustomed to solitude, she no less kicked off the Long March Above, whether to her the ship carried an infant or another arcane mystery mattered little.
Yet still before the clock started ticking, The Work had already begun with a jovian chapter only documented in God-script as A Betrayal Most Foul and planned with Glimpse and time unwinding. The bleakest of the small folk spelled Doom, and a specter faded into well earned final obscurity, lifting the curse the people of Morgana and Maeve had endured for too long. Spurred to even greater adoration for their princess-prophet of choice who had delivered them from the undeliverable, their numbers were sure to swell and belief to deepen. The destiny of Yee hidden in their very tongue was so spoken by the twin-consorts.
A father was mourned, if only because it was proper. Vows were exchanged, out of necessity and desire. Destiny diverged, set on a path to greater reunion. Not to be ripped from habit and fate, the adoptive mother continued her own good work plundering the monasteries of the pretender, and the stowaway began indulging his lavish gifts carefully prepared by 788 years of incarnated experience.
Only briefly interrupted by some Saevel and the usurpation of the heirloom of dusty-dry ancestry, the childhood, for indeed a child grew, was spent in contemplation and exploration. It had all been laid out, though the collection of the pandaemonian press was never far thanks to Makariy's and Dennitsa's trade agreements.
Gifts followed from the lines and strings soon to be transcended, and nothing much happened for 13 years.
Whether the shaded benefactress or the divine patron's mark, an unlikely patron let go of ordained hostility and set the world free at this point. Happy birthday. Her favored apprentice, though not bound by fate, may prove to find yet more favor in the eye of a friend regardless.
The collection of names and signs finally going towards the End
Strong enough now to embark out ahead of threats, the Long March Above resumed to the Hexlands, to know the Majin who had preserved the flame of rebellion there, after embarking to sea or sky first as vessel demands. The first march was to enjoy the hostship off Doria's secret-most-veiled in Tenebrae, a most fruitful lesson, as eleven should know it by the tree. In a round chamber spoke the deepest shadow, and this eleventh listened well.
Not to tell of distractions both vulgar and profane, Knowledge was applied in Clodnobask, secrets stolen in ways the Hunt had not archived yet. Another lesson successful, the mercurian trade wished to be taken to mastery, and this eleventh gladly seized another master's spoils in Chervonolin, though the help of a great companion should not be diminished. The third master graced to meet as fate had augured from script, and the thief was thus threefold blessed.
And while this hunt had proceeded well, another asked favor and provided more in turn, the keeper of the vaults of signs being compelled by fate and lured by good intent.
After the good deed, another was forced in the homeland of Dis by it's dimmer White Lady's clever machinations. She's such a kuudere bros wow.
It was now time to tempt fate in the depths, to whisper sweet dreams to a forgotten aunt, and collect her blessing on the path to conclude. Through dreamy Poryphria then, converging in Schwarzsonne near That with all who would forge the sword of Majin fate to be wielded against the enemy of all.
Rhucuphre, mad with vision, had seen the path before it was tread. And rapture should be in her ever-fading wake.
Leimeie had enriched the tree with Chesed and the forgiveness inherent to true sacrifice, highest virtue in lamb and wolf alike.
Ielziaseh had fashioned the shadows of myth from the obstructions and limitations that carve Being from Potential, and in doing so had cast the ray to make old script dance in new halls.
Tenyota likewise had carved potential from this eleventh, and Daemonic hosts should soon rival Uruks profane multiplication with emanative vigor, the greatest gift now in the hand of all, for a teacher-thief was found to hail this divine fire upon the receptive earth of Doria, Mamet Tsoshu, and even tainted Poluden.
This Eleventh would grant love to a people his own, two lifetimes of secrets revealed to all, and myth to counter math.
Sweet Dei had delivered her proof of good will, and as well proven that an echo can resound and reach further than a sound might - though she was not at Schwarzsonne, and a final pilgrimage had to be carried to Stygia, where river and sun, earth and heaven, dream and world meet.
Heroic Dennitsa, who had worked her fate enough for a hundred cycles, completed the journey as she had started it. The Azure Centipede be mentioned here, though her flame has to be granted by will, not fate, as she meets the purple centipede of the Long March Below, or does not at her own volition and nobody else's.
By river to the ruins of Oko Iota by Midoria to Stygia on Mamet went a stranger, to grant a sword to the only race that could wield it. A feast was to commence at the threshold, a feast of Negation, tof Assertion.
The Descent and the Ascent. The Male and the Female. Nightmare and Dream. The destined conclusion of two Long Marches, one underground and one above. A merging union of Son-Father and Sister-Mother, with a side of patricide under a tree generously crowned by Keter. The 11th uniting the 10, from judgement to mercy, past Yesod and Malkuth. The many-legged dark centipede of the earth meeting the draconic azure counterpart. A dream of destiny is mine.
So yeah either some manner of godhood by reintegration of majin as a differentiating race, reversing their trajectory by collecting all the engrams I can and so on
...or a new Majin scourge to raise the previous prime thread/t on a level harmful to Charles - they are the closest by race entry, and the elves already made a dent.
Or maybe some sort of godscript implosion. Have at it, tide, my vanitas is achieved and hubris written. If I make it in one form or another it's on to E Nomine.