A statue in a small, abandoned yard repeatedly scanned and re-scanned their surroundings. The sky was unusually blue, even for this part of Verredam. It made their faux-marble exterior glisten in a way that would've easily revealed it to be an imitation - if their perpetual nervous fidgeting hadn't done so already.
0 hostile/encroaching patterns X/Y/Z ~160m
The Architect's exocortex repeated, as if to reassure themself. It's not supposed to be like this... The recurring thought kept them from focusing on their mental conversation. You're sure - 100% certain - that this mindpath is secure? They asked, for the third time.
An emotion somewhere between reassurance and irritation found them through the mental link. Far, far away, across even the edge of the glacier, their long-time comrade was losing xiv patience. Yes, yes. Of course. Listen... Xivilarth sent back, right before falling silent for a disquieting amount of time. Eventually, xiv continued: I understand that this is especially difficult for you, but there really is nothing more I can do to guarantee both your safety and that of the Society as a whole.
The Society as a whole! They scoffed. For just a moment, they stopped fidgeting to grip one of the tools on their exorig more intensely. Their registry did not know of anyone, save themself and Xivilarth, whom their enemies had left alive. Tell me the truth, Xivilarth. It's just you and me, isn't it?
More silence was their answer. They resumed figeting, more intently this time.
'Need to know', I'd usually say, but I suppose there's no sense in hiding it. Xiv finally admitted. You're the only one I've managed to contact. I don't think you're wrong to assume the worst, considering the situation even in your city alone.
Certainly, it seemed like the Society's mortal members in Verredam had all been murdered. Already, the streets were alive with whispers of a new era of aviticratic repression - an only partially-misdirected sentiment that could end up costing the Architect everything, if they weren't careful.
But surely, at least some of their undead comrades must've survived? Ilse, at the very least, was sure to come back out of hiding any day now.
I'm afraid your hopes are misplaced, dear Architect. Xivilarth remorsefully announced. Stahl is one of our few confirmed casualties. I suppose she must have been a high-priority target for--
I. Didn't. Ask. The Architect sputtered back. They directed their thoughts away from Xivilarth and into their cortex. Init location assessment [subject:Stahl].
✓
I can't stop you from running your own analysis, I suppose. Xiv said. One of xiv proxies smirked. Just be careful - false hope has been the end of many of us.
I'm so sick of your fucking-- The Architect began, before realizing they still weren't thinking 'at' xiv.
[subjects:Xivilarth] != seen
Their other partition was right, of course. They redirected their thoughts. You don't know the stakes. How could you? No one can. They were less furious, but still just as bitter. They didn't wait for xiv reply. No matter. We'll succeed yet. And quickly. And quickly...
I... wouldn't count on that last part. Your intentions are good, but it'll still take us decades to rebuild. Xivilarth pessimistically replied.
You, perhaps. Here, Eternity draws nearer every day. The Architect replied. A shudder ran through the metallic arms of their exorig. The sky over their city wasn't supposed to be this blue. They fell completely still, as if they could will it back to grey in doing so. It's not safe here. I need to get back to the Spire.
Xivilarth ignored xiv associate's first, overly-optimistic statement, only deigning to reply to the latter. Ah. Very well. When can I expect to see you back at the Vertex? Or hear from you again, at any rate?
The Architect knew that their Spire - connected directly to their patron as it was - interfered greatly with long-range magic, even the simplest telepathy. It suited them just fine. Do not expect news from me until a decade or two after the coming wave of mortal uprisings. It'll be done then. Several of their arms erupted into a furious burst of motion as they began preparing to return home. Out here, there was no uniformity to the light. Entropy rendered every shadow, every flicker suspect. Turning inward once again, they thought: Init translocation [location:Spire].
Several of Xivilarth's proxies frowned. Come now, you can't be serious. I'll need you to start re-establishing our network in Verredam. Besides--
There is no 'we', Xivilarth. This is already the third time we have suffered such a setback, each time worse than the last. The automaton's lower arms began sigiling their translocation. All was going to be as it should be. No more. I will make of my Spire a fortress. I will weather the coming storm.
Architect, wait! Xiv exclaimed, annoyance flowing freely into the mindpath. Don't be foolish. We need to--
Send me a letter if you need me, Xivilarth. The Architect replied, thought-voice deadpan. You have always been a steadfast ally. Despite your preconceptions. Goodbye.
They translocated. Interference terminated the mental connection for them as they found themself in the blank-grey corridors of their Spire. They still had a few years, by their estimation, before Verredam's government would change. For better or for worse, I'll be ready. The work will continue.
Little changed about the Architect themself, in those scant few intermediary years between disasters. They still looked like a statue - more so than usual, in fact. Still as they stood, they were nonetheless quite busy telepathically adjusting their mechanical servitors' instructions. Recalling them, mostly. The silent machines had already hastily thrown up a few more layers of polymer walls, aiming to turn their square courtyard into an improvised star fort.
Cannon fire in the distance roused the Architect from their contemplation. Two days late to the city proper. Irritating. Query: cause?
logistics [weather]
They looked out over the city from one of their Spire's balconies. Smoke rose from the Waterfront District into the now-unclouded sky, dissipating upwards towards the gradually-appearing sun. Hm. Advantageous timing for today, though. Good planning by the mortals. Query map [Verredam:duchy, zones of control;]?
displaying image | stalemate progressing -> rebel victory ~ 36 days
The Architect cast a displeased glance down at the developing encampment in their garden. At this rate, they'd have to reconfigure their Spire to allow some of the mortal refugees access to more than just the entrance hall. Can't those rebels hurry it up? All this devastation has slowed me down enough already. They thought, turning back inside, striding down corridor after corridor in a purposeful path to the center of their home.
They looked at the grey void inside. It was disappointingly easy to perceive lately - a sure sign of the Eternal City's contrareal development. Not that it was unexpected, considering they'd had to use the Spire's transfiguration engine to make food recently. A power from beyond Reality, shackled to the creation of oats, of all things!
As much as it pained them, it was ultimately necessary: the disjointed hundred-banners army of undead was hardly a match for the suprisingly well-organized mortal paramilitaries. The automaton had known they'd have to make do under a different government eventually, well before the start of 'Renewal', as it was evidently going to be called. Therefore, their cultivated image - distant, rational, benign - would have to extend to mortals to a far greater degree, even if this would hardly win them friends in the rest of the world.
Still, Verredam was a large city. Come night, the tide would turn again, and there were going to be loyalist holdouts for months. More people - mortal and undead alike - would flee or be killed. All the Architect could do was hope for a quick resolution, so that they could begin rebuilding what could be rebuilt.
Hope and rebuild, hope and rebuild. As they had done for centuries.
Before long, the situation in Verredam had gone from bad to worse, at least in the Architect's eyes. Their Spire's courtyard was crowded with tents, and now there were vampires in their penthouse - the only place the vain, deceiving creatures would feel sufficiently special without trying to eat anyone else. Verrebrand and his thrall governor should throw in the towel already, and let me translocate them... ugh, anywhere but here. The constant vigilance required to stop them from wandering off and start poking and prodding at things! Maybe this Renewal is a good thing. Even if it might end up costing me a decade more...
conversation summary available
They considered themself fortunate to be able to let their external cortex's social module handle the smalltalk amidst the grim (for a duke) atmosphere of revolution. Save information to registry, then discard. I'm sure he was just complaining about having to leave his second-favorite set of crystal glassware behind. Or something. Their exocortex didn't disagree.
The Architect habitually turned their head to look out of their favorite window. A whirr of annoyance formed in their vocal modulator as they found their view blocked by the open doors of the governor's stupid armoire he'd asked them to translocate to safety. They almost jumped when someone behind them cleared their throat.
A stout man with pronounced veins was standing behind the Architect, holding a dark purple scarf out to them. With a courteous nod and a tear in his eye, governor Wiering looked up at them. "Please take this to remember us by, Lady Architect. Your kindness and patience - with us as well as the people of our city - have been a soothing balm to poor Xavier's conscience."
The automaton carefully plucked the scarf from his outstretched hand with their upper right arm, lensed eyes recalibrating to take a good look at it. They weren't normally in the business of wearing clothes, but they had to admit: it was a nice scarf.
They put it around their neck. Perhaps this will serve to humanize me in the eyes of my coming mortal overlords? The scarf's loose hood wrapped around the back of their head nicely, giving the automaton a bit of wizardly flair.
thank = polite ✓ | considerate ✓ | reinforce good impression
Right. The Architect met the governor's gaze. "Thank you, governor. We've had our share of disagreements, but your administration has always treated me with respect. I appreciate this gift - doubly so, considering how many other things you've already been forced to leave behind." The externalized part of their mind shot them a quick warning, and they deftly positioned their lower set of limbs so as to prevent the teary-eyed man from giving them a hug.
The Architect stood in the middle of their courtyard, flanked by two of their mechanical servitors. They towered over all of the mortals who had sought a refuge from the horrors of war, but none of them seemed particularly disturbed by their presence.
It was the day of Verredam's liberation from the undead, but the mood of its people seemed mixed. A hushed murmur went through the huddled masses as squads of grey-cloaked soldiers stormed into the Spire's courtyard.
A grizzled-looking blond officer walked through the center of the gates, eyes flitting around, looking for threats. He cleared his throat, plainly demanding "In the name of the Vigil, I demand you turn over any and all undead and undead sympathizers for trial."
id = Captain E. Hjalsund | 'Vigil' paramilitary; chapter leadership councilor
The Architect stepped forward, unfazed by the dozens of cryslock rifles pointed at them, and raised a hand. "Welcome to Verredam, Captain Hjalsund, and welcome to my Spire. All undead I know of have fled the city."
The officer raised an eyebrow. "Are you not the Architect?" He spat out their epithet like a curse.
emphasize synthetic nature
The Architect nodded, modulating their speech to be a bit more mechanical. "That I am, and I can see what you are getting at. My ascension was achieved with a lichdom-adjacent methodology for the transposition of the mind, but I am a construct; neither alive nor un-living."
The Vigilant hardly waited for them to finish their answer before he replied: "Fire!" A hail of 24 shots rang through the air. Some of the civilians flinched; the automaton didn't.
The Architect's exorig registered 21 impacts - they had magically deflected two projectiles aimed just a bit too near their eyes, and had caught one near-miss in one of their cortex-linked limbs. They inspected the bullet. It was made of alchemical silver: an effective bane measure against all the most common types of undead, but far from the hardest metal under the stars.
They crushed the frail little pellet, and it fell apart. None of the shots had even dented their rig, and while some of them had penetrated the polymer that made up most of their actual body, it had already regenerated most of the damage. A small cloud of coolant vapor escaped their rig with a soft hiss. Their sensors fixated Hjalsund.
"As you can see, I have very little in common with most liches." The Architect calmly stated, putting their lower two arms behind their back in an apparent show of confidence. This is to be the new government, hm? I think it's time to tug on the threads of fate a little bit. Init imaging [subject:Hjalsund]. Their rig-arms began invisibly micro-tracing divinatory sigils in the air.
"We shall see how that holds up in trial, 'construct'." The Captain scoffed. He gestured to his soldiers. "Take them away." The troops were a little hesitant, arguing among themselves for a moment which of them would have to approach their bulletproof adversary. A commotion went through the crowd of onlookers.
projectile remnants [right shin, right elbow] | potential neoplasm: left lung | de-obfuscation cross-reference: "Eric" [92% confidence]
Fantastic, thought the Architect, he'll be bedridden in mere months. Overcoming their distaste for the inner workings of the human body, they cast another spell, manifesting a mild, but continuous source of ionizing radiation in the officer's chest cavity. Nothing he would feel; at least not for a while.
Seeing the two least well-liked soldiers in Hjalsund's retinue split off to arrest them, the automaton was about to give their Spire the order to enter stasis until their return. Before they could, however, a citizen walked out onto the garden's main path, right between the automaton and the advancing Vigilants. The Architect thought they'd seen her face somewhere in the back of a lecture hall at some point, but their registry returned a blank on any specifics.
The Captain began fixating the young woman instead of the construct as she spoke: "Come on, leave them be. I bet there's still plenty of real undead left in the city for you to do something about." She cast a wary eye at the darkening sky.
The soldiers wavered. Hjalsund opened, then closed his mouth. He gritted his teeth.
"I assure you, Captain, no undue harm will befall these people or our city if you decide to leave me be." The Architect said, somewhat facetiously adding: "That's what the previous administration figured, too." The construct hoped they'd chanced upon an easy way out of this mess. Still, they directed a hedging thought at their cortex: Query social; alternative?
positive outcome 6X% | diversion possible
It overlaid a bright green glow over their perception of several of the Vigilants in the back - specifically the triggers of their rifles. One of them had begun aiming into the crowd.
Hm. No, a few moments more... Even as the thought crossed their mind, they nevertheless began readying a subtle telekinetic spell.
The tension in the air was palpable. The few meters between the line of Vigilants and everyone else huddled in the courtyard may as well have been an ocean. Under his breath, Hjalsund cursed the soft metropolis - it'd been easy to take, but was proving itself hard to conquer.
Raising his voice, he conceded "...fine. I will admit that we don't have the resources to deal with you right this instant." He glared at the automaton. "But this isn't over, Architect."
Relieved, they walked halfway towards him. They came to a stop right behind the citizen who had interfered on their behalf, peaceably unfurling their arms. Perhaps Ilse was right. Perhaps a... how did she always put it? Warmer approach would... Their thoughts trailed off into idle reminiscence. One of their hands came to rest on the young woman's shoulder in an unusually sentimental gesture. For once, they didn't mind being the center of attention.
!! response window ending !!
Right I am. They turned their attention back towards the Vigilant, facetiously telling him: "Give it a year or two, Eric."
The Architect stood in a complex far, far beneath their Spire. A reassuring grey light shone out from the massive complex of vaccuum-sealed circuits they were working on. Adding to. Optimizing. They could scarcely afford any more delays, knowing an assassin's blade or spell could find them any day. Query maxmimum window: personhood-intact recovery?
t = ~12y
There was no one left for them to rely on. No one but themself. Not just I. Ilse, the people of Verredam - everyone's fates hinge on my success. Perhaps even Meredith... In their darkest thoughts, they agreed with Xivilarth that they were a fool to carry on such hopes. Still, the path to the Eternal City had never been clearer. Generations had already been saved.
telephone | rkey 1312govres
The Architect's inert body twitched. In the middle of the day?! Oh, right - new management. They quickly but meticulously closed the circuit, then translocateed to their telephone. Channeling magic through their exorig was getting easier again, after the brief dip in the link to their patron during the 'open warfare' part of Renewal.
They picked up the transmitter and held it near their face, announcing themself with: "Architect speaking."
"Fargrave here. Your acting Captain-Vigilant." A rather young-sounding, but firm voice came through the receiver. "Or... not-acting, since last night, I suppose. You've heard the news?"
alluding to Hjalsund's passing
The Architect modulated an appropriately-detached amount of solemnity into their voice. "Yes, I have. Unfortunate, but at least he lived to see your organization's triumph."
Fargrave let out a sigh, audible even through the teletransmission. "I wish he'd seen it that way. My predecessor was intent to carry Renewal to the glacier... On his own back, if necessary."
polite inquiry appropriate
"I see." They replied. "You disagree, I take it?"
"Well, of course." He replied, pausing for a moment. "Not necessarily on principle, mind you, but it's just not practical. We had such trouble with Verre-- with the Capital, it'd be suicidal to keep pushing outwards." He cleared his throat. "But I didn't call you to discuss the Vigil's internal affairs."
readying [reg:vigilantarg168]
Fargrave gave them too little time for their long-prepared argument to fire. "To put it plainly: I believe you're different from other undead. If that even is what you are. We've been going through the Duke's records, and they show you're a force for good in this city. Have been, since long before anyone in the Vigil was born." He audibly breathed in. "And my personal memories seem to agree. I grew up in this city, and any time you were in the news around here, it was always because you'd made it better in some small, but significant way. Not just for undead - for everyone."
discarding... !! positive impression !! reinforce !!
The Architect didn't have to put much effort into sounding appropriately touched. "That has always been my goal. Your recognition means a lot, and I look forward to continuing to work towards that goal under more rational governance."
"Ha!" Fargrave exclaimed. "I'll do my damndest, but we'll have to see about that last part. The way the Assembly's shaking out... Ah, but that's nothing to discuss in a teleconversation."
cue detected: arrange physical meeting
"I understand." They replied. "Your office is in what used to be the governor's residence, yes? Are you currently busy?" Init divimage [loc:govres; eval:safety].
He seemed to think on it for a moment. "Well, I'd budgeted 25 minutes for this teleconversation, and you picked up on the second chime, so not right this instance, I suppose."
divimage eval returns [Acceptable] due to: 'contingency protocols 0-3 active'
"Excellent. Just a second, then." They put the transmitter back on its hook and terminated the connection with their upper arms, while their lower arms prepared for an intra-city translocation.
The Architect followed his line of sight. "Only three digits for the year? You'll regret that, in 997 years' time."
The Vigilant in front of them swallowed a scream of surprise and twisted back around, almost falling out of his chair in the process of fumbling for his pistol.
They took a step back, apologetically showing the palms of all four of their hands. "Ah, I'm sorry. I should have translocated into the lobby, or outside the door, but it's been a while since I've had cause to come here." The last time was to teleport the Duke's favorite furniture to the periphery. Best not to mention it...
awkward impression | distract [small talk]
They looked from side to side. "You've redecorated, I see."
If the Architect's goal had been to keep him off-balance, they'd succeeded admirably. He didn't exactly have any kind of precedent for this social situation. So, Fargrave blankly stared up at them, unsure what to say. Their head, halfway-covered by the hood of their scarf, was nearly to the ceiling. He'd read the reports, of course, and had known of them ever since he'd been a child, but seeing them in the flesh was still bracing.
Or in... whatever it is they're made of, anyway. He thought. They really did look like a marble statue riddled with brass machinery. Their face, however, was far more animate than that of a statue - almost like skin, but obviously synthetic in some way.
Fargrave put his pistol back in its holster. As if that little thing would've have saved me. Martyr's blood! I'm glad they're not our enemy. Openly, anyway. I can't blame anyone for thinking Hjalsund's death was suspicious. Then again, the Architect wouldn't be the only enemy he'd made during Renewal, and Eric's obfuscation was always a bit lacking... He cleared his throat and reset his posture. "That's-- yes. Thank you. Good idea."
For a little while, the shuffling of the chronometer's digit-cards was the only sound in the office. The human, who'd been holding his breath subconsciously, finally exhaled.
!! introductions / greeting !!
The Architect's shutters suddenly honed in on his eyes. They began: "Well, regardless, it's good to meet the new face of the government here in the Capital. It heartens me, in some small way, to know that such an epithet has been bestowed upon our city." They held out one of their more delicate upper arms across the desk, bending down a bit to do so.
Fargrave shook their hand. It was uncannily warm - if they'd been human, he'd have been worried they were running a fever. "Please, take a seat. Lady Architect."
The Architect obliged, lowering themself into one of the chairs standing in front of the Captaincy's desk. "No need for the title. It was bestowed upon me somewhat against my will by the aviticracy, and I don't think there's any reason you - the Vigil - should honor it."
Something about the way they moved irked him. The way they gradually, meticulously sat down in the undersized chair made him realize what it was: They move like a puppet. A highly advanced puppet piloted by the world's best puppetteer, but still... He shook his head. "Well... what should we call you, then?"
They smiled at him, just as mechanically as they'd sat down. "Why, Architect, of course. If you really must use a secondary epithet, 'Professor' is better than 'Lady'. There's more meaning and merit behind it, though I haven't had the occassion to teach at the Verrécole recently." The smile vanished from their face, efficiently replaced by an expression of polite worry. "Speaking of which, if you need my assistance rebuilding it..."
"That's a 'when', not an 'if'." Fargrave replied. "We're focusing on houses and hospitals before the College, though - just as your servitors have already been doing." Probably just to get all the displaced people out of their yard, judging from the quarters they're focusing on. Maybe that's just me being cynical... He looked at the little list he'd made for this conversation. Initial hiccup aside, it was proceeding smoothly enough for the occassional pleasantry. "I'm sure you'll be glad to have your Spire to yourself again."
moderate enthusiasm | overwrite reg 'Verrécole' with 'College, The'?
Yes, but maintain 'Verrécole' as a secondary definition. They thoughtfully inclined their head. "It certainly wasn't designed to have an encampment at its base. Even if its walls were raised mostly for said encampment's sake." They didactically raised a hand. "Ah, but in a more abstract sense: what is a city without its houses? Without its people?"
Fargrave nodded. "Right you are. Would you perhaps be amenable to selling or leasing a few of your servitors to the Administration dir--"
"No." The Architect shot back, optical apertures dilating slightly. "Regardless of my feelings on the subject, it's not possible. For technical reasons." They paused for a second.
moderate apprehension | frame: confiding
Putting their metallic hands together in an overtly apologetic gesture, the automaton continued: "I never told the ducal government this, but, in truth, they aren't really meaningfully independent from me. Each and every servitor maintains a link to my Spire, from where its actions are directed." With a slight smile, they lied: "It pains me to admit it, but I've yet to find a way to make them truly autonomous."
"Ah, that's..." The Vigilant fell silent. If they hadn't volunteered that particular bit of information, they could've embedded a servitor in our ranks like it was nothing! They could've accessed-- Oh, right, they could just translocate to our archives if they really wanted to, couldn't they? He resolved to make magical detection the Vigil's top priority, then concluded: "That is unfortunate."
"Speaking of the College, however, there is one major favor you could do me." The Architect began, patiently waiting for Fargrave to nod. Once he'd done so, they continued: "As you probably know, most of the undead faculty fled. All of the tenured staff - aside from yours truly - were solidly enmeshed with the ducal government. But there are a few undead staff members - TAs, administrators, and the like - that could really help me ensure the College's continuity. Alas, their mere existence - even mine, by the letter of the law - are currently criminalized."
The automaton's request was implicit. "I see." Fargrave said, keeping his voice neutral. He was in favor, personally, of a residency programme for 'compliant' undead. So little of the city's day-to-day business was left to regular living people... We're in dire need of some civic expertise. After a moment, he gave them an appraising nod. "I'll see what we can do."
agreement 9X% likely
The Architect bowed their head to him, visibly pleased. "That's all I can ask of you, Captain."