5: A library on fire

As the swamp moves around her. The mystic sits complatitivley within the ribcage of a large long dead, long dead beast. Her house, or rather her living space, is strung between two of the ribs, made up of animal skins and sheet metal from fallen starships. It is no different from any of the other homes of shamans, oracle's or soothsayers that had decided that this was the place they would think for the rest of their lives. She is no different. At least not in her intentions. She too has resigned herself to rest and ponder until she had rusted away and the lights in her eyes had faded out. She is very much unlike the others in this "town" in two ways, however. The first being that she was the only malgaric she had so far seen; with her silver metal skin, luminous lines that travel up and down her body, great glowing eyes and several ornaments that hover around her head in complete stillness, she made quite a sight, especially when night fell and the blue glow that she emanated kept some of the other hermits from their rest. The other way she was so vastly different to her peers was that she was truly a mystic. Undoubtedly the others had found some philosophy that might be the answer to universal peace or had made strides in discovering new forms of magic that would die with them. But only she truly understood the origins of the universe, its biggest threats and exactly what it was that had emerged from a red dwarf over 400 light-years away. There was much she couldn't comprehend. Not due to a lack of life experience that was for sure, but simply due to the ineffable nature of the things she felt. She knew these things, but simply couldn't comprehend them. She likened it to trying to communicate the specific dangers of radiation poisoning to a bird, it understands danger but cannot comprehend cells or waves or energy. Or perhaps not, for a bird does not have all the knowledge and cannot learn, whereas she had the information in her head somewhere, she simply couldn't parse it. She hadn't spoken to anyone in such a long time she wasn't sure if she could convey her ideas effectively anymore. Not like she used to do. "That's the flaw with hermits" she thinks to herself as a large winged reptile flies peacefully overhead. "It's all well and good disappearing into the wilderness to discover profound truths about the universe but if you don't go back and properly explain them you're no good to anyone. Each one of us like a library on fire."

She knows she will have an important vision tonight, she can tell. She'd more or less had them every night since her youth. Sometimes her fatigue would get the better of her and she'd wave them off or simply forgo sleep due to a long night of studying or other... Activities. She laughs to herself, quiet and sharp, visions were rare and hard to come by for most people, the others who lived in the ribs would die to have just a glimpse of a noetic vision like hers. The very idea of simply 'waving one off' just because they were tired would have been alien to them.

"Best be foraging round about now" she says to no one

"Vartesh can I get you anything?" She calls to the old human, they look at her but say nothing, nor does their solemn expression change. She knew they wouldn't say anything but she enjoyed the little ritual all the same.

"Fair enough" she shrugs and wraps her shawl tightly around her.

As she stoops down to pick up a Rolder root from a puddle she begins to consider origins. It was a topic that dominated many of her thoughts in the past few decades. She knew the names of all the prime beings. Adam, Eve, Animeer, Taia. She knew which god's were the progenitors of which species. Epicurosa and Deus 12 for the humans, just Epicurosa for the veatorians and of course Holden Heart of her own people. She wasn't aware of her origins, no malgaric were. She, like everyone else, had been dropped from the mother factories, great hulking machines that spat out malgaric and took in... Well no one was quite sure what made them tick, so to speak. Or even what was inside. It was one of the great mysteries of her people. A Peotl fish skitters by and she reaches out to grab it, before she can it explodes in a flash of brilliant yellow light. "Too slow, I must be older than I thought" she says to the smouldering carcass of the fish. "I should probably head home now anyway."

On her journey back, as the suns begin to set on the long flat horizon she notices another crashed ship, it looks terribly new, already scavengers from the local junker town are stripping it down. They eye her with caution but as soon as they realise that she is no threat they get back to business Pulling out wiring and tearing off the chassis.

As she settles down in her shack, stew in hand, she feels the vision begin to tug lightly at the edges of her consciousness, with a contented sigh she puts the bowl down and slips away.

[the sound of the shattering glass that plays forward and in reverse over a soft drone, fills the mystics, head as she has a vision]

The cold anger and confusion of the lost

a large pale hand picks her up and shows her.. someone, glass horns, a two lines down either dark eye, extreme significance in what has come and what will come to be

A desire to change the world, or rather to return to what it recognisable

Light refracting from a prism, a wide smile. Incomprehensible even to those who comprehend all.

Loss and regret. Fear and a deep and hopeless sorrow

The cold and indifferent face of a god, turning to anger and then panic