There is this grand narcissism displayed in self-flagellating morality. The mont one looks at Elassa and her child that is Perpetual Decline Theory, one can notice it imdiately. The woman is the Goddess of Magic, in terms of character, then how many people are more elitist than her? There is , of course, but I declare myself as the Gatekeeper of Godhood, it is a given I will be naturally exclusionary in my thinking. Yet apart from myself, who can the Goddess say she accepts?
I do not an this in the grand ideological fashion of stating materially whether a being is Divine physically. There are plenty of spirits that share the sa biology as us and yet are not Divine. Elassa would not even disagree with on this. Fortress Spirits are called Fortress Spirits even though they may very well be of Divine origin. Yet we can all look at the incarnation of so random, banal castle and say: “That is no God, we deny your Divinity.”
To be Divine is not to fulfil so biological requirent or achieve so condition such as agelessness, it is to beco exceptional. Divines, by definition, are not the norm. Divines are the peak of whatever desne they represent. There is no such thing as an “average” within Divines. In terms of scale, we are comparing a mountain to a hill, a jungle to a patch of trees, a desert’s worth of sand to a beach’s. Very simply, it cannot be done. Even writing this, I feel insulted. It is as if one has to explain that grass grows, or that humans are born, or that chickens lay eggs; Divines are exceptional, there is nothing more and there is nothing less to say than that.
So thus, we get to the crux of the matter. Perpetual Decline as a theory is nothing more than statistical analysis of all spirits in order to throw them into the pot that is Godhood. It is natural that spirits beco less elite as they beco more common, but we do not treat them as Divines. Elassa can talk of grandiosities, yet she simply to fails to consider the most important issue: the grandest desnes are taken already.
There will be no Of Darkness as long as Irinika walks this world, no Of Death as long as Neneria is alive, no Of War as long as Kassandora is here. Perpetual Decline sounds intelligent only to children who fail to see the big picture. Elassa presents Darkness, mankind’s most primordial fear, and then asks why is Darkness stronger than the abstraction that is warfare? Whilst we are at this, why not ask ourselves why Pride is stronger than the Sword? Or maybe we should hold a debate as to why the incarnation of Paper is not as powerful as the incarnation of Peace?
It is ridiculous from the get go. True Divines beco rarer as ti goes on because the most self-evident desnes are taken. Perpetual Decline Theory, as said at the start, is self-flagellating narcissist morality. It is a naturally repulsive cult of diocrity that no one wishes to accept, which Elassa uses to stroke her own ego with: ‘Oooh look at ! I am unique! No one but can see we are getting weaker!’
The simple fact of the matter is that we are not.
- Excerpt from “The Cult of diocrity”, written by Goddess Anassa, of Sorcery.
“HOLD!” Arkas’ voice bood from on side of the tunnel to the other. It echoed once, it should have echoed again but the tune of Tartarian chant drowned out his word. “STAND AND FIGHT! MAKE YOUR FATHERS WAIT AND LET YOUR MOTHERS WEEP! SOULS WILL NOT BE REUNITING TODAY!” Arkas shouted it because sothing needed to be shouted. So motivation needed to be given. They could not die in silence. It simply was not right.
Ahead him of, animated skeleton stood in the ridiculously heavy suits of steel called block armour. They were too much even for a dwarf to bear the weight of without gnawing their joints and tearing their muscles but pure bone? Which powered itself off pure mory? Off pure loyalty towards kin and spite towards the enemy ahead of them? The skeletons had no issue stand in the heavy suits that were layered panels of black steel. They bore no shield, instead each one was ard with a pike. Pike dropped. “ARBALESTS!” Arkas shouted. He did not turn to look at whitebeards behind him, he heard them groan as they raised the weapons forged entirely of iron and steel. Just as had been predicted, the old knew they would only slow the evacuees down. They did not even bother.
An explosion ca from the rear. A crash of stone and the shouts of “One! Two! One! Two!” One of the miner captains was chanting so that the dwarves which worked on knocking the gate’s support pillars down. Others were setting explosives near the walls. More yet were wrapping ropes around the pillars and give it to skeletons to try and pull down through sheer mass of numbers.
And ahead, the flas of Tartarus were shining in the air. They hung, burning on nothing and they watched. One was a scout. Two were a probe. A whole wall of fla ant a Legion was approaching, although so did the words in that guttural language the demons spoke in. Arkas held his spear and put his shield forwards. “PREPARE!” He had seen his faire share of battle. The flas spread out to form a wall. It did not block movent, but it did block sight. Arkas closed his eyes and listened to the vibrations in the ground. The frantic footsteps coming close. The hooves. That cursed chant. The roars and sneers. He heard the miners behind him frantically try to collapse the entrance of the hold. He heard a roar. “FIRE!”
Arbalest fashioned entirely of steel, so heavy it needed a winch to pull back even for naturally strong dwarves, twinged. Bolts as thick as a thumb whistled through the air, imdiately the sound of steel crashing onto stone from behind Arkas ant that the whitebeards had dropped their arbalests and began to reload. And from ahead, demons burst through the fla. As terrible and as vicious as Arkas had always rembered them. With skin the colours of magma and horns. So in armour fashioned out of black tal, others shrieking in nothing but their bare skin. So flew with things. Several rode horses that left burning hoofprints in stone. Other were giant and ard with club or just their fist. One blazed entirely afla, it shrieked.
Steel bolt ploughed into the first rank of demon. It did not impale and fell. It tore apart and ripped off. A hit in the shoulder was a lost arm, a hit in the chest ant a hole so wide it could be seen straight through. A succubus that threw a fireball was hit in the stomach, she fell in a spiral towards the ground. The charging mass of bodies trampled her. Pike angled itself. The skeletons followed their mories and commands. The first rank thrust forwards to et the oncoming wave. The second rank dug in. The third rank leaned forwards to provide footing and leverage to the warriors in front.
And as it always did, all Hell broke loose. Fire conjured up by enemy enchanters erupted out from the dwarven ranks. Demon was impaled on pike. Demon smashed through pike. One of the giants smashed down upon the armoured skeletons. The block armour resisted the impacted. The skeleton stabbed the giant with its pike. And then it was thrown high into the air, it had done little more than the equivalent of a poke after all. Another round of heavy bolts ca from the arbalests. A cloud of living tal shards called upon by runemasters sward forwards and devoured through demon like flesh-eating fly. Flas so hot that even the block armour of the skeletons began to smoke singed rune off steel and off iron. Clouds of living tal shards fell to the ground as little more than lted droplets of tal.
Arkas thrust his spear forward towards the chest of a winged demon in light black chainmail. The dwarf roared, twisted one foot, put his entire body into the thrust. Spear-head touched chain-loops. Spear-head broke chain-loop. The demon cried out as the dwarf smashed its knee with his shield. Chainmail was one thing, but if chainmail could be broken, the what chance did bone have? The demon feel and was silenced by a spear from a dwarf next to Arkas. He dislodged his weapon out of the monsters body just in ti to see a monster three tis his height put his hand on the helt of an animated skeleton.
Black smoke ca from the inside of the suit. The armour settled on its. Its arms dropped. The pike fell out of its grasp. The demon laughed. It locked orange eyes with Arkas. It pulled back just in ti to save its own life from the stabbing of other pikes. A Tartarian horseman raced forwards. Its beast with a mane of fla was downed instantly, but it had raced with such speed that the sheer weight of the black hellsteed was a boulder which carved a path through the ranks of skeletons.
That demon, thrice Arkas’ height, took the chance. It raced forwards. Flas burst from around it. More demons flooded through the gap. Living dwarves moved to block the gap. Arkas thrust his spear forward. He hit the demon his chest. He saw the creature ignore its own wound and kick Arkas’ shield away one movent, then grab the dwarf’s arm with one clawed hand. Arkas’ spear, still embedded in the demon’s chest, slipped out of his hand. Arkas was hoisted face to face with the demon.
If they still have access to the grand forges that could build n of steel. If the energies of this world still powered golem. If the suns under the surface still shone, if their burning gazes could be used to wipe away even the fla of demons. If they had more ti. If they could have recurved more skeletons in ti. If they had been ready to collapse the gate at a mont’s notice… Arkas kicked the demon’s arm. He would be eting his ancestors today after all. Hopefully the miners were fast enough as to collapse the gate. Hopefully the Forgemasters would have the ti to carry out the Onyx Decree. Hopefully the next hold would. The demon snarled, its orange eyes burned like flas. And it spoke. Its speech was broken, its pronunciation horrid, but its words were easy. Even children knew them: “Where is your God dwarf?” It began to laugh as Arkas felt his armour begin to heat up.
“I ask again.” The demon sneered as Arkas’ beca uncomfortably warm. “Where are the spirits of your ancestors? Why have they not co to save you?” The terrible sneer revealed a whole row of pointed teeth, all sharpened to a pristine white brighter than marble. “Where is your God dwarf?”
A fragnt of cloth of the purest red silk suddenly entered the top of Arkas’ vision. The demon saw it too. Arkas felt his armour stop rising in temperature. It was still warm, but the sheer surprise had stalled the demon’s magic. The dwarf blinked as he saw. Huge. Huge and beautiful. Beautiful and huge. So tall that he would not reach up to her knees. With a dress of red silk the likes of which were simply not seen underground.
Butterflies of so mystical red magic soared from her back as they made wings. Another copy of the woman appeared. The demon dropped Arkas in shock. He landed on the stone with a heavy thud and he didn’t even move. Those red butterflies, opaque as if they were drawings brought to life turned to fla. The flas burned into ashes that were wisped off by the wind. The ashes sauntered towards the ground as they beca snowflakes. Another version of the woman appeared. And another. Suddenly, there were as many copies of her as there were soldiers fighting on the ground. The battle beca silent. Dwarf and demon separated from the lee. Animated skeletons were called back. Every pair of eyes looked up into the air.
And the woman looked down onto the ground. Her eyes fell directly onto the demon. They shone with the sa crimson energy that filled the air. Her sneer wiped the demon’s away. No matter how terrifying the demon wanted to be, it simply could not match that sheer surety or the confidence. Arkas had no clue as to the woman’s na, but he knew exactly what she was: He was lying in the presence of the Goddess. A Goddess he had read about in the books. Tears began to fill his eyes.
Vows had been upheld. It had been more than a thousand years that dwarfkind had held. It had been enough. Surface Divinity had returned to the underkingdoms. “Where indeed demon?” The woman in red silk taunted with a voice absolutely ecstatic. “Where is yours?”
A butterfly left her finger. It left a trail of crimson fla that burned without heat or sound, it was fire that burned with a drawn outline of a thick red line. That fire and slithered along the ground. It beca a snake and a wave. A flood and a hurricane. An avalanche and a lion. It was fire that cut and sliced and tore. The woman burst out in a mad laughter. As did another. A third copy of her moved forwards as the entire Tartarian Legion stopped in its tracks. Demons dropped their blades. Other turned and began to ran. The Legion that had just been so proudly singing and roaring now began to scream. “Co now fiends! Your worthless souls are no welco sacrifice! Bring your Princes and bring your Lords! Offer up all you have! Where are your Gods?!”
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