||God would like to introduce you to the Guru, one of the ancients who has asked to be allowed to share some wisdom. The story may wander, but like many of the older clans, the experience of many moons upon the sphere was earnt in blood and thunder, amid the cries of the damned. Enough of me, welcome to the Guru's home, and may you be entertained and informed......|
Hello, come in, make yourself at home. Are you hungry? Have something to eat, I keep a well stocked larder, all sorts drop in, so if you want something, let me know and I'll see if I have it. Visitors can usually eat what they want, except other visitors. This is my place, and noone will bite you, he's too polite to do that, and he knows he won't get invited again if he does. So, you are obviously new in this area, I'd have heard of you before now. I take an interest in who is wandering around the place, in case someone has a story worth telling.
Who am I? Sorry, I get a bit carried away sometimes, you can call me guru. Don't ask for my real name, it doesn't really matter, just consider me a synechdoche of all the experienced and wise entities floating about. Not old, that's a word you may get in to trouble for. There are some who think I am the master of a clan, but most people know better, it's just bad manners to suggest it, that's all.
So, what would you like? Answers are a pretty sure thing, I'll get some chocolate biscuits and some coffee and we'll have a natter. There's no point asking where we are, it's my place, and it's no place, but if it wasn't currently going through nullibiety it would be a part of Tartarus. Oh , Tartarus is strange, some of us have thought hard about it, but mostly what this place is is a world of dreams. Nightmares even. We aren't sure who is doing the dreaming, but each of us seems to bend reality a little, because reality is quite flexible.
Firstly, this place has been referred to as a battlesphere. Some consider this to be a joke, some consider this to be a reference to the globe theatre with all the world a stage, and some consider this to be proof that God has no grasp of geometry. It is usually more like a square, but it is possible that the north west corner is one pole, and the south east corner is another, but you cannot cross the edges. Some people have tried, using all their strength, to be stopped utterly, and the next day find that the borders have rolled back even further. It may be that the south pole of the sphere keeps growing to make more room, it may be that we are on someone's coffee table, and we keep wandering into places where someone has cleared away the magazines. It is definitely not the sort of place you want to make sense of, you had better just learn what you can and cope with it.
The sphere is populated by titans, who are all grouped according to their clans. Each clan has a master, allthough some people will tell you that some people have no mastery whatsoever, they just happen to be available to yell at. Each clan has a different colour to every other clan, and some clans can get very worked up over their markings. I suggest you refrain from calling the titans of the horde peach, or apricot, or anything suggestion a feminine colour that doesn't command respect, because he may come and demand respect, an apology, and some limbs.
Masters all have their quirks, and some would prefer not to be the colours they are, and so will do everything to change from barbie pink and sand coloured, because noone wants to conquer the world to be called a muscle bound beach Barbie. Titans themselves are strange creatures, or constructs, or maybe hallucinations. A titan is a titan, even if it is a majestic dragon circling overhead, a lurching undead, a heavily armoured tank, a fluffy bunny rabbit, a ball of luminescence, or a clown with a joy buzzer. Some consider the titans to be souls from other worlds, each given to a clan to be taught a lesson, or possibly as punishment. Some titans may be the souls of boys who didn't tidy their rooms, or of people who refused to rewind video tapes before returning them, or of evil men, who commited heinous crimes, such as paying more attention to the computer than their wives. Some titans are here to fight, some to charge into danger and see their death approaching them. The titans of Clan Waynhim have never been known to inflict violence on another titan. They may be the eyes of God, glorious horses cantering across the fields to see that the sphere has not crumbled, or to see who exists upon it. It is whispered that these titans are the returned souls of creatures in other realms, who set about building machines to protect them from the dangers of their own worlds. These machines must have been most effective, as Waynhim titans can march directly into a volley of fire and not even whimper as they collapse. Noone knows what manner of sin such oblivious and unaware souls could have committed, but it may have been driving their volvoes too slowly in the overtaking lane.
All titans come from a Mother titan, or the descendant of a Mother titan. These Mother titans appear in the highest corner of the world, and begin sprouting titans immediately. This is thought to be the work of Serva, the sphere mother. Some claim that she sends forth pieces of herself to engage in destruction, so that she may drink the blood of those titans destroyed on her face. Mother titans are supposed to be reflections of Serva, motionless, nearly mindless, and capable of spewing forth engines of destruction. Serva protects these mothers, until they have had time to empty themselves, at which point Serva abandons them. Noone knows how many Mothers there are hidden in Serva's crust, but they cannot arise until JonniGod, the skyfather, has found a master soul to direct the mother's offspring across Serva's face.
JonniGod, the skyfather, and Serva, the sphere mother, and very closely entwined with the titans, and their masters. If ever you meet someone standing there talking to the sky, don't interrupt them when they cease talking, because they may be listening to God. Each master can feel the connection to each other through the mind of Serva, and any message sent through Serva is expected to reach the Master it is sent to. Masters can feel through Serva's mind how each other master is doing, but it is quite limited, as Serva only cares for the destruction each master has orchestrated. Serva is aware that each Master has different forces at their disposal, but how powerful each master is is no concern of hers. She can feel the potential for destruction, but it is only when such potential is used, that Serva rewards each master with the possibility of creating more titans. Masters can tell the size of forces out there, but Serva's mind will not let them know who commands those forces, as it does not interest her to know.
JonniGod, the skyfather, is considered by some to be the absolute power upon the sphere, whilst others believe he is a slave to Serva, doomed to appease her at each turning of the sun. Stories tell that he is actually the master of a clan, and must fight with the other masters, and it is his power that draws others in to satiate Serva's need for violence. Temples to JonniGod are scattered across the sphere, and these Hallowed Halls provide sustenance to his weary soul, but Serva only permits them because they make the titans stronger, the violence more spectacular, and give masters a reason to fight . She reminds all with these temples of their own mortality, by counting down the days when they must sustain her puppet thrall once more, or be levelled as unworthy. Serva's favour is bestowed upon those who scar such Halls, it may be her dim awareness that her favour will be an incentive for titans to destroy one another at each turning of the sun. Should Serva be displeased, her thundering and crashing causes all the titans to be paralysed with terror, the masters to be made mute, and JonniGod to cringe, and apologise to all and sundry, the scapegoat to Serva's will. Masters feel the tremors, and some twitch and whimper when the sun fails to traverse the sky, and the sphere's turning is delayed. Plants abound on Serva's face, and titans can only be spawned by such titans as have eaten them. It may be that these plants are hallucinogenic, and that masters are forced to consume green biomass to survive to cope with the wierdness going on here. I know that one of the masters was permanently drunk, and he got turned into a rabbit for using substances other than Serva's herbs.
That's a run down on what's going on around here, masters fighting to survive, titans dying, people having lots of fun. Actually, some of the masters are great fun, you should definitely,... Hang on, the kettle's boiled, I'll make some coffee, and we'll do the Tim Tam Trick. You've never heard of it? You bite both ends off a chocolate biscuit and suck your coffee through it. It's devine, I'll be back in a sec to show you.
Here we are, milk is in the jug, sugar is in the bowl, make it as you like it. Now, there are people who wander the sphere who don't drink coffee. There are people on the sphere who don't drink. There are people on the sphere who aren't, technically, people. I myself am a disembodied person, most of the personalities are. It would be a great loss to the sphere if personalities were housed in bodies, because having a conversation with someone is not the same if you are both considering the possibility of raining down to the ground in tiny pieces. Some of these people you will meet, some you may like, some you should avoid. The amount of personality a master has can count for a lot, and don't expect those of us who have been here longest to be the most amusing. Some of them are almost silent, and to you will be nothing more than a passing terror who could smear you across the landscape if you were important enough to gain their attention. Some masters shout their arrival, like a child threatening to hit the world with his teddy bear, making many of us smile. Of course, there are those who have been and gone, and you may hear stories of past glories, but mostly you will have to make some glory for yourself.
I went for a walk, or in some cases a run across the sphere, and some of the things I could say would make you spill your coffee. I have danced with furry creatures by the light of strange moons, I have worn my shin kicker boots and raged with radioactive punks, I have conversed with Vampires, although you don't invite them in, I have crept unseen through cavernous halls where crazy people worship Serva with blood sacrifice, I have passed through torture chambers filled with such horrifying machines of pain, such as soft cushions and comfy chairs.
I have made my way through tunnels four feet high, to see the leader of the dwarves, who is over six feet tall. He believes he is a dwarf too, but anyone who keeps smacking his head into the roof is a little bit questionable. Concussion will do that. I have worn kilts and played bagpipes with Laird OEngus of Argyle, the dirk wielding warrior whose mind was so strong he changed the way that titans traverse the sphere. There are those who dislike the changes he wrought, and call him Angus, the mad scot in a dress.
I have danced with wolves, but never got a chance to shoot Kevin Costner for his crimes against entertainment. There are a handful of Clans, be they hounds, wolves, or terriers, whose barking and howling keeps the sphere awake at night, who will chase anything silly enough to carry a letter, whether they call themselves paperboy, mailman, postman, or Costner. One day they'll get him, and there will be much rejoicing.
I have been to the world's edge, where noone goes, except for some strange fellow with a whip and a brown fedora hat. He asked me for a pen, so he could keep drawing his map, but all I had was a pink crayon. I gave him a chocolate biscuit later, when he stopped by here. He kept his whip to himself.
There are shining knights riding across the sphere, on great big horses. They tend to follow their own code, and it is usually not a good idea to cross them. Some are named for the temples they protect. Some consider the whole land to be a holy crusade, and have little hesitation slaughtering in combat.
There are the warriors from other races, some from times long gone, some from heights short and right under foot. You had better learn who they are, and you had better learn to use their names with respect. If respect is not your style, you should at least be funny when twisting someone's name. It is flattery of a fine sort to insult someone with wit and style, it is a most base insult to imply that someone is not worth the bother. Don't mistake the out of fashion blood coloured robes of the uncomplicated for the stylish crimson capes and cowls of the unexpected. If you are going to call the crimson of the unexpected ones funky as, make sure you spell it with only one s, or they'll strut for weeks.
If you intend to travel through lands unknown, make sure to take clean underpants. There are those who would take them from you, for some clans collect them for reasons known only to themselves. I suggest that, should you see any titan wearing something frilly or lacy upon it's head, you should run. There's no point telling someone not to get their knickers in a knot, when something scares the pants off you, don't try and stay calm, keeping your shorts on is a poor second to your foe seeing a fleeing backside.
Clans have their quirks, but what you should really be aware of, are the alliances. A group of powerful clans is a scary thought. They keep rising from the tumultuous throng, as politics form and divide these groups, but some have staying power. You keep your ears open, fledgling, and be ready to make friends. The young clan you smack with your teddy bear today could save you from a flamethrower tomorrow. It's a whole different world just outside the bars of your crib, and if you don't have someone to watch your back, it could get shot. It could get stabbed, as betrayal is not unheard of.
Politics, either learn it or get right out of it. I know the Jestress says you should learn to use your tongue to good advantage, but then she can be very rude when she has a mind to be. Some masters talk of honour, some of class, some of style, some of integrity. Some think it is so much useless fluff, a distraction from the killing. You had better know your own mind, because there are those who would toy with it, and you had better watch your words, because someone will question them.
You'll meet people, some you'll like, some you'll loathe, some you will form a deep, powerfull attraction to, and you will chase them all across the sphere to make them scream for mercy. It isn't that hard, just follow your heart, or your guts, or your brains, and hope noone rips them out and throws them across the room. Who knows, you may even meet me wandering around out there. Say hello first though, I have a violent dislike of people who don't announce their presence, I tend to announce their sudden absence with a loud bang.
Okay, I think you have all you need to scurry around and cause havoc out there. Have another biscuit, I'll get some advanced stuff for you, but mostly that's the benefit of other's experience, and you might like to get out there and benefit from your own. Even if you want advice, asking someone who has been around for a while is definitely a good show of respect to your elders. I asked God for advice when I first showed up, and I also asked his clan for advice too. I think he was more flattered by my asking for his advice as a venerable elder than as an all powerful deity. Ah yes, an ego is a wonderful thing. Mind you, so is a chocky bikky, would you like another before you wander off? So, a toast, here's to havoc, in whatever form you cause it!