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Gears
Posted: 05 Feb 2005 04:44 PM |
There is a difference between sentience and intelligence.
It is a topic that has been researched, debated, defined and redefined in a thousand different ways. Where do you draw the line? Are trees sentient? Are some animals intelligent? How do you know?
How do you know.
~*~
There are people who think completely with their feelings.
They laugh more easily, rage more viciously and cry more desperately than a normal person.
And there are people who think using some cold, logical corner of their brain, who can shut out the world and focus on nothing but a given task. Once the gears start turning in their minds, they are machines. They will persist in their mission and stop at nothing, cry for no one, until it is done.
You might know me as Emperor Balthazag.
I ride on the head of such a machine.
~*~
If you know her, then you probably disagree with my analysis.
Let me ask you this then: how to do outwit a Rakshasa? Outsmart a Lich? These are not beings that are known for their mercy. They respect only power.
Perhaps I’m just suspicious. There’s nothing malicious at all about her, but neither is there anything particularly virtuous. She is unconditional, to a fault. Like a golem that will follow explicit instructions, but more intelligent, creative and unorthodox.
She has three names she never says out loud. If you knew anything about Gnomish names, then you would know their significance. You would recognise that lineage and know what I know.
~*~
Nethar’u.
You could practically hear the gears churning at the mention of the dreaded place. If you hid a magical artifact of great power somewhere, where would you hide it? Somewhere obscure and dangerous. Somewhere no one would ever look. Somewhere like Maldovia, or a Dragon’s lair. Or Nethar’u.
~*~
This task I have set her, I never thought she would take up.
It’s insane. It’s insane the way she flies straight into danger. The risks she takes. The things she’s walked away from. She thinks that I am someone I am not. She only knows half the story; only I know the remainder. Only I know how this ends.
So I perch atop her head and I try to discern what each dangerous encounter does to her, and for the life of me I do not know what goes through her head after every close brush with death—whether it be suffered by her, or someone she knows. The mystery is disturbing. I know everything else but this: the one thing that could stop the gears from turning. The one place where logic does not rule. Everything else is predictable but this.
Zarvaddin.
Remember that name. It is one of the three. The only one I know.
~*~
They barely made it past the stairs and already suffered a casualty.
Arguments blistered the air, more biting than the acid that still lingered, billowing in noxious clouds.
Listen to the intent behind the words instead of the words themselves. Identify the styles of thinking, and the minds behind them, without names to guide you:
Wasn’t me. I was in there—
I knew it would happen.
—and I told them to wait in there—
You insisted on coming here.
No, I said “I” was coming here. I didn’t say anything about others having to come.
Hey, we can’t bring him back.
They are not your puppets!
...knowing others wouldn’t leave you.
I do not tell other people what to do.
Arguing isn’t going to solve anything.
You know, none of this is helping Vrodo.
They can do what they wish, they are adults.
Let’s quit bickering and go get help.
I’m not bickering.
What help? Who’s going to help?
The equilibrium, upset. The team, shattered. Something clicked. Something turned. Someone was dead and something had to be done about it. Simple as that.
All argument was irrelevant. The shift in the team dynamic was disregarded. See who takes the initiative and encourage the plan with the likeliest probability of success.
Unnecessary, in the end. The problem solved itself. Nothing was required.
Am I being too cold in my recount? Probably. There was far, far more to it than that. That’s a tale for someone else to tell.
If there’s anything I know all too well, it’s that anything can be reduced to numbers. Maths and logic. Strip away the complications—real or imagined—produced by the irrational portion of your minds, and that is all there is to life. That is all life is.
She doesn’t know it, but she will. She suspects, I think. It’s a statistical improbability that she will remain as oblivious as she is for the remainder of her life.
...Zarvaddin.
But who am I to say? She is a living statistical improbability.
~*~
She trusts the judgement of animals more than she trusts the judgement of people, which is an irony of the greatest sort. Animals are not known for being logical; they live by instinct. Their senses guide them and nothing else.
There is history there, I think, but I do not know what it is.
Another man died today. A stranger, the attack on him—by her and some others—apparently unprovoked.
The bear who was the first to spy him thought otherwise.
If you have no moral compass of your own, use someone else’s. Someone whose opinion you trust implicitly.
Someone like a bear named Bruno.
~*~
The aftermath of that incident was a terrible and confusing thing to behold, and the significance of it completely escaped her. There was only the problem. There was only the task.
Someone was dead and something had to be done about it.
Same situation, different approach. A different set of gears were spinning. Answers were needed and the bear was the only one who knew the truth.
Day sank into night as the questions spun, around and around, yielding only more questions. Then finally, an answer. And a solution.
~*~
...What I am sensing from him is that he thought I was in danger... He sees weapons all of the time. That would not cause him to attack... It was something in the man’s mannerism...
... As I said, the best thing t’do would be t’interrogate the man...
... I will say only one thing more... I bring my crossbow into the city... because I know it will not go off if I do not draw it.... Melina feels the same about Bruno. To a fault, perhaps, but... I stand by the animal...
... Well, if Bruno had not sniffed out the man, maybe it would be you who was dead...
... This could well prove to be true...
... You still think Bruno know something...
...No, now we know he knows something...
... Sara is... troubled, and very, very dangerous...
... Trouble, aye, dangerous, no...
... Well, Bereil, I have seen different...
... She is dangerous because she resorts to violence very quickly, and believes herself righteous for doing so...
... Solitaire has helped care for the girl... she entrusted us to care for Sara... We... failed...
... But how do you care for one four times as powerful as you, but with the mentality of a selfish child...
... No one can protect her. Barely protect themselves in this world...
... That’s easy. You give her something to protect.
Something clicked into place. Something was set in motion.
Only time would tell what that something was. |
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#2
Posted: 05 Feb 2005 10:00 PM |
“Zarvaddin” is the fifth name given to the fifth child of every fifth generation in a Gnomish family, if the child is born on a moonless night in winter under the constellation of the legendary Gyrocopter. Gnomes have an affinity for numbers, making them natural scholars, engineers and practitioners. No one has contributed more to any given field of research than they, a fact made all the more surprising considering their rarity.
Neither is it a fact that is widely known. They do not advertise their successes. Other races adopt and adapt their discoveries, making them their own. I think they prefer it that way: glory has no practical use, after all.
The significance of the name is more than merely circumstantial. It is one of a handful of Gnomish names that is actually predictive. A Zarvaddin is an unwitting agent of chaos. Probability skews and reality shifts in their vicinity. They are powerhouses of pure, raw magic. Magnets for coincidence and supernatural occurrences.
I said that she only knew half of my story and I meant it.
Am I really what she thinks I am? Was that book really what she thought it was? Did my life happen, or was it all born from imagination and given life by wild magic? I don’t know if any of what I have just said is true. Reality blurs around her. Delusions become true, then untrue, then true again. It is so easy to believe everything that she says. It is so easy to believe that anything she imagines can become real.
Or maybe I’m just insane, too. And maybe you are, listening to the ramblings of a tortoise. |
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Re: #2
Posted: 07 Feb 2005 07:43 AM |
((Absolutely brilliant )) |
- Solitaire, Wizard
- Ilyana Fiirhaart, High Priestess of Naruth |
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#3
Posted: 07 Feb 2005 02:24 PM |
The key to unpredictability is predictability. A pattern of foreseeable behaviour needs to be established before it can be broken.
Something is on the verge of changing and I do not know what it is.
~*~
When I said that I didn’t know what was in that hidden corner of her mind, I had not figured on finding out so soon.
I had expected to find emotion there, churning away, driving her on—guilt or hope or something, anything, acting as an engine for the mechanism of her mind. Something unpredictable. Some feeling so strong that it had the ability to override her insistence on thinking everything through logically, objectively.
What I found was nothing of the sort.
~*~
Coincidence.
The word, spoken out loud by the mage Bereil, made me shiver. I wanted to say, If only you knew what I knew. An earthquake? An unprovoked attack by second-rate thugs who usually cowered at the top of the hill in the Great Plains, waiting for helpless marks to pass them by? This, following so closely after that quest for the Solar and the Wyrm, while they stood around at the precise site where that adventure had concluded... all... mere... coincidence?
Oooh. We run into a lot of those.
And did she know? Or was she every bit as unsuspecting as she appeared? She says only nine of her names and no one has done the math and figured out that the equation of their combined meanings does not add up. One name out of the missing three marks her as coincidence’s constant companion. What other secrets do those other two names hold?
Too many coincidences lately... What the hell?
An earthquake. The bandits. And now Ettins. Bold as you please, bearing down straight towards us as we stood speaking outside Gorlath Keep. The third coincidence in the space of five minutes.
The third, and not the last.
~*~
He was a knight of Midoran, and he approached us demanding information on the whereabouts of the man named Vandle.
And now he is dead.
We still don’t know what killed him, save for the obvious arrow protruding from his back. A child’s laughter shattered the still night air, coming from nowhere and everywhere.
The man named Anarion mentioned that he had heard that laughter before, in Brandibuck, prior to a set of explosions.
The coincidences were piling on thickly now, and that wasn’t even the end of it all. Knight errants may travel alone, but a permanent guard, directly sent from Midor on a manhunt, does not.
~*~
The other knight, following close on the heels of the first, arrived at precisely the right moment to lead to an instant misunderstanding.
Despite the fact that the first man had died of an arrow through the back and neither Anarion, Bereil nor Miramil possessed bows and arrows, he jumped straight to the conclusion that they had killed him.
Whom do you worship?!
Of all the questions he could have asked first, he had to ask that one.
~*~
She thinks in a strange and random way, choosing to fixate upon the oddest facts. But that first question had simply not been logical. It was the wake-up call I had been expecting. The key that unlocked that last door, the door behind which was the core of her being.
The part of her that everyone knows, the one that sees the best in everyone and everything and is capable of seeing a good side to even the most dubious of characters, gave one futile gasp of hope and fell silent. Even as the other two reasoned with the knight, random thoughts were being swiftly sorted according to relevance. The facts aligned, the floating thoughts focused for once.
There will be no justice in Midor, the logical train of thought reasoned. Not for an unregistered mage, a man who had just admitted to worshipping no god, and a non-Human. Not everyone is reasonable. Not everyone can be swayed by logic. Not everyone thinks like that.
And out of the door stepped something furious.
It was a very cold sort of fury, one that gripped her mind in its icy fist and blanked out all but one thought:
Under no circumstances would any of them be brought to Midor for “justice”.
~*~
Out of the corner of his mouth, Bereil murmured one word to her:
Flee.
Anarion was already thinking along the same lines, shouting at her to run even as Bereil muttered an incantation. She was already halfway through chanting the invisibility spell when something exploded right before the man’s face, dissolving skin and armour. He screamed again and again at the bombardment of conjured acid arrows that sizzled and hit with unerring accuracy: at best, a diversion, courtesy of Bereil.
At worst, another knight dead. And he had shouted for help in that confused instant before the spell hit, meaning others would be along soon. Either the remainder of his squad, or the inhabitants of the Keep. Or both.
They ran.
~*~
If he dies then it will be as if this never happened, said that coldly logical voice. That is to the benefit of us all. Besides, the other two can hide easily, but not you.
Not you.
~*~
You think you know, don’t you? You think I am here to tell you that there is some dark and terrible monster lurking inside her mind, capable of shutting down everything you think she is and turning her into something so cold that Helkris herself would be envious of the absolutely frigid temperatures of that hidden core.
You think you know but you don’t.
Was it natural that she had fixated upon that single illogical question and followed it through to its inevitable conclusion? Yes. Was it natural that she had not liked what it was? Yes.
You can’t always control what you think. At least, not initially. Neither are your thoughts at any given moment necessarily indicative of your character. Everyone gets frustrated. Everyone will encounter a point of view so alien and contrary to their way of thinking that it angers them.
I know people who would have let that thought drive them to further action, or haunt them relentlessly as a source of guilt. And then there are those who would ignore it completely, or try to pretend the thought had never crossed their mind.
She did none of the above.
If someone claps their hands in front of your face, your initial reaction will be to blink. You can discipline yourself not to do so with practice. It is the same with your thoughts.
With calm deliberation, she flagged the emotion as neither beneficial nor constructive, for future reference. And then moved on. Without disregarding it and without letting it rule her. Just... moved on. She is the same now as she was yesterday; but something has been added without diminishing what already exists.
There are doors behind that door. I’m sure of it. But I am also sure that at the very centre, there is a dormant wisdom waiting to be awakened.
~*~
In the face of death, she sees a reason to live. In the face of danger, a challenge to overcome. In the face of tragedy, a blessing.
And this? What was the outcome of this? The three of them now criminals in the eyes of Midor, the world a smaller place to live in than before. The sort of blow that could shatter a person, regardless of their strength of character.
No, not could—had. They weren’t the first and they would not be the last, and I have met some of those who have been driven from Midor. It has wrecked them. Not utterly, but close to it.
I don’t know what she makes of this.
Something is on the verge of changing. I may not know what it is but somehow it doesn’t worry me. |
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#4
Posted: 08 Feb 2005 04:30 AM |
Events progress with a rapidity that is sickening to behold. It is like being on a runaway cart: you don’t know where you are going or how fast you are going. Only that, inevitably, you are going to crash.
~*~
She takes steps forward and then she takes steps back. Not everything is a learning experience. It takes a lot to put a dent in that cheery exterior, but something has managed it.
Something without the courage to tackle her head-on. Something that comes in the night when she is fast asleep, unable to defend against it.
The first night after that trip down to Nethar’u to retrieve the Solar, she slept fitfully. The one after that, she kept waking up throughout the night.
The third and fourth, she refused to sleep at all.
~*~
She does not answer her friends when they ask why and that highly suspect. It isn’t a secret and she isn’t the sort of person who turns down help when it’s obvious she’s in over her head.
And she is definitely in over her head.
As for me, I can only watch and brace myself for the inevitable crash. |
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#5
Posted: 19 Feb 2005 06:27 PM |
They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
A more true proverb I have not heard.
~*~
He has taken me away.
He says it is for my own good. He doesn’t know. I can’t tell him. Giant snakes might have torn her into pieces but I have nothing to fear from them. Doesn’t he know I have to stay there? Doesn’t he know what might happen if I don’t?
He has taken me away. Something has snapped. A connection has been lost.
Perhaps I am being fatalistic, but I most definitely felt the shadow of doom lean over and breathe upon me as Tristan carried me out of the Fiirkrag mountains.
~*~
I only know a partial list of the masters she has served under, but none of those ended particularly well. She was always the one to choose when she would leave. It would always be under the most bizarre or improbable of circumstances.
Circumstances that led her directly into the hands of a new master, leaving the old one worse for the wear. Sometimes dead. Sometimes not.
Am I right? What if I am? Does she have a measure of control over the forces of chance and destiny? Something is gone, do you understand? Whatever connection I had to this bubble of unreality that seems to surround her like a shield is gone.
I did not know it then, but although I was returned to her later that day, she had already moved on.
~*~
Rain slashed at the imposing Fiirkrag mountains, its hissing indistinguishable from that of the massive snakes and wyverns that called the miserable place home. It slithered and dripped down jagged stone like a living thing, creeping across the ground to drink the blood that had been newly spilt.
Lying across the ground, both in bloody and torn pieces, were the body of a massive black snake and a female Gnome.
He found them there shortly after Tristan had left to find help and after Pelham had staggered out to treat his wounds: a hulking brute of a Half-Orc in dark armour by the name of Mandrake.
“Mandrake give gift of life to small thing,” he stated simply after raising Miramil. “Nothing give without taking.
“Mir owe Mandrake.”
“Okay. Owe what?”
“Life. If not, Mandrake take back what Mandrake gave.”
He started to head higher into the mountains.
“If Mir want come, can come.”
Without the Emperor there, and without anyone else to make a decision, she simply decided to follow.
It lasted under a day, but he’d unwittingly become her thirty-eighth master.
A connection had been broken.
And yes, she had moved on.
~*~
The crash looms, more inevitable than ever. The wreckage will be spectacular, I’m sure. I’m also sure she won’t be among the casualties.
~*~
He doesn’t know. He really doesn’t know.
These days I only get a fuzzy sense of what she is thinking but for the most part her mind is locked to me. She hears me as clearly as ever, but I don’t know what to say to her any more. It’s like my existence is slipping away.
The third time Tristan took me from her, she walked away.
~*~
They misunderstand.
I was with them the entire time. They were worried. They searched the entire Mirghul forest for her and found her at Sable Lake.
They misunderstand. They think she is upset about me. I know better. I know she is planning her future.
The doors of her mind are closing one by one. I may as well not be here. She has already made a decision and it does not involve me.
~*~
It has been nearly a week now. Strange things are happening all across Víves but I find I cannot pay them heed.
I have seen the face of my successor.
I am finding it harder to concentrate these days. Harder to think. More and more I find that I am merely existing rather than living, thinking.
As if I am reverting to something else.
Is this some previous state of existence, then? Was I never really here? Was I never truly intelligent? Is my entire story invented, given life by the fickle forces of improbability? I’m not what I was but I know what I’m becoming. I am returning to reality.
The one I never was and the life I never had are fading.
~*~
“Maybe he’s dying,” said Trent. “...Maybe he will die.” |
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Re: #5
Posted: 20 Feb 2005 04:50 PM |
I have survived catastrophes of the highest degree unscathed and she thinks it is because I am indestructible. She is wrong, though. She made me indestructible.
I have been weakening for a week. She has prepared herself to move on. Sooner or later I will revert back to what I was and then—what? When this influence of hers ceases to extend over me, what will happen?
I do not know and it is not something I look forward to.
~*~
I was wrong. So wrong.
I have seen into the core of her mind and there is nothing there. No potential to become something more. No warmth, no real feeling. Only gears turning. Only the mechanical mind of a golem bent upon one objective:
Obey.
~*~
“You betrayed your friend for a stupid animal,” Sola’s voice hissed in her ear.
The Elven woman let go of Miramil’s neck to touch her dagger, then snatched the Emperor away. She kicked the Gnome into the waters of Brandibuck Lagoon and gestured to the Dire Wolf waiting in the shadows.
“Irecw iram weaml.”
Sola walked over to the grass, the Emperor on his back in the palm of her hand, and raised her now-flaming dagger.
And stabbed him in the stomach.
Something crunched in the sand and hauled Miramil roughly to her feet.
“What of the Emperor?” came Trent’s voice, quietly. “Is he dead now?”
Miramil turned her head briefly to the empty air where he stood, then back to Sola.
“Perhaps,” she replied in the same quiet tone.
Sola stabbed the tortoise a few more times for good measure, then flung him to the ground at her wolf’s feet.
“Eat,” she growled.
“Do you wish me to save him?” Trent murmured.
“Do you wish to?” Miramil countered.
“I ask you.”
“I am indifferent.”
“I asked you a question.” His voice took on a hard edge. “You will not tell me what you are. Answer!”
She watched impassively as the wolf reluctantly started munching on the tortoise’s stomach. The thoughts in her head turning as they had many times before over the past forty years.
The thirty-seventh was dead. The thirty-eighth had dismissed her and told her she no longer owed her life to him.
The thirty-ninth awaited.
“No, then,” she replied quietly. “I am ready to move on.”
~finis~
((Continued in Cold)) |
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Re: #5
Posted: 20 Feb 2005 04:59 PM |
| ((*grins* I love it! |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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