---ממסר---
After some thought on the matter you decide that the risks of discovery outweight the potential rewards. You float over to the computer. The chair is discarded, unnecessary, and you examine the object. Crude, inefficient. Made so by the concessions necessary to interface with a Mortal. Simple mechanical key entry allows input, one character at a time. A smaller device translates motion to a small cursor on the screen, a visual interface of deplorable resolution.
Still, it is a start. Field lines unfold from your body, wrapping around the input devices. You key in the password gleaned from Thomas' mind "BigJugz343!" and the screen clears to display a desktop.
There is a sizable collection of pornographic images which you have no interest in. This interface makes the operation of the device slow and clunky but you manage to open the "web browser" and begin by performing random searches. Information is difficult to find, poorly cataloged, redundant and often contradictory but you are able to glean some simple things. It is the year 1999 as reckoned by the mortal's Gregorian calendar, December the 22nd. The winter solstice. This may explain the awakening of your Lord.
You begin some more targeted searching according to the instructions you have been given.
---Araqiel---
While ממסר is working to find answers you turn your attention to the small portion which has up to now served as your exploratory vessel. The rocks here are not rich in the minerals you need to grow this portion but there are other ways. There is a source of steel, possibly the purest source you have ever come across, in the form of the conveyance cart which the mortals abandoned.
Plans hatch in your mind and the smallest self moves over to the steel structure. The strange dead substance which you now know as "plastic" is a chemically altered form of hydrocarbon originally derived from oil, yet another resource that the mortals utilize which was once the rotting corpses of plants and animals. The plastic cover is torn away, you have no use for it. The vehicle rises into the air and is undone, every piece coming instantly free and whole, floating in an exploded shadow of its former shape. You study it briefly, the device is simple. A lead acid battery, electrical motors which utilize alternating current and magnets. Althought these concepts are new to you, your mind is transcendant and you have assimilated the concepts. You can do better.
Metal squeals as it is rearranged. Copper, Steel, Zinc and carbon from the rocks around you coalesce into new alloys and materials. Parts grow whole from the conglomerated mass, extruded in pure form at exacting tolerances. You are the master of the forge and know the signs of the earth. Such things are trivial for you to accomplish. And though it lacks the elegance of your own crystalline form, this automaton of steel and alchemy which you have created is stronger and stranger than any technology these modern mortals will have seen.
A rumble echoes through the cavern as your Child's furnace is lit. Reddish light spills out from the Heartstone in its chest. Sparks fly as the silicate matrices which were once your smallest self begin, now compacted into the Child's skull, begin to think and reason. Limbs unfurl, and a mechanical man rises from the cold stone floor.
Outwardly a smooth steel construct of interlocking plates. Internally, a gilded mesh of flywheels, pistons and mechanisms running in infernal clockwork. Within its chest the Heartstone beats, an old working which you mastered before Y'Weh rose to ascendance and one which He never knew. The Heartstone gives life to your creation, making it a thinking, rational being unlike the cold and logical Entity which the mutation ממסר has become. And while the Heartstone gives life, the crystal matrix in its skull gives reason and thought. Without either, the thing would be a dead hulk. With both, it is a demigod capable of anything mortal man may dream.
This child, this Golem, is your Will made manifest. Far above, on the surface of the world, residual charge leaks from the earth long after your working. The worst thunderstorm in mortal recorded history rips across the unsuspecting plains of Wyoming.
The Golem, גולם, stands and looks at you through stone and earth. Its piercing gaze considers your form and your bonds.
"My creator, what orders?"
---ממסר---
Your searches have borne fruit. Many charlatans and conmen claim to be host to sorcerous power in this modern age but you recognize the signs and falsehoods for what they are. This is a faithless age, and few still believe in the old Ways and Means. Pity.
You do, however, come across a listing. A local... well... the best word would be Cult. A local Cult advertises on a public bulletin board that their leader is a sorcerer of no small power. Most of their claims ring false, but you recognize enough truth within them to make this a very likely source for investigation. The cult is housed in a compound less than 200 miles from your location.
But how to approach them?
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Topic: Antediluvian Horror (Read 4916 times)