The Scroll of Exalted Ponies

Standing on a gold-brick paved plaza among pagodas of jade and diamond, the sun high above shining brightly – marking that Celestia was ahead in the games of divinity – the circle found itself waiting, as Heath Rose hailed a cloud for them to fly around on.

Clad in thick dark robes, the Bodhisattva did his very best to mask his presence: He already seemed to know quite well that the blessed of the neverborn were feared and reviled in Yu-Shan – so there was no need to call undue attention to him.

Flying somewhat north-east, Heath Rose inquired into the circle’s plan and purpose. At first she seemed incredulously, but after a moment of thought she shot the Deathknight a mistrusting glare: “Turn him in a Solar? Are you serious? Is that even possible?”

“We won’t know if we don’t try – and if it works then the Deathlords will probably find it a lot more difficult to keep their abyssals in control” Speaker noted.

As far as the plan went, then the initial phase was simple enough… sort of: Speaker would approach the gates of splendor, use Gift, open the gates, enter and then do his thing inside. Shimmer would come along, since she was the one who had all the stuff for the project stored elsewhere. The rest of the gang and the Bodhisattva would remain outside, in hiding, waiting for Celestia to show up and close the gate.

Nodding, Heath Rose looked… distressed. Apprehensive would also describe her well: “You are trying to pull the most high away from the games… this hasn’t been done in millennia. She didn’t even come out for the Great Contagion. Do you honestly think that she will even care to respond to this?”

This was not something that anyone in the circle had an answer to - but what they did have was hope.

A few hours later of impossibly fast heavenly transit the circle approached the Primal Forge from above: An impossibly vast walled off compound large enough to fit most of the scavenger lands and the hundred kingdoms into, the birthplace of exaltations, and the former celestial home of Autochton.

A few minutes later Speaker stood before the vaunted gates of splendor… he wasn’t really sure if should weep or cry, as centuries of memories of artifice and adventures flooded his mind.

Across the half-mile wide gold-brick cobbled street, on the seventh floor of a rather modest heavenly tea-house, had Heath Rose bought out the entire floor and cleared it out – leaving only Cash, Sully and the Bodhisattva… and Heath Rose lounging on an absolutely divinely luxurious futon.

“How’s he doing?” Cash asked, sipping on the heavenly tea they served at the place.

Sullen Hoof shrugged: “Nothing noteworthy yet…”

“I’ll be impressed if they don’t just eat him alive and make drumsets out of his skin. We always lose contact with those who go in there – hell, our freshest intel on the forge was from a sidereal who snuck in, was killed, and then we interrogated her next incarnation” Heath Rose noted.
Holding Gift out at the gates it quickly struck Speaker how the tiny primordial-made chakram paled in comparison to the impossible gates before him. The walls and gate around the primal forge were several miles high, and covered in burnished copper and brass tubes and mechanisms. Between riveted plates of exotic metals were endless churnings of gears and pistons, each dripping or oozing with strange and colorful fluids. It was like beholding the deranged masterwork of a clockmaker turned abstract artist and mad genius, with some gears turning back on themselves and yet somehow still working in all defiance of special continuity, while pistons and crystal tubes with liquid drew fluid from nowhere and sent its pressurized content elsewhere in huffs of lightning and smoke. This was alien in every sense of the word – wrought of a mind not bound by mortal logic and reason, a mind much more vast and ancient.

In a brief moment, Speaker recalled once seeing the hundred-yard wide gates defy space and sanity to somehow gape open enough to fit through a mountain. He had never really learned what that mountain was used for…

Approaching, Gift lit up once more. The few spirits, messenger gods and elementals moving about in the area paid little attention to the pony with the shiny thingy at the gate: The piles of sacrifices and ancient scrolls with what was likely reports or requisition orders were several yards high around the base of the gates – with the gates closed none of it could be delivered, and right now it looked like Speaker was just another servant about to add to the piles.

Essence sight revealed a second layer of defenses, beyond the ‘mere’ impenetrable layer of steel and magical materials that the walls and gates were wrought of: Wards and protective spells of the highest order, including the very seal of Celestia herself… would the blessing of the shining hammer be enough? Oh well, only one way to find out:

As Gift came within a few feet of where the two gates met, nearby gears in the gates sprang to life as if touched by divinity: After a second there was a loud clicking, and some of the plating around the base of the gates where they met started to shift and move about, quickly swinging aside to reveal a circular indentation outlined by a thousand tiny gears, sprockets and other components wrought of a myriad of strange materials.

Lost in the sight along, Speaker barely even noticed that Gift was drawn to the indentation and socketed itself perfectly into the indentation for a lengthy moment, releasing a pulse of light and essence that flowed into the gate. At this point a chorus of steam whistles sounded, ringing out a loud and strangely melodic tune – simple and rhythmic, like a work shanty. It was then that the light spread to the entire gate, lighting up several square miles of gears and interlocking pistons, metal rods, chimes, whistles, and things for which not even Speaker had words.

This caught the attention of the spirits and gods in earshot… and they all ran, flew or otherwise spirited themselves away. The only things that didn’t run away were a trio of celestial lions that had been passing by a block down the road, though upon approaching Speaker they didn’t really seem sure of what to do.

“State your business! How did you open the gate!” One of the towering celestial lions bellowed, standing ten yards tall out of pure orichalcum – like a majestic statue that any king or warlord in Creation would give anything to own.

Speaker barely even acknowledged the presence of the lions, for the primordial miracle of mechanisms before him was bringing him to tears: “I don’t have to tell you that – and I used the key”

The gates groaned and the ground shook, as the twin gates began to inch open. From within spilled smoke of many colors, including colors that weren’t really there – colors that likely hadn’t made the cut when Creation was birthed, yet preserved in the impossible island of primordial potential that was the Primal Forge.

From the smoke spilled a tide of mechanical insects that crept around the gate and began to pick up and drag the sacrifices, scrolls and documents piled up at the gate inside. They were little messenger things, mechanical spirits – ex machine native to Autochtons own personal machine reality.

The celestial lions back away, fearing what would come next, as the gap between the gates grew. A clamor of noise was beginning to rise from beyond the gates, and the lions began to argue if they call in backup…

“Sir, with all due respect… there aren’t enough lions or war-gods in Yu-Shan to hold back what’s coming” one of them noted.

A beam of light and essence shot out of the barely opened gate, scanning Speaker. Quickly flaring his caste mark and presenting his very roughly pieced together work in progress, Speaker declared his intensions: “I am Bright Machine Speaker – I am here to create. You will assist me, for such is the will of the Great Maker!”

About three dozen metal limbs and tentacles with a mix of clamps or other grappling devices at the end shot out of the smoke, pulling Speaker inside. Shimmer barely managed to shoot past the lions and grab on to Speaker, turning into a snake and slithering into Speaker’s uniform.

To use mortal words to describe the sights Speaker beheld inside the Primal Forge would make Eloge weep. Then again, the sensory projectors and magical protocols by which the machine spirits of the forge communicated meant that eyes weren’t strictly necessary to perceive the communication they thrust upon Speaker. The thousands upon thousands of choirs of metal and crystal limbed spirits, who all wanted to know why the gates had been opened, why Speaker was there, who he was, what he was, what the status of the Great Maker was, and a thousand other questions mainly pertaining to things like “where are the raw materials I requisitioned three thousand years ago?” or “I finished this spoon six hundred years ago, please tell me where who ordered it so it can be delivered”

Speaker regretted not having learned a charm or two to defend against such an onslaught upon his mind, as he dropped to his knees with his ears bleeding… but then all of a sudden the noise went away, leaving only a tiny twin stinging sensation in his ears. Also he was now deaf.

A brief silvery flurry flittered across his vision, as suddenly Speaker found himself seeing the inside of his inner ear. In very thin and fine lettering, written upon his skin upon which he could see the smallest of veins just barely pulse, it read: “I’ll fix your hearing once you make them calm down. Hurry – they’re spilling into the streets outside – let’s not get trapped in here”

Nodding, and then feeling a bit stupid as that had probably just shaken Shimmer around, Speaker ‘saw’ his vision blur into silver and then face into his own.

Recalling a first age gesture for silence and decorum – a gesture that among contemporary ponies was considered exceedingly rude – Speaker bid the tidal wave of ex machina looming around him to shut up and get in order.

Now, among the three concepts that Autochon contributed to Creation, besides the notion of tools and faith, was dogma. As the legend went, then dogma was deviced as a means to codify and record instructions in tool use and means of essence transmittal, namely ritualized displays of faith. For the spawn of the Great Maker this meant that they were usually rigid adherents of any kind of dogma that they were made or instructed to adhere to: Among these were the old articles of order, as codified by the primordials She Who Lives In Her Name and…

“I get it – they obey you if you do the proper ritualized gestures – get on with it!” Shimmer admonished.

How Shimmer had read his mind was beyond him – but then again she was nestled in his ear as a tiny bug… who knows?

Doing the right gesture, everything fell silent.

“I demand efficient organization. Present your queries in an orderly fashion” Speaker stated in a stern tone. He might not have the organizational skills that Cash had, but he knew how to run a tight ship in any workshop.

A stately machine spirit in the rough form of a metallic pony stepped forth, its elegant limbs of partially gilded – but also obviously worn and scuffed – jadesteel, with a marvelous orichalcum nodule affixed in its otherwise featureless faceplate where one might expect to see a third eye. With a voice that seemed to made by simply making its face plate vibrate at various tones, combined with various clicking noises from within its form, it spoke in a strange and ancient dialect of Old Realm: “Introductions. This unit is archivist-herald First Flute of Last Filing. This unit has [error, number does not match any known scale or quanta, too large] requisitions indexed and ready to file within Outer Forge, and roughly seventeen times as many deliveries ready to be made”

No wonder Heath Rose didn’t want the gates opened… the things inside the forge would flood Yu-Shan – either trying to deliver things to gods or offices that likely don’t exist anymore, thanks to the Great Contagion wiping out most of Creation, or pillaging much of Yu-Shan in an attempt to scrounge materials for their woefully delayed projects. It would be chaos… and not the good kind.

“Didn’t the deliberative put in an override after Autochton left?” Shimmer reminded Speaker from inside his ear.

Nodding again – and once more instantly regretting doing so – Speaker spoke the command phrase. It was an ugly little bit of words that might once have qualified as some sort of poetry, but the meter and style was lost to history, so what Speaker said mainly sounded like garbled nonsense… but it worked none the less.

“Ok, I want all deliveries to be made, but in case that the intended recipient can’t be reached or found, return here and put the delivery into long-term storage. Accept no new requisitions, no matter what” Speaker commanded.

The Herald-Archivist didn’t even need to relay the orders before a third of the machine spirits hovering above them rocketed out into Yu-Shan. It like a metal storm, ripping at every part of his body, as the delivery spirits cared little for ‘mere’ ponies standing in their way. Judging from the roars outside, then they didn’t care much for celestial lions either – they had a purpose to fulfill.

“Now, with that out of the way, all requisitions go into long-term storage – make a new memory-cathedral to house them all. They can go out at a later date to be determined…” Speaker continued. Pretty much the rest of the swarm of strange spirits, some wrought of amber fluid with gems floating inside them for eyes, others more akin to living crystals or sentient clouds of sparkling vapor, dispersed.

With everything gone Speaker was able to look properly into the seemingly eternal vista that was the Primal Forge. The usual spatial reality of Creation went out the window instantly, as seemingly level roads would twist around to form ceilings, and yet there was a steady traffic of strange quasi-metalic spirits of lightning, steam and crystal wandering these roads turned halls, here, at the outskirts of the Great Maker’s primordial forge-palace. A mortal mind would likely have broken – and even Speaker felt the strain as his mind attempted to reconcile the mishmash of incoherent causal logic.

When the swarm of delivery spirits had been hovering around them he had at least not been in doubt about what he had been looking at, even if the things were strange and otherworldly, for such was primordial aesthetics.

Taking a deep a deep breath and centering himself, taking hearth in the fact that this glorious miracle, wrought at the very dawn of Creation, still stood tall, Speaker turned to herald-spirit: “Ok, that was old business – time for new business”

The spirit bowed, and from its chest burst a thousand microscopic spiders of silver that spun air and essence into a scroll – the spirit in turn gazed with great focus onto the scroll, the fury of his vision burning stylized old realm symbols onto the essence and air paper: “Input command”

Retrieving his work in progress from elsewhere, Speaker presented the hoof-full of junk to the archivist-herald: “I need this built as quickly as possible. I have brought complete schematics, specs and materials to finish the job. I would also like to help in the process if possible”
Jumping out of Speaker’s ear and shifting back into her pony form, Shimmer also offered her help. Speaker thanked her, then gave First Flute a pensive look… how would this spirit react to such a request?

Clicks and whirring noises from the head of the archivist-herald sounded as the spirit contemplated the request and offers of assistance. The orichalcum nodule on the spirit’s forehead began to glow, with hot sparks bursting from it as messages of essence were transmitted far and wide across the expanse of the Primal Forge.

After a few minutes of this the spirit sprung to life once more: “Command accepted. Materials and instructions are to be given to the delivery spirits. For your evaluation, please stand still for the Skillsayer”

Before either Speaker nor Shimmer could really ask a giant floating eye of jade, starmental and strange ‘dripping’ crystals zipped in, gazes harshly at the two of them, then flew off again.

“Your skills have been judged adequate for certain parts of the fabrication. Estimated time to completion: Six years” First Flute bluntly stated in a uniquely courteous but direct manner.

Looking at Shimmer for a brief moment, Speaker sighed: “That’s not really an option…”

“Elaborate” the spirit requested.

Shimmer explained that they needed the thing finished as quickly as possible. That was Speaker ‘s exact wording, in old realm: “As quickly as possible”

The automaton spirit fell silent for a moment, then sprang to life once more: “Mortal ponies do not have authorization to request that level of resource commitment”

Flaring his anima fully, enveloping himself in a golden triangular sigil and three pairs of iridescent white wings that wrapped around him, Speaker stomped his hoof into the hard-pressed metallic dust that was the ground where they stood: “Mortal ponnies? What exactly are you taking us for? You scanned us to see if we could help in my own project! I am Bright Machine Speaker, friend of the Great Maker and The Maker’s Voice in the Solar Deliberative! You will not treat me like a common mortal pony!”

Like so many times already, the automaton spirit that was First Flute of Last Filing fell silent, with only the faint sound of gears churning and things clicking inside its head giving off any signs of ‘life from the thing. After a few seconds the thing one more began to transmit, with faint beams of essence arching far and wide from the spirit’s orichalcum forehead gizmo. Upon completion, the spirit dropped to the ground in a rather unnatural but obviously submissive posture: “Honored Speaker of His Word, forgive this unit. The spirits and ex machina that would usually detect the nature of the visitors to the forge and relay that information were long ago assigned to posts elsewhere in Yu-Shan and have not been seen or heard from ever since. For you and friend…”

“Lunar mate” Shimmer interjected coldly.

“…Lunar mate, we shall spool up all of our tools for you” First Flute stated.

Nodding in acceptance, Speaker smiled: “By our deeds and creations we shall honor him”

“By our deeds and creations we shall honor him” The archivist-spirit replied in kind, bowing its head.

With Speaker and Shimmer’s credential established things quickly picked up speed: A cargo-lifting spirit was summoned to bring the two exalts to the outer sanctum, to the outer wards of the impossibly huge forge-palace at the heart of the primal forge.

Atop a luxurious suite in a mile-high tower of immaculately polished brass and brushed silver the two were ritually cleansed, fed and anointed, that they bring nothing but their essence with them into the inner forge. Here they were also informed that with the number of ancients tool-spirits being roused, and legions of choirs readying themselves to sing, then the expected time until completion – once the creation process begun – was twenty seven seconds.

“Ok, see now that – that sounds faster than even what you can do” Shimmer said, not in any way trying hide the fact that she was impressed.
Finding it difficult not to smile to point of straining his face, Speaker agreed.

After all this, on their way into the inner forge, the two were separated: Shimmer had to go to a choir of spirits to learn a special dance of air and lightning, for such was her appointed position in helping in the project, while Speaker had to go elsewhere for what they were informed was a ‘treatment to bring him closer to the Great Maker’. Since none of this sounded objectionable, the two parted on good terms, curious to see what was ahead.

Using the form of a western thunderbird, the spirits of lightning in western ocean storms, Shimmer mastered the ancient primordial dance of air and lightning very quickly – it simply felt natural with her choice of form, though she did have to fend off a few touchy-feely analyst-spirits who kept wanting to ‘take samples’ from her to fully understand the scope of her powers’ utility.

“Don’t you have records of Lunars at all? Stop trying to pluck me damnit” Shimmer screeched, discharges of air essence lightning arching down the tips of her massive wings.

The spirits just gave the same lame excuse: “All types of tools must be retested once every five years, or more frequently if needed, to monitor deterioration and document any deviations” with its weird and unnatural high pitched voice, speaking with cut-off vowels and very clipped consonants, as if trying to make each word in old realm as brief and concise as possible, even if that meant sacrificing the beauty of the language.

It was then that Shimmer suddenly felt very… empty… for a moment, and she didn’t quite understand why. Was the spirit trying to use some kind of emotion-inducing charm on her? How rude!

Dismissing the spirit, Shimmer was led to the inner forge where she found Speaker dangling from a strange helmet gizmo that was connected to a lot of strange tubes, coils and magical material wires, all which in turn connected to the greater forger superstructure… and by Luna, this place was like in a dream, outside of time and space. Tools, spirits of making and machines of crystal and living oil swam in the air, all of like a strange cosmos of creation, orbiting a grand central workbench of all five magical materials, as well as a pale transparent blue crystal that was unlike any other material she had ever seen.

Shimmer was placed at the forefront of an impossible vast choir of spirits that looked like living sparks.

Now, it wasn’t that Speaker smelled weird – that was the anointment with the sacred oils and salves. It wasn’t the strange metal and crystal headgear that seemed more to be holding on to Speaker’s head than him wearing it. It wasn’t that he was hanging limp like a wet noodle from that headgear… it was something else… something that felt hollow, conflicting, yet not wrong at the same time.

Three sudden pulses of light and sound signaled the beginning of the act of artifice. Floating crystal platforms with the schematics set into them lit up, projecting the designs into the air above the everyone in writhing sigils that seemed to want to speak to you – to explain their purpose, their part in the design.

It was then the song and dance began, feverish and hectic – yet Shimmer never lost sight of Speaker as he yawned open to the point that she could hear the sickening sound of his jaw dislocate… and then from that grotesquely distended maw spilled forth a torrent of essence that was not of wood, nor fire or earth, nor air or water.

It was not essence that had the warm glow of the sun, or the enigmatic shine of the moon. It didn’t have the colors of the mares of destiny, nor even the darkness of the underworld – this was not essence of Creation.

“What is happening to him!?” Shimmer cried out, hoping that anything would respond as she manically tried to keep pace with the ecstatic dancing of the spark-spirits around her as they channeled wave upon wave of spiritually refined lightning and essence into the workbench before Speaker.

A small being, a tine spirit the size of an apple – looked a bit like a metallic orange, floated up to Shimmer and admonished her: “Focus on the dance: The demiurge is working”

At that moment Shimmer realized that her feeling of emptiness was: Her solar bond… it had been broken – or at least, it become unbound for there was no Solar before her. The pony hanging was from the strange metal and crystal helmet might have the body of Speaker, but not his exaltation.

Had Speaker given his soul to expedite this mad venture faster?