Session 39 - Ember

## 'Son of a bitch'

> “The gift of truth exceeds all other gifts.”
>
>

Enter Kobo. Stage right. A flying construct of interlocking gears and seemingly artificial intelligence. If this were a play, I believe we would be leaving the genre of fantasy behind and entering directly into complete insanity. What the fuck is HR?

Kobo, a flying ball who was once supporting those either trying to impede or facilitate the destruction of reality, has been locked away for over 130 years. As I gaze upon the faces of my companions while Kobo shared a story of being used as a football by some Four-Year-Old relative of one of the masters, I had to accept that perhaps they weren’t wrong to want to destroy reality. What good is reality anyway, at this point?

The deeper we go into the realm the farther I feel from my true purpose, to find my dear cousins. What use am I to them whilst conversing with some rotund construct? Kobo shares further information about a conversation with three of his masters in the “Weavers’ Room”, something about stabilizing reality and unraveling at a molecular structure. Wolfrum, Eleanor, Fenrir–one of which has a direct descendent standing in this room with us. I wonder if any of this really makes sense to him. Hopefully it makes sense to one of us. These are terms in science I have never before heard. While not my forte, I was schooled in science as well as art, music, literature, politics–a well-rounded education befitting a noble and an heir.

Suddenly a ringing surrounds us as I’ve never heard before–apparently an intruder alarm was tricked. It sounded like the world was ending. The irony not lost on me at this point.

We enter what is then called the engine room. The floating orb loads a training module on the technical aspects of how the power core works–talking about fundamental forces of traction and propulsion between cold iron, delirium and adamantium. This I am able to comprehend, thankfully, although completely befuddled the manner of communication. This is advanced beyond any magic or science I know. The power core apparently amplifies and modulates these elements and turns them into motion, chanelling energy to generate electricity. What a true marvel. How this could change the very face of our world, perhaps even for the better. It could create a much-needed level playing field among the rich and poor. Unless of course the rich find another way to harvest and profit off of it.

As I am lost at the application of this “electricity,” Gimurt gulps loudly. The voice on the recording is none other than his great-grandfather. Seems this business is very all in the family.

Then Kobo says he wants to play “Duck, Duck, Goose.” Viter retorts with his own clever game called, “Open a portal to our realm.” Clever boy. Seems his spirits are improving. I suppose mine are too. Distractions and mystery are an excellent external stimulant.

Nonetheless, we pass by more sophisticated and advanced devices–machines of marvel until a portal is ready to pass through. We land in a setting once again presenting us with a fight, three lava elementals are in a field of energy.

I nope out of there. Before I fight yet again, I would like to live long enough for answers.

We make our way to another room filled with tiny little modrons (I’ve only ever read about these fleshy machinations!) as they are keeping the workshop room immaculately clean. Viter finds magical boots that let him jump high into the air. This is Gimurt’s great-grandfather’s workshop.

Speaking of whom, we find him in “stasis,” suspended in a machine keeping him alive all these years. Gimurt must know more, we probe him but he truly seems to not know what is going on. I am tired at this point. Tired of not knowing what is going on. Tired of being in a search for answers to only ever get more questions and bloody battles instead.

In our collective exhaustion, we allow the argument to overtake our perception because Kobo loses his patience (he’s a flying orb, remember?). He starts activating the stasis tube and our dance of disagreements are soon interrupted by a loud whooshing sound.

Fog pours out, momentarily distorting the air around us. Suddenly the upper torso of a dwarf pops up, and he groggily shakes himself awake.

As the fog clears up, he sees the four of us and Kobo. His eyes focus on Gimurt, and the formerly asleep dwarf says, “Ah. Son of a bitch.”