Anthony J. Crowley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sauntereddown) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
diatu2019-11-10 12:29 pm
sauntereddown) wrote in diatu2019-11-10 12:29 pm
To be fair, not the worst day he's ever had
Who: Crowley and any unsuspecting bystanders
What: Arrival post, and subsequent settling in
Where: Somewhere on the Walk/later in the Great Hall
When: Sometime in early November
Warnings: Initially grumpy, frazzled occult being. Absolutely no knowledge of actual cars.
Temporarily out of gas
Crowley is going to struggle to find a metaphor for this later. The best he can come up with is if your talking unicorn suddenly changed into a blank-eyed goat. But the shabby version of a goat everyone knows, from some film you never got around to seeing. That's his general feeling about the car he's sitting in right now.
And also he's pretty sure he's got an idea of how the universe works, certainly of how the world works because he was there when they built the blessed thing. But now the feel's all off, so he's like a cat with mittens on.
And also, people are staring, when they're not leaning out of horse-drawn wagons and yelling for him to move. And not just sort of assuming they see something else and working their way around him. So there's that.
He snaps his fingers, and oh, that's what it feels like if they cut the miracle power. He always wondered. "Shit." Maybe he can still lean into it. He rolls the window down and snaps again, louder, at some unsuspecting bystander. "Hey, yeah. Yes, you - I'm going to need some directions."
Hey boy, where did you go?
After some more swearing and a crash course or two, Crowley's now a new arrival in the Great Hall. He's wearing sunglasses indoors, and he's nursing a mug of something strong-tasting and hopefully alcoholic. (No one knew what he was talking about when he asked if they had Isle of Skye, so he decided on a glass of whatever would "take the edge off a long day.")
He's notably not eating, though he is taking notes in between pulls from the mug. Anyone who sneaks a peek will see a mix of English words and a squiggly language they likely won't be able to read. Crowley is not an organized scholar, but in between his attempts to throw together a class schedule, there are some spur-of-the-moment questions and notes.
Notable bits include 'Different planet? Is space the same?', and a list titled 'Clever Enough to Exorcise Me Here' with every name crossed off.
What: Arrival post, and subsequent settling in
Where: Somewhere on the Walk/later in the Great Hall
When: Sometime in early November
Warnings: Initially grumpy, frazzled occult being. Absolutely no knowledge of actual cars.
Temporarily out of gas
Crowley is going to struggle to find a metaphor for this later. The best he can come up with is if your talking unicorn suddenly changed into a blank-eyed goat. But the shabby version of a goat everyone knows, from some film you never got around to seeing. That's his general feeling about the car he's sitting in right now.
And also he's pretty sure he's got an idea of how the universe works, certainly of how the world works because he was there when they built the blessed thing. But now the feel's all off, so he's like a cat with mittens on.
And also, people are staring, when they're not leaning out of horse-drawn wagons and yelling for him to move. And not just sort of assuming they see something else and working their way around him. So there's that.
He snaps his fingers, and oh, that's what it feels like if they cut the miracle power. He always wondered. "Shit." Maybe he can still lean into it. He rolls the window down and snaps again, louder, at some unsuspecting bystander. "Hey, yeah. Yes, you - I'm going to need some directions."
Hey boy, where did you go?
After some more swearing and a crash course or two, Crowley's now a new arrival in the Great Hall. He's wearing sunglasses indoors, and he's nursing a mug of something strong-tasting and hopefully alcoholic. (No one knew what he was talking about when he asked if they had Isle of Skye, so he decided on a glass of whatever would "take the edge off a long day.")
He's notably not eating, though he is taking notes in between pulls from the mug. Anyone who sneaks a peek will see a mix of English words and a squiggly language they likely won't be able to read. Crowley is not an organized scholar, but in between his attempts to throw together a class schedule, there are some spur-of-the-moment questions and notes.
Notable bits include 'Different planet? Is space the same?', and a list titled 'Clever Enough to Exorcise Me Here' with every name crossed off.
That is fine.
"As for Divine magic, I am working steadily towards the level at which I could cast the Wish spell, and then of course modify it to the point where despite being divine in origin, it can defy the gods themselves, as we refuse to allow them to so easily end the world. I have somewhat powerful allies, perhaps. But it would be more accurate to say that in me they have a powerful ally."
"V," Willard warned.
"That is not ego or hubris, it is simple fact," V said firmly.
no subject
"Anyway. World's not made for ending." He gives a decisive nod, as if he were settling a debate. It was always obvious to him personally, but as far as he's concerned the universe never ran on common sense. "And if you're the only one who can learn this...thing, then seems like fact to me. Nothing wrong with the others being your backup. What's got the gods set on unraveling things, anyway?"
no subject
no subject
"Not sure what chaos has to do with it. But if you want to keep the thing ironclad, I don't just mean loopholes in your favor. Did you build in no-harm clauses for that family of yours? And I'm talking no indirect damage, no sabotage of their interests, no room for 'oh but you did something awful, not our fault if we put a geas on you first.' They love that crap. Makes them feel important."
As for the apocalyptic backstory, Crowley snorts as he hears a combination of words he never really expected. "I don't typically deal with sudden crayon art."
no subject
"Neither did I until someone decided to waste over a month in crayon drawings to explain why the divine realm wanted to destroy the world."
no subject
He snorts at the thought of it. "Talking should work just fine for me. Doubt I'll need diagrams."
pages of exposition with a burned hand. Oh joy. LOL
V took a deep breath then launched into the story. "Apparently, when time first began there was chaos, every possibility was like a string, a story thread, if you will. The gods arrived into this chaos, or were created from it, the person telling us the story was unclear and divine lore is not my focus, you would need to ask the cleric if he further researched the appearance of the gods within this timeline. My magic is arcane, rather than divine, so there were other issues that required my focus. However it is that the divine beings appeared, they did. They saw the potential in those threads and decided to create a world. There was more about which gods took which pantheons and what parts of the world. I could go back into the archives if you want the details. Anyway, at first they all worked together, one big happy polytheistic bunch. But then arguments began. For example, trolls. One group thought they should be hard working weapon smiths. Another group thought they should be evil and harass goats. Another thought they should be small wrinkled things with poofy bright hair collected by old women. When they couldn't agree, they each grabbed a thread and tried to force their will into being to win the argument by creating before anyone else could. Bit by bit they wove the threads and pulled them into the world, forming it. And as they went they argued more and more. And with every argument a new snarl or snag formed in the threads of reality. More and more tangles of these threads. So blinded were they by their arguments and wars, each side so determined to win they failed to see that the knots and tangles were coming together, growing sentient. The Snarl was created by these arguments and this pulling on reality. And in time the Snarl became so angry and so powerful it slew a whole pantheon of the Gods. In a few combat rounds there were a dozen dead deities."
V sipped at a drink, then continued. "The Snarl, having killed many Gods turned attention to the new world below. And it destroyed all that it could, killing wantonly. Armageddon. It devoured all the living souls it could find. No matter the species, age, class. Everything was destroyed. Twenty seven minutes after the Snarl revealed itself, the new world was dying. The remaining Gods saw the death of their fellows, and heard the dying prayers of the lives they created. They hid in the Outer Planes, and they plotted. They wanted to create again, they wanted to remake their dead world, but they did not want to risk their creations to the Snarl, nor themselves. So they conspired. They realized that in undoing so much of the weaving of their threads, the Snarl had weakened itself. And from that they realized that they could reweave the threads into a prison for the Snarl. But only by agreeing, by working together. They rebuilt the world together. Taking turns, no more arguing, no more pilling on random threads. The Snarl watched them weave, not recognizing what they were building, unable to see the order as it was born of Chaos. When they finished, they had a world that served as a prison for the Snarl. It was trapped in a demi-plane within the planar space of the world. They even ensured that the world they made was linked to all others, so that all worlds in turn strengthen the containment, though my world is like the door of the jail cell. By its very function it is thew weakest point, as it could, in theory, be opened. That theory however would destroy all that lives in my world, and possibly end the divine and other-planar beings as well."
Another sip.
"On that new world the Gods created new followers for themselves, and some people over the thousands of years, created in turn their own gods. Or so said the lying Paladin who told us this story. So, you know, grain of salt on all of this. But fo course at that point, the Gods weren't telling their new followers anything. So no one expected the danger. They Gods thought if the mortals knew one of them would seek the Snarl. Which meant that when holes in the prison appeared, even the most learned of our world were taken by surprise."
"Nearly seventy years ago, a Paladin named Soon Kim found a plot hook in the forests of the Elven lands. A rift in the world from which a claw emerged, killing his wife. Meanwhile an Elven Druid was given a related plot hook, as countless animals were vanishing through the self same rift and never returning. They formed a party of adventurers, as one does when faced with a tragic backstory and a world endangering plot line. They traveled, studying the rift and ways to possibly close it. The six of them discovered between them a total of five rifts of varying sizes and places. The Gods could have fixed these rifts themselves, but only by undoing the world and reweaving the prison. So the party, learning this, were determined to never let it get to the point where the Gods would choose that option. So they decided to defend the rifts from those who might seek to widen them. The party could not figure out how to mend the rifts, but they did eventually figure out how to seal them. It took them years but they finally figured out a way to use magic to seal them behind magical gates. But the surviving members of the party couldn't agree on how to defend those gates. So the party split. Each to defend its own gate, with a vow made between them never to investigate each other's gates or interfere. Soon founded a great city around his gate, and raised a civilization of Paladins like himself, oathbound to all but ignore the other gates. That oath passed to the last leader of Azure City, an old man with NPC classes who lied when he took his oath to uphold Soon's policy of ignoring the other gates. When the Order of the Stick accidentally and unknowingly destroyed one of the Gates he dispatched his most annoying Paladin to fetch us on trumped up charges, claiming we were criminals. He had us dragged in so that he could task us with finding the other Gates before the Lich Xykon, who had claimed the Gate that we had encountered. We had thought it something of his own evil design, because again, why should we have clear and concise communication when there is more drama to be had by destroying the world?!" V asked, voice rising in frustration at the end of the rather long narrative.
D: feel better omg I didn't mean to make you write a book
He snorts at the end of the tale, shaking his head. "So they bickered about what lazy template to slap onto people, fought their way into a paradox, slapped some sellotape over the whole mess, and now it's your problem to clean up. Typical." A beat as he considers, the nagging questions rising up even while confirming his own worldview. "'Course, either they're not very omniscient, or they're letting you do a lot of running around messing up their plans. Which I fully endorse, by the way." Not that V was asking for his seal of approval.
I am much better now, thank you. And I kind of knew it was coming.
"One word, yeah right," Willard muttered. V ignored him.
"Should you find a blond human of my world around here, and you will know him by the fact that his face is properly drawn without a bumpy thing between his mismatched eyes, claiming to be a priest or cleric or whatever he is claiming this week of a god called Banjo, please feel free to disregard anything and everything he says. Listening too hard will cause you to be forced to make a minimum of one sanity check."