The emperor sits upon his throne overlooking the revelry before him. The dancing of his people as it should be, in jubilation, every night of every day. Revelry and victory. How long had it been this way? Nothing could touch perfection and they had made themselves perfect. Cut from themselves the taint of disillusionment with such surgical precision that the thoughts and ideas of any cancerous outbreak should never quake again within the body of his estate. 

Eternal a rule for an eternal race, and eternal empire, and eternal majesty. What dogs were needed to chase away the miscreants when the miscreants were the very muts themselves. Disillusioned in the way of things by personal pride, the inability to see the greater picture, to ignore their ordained place among things. Within his body, his kingdom. Does one let the heart do the thinking and not expect tragedy to follow close behind. For it is the head’s duty to cut off emotion and other weak and fleeting things that beckon chaos’ tongue. 

Life was cursed with an inhibition to self destruct and his people, himself especially, had grown wise enough to know what needed doing. The sundering had happened and so those who had befallen to their more primal nature were banished into the realms of disorder and indignity. Beyond his realm. Beyond his desire to quarter arms and civilize. For it was not his duty to sustain anybody but his own. His empire. His eternity.  

Gods and demons and lesser folk of yore were any more than things to be expunged and erased. Expelled and all but forgotten. How many centuries of peace and prosperity did it bring him and his body. His empire? These dancing lords and ladies of his house and houses who pledge absolute allegiance to his crown. Unquestioned position and unflinching determination to keep what was gotten and to maintain forever and...

He had no need for such titles as god emperor or any such lavish embellishments. He was as he is. True power consolidated to the pinnacle. Words could cut, inspire to kill, but power was the mechanism by which he executed its intentions and that he held power over it all with no intention of letting go. No fear lingered in the heart of the Emperor for what was golden was made to be diamond under the pressures of what is eternity. Transparent for all to see the purity of his truth. Of his rule. No fear of buckling before it’s weight f time unending.

So why did it linger? Those moments of dissonance. Those moments of murmur between his most elite of privilege in confidants. Those in position of power by his will to exert his will upon his body. The generals had bickered from time to time. Feeling stifled by the expanse of peace and prosperity. What glory was there in public revelry and honoring costume celebrations like this lavish masquerade partying? 

What was the point of war but to enable the waltz of his chosen and trusted. What hypocritical thoughts. Again, why let the heart think for the brain? Power rested where it should and he would reign forever. Yet still, their desires laid bare for their trust in him and loyalty be absolute. A desire to finally rid the realms of those lands beyond his horizon. What he saw as behind the body they imagined to be a piece of the whole. Needing to be rejoined in order to ensure forever and ever.

The thought had entered his mind. Once and again. He had been sated by the pomp and pageantry of peace and prosperity.  His reign’s climactic victory being the schism’s expulsion of a cancerous node. They imagined it an arm and thus it left the whole an amputee. Imperfect. 

One does not shit where they eat and thus one needs a place to throw out what is unwanted. Thus that space was a necessity in his mind. A perfect pit for which to throw those who did not fit the mold to be dealt with by the chaos of their own inclination. Imperfect self destructive nature.

Untamable lands, demons, gods and Farelis… such things be the one stain upon which perfection be made to stand. One does not pick where it is born, it must decide what it builds around it to preserve. Preserve and persevere. No, to win and prosper. That is his legacy. It is what he tells himself. Allows to echo through his mind. Along the beats of waltz and laughter and play. For the day and night know no difference to his impartial complete mastery.

So it is the most disturbing moment. Most unendingly damning taste of rot that hits his mouth upon the consumption of this wine. Tasted in cheers to their prosperity and drunk in expectation of continuation but interrupted by a wave. A tsunami of power quaking across the realm unseen but felt. A silent ripple whose rage was heard as it pulsed through them all. As their lips touched the glass and the now stale wine hit their tongue. 

He’d have spit his drink if he were not so perfect. Swallow it he did, as if it was a bad medicine he intended to stomach. Others were not so perfect. Others were not so in control of their emotions. Their hearts held more reign over them than their heads and wails and uncomfortable sounds echoed about in surprised astonishment. 

A surge of power flowed through the lands and its point of origin seemed so obvious he could only feel rage upon thinking of it. The untamable lands. Feralis’ garden has fallen. Something has come to take what he refused to acknowledge. One Moria’s garbage is another’s treasure and it thought it’d found it all. 

He did not speak; he merely cast a glance at his most trusted adviser. A general, a noble, a gentleman and servant to his Emperor. The time had come to clean the muck of the world and cleanse the body forever more of the taint of unrestrained creation. He would raise an army capable of expunging time itself if need be and he would cast asunder whatever cretin that clawed itself out upon creation. 

But that was for tomorrow as tonight he would sip a new drink poured with new intentions. New lamenting. He could feel the beat of his heart as its thoughts raced to his head. He would not allow it to cloud the vision he held of the body. For he was a diamond king. Clear and true. To rule all of eternity. 

Feralis

She bathed herself in her pool, her eyes ever open. Lamenting from the peanut gallery is her favorite pastime. “Ever the same ever the bore, trite they be. Perfection be damned, it's stifling. Reality is perfect by principle and has always been and will be. As has always been. How long was that and how long have they not been willing to see?”

Ceremony, pomp and circumstance, engines burning. Never thinking of the dirt upon which it’s turning. For that was her realm. Her body, her mind and soul fluctuating between and within and throughout. I give and they take and they dispose. Ruminate and isolate. That is not the purpose. When times come hard and things need doing, it is connections to others that pull one through. 

How many cycles have I bore witness to? How many times has intelligence proved to be nothing more than robotic? Not to say robotic was bad in its way but that it didn’t heed its very nature. To separate color from chord and song from stanza. From a warrior and their sword… 

It festers. The wound congeals and then pops and then the cycle begins again a swirling pot. How do I explain the intricacies of multidimensional realities swirling within and throughout? Trudging along to  and through some unknown plan. Only heard by those who listen. Only seen by those who’ve stopped looking…

This demon has me and yet it stands still. It ‘s waiting and I am its toy to play with. I’ve these tools from beyond this and that but familiar I am to them as to it. For I am Feralis. Forever. I’ve been planted long before you could ever know and I remember…

Its actions. It’s inaction. It means to play a game and I’m the patsy? All power flows and grows and I and it divine and keep from fleeting but it seems intent on obstructing. On damning. Battle and bloodshed and violence. Hence: demon. A god, lower g, is not enough it would seem. Something more succulent must soon blossom upon the vine. Something I’m not seeing must be beginning to sprout. Creation creates and we react and the cycle spins and congeals and I maintain ever forever.

So from my world, my land, my body, those people expelled repelled by those stagnant fools. All revelry in cast iron. All party-whilst mid play. No role to diverge, no room to expunge.  why the unconquerable lands endure. Hence why I remain untamed. This demon means to blast those buffoons in the most exotic of ways and I am its patsy for my existence is on the line and the one divine has no in-clinging to intercede. Perhaps boredom, by chance exhaustion? Reigns are given, not won, in these tiers of rung. 

With what exhaustion it takes away for me. To calculate the many times and spaces between. I have to relent, I have to sustain. I have to be indomitable. If a titan were a mountain then I must become the sea. Something I visioned has stirred within to wake what is lying dormant. To wake what lies forever is to wake the end of all things. A dangerous game is being played and I’m the patsy…

Pacifist I am. Root from stone. Cobbled I did but with delicate tenderness. Embraced. Took within to create. What matters when matter is unsettling. Repulsive. Rebellious. The ants March to war because they can only hear the beat. The chemical trail of something to eat. I will not be outdone. I am Feralis. I am what was planted when time & space became. When the things you see are but vails of histories to me, upon me.. Ramblings. Ramblings. 

Sizzle.. A sudden surge. Electric be measured by metric or should I say splendid? The Aether is reacting in a way not so fleeting. It’s actually feeling like it's pooling as it’s oozing… 

Sparks cast off a flower nearest Feralis. Smoke and fumes putter.

Power overwhelming is near and it’s infected everything… 

Obstacle 25. Bucket