Solo [Judgement] The Imitations of Life

[Pandaemus]

40th of Fall, 513A.V.
Ground Floor Main Auditorium, Gug Adjak

This was the day. Perhaps the most pivotal moment of his young unlife. He was here to present himself as what could be an asset to the nuits of Sahova. He hoped he could become an asset. The alternative of becoming some sort of fish food or experiment subject was not appealing to the fresh nuit. His hard, white hands gripped the small construct he had created a few days earlier close.

The thing was not much, almost entirely wooden and as simple as can be. But it was enough to get his foot in the door. Then he would be able to really expand his knowledge. He was more than happy to serve the more powerful nuits of Sahova, and further their research. But he was in this for himself. No one else in the world had ever looked out for his personage, not eve Thanadoros. It had always been the boy alone. And it would always be so. Such things did not change when they consumed one’s childhood and ate away at the naive inner innocence of a boy.

He stepped into the Auditorium was trepidation. The largest room on the ground floor was lined with wizards and apprentices, nuits and pulsars alike. Their eyes all drifted over to where he stood clutching his contraption. He walked to the center of the room and set his construct down, staring at the four judges in front of him. They stared back. The whole room stared back. If he could, he would be sweating. But dead men don’t sweat, and neither do dead boys.

Pandaemus opened his mouth, not entirely sure how this worked. But confidence was what he had to portray here. Confidence and aptitude. “My name is Pandaemus, and I’m going to animate this golem-construct- i]into[/i] a…eh… golem.” He paused, they said nothing. Fumbling at his waist pouch he pulled out a piece of chalk and squatted down to begin work on his summoning circles. The less he gazed upon his judges, the better. And it wasn’t only the four nuit’s in front of him that judged him. The dull, heavy pressure of the watchful eyes of the crowd was palpable. It snaked it’s way into his mind and ate away at the nerve he had been building up for so long.

The four judges seemed as old as the very citadel. And all of them glared at him with an unsettling stare. It wasn’t that they seemed angry or disdainful. It was with an offhand sort of boredom that they haunted the back of his neck with their heavy gaze. He tried to work on the animation circle without noticing but it was like eight tiny suns burning into him. He finished the circle around his small construct, whom for it’s part waited patiently for him. Candlelight glinted off the polished wood and Pan found himself genuinely hoping the thing worked. And it was a hope fueled by the desire for simple self accomplishment rather than to further himself in Sahova. For what may have been the first time on the island, he wanted to succeed simply to say he had created a golem.

After finishing the circle he traced the line to connect it to the source circle, his circle. The pale chalk was close to his skin color, but a stark contrast to the grey stone of the floor. It broke halfway through the line. He hastily finished the line with one piece and started on the source circle. The chalk ground down to dust in his hands and he was forced to rummage in hit waist pouch of the other half. Glancing up at the judges, the nervous nuit saw they were all staring at him without expression. Petch.

After finishing the layout of the circles he stepped into the source circle and threw the chalk aside. Now the fun really began.

[Pandaemus]

The Auditorium around him became quiet. This is what they had all come to watch the judgements for. To witness the success or failure of ambitious would-be apprentices. He was their sport, and they his audience. Pan tried not to think about the faces staring at him as he unsheathed his eating knife and held a slightly trembling hand up in front of his face. The nuit slit a small incision in his finger and watched the white fluid trickle out and down his appendage. He was not a thing of blood any longer. It was actually far behind him, but he clung to it for some reason. Life was just… more than what he had. He longed for the filling of his lungs with sweet, sweet air.

Pan extended the finger and let a few drops of the ichor fall and be absorbed by the chalk line connecting him to his small construct. Immediately the still djed around him, trapping him, began to stir. He had always thought the feeling reminded him of absolutely nothing he had ever experienced, nor would ever experience. It was a completely different, and harrowing feeling. His anxiousness and doubt all immediately came to the forefront. He began to struggle as the djed constrained within his small chalk circle began to absorb his own. He had failed to focus properly and the djed would have to be reigned in before he could begin.

As the djed extracted his own from him he began to shape it. He struggled to make it like him, a cheap imitation of life. It would serve as a soul, a replica of his own. Pan gathered his will with the new essence he had created. The replica soul swirled and had no direction, but he would show it. Pan used his mind in such a way that he never could outside the animation circle. He prodded the essence of djed soul until it found the link of the circles and then once more. He felt the djed sap out of his space and into the circle across from him. Then the thing attached itself to the simple construct he had made. Relief. Pan had performed what may have been the most challenging task of his life. And the soul core had successfully attached itself to his construct.

Pan almost feared the waiting djed. It felt as if he was in the center of a storm, and it’s fury was mere inches from his face. Pan was not a particularly brave man. But nothing in the world intimidated him like the rippling power of wild djed. And the djed surrounding him was completely wild right now. His next task was to form directives out of the djed combined with his own memory and emotion. The animation of even a simple construct was extremely personal. Pan had almost been brought to tear the first time he had attempted an animation and his old master had destroyed it.

He began to form and push memories into the deed’s chaotic stream. He thought of himself, his face, his voice. He pushed images of the nuits of sahova into the stream, the cold dead cadaver’s of antiquity holed up in their stoney fortress. The memories of himself and the nuits would suffice for the first directive he was instilling in the golem, authentication. He struggled with the emotion of trust. He did not trust, for he felt safe with no one. Pan wracked his brain for a memory of trust. Far in his hazy past he found a boy, himself. The boy was chained to a post in Ravok, and next to him was another boy. A brother. His brother. The image came with no sound, but he would never forget his brother’s words, and he saw them on the lips of the boy in his mind. I’ll protect you. His brother had been bought soon after that moment and it was the last flake of memory he had of the boy. Pan hastily threw the memory into the djed with all the emotional upheaval of trust he could muster. Hopefully this would make the construct trust and obey his, and the other nuits of Sahova, and only those orders.

The next step was to add to the mixing pot of high magics the directive of self-preservation. This, he thought ironically, would be easier. He rapidly thought up many memories of fleeing from his master, and the people of Zeltiva after his undeath, and then the intimidating figures of nuits, pulsars, and golems here on Sahova. He bled his strong fear, the power of the emotion almost overwhelming him and bringing the thin nuit to his knees, into the djed. It drank from his soul greedily, pulling at the strength of his fear. The torrent of djed was beginning to take it’s toll on the nuit. He had not attempted such a complex animation before in his existence. The fact that he was surrounded by the people of Sahova was utterly forgotten. He was alone. Fear and the wild djed were all he had here, and his wooden construct.

Pandaemus took a moment to calm himself. After the drawing out of his fear and some of the worst memories in the mental vault within his soul, he needed to rest his trembling conscience. If anything, this animation was becoming a lesson in humility. What was he to try to command these forces? He was a corpse with a mind imprisoned in it. And this djed, this thing he was endeavoring to control was the raw might of the world. It was the backbone of life. It frightened him. But he gritted his teeth and in a moment of uncharacteristic braver, he stood again. He was going to finish this golem, and he was going to get himself into Sahova. He just wished someone knew the guts it took for him to come to that decision, but alas he was alone.

[Pandaemus]

The next directive he needed to muster was the command to follow. He needed the thing to be able to accompany him or else, what was the point. Well, if you want to get technical, the point is to pass your judgement. The young nuit grimaced at his own macabre humor and once again dove into the murky well of memory that was his past. Memories of following his master around the world flew unbidden through his aching mind's eye. Following the nuit home from the slave pavilion on Ravok. He had not known the man was undead, or insane.

He remembered he had followed his master to the graveyard, and then home again after they had collected what they came to collect. He revisited old memories of their long journey to Zeltiva and the hesitant faith he had in the man's ability to lead him true, where he gazed longingly upon the University. He took these memories and mixed them with the darkly powerful emotions of fear and loyalty. For these his mind only ever went to Uldr. Fear because of his past, loyalty because of his fear.

Only the killphrase was left to by brewed in with the rest. Pandaemus had a highly formal and ritualistic view of magic, a result of his master’s insane hold to antiquity. He used the Nader-canoch word for end, or dead. Roza. The word drifted from his mind into the djed where it, like everything before it, was consumed.

The next hurtle was to show it the tasks it needed to preform. Pan thought first of the wagon he and his master had traveled in, of how the wheels turned on their axis. It was different that the golem’s wheels, each had their own axis and could be moved separately. The core concept was the same however. He imagined the wheels all turning in their various directions and tried his best to show how the golem could use them to move. He tried to picture the finest wheels he had ever seen and struggled for a moment. Then it all became so clear he once again felt stupid for taking that long. He forced images of the other common wheeled golems of sahova into the djed.

Then the wizard gazed through the haze of djed at the construct. The magical essence was invisible, but it was still difficult to focus on something outside the circle, as if his mind was too drawn out to register it. He focused on the arm. He imagined the movement he had made the arm do back in the lab. And the chalk at the end, very important, vital. He focused for a long minute of the stick of powdery medium in the leather grasp of the construct. And from that he imagined himself drawing animation circles and links. He remembered minutes ago, or hours ago, when he drew the one he was in now. He forced these memories out of his head and into the whirlpool of powerful djed also.

Pandaemus thought long about the triggers he would use. The thing had eyes, and ears. He needed verbal and visual signals to tell it what it needed to do.

[Pandaemus]

Nader-canoch was the ancient people’s language. It, above all other languages in the world, demanded respect. This it was the only language he would imbue this construct’s few commands in. He had already imbued it with a killphrase. A killphrase had initially been designed to simply make the construct stop it’s movements, not self-destroy it’s soulcore. The nuit formed the word for joined together in his mind, Glig. He would infuse this special command with the idea of following. The train of thought was rippled eagerly from his mind by the billowing djed. It was getting restless and he was getting weaker. He needed to finish.

Daeq-Yaq he associated with the combined circles of animation. He was very particular in this since it was the main purpose of the construct. The golem would need some sort of incentive for completing it’s purpose. For this he thought of a special memory. One he had cherished within himself for years and never spoke of. He was fearful to even recall it around his old bitter cadaver of a master, lest he tarnish it’s innocence.

It was of the girl in Zeltiva. She had walked with him upon the docks and told him about the ships. Her father had been a sailor and she wanted to go with him, but was not allowed. They had spent a hot summer evening together when he was only fifteen.

The memory melted the aching of his heart as if it was a hot wind on ice. Nothing had happened between them save an awkward kiss, but it was still the happiest memory of his life. Her long blonde hair, her beautiful green eyes. The sea green of the Zeltivan ocean. But Sahova’s ocean was a dark blue, almost black on most days. Pan felt a dampness in his eyes and he slowly moved a soft sleeve up to clean it. Let Sahova see his weakness, in the throws of this storm he cared for nothing outside his circles.

The commands were gone from him, stolen by the greedy entity of the djed. He was left feeling more shaken, more hallow, than he had ever felt. This golem was requiring far more of him than he expected. His very soul was being poured into the thing. The boy was not finished yet though. Not finished in the least. The thing still required an astral body. Pandaemus began to form the djed around him.

He weaved the raw power with an effort he did not know he possessed. His mind trembled with the required willpower. He was burning himself up significantly. In the end he finally, after the harrowing of an unlifetime, he completed the astral body. Pan began to push all the djed, the entirety of his memories, his emotions, his effort, into the link between the circles. His mind felt a euphoric relief as the pressure of the djed diminished from his circle and poured into the other.

Pan felt the djed pour into the shell, hungry for a home. The golem absorbed all of it, a chunk of Pan. Pan hoped the thing would function as he had planned. He had nothing left in him to impress the judges. He pulled himself from the animation. Pandaemus stepped uneasily out into a room once again full of onlookers. No one spoke much. Though many could easily do what he had performed, they must be wondering if he had been successful.

Pandaemus turned toward the golem, careful to be away from his own circle. It was the moment of truth and Pan found himself fearful of it. He had truly poured his soul into this construct. If it did not work he would be devastated. He would no longer care that he could not remain on Sahova. What was the point if he had failed so much, with so much of his own being at stake?

“Glig.”

There was a moment of heart-stopping stillness. Then the golem turned, it’s wheels squeaking softly, and faced its tiny little lenses toward him. It paused for a fraction of a second and then began to roll over toward him. Pan almost fell to the floor. He could not help but let out a weak breath of laughter. Rubbing his face he righted himself and watched the golem. It rolled until it was directly in front of him and then simply stopped.

Pandaemus quickly back stepped and made some distance between the two. The golem again turned, a bit slowly albeit, to face him. It began it’s journey across the stone floor to it’s master. But Pandaemus had other plans.

“Daeq-Yaq.” He said in a loud carrying voice. Partly he wanted everyone to get the impression he knew the ancient tongue with enough confidence to be impressive, and partly because he was afraid the golem’s patch of leather might not register his voice from so far away.

But it stopped immediately. The thing’s arm quivered and slowly lowered until the tip of the chalk rested lightly against the ground. Then it began spinning very quickly. It turned round several times before suddenly stopping. The golem moved towards the judges with the chalk on the ground and Pan saw it creating the link. It was really working! Perhaps he had gone a bit overboard with the circle image. It had been quite a powerful symbol to him at the time of the animating. But it worked. The golem completed the ritual by once again spinning violently until there were two circles connected by the link. Then the thing stopped and slowly raised it’s arm. It was still afterwards.

Pan’s pride had never soared so high in his entire life, or for that matter afterwards. He turned a pale, tired face towards the judges. He was pleased with himself and would not let anyone take that from him. But these four could still take Sahova from him…

[Mirage]

The silence that filled the hall after Pandaemus' performance was almost deafening. There were no cheers, or nods or approval, but neither were their jeers or boos. Everything was simply still. The judges for their part simply leaned in close to whisper hushed words between each other, but the deliberations themselves did not last overly long at all. The nuit on the end, who wore the skin of a human, stood and folded his hands behind his back. He gave Pandaemus an impassive gaze, sizing him up and down before speaking in a dry tone, "Your skills in animation have been found to be of passing quality. There is still a need for animators in Sahova, and so you will be assigned to apprentice in Lab 15 until you skills grow to the level that you of use to the Citadel, and the Council, as a whole." He extended one hand to the man beside him who handed off a letter he had been working on since his fellow judge began talking. This the judge who still stood extended to Pandaemus, with a nod as close to respectful as one could get, "Present this letter to Cid in Lab 15. The Follower golem will lead you there."

From behind the desk a small, mousy looking golem on four wheels rolled into view. It's long tell extended a foot into the air, and a blinking light at the end to lead the way. It did a circle around Pandaemus, and once around his golem as well, all the while squeaking "Follow Follow!" before heading up the ramp and out the doors of the lecture hall.

The judge who handed Pan the letter would offer the smallest of nods of approval, before sitting back down and looking to his papers for the next candidate.

OOCOK! I left this very open so that you could do some fun monologues with Pandaemus as he takes in this reaction! Simply have him follow the golem out the door at the end, and I shall take it from there ^.^

[Pandaemus]

The silence was maddening. Pandaemus’ already worn nerves were fraying rapidly as he glanced around the Auditorium at his stony onlookers. None made any sound of approval or disproval, which left him further in the dark. He had not quite felt this alone ever on Sahova. Through all the wretched stress and hostility he had still felt somewhat like he was a part of the thriving mass of research that was Sahova. Perhaps being the center of their silent attention had shifted that status. Thoughts of failure and damnation to an eternity of mortal hate flashed through his stressed mind. The weakness was affecting his mind. He could see it, almost subconsciously. But he did not have the strength to fight it.

Then the Judges finished their collaboration and a gaunt looking male on the end stood. He seemed as emotionally detached from life and the stimuli around him as the stone walls. His words were given in an unimpressed neutral tone that left much to be desired. But then he said it! Pan had been accepted!

The overwhelming feeling of relief and joy was running through him like fire. Pan felt more alive than he had in weeks! He had done it! Pan had taken the first leap into a new destiny! A new path. However, his thorough exuberance was marred with the almost instant orders they had issued him. He was given a letter to deliver to one Cid in Lab 15. And then they summoned from behind their judges desk, a Follower golem. Promptly he was ordered to accompany it out of the room.

The thing sprung into action almost before the Judge was finished telling him what to do. Pan quickly grabbed up the proffered letter for Cid and set out to follow the minuscule little golem. He was beginning his long, dangerous journey to greatness. And it all started with one little golem that could draw circles… His golem!

Pan found himself lunging back to retrieve his golem. He gingerly cradled it without looking around the Auditorium. The thing may not be much, but it was his key into the well of information and learning that was Sahova. Pan kept his gaze averted as he left the huge room. He could only withstand so much embarrassment for one day, and he didn’t want to lose his place in Sahova by sheer stupidity. Pan found his face split into a small grin as he followed behind the small golem out of sight of the onlookers.

Who was this Cid? How would such a man react to Pan’s appearance? Pan wondered if he would learn anything from Cid and how long it would take him to become ‘of use to the Citadel’ as the judge had put it. He may have passed his Judgement, but it was a continuous test, being on Sahova. If he outlived his usefulness, he would become fish food. Or worse.

[Mirage]

Out of the lecture hall, through the common lab and across the Courtyard the Follower went, dodging rocks and tomb stones with ease, paying no mind to the spirits that moaned and groaned, grasping an Pandaemus' hair and clothing should he venture too close to the iron rods that kept them at bay. Then to the dungeons, and when the little golem tapped the large door it simply opened of its own accord, allowing both to make their way through the din of weeping souls, cries of pain and anguish. Hands reached through the bars, begging for food, begging for water, and at times even for death itself. A large creature sat in one cell, looking like an ape in form yet the intelligence in its eyes spoke otherwise. Passed all this they went, turning a corner and going down a long hallway that sloped downward.

As they walked the brick and stone quickly became rock, the floor uneven and the walls not uniform. It was like the path was transitioning into a tunnel, more than a hallway. Torches that once aligned the path began to be replaced by softly glowing lights of an iridescent blue color, and upon the walls and floor there were arrows that pointed down one path or another, the names of labs magically written in places, acting as directional markers at forks in the path. They traveled for a nearly a full bell, nearly a bell and a half, yet still they traveled deeper, the only sounds being the shuffling of their feet and the little golems constant chant of 'follow'.

Rounding a corner the Golem stopped before a large iron door, upon it was marked in bold letters Lab 15.

"Destination reached!" The little golem would reply before speeding off back the way it had come, leaving Pandaemus with the task of opening the door to his destiny.

When the door was opened the new apprentice would be assaulted by the noise of the place. People shouting, the bang of hammers, the turning of gears. The door let Pandaemus out onto an upper level, a skinny walkway that lead all the way around the large chamber. Several sets of stairs spiraled down the the floor, and all about there was a bustle of activity. People rushed about, waving papers, collecting parts, tossing commands. At the center of it all was a golem of immense proportion, so large that it made all around it look as though they were tiny ants. It seemed dormant, and did not move at all.

"Cid! Wizard Cid!" A voice below called. It came from a younger man, perhaps mid twenties, who ran across the room towards a large man with a beard wild and fierce. He paused to talk with him, this person obviously Cid, and the exchange was brief. With a sudden wave of his hands and furious shouting the boy backed away, nodding at whatever instructions were being shouted at him before running away. Cid walked back to his station near the back corner of the cavern, surrounding himself with half finished golems, gadgets and other incredible works of gadgeteering. There looked to be an entire human rib cage made of metal sitting upon the table he worked at.

[Pandaemus]

The lab was absolutely nothing like the common workshop he had been diligently and desperately crafting his tiny golem in. It was woefully pathetic in comparison to some of the truly daunting projects held within the walls of Lab 15. The first and most awesome visual aspect of the lab was the staggeringly huge golem looming over everything from the center of the room. People worked around it like ants shifting around a person.

The rather annoying little golem that had lead him to Lab 15 finally stopped and quieted. Pandaemus was able to spot who he thought was Cid. From the temper and the submissive attitudes of those he encountered, Pan was sure the bearded bully was the man he had been sent to find. He hesitated at the entrance to the lab.

Forty days he had spent hoping for this moment, and now he found himself dreading it. A lifetime was nothing here on Sahova. He would surely be spending at least that here in this room, doing their bidding before any personal aspiration he might form. Was the life and power of a wizard worth such a huge sacrifice? What else could he do. He had no other skills to work off of.

And men did not take kindly to corpses that walk.

Pandaemus made his uncertain way down to the lower, larger level of the lab. All the while dodging busy apprentices and staring at constructs he could not yet dream of developing. His small golem stayed cradled close to his chest. Pan would not let his one accomplishment befall harm here after all he had been through to get there.

His approach to Cid’s desk was hindered by many a lesser desk, and many a busy apprentice. All of which were far more important than he, and far too busy to care about him. He made it without making a fool of himself though. The lab was new and exciting, setting his nerves on edge. But he would get used to the place, and the chaotic din of never-ending work that kept it abuzz.

“Excuse me. Wizard Cid? I am Pandaemus.” He said, hoping the old man would hear him. Pan stood uncertainly in front of the wizard’s desk while the man bent over his work. The light from a nearby lantern shone off the metallic ribcage on his desk. Strands of contorted orange and white light were projected off the dark wood of the desktop and in the man’s faded grey whiskers. “I was told to report to you for…work.”

Pan hoped that, finally, he would be given a proper place, and a proper task. He wanted to stop proving he belonged and start improving on his skills. Cid was the next step in that.

[Mirage]

Cid growled as he dropped his tools, turning around to glare at Pandaemus, "What the petch is it now you stupid liverless sack of worthless meat!?" but he paused as she saw that Pandaemus was not one of his usual annoyances. Grunting he crossed his arms over his chest, stroking his beard, "New apprentice? Bah, figures they'd send ya ta me. Damn that Thomas, petching made Master Apprentice then he goes sailin off on some mission when his work is 'ere! Ill clock 'em a new one when I see 'em next." His voice was deep and gruff, and despite the dark circles under his eyes and his thinning frame he still seemed quite energetic.

Grumbling under his breath the Wizard turned back to his work, "Well ya got a name boy? Ya can call me Cid. Don't bother with tha Wizard syke. Just Cid will do. What they send ya down here fer? Animation or are ya a good gadgeteer that I can work with?"

[Pandaemus]

The ease with which the Wizard Cid insulted him came as a shock to Pandaemus. It shouldn’t have, but that attested his naïvety in all things Sahovan. But Pan was pleased to see the man adjust his fire to someone called ‘Thomas’. It was always good to see someone else be the disappointment rather than Pan.

“Uh… I am called Pandaemus. I am, obviously, at your disposal Cid.” Pan said, trying to call upon his most articulate oral skills. First impressions were important, especially with angry masters. He had learned that long ago.

Pandaemus glanced down at the pitifully small golem in his hands and then back up at the grizzled wizard. “I am here as an apprentice animator, but I have been…exploring… gadgeteering as well.”

Pan hoped that dismal summary of his abilities would be enough to land him in Cid’s good graces, but was doubtful. The wizard seemed deeply dissatisfied with everyone around him, and Pan was the least of all these people. But skill was cultivated over time, and all Pan needed was some time.