2014.03.21 - Ave, Imperator

The wards around The Spire are pretty spectacular. Even by someone like Dr. Fate's professional standards. Energy fields, magical wards, physical barriers... it would take someone with the power of a god to break through them all by main force. Someone of Fate's talents would recognize the 'signature' style of a certain Grecian sorceress, especially around the upper levels of the Spire where Magneto usually rests and guides his people from. 
At the moment, there is a war on, and Magneto is taking tea on the small veranda. A single attendant is with him, and occasionally he pauses in his repast to examine a news item from the field as his commanders begin the evacuation process to Genosha and futhur secure Serbia's military facilities, preventing a counterattack by their missile silos or other weapons left over from the Russian era.
Magneto's tea is interrupted by a sudden burst of light, a flare in the shape of a small golden ankh. As the shimmering shape hangs in the air before Magneto, a deep, sonorous voice booms from within it--a tone that few ever hear and forget. The voice speaks plainly:
"Magnteto, Impetator of Genosha, FATE requires an audience. Speak your accord, and it shall be done."
"Ah. I was wondering when he would return." Magneto lids his eyes and makes a dismissive gesture to the servant. Precisely--not with style, certainly but with precision--he replicates the motions Circe had taught him, lowering certain parts of the wards to allow someone--one person--to enter his presence. It's a complex, brilliant construction he's built, utterly self sustaining and a mingling of science, mutant powers, and magic. Layers upon layers of defenses. Magneto reaches down and picks his helmet upon his brow, shadowing his features, and gathers his armor to him as Fate prepares to join him. 
When Fate arrives, Magneto stands in his full regalia, his posture neutral, but clearly ready for battle. Magic radiates from several items on him, and he stands with a spell in one hand and crackling lightning in the other. 
"We meet again, Mr. Nelson," Magneto says, cooly. "Have you come here to enact the orders of your gods?" he inquires, his voice distant and chill--a man ready for a fight, but not spoiling for one.
At the dismissal of the wards, the ankh grows in size, becoming a glowing portal of notable mystic potency. As it fades, the glistening golden form of Doctor Fate stands there, his posture formally neutral. As Magneto's defensive manner is noted, Fate immediately raises one hand in a gesture of peace. "You shall have no need of such measures, Imperator. I am bidden appear to you in peace, not war." Lowering his hand, Fate inclines his helmeted head. "It is noteworthy, Imperator, that you do not address Kent Nelson. FATE speaks. Nelson's words would be his own. These are not." The cloak settles half-closed around him, and the sorcerer continues, "It is indeed at the behest of the Lords of Order that I appear to you, and on an errand most pressing." One can almost hear amused irony creep into his voice as he speaks the next words.
"By word of the Lords of Order, you are owed... an apology."
"...Oh." 
"...in that case, Fate, may I offer you some tea?" Magneto says, dismissing the power crackling around his person. The spell fizzles and sparks out with *poft* of light--he's clearly still learning the proper rudimentary techniques while tackling highly advanced concepts at the same time. It speaks of the speed at which he learns. 
Magneto invites Fate to take a seat, but remains standing unless Fate precedes him to a chair. "Might I inquire as to the reason and nature of the apology?" Magneto asks, his tone extremely civil and courteous. There is no smugness or self-approbation in his question--his tone sounds.... almost humble, to be apologized to. As etiquette requires him to be, of course.
At the invitation to sit, Fate does indeed move to occupy the chair, his posture relaxing somewhat. "I fear I must decline the tea," he says, reaching up to trace a finger across the featureless front of his helmet. "Still, your offer is appreciated." Even sitting and relaxed, a certain formality remains about him, and when Fate raises his hand again, it is to hold out a cupped hand, showing an intricately beautiful pattern of interlocking points of light. The construct bleeds beyond three spatial dimensions, rendering it very difficult to look upon--save for one with superb mental discipline and keenly trained perception.
"Behold a small segment of the fabric of the Balance. It is this point that, previously, you were feared to affect. Yet, as you may note, the Balance's structure remains stable here. It begs explanation."
Fate dispels the image, laying his hand flat on the table. "Machinations of the Lords of Chaos ever seek to challenge and disrupt the Balance, even as Order seeks to cement it in place, unchanging. It is by both efforts that Balance is possible. Yet, at times one or another may have greater impact. A Lord of Chaos was able to cast a pall over your actions, creating the perception of Imbalance. More diligent examination has revealed this falsehood. Thus, Order withdraws its previous pronouncements--and Fate offers his apologies."
Magneto picks up the construct with a thought, and there's a sudden sense of him looking through it. "How interesting," he says, examaining it curiously. "This precisely resembles a Calabai-Yau interchange--a theoretical model of a quantum tunnel event occurring. They had been postulated, but never observed," Magneto explains to Fate, his tone that of a distant professor deep in thought. "...you may have just helped cement one of the theoretical fundamentals of the quantum tunnelling effect. So whatever other reason you have for coming, allow me to express gratitude for the gift of such knowledge." He sends the construct over to Fate again with a thought and a gesture, not daring to touch it with his hands. 
"There is no need to apologize," Magneto replies courteously to Fate. "No harm was done, no malice intended. Doctor Nelson was doing as he felt Fate guided him. We have all made mistakes, and I would be remiss to hold you, your alter-ego, or your Lords to task for them. Please pass my compliments to your masters for their diligence in this matter," Magneto says, offering a slight bow from where he sits--equally stiff-backed and proper.
"Your understanding--in both senses of the term--is gratifying," Fate remarks, his tone approaching the closest it ever seems to get to casual. "Indeed, your pursuit of knowledge and understanding is quite admirable." Leaning back a bit in the chair, Fate lifts his hands, steepling them before him. "In point of fact, your efforts have been generally well-aligned to Order. This most recent move has a Balance of sorts about it, however. There is Chaos in your invasion, even as you seek to impose Order. This is not a matter for the Lords of Order and Chaos. Yet, I must also observe that other forces stir as you flex your growing power." Letting his left hand drop, he lifts the right in a forestalling gesture. "Do not think this any manner of threat. I would not offer such. Yet, I observe that other forces may respond to your actions. It is my hope that you are prepared to meet them... in a Balanced fashion. Your path does not suggest a propensity toward wanton destruction."
"I live in a closed system, Fate," Magneto reminds the man, his tones polite. "Destruction increases entropy. Entropy increases the disorder of my world. Pushed to the breaking point, an entropic event will gain momentum until my world becomes so disordered that no effort can undo it." 
Magneto minutely gestures at his tea, as if asking permission, then takes a sip. Finding it cold, he grimaces, and touches a finger to the bottom of the metal cup. The tea wisps promptly with heat again and Magneto takes a careful sip. "I do appreciate the observation, Fate. I am concerned about reprisals," Magneto confesses. "I have taken the utmost steps to minimize deaths, to hasten our actions, and to follow the trail set out of mutant trafficking in this part of the world. Serbia will likely destablize quickly, but I expect this will trigger larger international cooperation among member nations. They will band together and help create a more united Serbia once again. It may even lead to more disarmament talks. Who can guess," he chuckles. "My prognosticators are talented, but even they are not sure of the long-term outcomes of this invasion for Serbia. They can only assure me that Genosha will be secure and that we will live to fight another day."
This draws another nod from Fate, who reaches to wrap the cloak more firmly around himself--such a human gesture both natural and alien on his form. "Winds rise that might yet threaten the balance," he says, his normally booming voice suddenly soft, nearly a whisper, yet still deeply resonant.
"Asgard compromised. Apokalips on Earth. The cycle of Life and Death disrupted."
Even the all-white eye sockets of his helmet seem to take on a distant gaze as he speaks. "Your system, as that of all things, can never be so closed as you might wish. Great Powers grow restless. Events send tremors yet to be felt. I caution you against letting your plans, however pressing and noble, blind you to the stage of greater doings."
Then, almost floating to his feet, Fate rises. He half turns, gazing out across the view of the land around them. "You have a place of Order and safety here, Imperator. Yet the world around has been torn by Discord. I invite you to consider this, even as I acknowledge that you are no more free to act unilaterally than any man, no matter his power. Yet, as you hold great Power in this world, I must caution you, as ever, to vigilance, even where it does not fall within your quest."
"Great things," Magneto muses, considering. He rubs his chin contemplatively. "Aye, great things must be done. There is chaos now--too much. A Regent sits on the throne of Asgard, a man more obsessed with power than with responsibility. Darkseid has taken to us as a child takes to a plaything, and his Omega Force is a power the likes of which I have never seen. I can barely comprehend it," Magneto confesses, rising and gathering his own cloak around him. The two helmeted men face each other, gold and scarlet gleaming in the noon sun. 
"I could gather power to me," Magneto tells Fate, in a sudden moment of trust. "If I understood Darkseid's energy, I could defend against it. If I knew more of the magic of Asgard, I could locate Mjolnir--or find someone to wield it properly and help Thor reclaim his mantle." 
"What do the Lords of Order advise? There is chaos afoot, ripping reality asunder and upsetting patterns woven thousands of years ago. Can they offer me any aid in what is to come?"
Doctor Fate listens thoughtfully to Magneto's words. Indeed, even with his blank visage there is a clear sense of concentration, of listening. At some length, he nods again to Magneto's words, acknowledging agreement without challenge. Then, when asked what the Lords of Order advise, Fate turns to fully face Magneto, turning his back on the magnificent view. "Order cannot advise you in this. Our hand is not led to move." A hesitation, as if he's calculating the impact of his next words. Then he says simply, "FATE advises only two things. First, as I have stated: continued vigilance. Let no petty distractions sway your watchful eye." Another, briefer pause, and he continues.
"Second, be cautious of Power. Though it may open doors, also it may become a burdern. Ascension as a Power carries a price, and the higher the climb, the greater the cost. Be not surprised if your own Power begins to place demands upon you. Be prepared to meet them--or know when to deny them."
"...my people must survive. I must ensure they survive," Magneto says, grimly. "I cannot save all of them. But I must try. And I must keep an eye towards the heavens, and a foot in hell," he says, sounding almost weary. "Balance, as you say, Fate. Balance in all things." 
He turns and offers Fate a very deep, very formal bow. "Farewell, Fate. My good wishes upon your travels, and if they will accept, my greetings and gratitude to your masters."
"Your courtesies are, as always, noted and welcome," Fate responds, inclining his head just once more. "FATE knows your duties, as do the Lords. Yet, threads of greater conflicts may find their way to the fabric of your own loom. As ever, be wary."
Lifting his head, Fate extends his arms to his sides, and with a final flare of that golden ankh aura, he vanishes from the Spire and from Genosha, back whence he came.
Category:Log