So, this idea for this story was spawned when I was reading the generic Broken Lords lore. Why would creatures made of dust benefit from consuming, specifically, sentient creatures? They might be energy dependent and need the creature's matter for fuel, or they might need raw materiels to replenish dust, but any creature of the right body chemistry would fill those needs. The Broken Lords also seem a lot like Virtual Endless, but with incorrect code and vastly imperfect knowledge of dust, programming, and consciousness. The Virtuals never saw gains from such a ridiculous manner of feeding. So why? This story is a resolution to that apparent incogruity. I hope that if canon is going to be published that will invalidate it that it does so soon Anyhow, here's chapter 1.









Also, disclaimer, yes this thread is PG-16 to best adhere to the posted rules. Violence, tragedy, and even love will be discussed within, but all in accordance with the stated requirements.

Robes rustled as they marched through the halls of the great house. They marched in unison, they marched in armor, they marched in the reflected light of their own essence, and they marched without the sound of footsteps, for they had no feet. Their oaths were--they must be--ended now. For how could they uphold their oaths when they had become the very monsters they were sworn to defend the people against?



One among their number shuddered, mentally, at what she was about to do, but she remained in pace. She dreaded the coming moments. There could be no lower, no worse part of her life. She did not believe that what she was about to do was right, although the less introspective of her companions did, but she knew that one way or another it must be done. She had no great faith in fate or destiny, but she knew the coming battle--or, perhaps, execution--had to occur. The consequences of his death, if he could be killed, would be the greatest and most terrible her dying, near-extinct people had yet endured. His death would be a great evil and a great loss. But if they were to survive, if they were to retain even a shred of who they were, he had to be destroyed.



They were going to kill the Great Wizard, their savior. They were going to kill the only man she'd ever loved.





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373 years before:



Grauschere was a troublesome boy, though he didn't realize it yet. He didn't agitate the other children, or play tricks on the old ladies vending wares in the streets; about the most bothersome thing he could imagine he did was to pester the old priest to recite the histories to him, as often as he could be made to. But none of these these activities were any real bother to the parents in the village; a firm hand and a swift plank ensured their children were raised well. What Grauschere was, what truly troubled his sire, was curious.



It was a fine enough spring day. His mother had insisted he leave the house, as his parents often enough did, and he had wondered to the forest again. He was forbidden from going too deep into it lest he come across the fabled tower, a magical structure that housed strange and dangerous creatures. Only nobles were permitted to visit the tower, and they always went with heavy guard. The priest disliked speaking of the tower when Grauschere asked, and his parents disliked speaking of it to him even more than the priest. He had occasionally overheard his mother and father discussing it when they thought he was asleep. His parents were wealthy, for commoners, and had kept company with nobles before--Grauschere had even been to a banquet in a castle with his father once--and despite their blood, their profitable business and capable leadership acumen meant they were often swept up in the concerns of high life. When they discussed the tower, they frequently talked about the "endless," although what that was he hadn't been able to figure out yet. Grauschere suspected it was a magic token that couldn't be destroyed, or perhaps a book that recorded all of history. Either way, he was patient enough to wait until he was older and had a right to find out.



What Grauschere was not, however, was observant. As he wandered the parts of the forest he was permitted to visit, he had gotten altogether lost in his musings. He did hope it was a book; a book he would like to be mentioned in one day, as a great leader who changed history. He certainly hoped to accomplish something before he died; he knew tales of monsters that lived after death were merely stories, although he thirsted to become such a monster--and go on enjoying the world forever. If it were possible, he felt it must be worth it; he might be hunted by his neighbors, for stealing such unending life was rather incomprehensibly considered a crime, but Grauschere truly did love living and being in the world. He knew that after he died, his spirit would live on in the afterlife...but he was in no hurry to get there. There were so many beautiful things to do, so many adventures to experience, so much glory to be won that he couldn't imagine being satisfied with the miniscule amount he might do in a normal lifetime. However, he was not still young enough to hope that he might become so unending a creature or that such fairy-tale monsters existed. He had resigned himself to a short span of years, and the hope that his mind, his persona, might live on in some way in an unforgotten record...



As that thought trailed off, he realized he'd gotten a bit lost--he was in a portion of the forest he'd never visited before, near what appeared to be a meadow full of flowers. Hoping the clearing would enable him to get his bearing--and perhaps pick a few choice blooms to bring his mother--he made for the bright patch of color he saw through the trees. Emerging into the clearing, he saw a sight that made his breath catch in his throat. He became acutely aware of the noise his heart made as it beat in his chest.



He stood across the meadow from an oddly beautiful tower. Thick at the base, one side of it rose nearly straight up to the sky, taller than any building he'd ever seen. The other side rose up, tilted slightly inward, about half the height of the building, then canted in, then resumed a steeper angle as it ascended to the peak. There were no noticeable curves, just angles, and no visible bricks, just a smoother, glistening white Grauschere had never imagined. At the base of the building was a black rectangle, like a door, but it seemed to be composed of pure shadow. And a few steps away from the building, nearer Grauschere, stood a creature.



It was clearly not a beast--it stood on two legs, had two arms, appeared to wear clothes, and in other ways was like a person--but its features were not normal. As he stood gawking it turned its head, locking gazes with him. Its expression changed, slowly--Grauschere would not know it until much later, but it had smiled--and it slowly raised one arm up towards him, hand held so that its palm faced upward. It was then Grauschere noticed that its palm glowed, as though its skin was breaking into little particles of dust that flowed upward like a soft flame. Rapt, he watched as the creature's hand turned endlessly to glowing dust, but was never consumed, until suddenly he heard something that frightened him far more than this creature or the tower it stood before did.



His father's voice sounded like he had been shouting for a while; like he had, in fact, been searching the entire forest, and had nearly shouted himself hoarse. Despite that, there was a burning iron in his voice that left Grauschere with no doubt that he would sorely regret being found here.





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366 years before:



"What are you?"



The question was, perhaps, not the most tactful greeting Grauschere had ever offered, but it was at least pointed. Grauschere didn't really know what else to say; if the Magi did prefer the showy displays he heard the nobles always put on when they visited, well, hopefully they would simply chastise him and expel him for his presumption.



That hadn't seemed to be their inclination when he had inadvertantly trespassed in to the limited realm they claimed as their own in his youth, but who could know? Clearly, the words of his parents and the local lords couldn't be relied on; even the more intellectually curious among them, who doubted the genuine importance of the rituals surrounding the Magi and the veracity of the superstitions that had grown around them, simply shrugged off the possibility of learning any more about them. Grauschere, however, performed no such metaphorical gesture when the topic of the Magi crossed his mind. They were nearly the only unexplained phenomena he or anyone knew of, and strange happenings were invariably attributed to their actions regardless of how improbable the connection seemed. Which might seem a minor offense to some, but the sheer affront it often presented to the practice of reason irked him. It irked him in ways that other fallacies irked his father, a most reasonable man who was yet far more pragmatic than his child (and far less concerned with the nature or motivations of the Magi than he was with how they might affect his business or the whimsy of the local nobility).



All of that is what led Grauschere to the Tower of the Magi in the middle of the night. The same magus he had encountered in his childhood stood outside, watching him silently as he approached. It stood still, though its expression changed to a small echo of that Grauschere had seen in his youth. As the silence following his question grew, Grauschere began to wonder whether he should ask again, or perhaps say something else. But the magus turned before he could, beckoning him to follow, and walked towards the shadow doorway of the tower. The doorway gave him pause; it appeared no less like a solid shadow from arm's length than it did across a field. The magus had simply walked through it, however, and it had seemed to almost flow around him, like stepping in to a wall of pure black water. After a brief hesitation, he stepped through.



The interior of the building gave him no less pause, and he stopped halfway through the threshold until the door itself seemed to push him the rest of the way. When he had first stepped in, the interior seemed like a whirlwind of dust in all the colors of the rainbow. The shortest moment later the dust had solidified into a perfect replica of the apartment he'd lived in all his life. Seeing this, here...Grauschere knew he felt queer, but wasn't sure why. What had he expected? Some great wonder, perhaps, but not a building that changed shape, and certainly not one that changed shape to mimic its inhabitants' homes. Was it wrong? No, not quite, but it was...condescending, perhaps?



The magus appeared, opening the door from the analogue to Grahschere's chamber, then folding its hands over one another in front of its abdomen.



"Who are you, Grauschere?" the magus asked. "Who are you, child, the first to come to us alone in three generations? My people came to this planet long ago, but did not live here until much more recently. We are an old people, and knowledgeable far beyond the greatest sages of your race, but we still have much to learn. So tell me, Grauschere: who are you?"



It wasn't a question that needed a quick answer, or at least the magus seemed to be in no hurry, so Grauschere thought. He was a lot; the son of a merchant, a dreamer, a listener, a student; these and many more seemed accurate enough. But it was listener he liked best, and the magus seemed interested enough in dramatic appellations, so he told the magus he was a listener. When the magus asked what he heard he said he heard people, and peoples, and stories. And when the magus asked if he had to come to hear their story, the story of the magi, he said yes. But then the magus warned him that to hear and understand their story, he would have to pay a price; that this story, to be truly known, must change the listener forever, and he would never be able to be the person he was now again. And so the magus asked him: did he want to hear their story?



Grauschere knew, by now, that the magus wasn't speaking in metaphor, or referring to the emotional toll of an exceptionally moving story. He didn't know what the magus might mean, but he was willing to believe in the risk. And, after a long time, he decided to accept it. The magus waited patiently, peaceful, until Grauschere indicated he did, indeed, want to know the magus, understand the Magi, and hear their story. And when he had finished speaking, the room began to dissolve into dust once more.



And so what follows is the story of how Grauschere learned who the Endless were.

Interesting idea for a story, looking forward to seeing what your answer to that question will be.



I like your writing, it reads like someone's telling you a story; it has a very oral flow if that makes any sense. If you would accept some constructive criticism I think your sentences could be shortened a bit. Your language is very verbose, which I personally like, but could benefit from more pauses and/or some more concise wording here and there. You can be verbose and be conservative at the same time, it just requires a slight change of pacing. I really like how "historical" the story feels so far. It reads like a well-known local legend, something that has been passed down through generations and the oral feel of the language compliments that.



I'm a little curious how the magus knew Grauschere's name, or more importantly that Grauschere didn't react to him knowing, but it is a minor detail. Looking forward to more chapters!

Thanks for the feedback! I agree with your concern about the prose, actually. I didn't spend a lot of time editing. I know my general flow tends to be a bit stilted and I tend towards unnecessarily complex sentences; that's often a struggle for me, especially when transposing my internal narrator for this daydream about Grauschere.



Also, thanks for the feedback on Grauschere not responding to the magus knowing his name; that's not something I originally intended to flesh out, but I understand why it is counterintuitive. Grauschere is coming to the magus expecting to be wowed and amazed; extraordinary things he's already capable of conceptualizing, like a wizard magically knowing his name, don't faze him. Stuff he couldn't conceptualize won't necessarily startle him either, because again he assumes that a wizard is a wizard, but it will/does cause him to stop, watch, and think.



Also, I hope to get chapter two up before too long, but it's a bit slower going because I didn't already have it fleshed out mentally as much as I did chapter one. I have a synopsis written for the whole plotline, so I know all the major events, I just still need to create a lot of the details.



Thanks very much for the feedback!

Working on getting chapter 2 edited, should be posting soon.

The question was, perhaps, not the most tactful greeting Grauschere had ever offered, but it was at least pointed. Grauschere didn't really know what else to say; if the Magi did prefer the showy displays he heard the nobles always put on when they visited, well, hopefully they would simply chastise him and expel him for his presumption

Also, thanks for the feedback on Grauschere not responding to the magus knowing his name; that's not something I originally intended to flesh out, but I understand why it is counterintuitive. Grauschere is coming to the magus expecting to be wowed and amazed; extraordinary things he's already capable of conceptualizing, like a wizard magically knowing his name, don't faze him. Stuff he couldn't conceptualize won't necessarily startle him either, because again he assumes that a wizard is a wizard, but it will/does cause him to stop, watch, and think.