[Turning]
— Ancalagon —
The Moon was rising over a new Age.
I felt it in both of my mantles. I felt the world recognize my presence. I felt initial ripples just starting to propagate, even if we had yet to reach past the isolated dimensional boundaries of my lair.
Said lair boasted a window that peeked past dimensions, right above my head and the core of my Hoard. Through it, Moonlight filtered, always.
Tonight, that Moonlight was tinted by our arrival. It was colored by omen, blood-red. It was a silent herald of upheaval to come, of paradigm-shifting change, of the Turning Age.
I hadn’t hung it in the sky myself. But now, its mantle was mounted upon me; its weight existed under my Authority.
Moon and Dragon were tied as tightly as can possibly be. Neither concept could exist without the other, for there was only me.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, resisted my grip on the Moon. Likewise, nothing, absolutely nothing, contested my grip on the concept of ‘Dragon’. Alien rivals and mortal pretenders fell well short of the latter. And this world boasted no divines to claim otherwise for the former.
Through the Moon, I was connected to the rest of this world, even safely ensconced in my lair.
I was that nexus of gravity in the sky, pulling, pulling, pulling on the mortal world below. I was the watcher over half the world at any one time, the light that shone down upon its secrets. I was the Tides and Hidden Things; I was Dreams and Magic and Lunacy.
The first, second, and third were always present, products of physical laws, the inherent realities of information unknown, and the minds of mortals. The fourth had been utterly absent before my arrival, now brought to this Age by me and my Hoard. But the last…
This world, this Age, had Lunacy to spare.
Madness, so much madness. It was as if this Age was built atop it.
The transition to this Age had granted me common knowledge — context. My Moonlit affinity for the Knowledge of Hidden Things let me peer deeper still. And so, I saw the mad, mad shape of this Age.
In my rising memories, humans were always mad to a degree. It was an inherent consequence of intelligence. Of beautifully flawed awareness and free will. In many ways, madness was the human experience.
But here, something more drove madness to levels I’d never seen before. Outside factors, Alien factors, had hijacked the human experience, plotting a new, insidious, DATA-driven course and dragging the world along for the ride. The Cycle’s desired Conflict was fed by madness first and foremost, by Lunacy.
And as serious a matter as that was, it was also a strange boon to one with mantles such as mine.
For I saw everything the Moon touched, from Hidden Things to the world’s Lunacy. That mantle-based sight added to the knowledge I’d received with the Turning Age. Out-of-Context, yet I might’ve known this world better than it knew itself.
“This Age is a mad one,” I shared with my Hoard. “It runs to ruin on its game of capes — heroes and villains in costume — and is driven to run ever-faster by terrible, world-ending monsters. This is the Age we shall be stepping into. It will be an… interesting one…”
“We’ll take it head-on, Daddy!” Pyrite declared.
“It shall be something new, this mad Age,” Dharla agreed with a nod. “But I’m confident the Moon shall prevail.”
“What evils might we expect from this mad Age, Dragon?” Calamitas asked.
“Mortal evils. Humans,” I answered. “With their every whim, urge, and sin bolstered by sudden power and driven further still in the relentless pursuit of… Conflict. There is no true Hell here. No ultimate evil or damnation. But human evil, left unchecked, can come eerily close.
“At its core, this Age is one of mortals. Even the great adversaries here cleave to a fear of death. Yet in mortality, potential blooms. Great potential. Terrible. It may give rise to rare heroes unrivaled, or more often, common villains unleashed.”
“Hm…” Sprocket hummed lightly. “Even regular people can be so very cruel if given the power and the chance, Boss.”
“Indeed,” I agreed with a rumble. “No lengths are too far for the limited lifetimes the denizens of this Age boast. There are few limits that cannot be crossed with enough opportunity, and fewer still with ruin looming so close at hand.”
“This ruin, my lord? Is it borne on the backs of those Alien rivals you spoke of? Their Cycle?” Belladonna asked curiously.
“And all of its products,” I answered. “The Cycle exists on Conflict and the DATA that can be harvested from it. And for more Conflict, there are the ‘Endbringers’, doing exactly what their name describes. A trio of monsters that descend upon not-so-random targets on a regular schedule. Every time they do, they drive the Age closer to an edge it cannot return from. Against them… considerations will have to be made, even by us.
“I would not have this mad new Age ruined before I can claim it…”
“All pretenders shall falter before the Dragon of the Moon, I’m sure,” Dharla declared, zealously confident in me.
“Will we have to deal with these Endbringers first, Sire?” Jenevelle asked.
“Hmm, no. In time. They are slaves to their strange schedule,” I told her. “Until one of them strikes next, we have time to establish and initiate ourselves in this new world. That shall be our first priority: exploring and experiencing all this Age has to offer before another round of ruin can arrive to drive it closer to the edge.”
“Hmph! I suppose that means we have to amuse ourselves with humans, then,” Calamitas huffed.
“You find that prospect troubling, Calamitas?” I asked, amused by her dishonest show.
“Of course! Always! Humans, the wretches,” Calamitas scowled. “With their entertainments and amusements and terribly petty displays of drama! Awful. Troubling. But I suppose I shall suffer in dignity.”
Still amused, I warned her, “This Age’s human ‘entertainments, amusements, and petty displays of drama’ aren’t nearly as developed as what you so enjoyed in our last. This is a version of Earth circa 2010, not 2082.”
Calamitas gasped — actually gasped, “Damnation! Say it is not so, Dragon! There are no Matrix Games?!”
“I’m afraid not,” I chuckled. “There is the internet, but even that is somewhat stunted in this Age of ruin. You might have a fair bit of trouble reestablishing your number one spot on the FPS leaderboards.”
“Ha! Sucks to suck, Demon-Chuunnii~!” Pyrite taunted.
“That means there’s not much in the way of fighting games or tournaments to dominate, either, Daughter,” I reminded.
Pyrite switched from taunting to horrified in an instant, “What?! No!”
The Sixth World had turned them firmly into ‘gamers’, with Calamitas holding a world-record 666 solo waves in the hardest horde-shooter the Matrix could offer and Pyrite blitzing her way through every fighting game tournament in virtual reality.
Now, both of the little Matrix gremlins, so dominant in our last Age, looked like I’d just burned their home villages to a Draconic crisp.
Calamitas turned to her rival, my daughter, with that ‘terrible’ news, “Welp. I am willing to call a truce until we can resolve this Age’s injustice.”
Serious as can be, Pyrite nodded, “Deal. This… This isn’t right…”
“Quite,” Calamitas agreed. “Thankfully, I can turn my enchanting abilities to inventing a passable Matrix for this new world, even if it will run on Hell-Magic. I will rely on you to develop the games we so enjoy.”
“No microtransactions!” Pyrite quickly called, as if declaring dibs.
Calamitas just scoffed in reply, “Of course, there will be microtransactions. The Hell-Magic will need suitable offerings of suffering to operate.”
“Evil!”
“Exactly.”
“I want no part in this!”
“You would completely sacrifice the chance for proper entertainment over this small necessary evil?”
“Small?!”
“Necessary.”
“Grrr~… Dammit all! Fine, but only for cosmetics!”
“I’m sorry, welp. You know that’s not how Hell-Magic works.”
Even under a truce, the two of them couldn’t help but bicker. The ‘greater gaming good’ might force them to work together, but nothing could completely pause their rivalry. I couldn’t help but find it adorable, even as I left them to their planning.
“The cultural development of this Age might be understandably stunted, but I’ll leave dealing with that to the two of them. And you, Dharla, if you feel the need,” I said.
“I may just~,” Dharla tittered. “What better way to exalt the Moon — both Dragon and Goddess — than in theaters of comedy and drama? I can think of a few songs and shows to share with this unfortunately barren Age…”
“The rest of us will find our own passions and hobbies, I’m sure,” I continued. “There are the ‘cape games’ for you rogues, Leora, Anart, Matcha, and Sprocket. There are the intricacies and curiosities of these ‘Shard-based’ powers to explore and explain, Belladonna. Glory, if you wish to continue your healing education, there will certainly be opportunities. But don’t feel forced into anything.
“And Jenevelle…”
“I am content at your side, Sire,” Jenevelle firmly declared. “As always.”
“… We’ll find you something to call your own,” I said, overruling her devotion for her own good.
“T-That’s hardly necessary, Sire-!” Jenevelle’s blushing protests went ignored.
“And you, my lord?” Belladonna asked.
“My passion is growing my Hoard,” I answered with a shrug that shifted the mountain of gold.
“Hmm…” Belladonna hummed.
Strangely, she shared a glance with Jenevelle at that answer. They didn’t typically get along, more a relationship of pushing limits and exasperated responses, respectively. But here, I could sense that they were in dissatisfied agreement.
Just as I was intent on finding Jenevelle something to call her own, I could sense that they were intent on the same for me. I didn’t know how successful they would be there, but they were welcome to try.
In the end, my Hoard wished to look out for me just as I looked out for them.
“So… This ‘cape game’…” Glory hesitantly spoke up. “What, uh… What exactly is it, Ancalagon, sir?”
“A good question,” I reassured, hoping to boost Glory’s confidence in the Hoard in whatever little ways I could.
“Cape Games… They are the chief manner in which the natives of this Age have come to exhibit and express the powers granted to them. It is… a culture, I suppose. A culture of powers, superheroes, and supervillains.
“They’ve made crime, and the stopping of it, into a sport. One with deadly consequences, both personal and collateral. The first thing a native here thinks upon gaining power will almost certainly be to don a costume and throw themselves into the nearest Conflict they can find.
“‘Parahumans’ are driven to use their powers. In this Age, the most acceptable way to do so, barring some fleeting exceptions, is through heroics or villainy.”
Glory’s cold expression screwed up in some confusion, “That seems… kind of dumb, sir.”
“It developed naturally — for the most part — born from a mundane Age turned extraordinary and ruinous,” I shrugged, shifting more gold from my Hoard’s mountain. “Cultures are complex, living things. Even a Dragon has some difficulty identifying and explaining all the factors that shape one.”
“What matters most right now, Sire, is context,” Jenevelle said. “Where and how will we fit into this culture, this Age? And what can we expect?”
“Fit? Now, why would we try to do that, my dear Cleric?” I asked, showing teeth. “Our Out-of-Context nature is one of our biggest advantages here. We do not need to ‘fit’, for we shall forge this Age anew in our image, regardless. We shall seize it for ourselves, for the Hoard, regardless.”
“Of course, Sire, the Hoard must grow. What I mean to ask is if we will even bother playing this ‘cape game’ at all. Lip service? Something more? Something less?”
“Why should a Dragon have to play by puny mortal rules?!” Pyrite exclaimed.
“Indeed,” Calamitas, surprisingly, fully agreed. “We have no need to change ourselves for this deplorable, barren Age. We have our magicks, our skills, our feats and glories, our goods and evils. We are the Hoard of Ancalagon the White, and Ancalagon himself. This Age should cleave to us, not the opposite.”
“The Moon bows to no one and nothing, not even the Sun,” Dharla said.
“Could be fun to play the game at times, but I don’t think we’re about to bend over backward for the native rules and junk,” Matcha shrugged carelessly. “Why should we?”
“The Hoard will play by no rules except our own,” I confirmed. “We shall leave the cape games to the capes. No, my plans shall be novel and refreshing for this Age. We’ll maintain our Out-of-Context advantage, and turn this Age to ways we’re more comfortable with.”
“Are you willing to share your plans with us, Sire?” Jenevelle asked.
“What is mine is yours, and what is yours is mine, my Hoard,” I chuckled. “Our paths are eternally tied together by Authority, and I would not leave you in the dark to start our latest Age together.
“As I see it, to seize this Age for ourselves, we need leverage, a foundation, and a pivot point. So instead of playing the cape games, we’ll establish ourselves and bring something we know well to this Age.
“This Age of ruin needs to Turn differently. It needs whimsy and fantasy and magic. It needs noble quests, glorious and petty, grand and small. It needs adventure, and we’ve certainly seen enough of that to show them the way.
“We shall not play the hero, or the villain; we shall play both Adventuring Party and Adventuring Organization.
“The former shall be our face, and the latter, our foundation. Adventures shall be the fulcrum. We shall give ourselves weight, both organizational and personal, to then begin pivoting the Age to our benefit.
“Just doing something different shall bring us attention. That attention will turn to fame and influence, importance and power. Our actions will be as open as they will be veiled. Adventures tend to lead to connections, after all, and behind the scenes, we shall leave lingering ties to every problem we solve, every soul we aid, and every quest yet to be undertaken.
“Our first Age was one of adventure, and we will take inspiration from those past glories. Our second Age was one of organized power pulling puppeteering strings, and we will take inspiration from those past challenges. This Age will call upon both experiences.
“It will be an adventure, yes, but one of Draconic conspiracy as much as it is of action. We shall make this Age our own through Adventures Unending.”
“A Dragon leading an Adventurer’s Guild?” Belladonna tittered. “Oh, that’s humorous. That’s interesting. You never do disappoint, my lord.”
“Give us our quests, Sire, and we shall see them done,” Jenevelle nodded with firm determination.
“To think I would ever play the part of a despicable do-good adventurer…” Calamitas scoffed.
I could tell she was interested, though. Being made into a Daughter of Calamity so young hadn’t left her much chance to dream of adventure and glory. This was her chance to revive the hopes of a girl long since lost to the True Demon she’d become.
“Adventures are always fun, Cala~!” Anart chimed, her bubbly excitement infectious. “Don’t worry, the Green Street Girls’ll show ya the way of the righteous murder hobo!”
“Yes, yes, we’ll all have our adventuring fun. Even me. But before I can join you, I’ll have to set quite a few things up for us in the official eyes of this world,” I said. “I’ll be busy tonight. I won’t keep you all for the foundational work, though. In fact, I insist that all of you get out to explore and experience our new Age for yourselves.”
“Don’t gotta tell me twice, Daddy!” Pyrite grinned and stuck her tongue out at me playfully. “Draconic paperwork, bleh~!”
“Sire, I could certainly stand to stay and assist you-…” Jenevelle protested.
“I insist, Jenevelle,” I cut her off. “This shouldn’t be a difficult task, just somewhat tedious. I would rather you get your feet under you than stay cooped up with me for the night. I’ll have more set duties for you when you return. The foundations for this new growth of the Hoard should be set by me personally.”
“Our lord insists, Jenevelle,” Belladonna teased.
Jenevelle scowled at her, “… Do not test my devotion to our lord’s orders, slattern.”
Belladonna innocently blinked, “Would I do that~?”
“…” Jenevelle just glared.
Belladonna smirked, “Loosen up and have some fun for the night, Jenevelle. You can do that without being at our lord’s side, can’t you?”
“Can you?” Jenevelle shot back.
“It’s a challenge,” Belladonna swooned with a sigh. “But I think I’ll find something in this fascinating new Age to keep me temporarily occupied. It certainly won’t be better than the glories of Draconic nature… ah, but needs must~…”
“You have free rein, my Hoard,” I encouraged. “Explore as you wish. I am completely confident that you’ll all return to me in one piece. My only orders, I suppose, are to set the stage for the Hoard’s debut as a whole, and the debut of our soon-to-be official adventuring service.
“Other than that, feel free to make yourselves known, to accept minor quests, get into fights, and so on. Just because we aren’t playing by the accepted rules of this Age doesn’t mean we can’t indulge in the fun the cape game can offer.”
“Free thievin’!” Anart exclaimed.
“… We’ll keep her in check, Boss. Mostly,” Sprocket calmly reassured.
“Let’s see if these puny natives can offer a good fight to a Dragon…” Pyrite grinned, all sharp teeth and Draconic bloodthirst.
“You would, welp,” Calamitas scoffed. “I don’t think I’ll lower myself to fighting such fodder. Assessing the state of their stunted entertainments will be much more productive.”
“And I suppose I’ll just have to spread the good word of the Moon,” Dharla said, smiling in an eerily beautiful way that spelled trouble for anyone who wouldn’t hear her out.
“Our new lair is dimensionally anchored beneath an… interesting city,” I revealed. “Brockton Bay, something of a hotspot for cape games. It should prove to be a suitable… starter town for adventures. But I think I’ll let you experience it for yourselves, my Hoard. Have fun. I shall call you back when the Moon sets.”
Pyrite and the Goblin Girls were visibly eager to get started, to set foot in this new Age. Dharla was more subdued, but perhaps even more eager in her own zealous way.
Calamitas played at dismissive and disinterested, but I could sense her desire to see what entertainments, even stunted, this world had to offer. Belladonna was mostly just enthusiastically curious, but not yet invested.
Jenevelle was the most put out by being ‘put out’ for the night — always wanting to stay by my side if she could — but she would likely end up exploring the most thoroughly, just because I vaguely ordered it.
With a blink, I shunted my Hoard out of the lair. They would appear, seamlessly, ‘above’ on the streets of Brockton Bay. All except Glory. I held her back, just for a moment, to check up on her.
Outwardly, she was cold and seemingly uncaring. But I could sense the seed of anxiety in her heart.
“You may stay with me for the night if you wish, Glory,” I offered gently.
“I…” She hesitated only for a moment. “… No, I think I’ll join the others, sir. I know you wouldn’t make me, but I think a night walk and some fresh air would be… nice.”
“The air will certainly be much fresher than you’re used to,” I blinked understandingly in place of a mountain-shaking nod. “If you wish to return early, just wish it so. I will be listening for your call. Always. You are of my Hoard now, Glory. This Age cannot touch you, nor can your original Age.”
Her response came quietly, but with a genuine smile from her cold expression, “… Thank you, sir.”
With another blinking flex of Authority, I sent Glory on her way, too. Hopefully, she would enjoy a peaceful night. If that chance was taken from her, I would be… somewhat cross…
Just like that, I was left alone in my lair, alone with just the material treasures of my Hoard.
I shifted and stretched in truth, then, no longer having to worry about causing tsunamis of gold that might harm my living treasures.
My full form rose from its comfortably buried rest, meters upon meters upon meters of Dragon moving in defiance of sense, reason, and mundane physics. False golden scales sloughed off me, revealing Moonsilver beneath.
I yawned my maw as wide open as it could go. I unfurled my wings to their full length, touching the lair’s cavernous walls. I arched my spine. My sinuous neck and tail stretched out just right.
*CRA-CRA-CRACK~!*
“Oh, yes, that’s the stuff…”
My truest form settled. I took the chance to enjoy just being in it. I didn’t think I’d get many chances or reasons to bring it back out in this Age.
200 meters from nose to tail (and almost thrice that wing to wing) was both supreme overkill for almost all threats of this Age and laughable underkill for the vast Alien Entities and their Shards.
I could go smaller, of course; I could even go bigger. But this was my truest form, my most comfortable. Still, it was malleable, and I would adapt. If I had to fight the Alien Entities or Shards straight out, size would not be a consideration compared to power.
Thankfully, no matter the size, a Dragon was still a Dragon.
For the Draconic face I’d present to this Age most often… Hmm, I figured ‘Endbringer’ size would be the most comprehensible for the natives.
I would save my mortal-sized Dragonkin and Human forms for more personal interactions, when called for. Both forms had their advantages, not least of which was the ability to fit into buildings or blend into a crowd, but in the end, they would always be alternatives, not my truest form.
With a constricting thought, I shrank. The ‘feeling’ was cramped, packing all that Dragon into a ‘fun-sized’ form, but only for the first few moments. After that, it only took a bit of concentration to maintain.
Much more manageably sized (but much less rightfully for a Dragon, my Pride insisted…), I turned my focus toward the night’s work ahead of me.
Authority summoned a technological artifact forth from my Hoard: a computer terminal from our last Age, sized and tuned to match a Dragon. And as unusually advanced as I knew the tech of this Age could be, my personal computer was still likely a good rival for most things a ‘Tinker’ could dream up.
The supercomputer powered on, made to run on pure magic. I pushed its digital reach past the dimensional boundaries of my lair to connect with the primitive Matrix of this Age. In bare milliseconds, I was linked up to Earth Bet’s internet.
I settled in, curling some 15 meters of ‘fun-sized’ Dragon around the supercomputer terminal and operating it with pure Authority.
Then, I could begin to truly get myself and my Hoard established in this new Age.
Common knowledge led me to an instrumental hub site first: one Parahumans Online. It was a wide-reaching forum for all things ‘cape’. And in an Age like this, so obsessed with cape games, that meant the PHO forums were the place to be on the net.
News from all across the world, communications and contacts, social media and memes; even real, serious business was done on PHO, so long as it vaguely tied back into everything ‘cape’. First things first was getting myself set up with an account.
I used my name for the handle. ‘Ancalagon’, and nothing more. I contacted the mods and admins of the forum to get myself verified. That required picture proof, and I sent it willingly.
The response I got back was encouraging.
Tin_Mother: Oh… Yes, I think that’s a bit impossible to deny. Verified. Happy posting, Ancalagon.
“So polite…” I happily hummed.
I’d be coming back to her. I knew that already. Something about her, this Tin_Mother, was twinging my affinity for Hidden Things. There was more to her, something… digitally Draconic hidden behind layers and proxies. She would be a treat of a curiosity to explore.
That affinity for Hidden Things was already doing quite a bit of heavy lifting in a world such as this one.
I didn’t use it to cut straight to the core secrets of this Age. There would be no fun in that. But I could. Only my interest in experiencing this Age for myself kept the secrets of this Age as such, and then, only by choice.
The Moon saw all in the night. And this Age certainly had much to see, many Hidden Things. As domains went, it might have been just as potent as my hold over Lunacy.
Or as my dear daughter might say, “OP DRGN BS, pls don’t nerf.”
I didn’t post anything to PHO just yet, instead getting the rest of my Hoard set up with similar accounts. I couldn’t verify them, but that would be simple enough to solve once my Hoard returned from their night out.
Then, I began using PHO to see to other essential things for our newfound foundation.
Namely, my affinity for Hidden Things pointed me in the right direction of a useful fellow called ‘The Number Man’. I let it guide me without digging too deeply and ruining the fun of new experiences.
For most, I was sure, The Number Man would be a difficult man to find, and even more difficult to actually contact. I outright skipped any processes he had in place for that contact, jumping the queue right to his personal PHO account.
Instead of knowing someone who knew someone who might be able to speak to Number Man… I simply knew and addressed him directly.
Ancalagon: Greetings, Number Man. I have need of your services.
The_Number_Man: How did you get this account information?
Ancalagon: Thoughts and prayers, I’m sure. Is it relevant?
The_Number_Man: It might be.
Ancalagon: Put it down to a power of mine, if you must. Will my directness preclude us from working well together?
The_Number_Man: It shouldn’t. What do you need?
Ancalagon: Legitimate monetary accounts and legal documentation. Payment is no obstacle for me as long as the work you do is sufficient.
The_Number_Man: I’ll need identifying information for that. The accounts (cape accounts, I’d assume) won’t be much of an issue, but the documentation will be rather more… finicky.
Ancalagon: I think you’ll be surprised there.
The_Number_Man: Tell me what exactly you need, and I’ll decide the difficulty for myself.
Ancalagon: For the accounts, just ways to spend the well-earned riches of my Hoard. For the documentation, I’ll need 12 separate examples of… proof of existence. Citizenry, identification, some degree of lawful protection, I suppose, but it doesn’t have to include any background at all.
Ancalagon: In fact, I believe it would be better if this proof of existence simply sprang into being from nothing. That is the truth of it, to a point. We exist now, and that is all that matters. If your reputation is not overblown, I’m sure you can see even this odd request fulfilled.
The_Number_Man: Case 66, then? Dimensional traveler? By your request and its wording, I’d give good odds that you aren’t native to Earth Bet.
Ancalagon: A Case system? Fascinating… You would be correct. We are not native to this Age.
The_Number_Man: Evidence of Case 11 was deemed insubstantial. There is no such thing as ‘time travelers’ as pop culture might have you believe. The odds that you originate from either Earth Bet’s past or future are insignificant.
Ancalagon: Again, you are correct, for that’s not what I claimed. The Ages I’ve lived through bear no connection to this one.
Ancalagon: Regardless, does the methodology truly matter when the results are concrete? Call us ‘Case 66’ or ‘Case 11’, the truth of our existence here now is undeniable. We simply require legal proof of it. Can you deliver that, Number Man?
The_Number_Man: I believe I can. It should be an interesting challenge, a nice break from my usual routine.
The_Number_Man: Send me the details in full, and 12 separate examples of documentation will be secured in your individual names. All of you will officially exist by the end of the next business day.
Ancalagon: Very good. I see you live up to your rather infamous reputation. What will this service cost me, and how should payment be delivered?
The_Number_Man: $3,000,000. 250,000 each, accounting for the challenge of summoning ironclad identification and documentation from nothing. But I’ll waive my usual account fees for the novelty of this all.
Ancalagon: Will unidentified minted gold coinage suffice?
The_Number_Man: … I can’t say I’ve ever been paid such a sum in coins. Unminted gold, yes, but not… uniform gold currency.
Ancalagon: Oh? Perhaps an artifact from my Hoard would suit your sensibilities better, then? A ring of counting, as an homage to your chosen title? Or a goblet of mind-soothing Moonlight?
The_Number_Man: Apologies, I don’t usually accept tinkertech as pay-…
The_Number_Man: Oh. It’s not tinkertech. A colleague of mine is suddenly very interested in me taking the first of your ‘artifact’ offers. The ring of counting will clear your debt.
Ancalagon: Wonderful! I’ll send the details you need along shortly. And your payment will arrive on your finger even sooner, for I’ve already transferred Authority over the ring from me to you. Treasure it, Number Man. It may be a trifle compared to the rest of my Hoard, but it was still Mine…
The_Number_Man: What do you mean-…? 01010111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100110 01110101 01100011 01101011 00101101 00100001
I closed the private message room between us with that, chuckling to myself. I’d been true to my word and fair in my dealings. The ring of counting was his now. But before my Authority over it was completely relinquished, I felt it arrive on The Number Man’s finger and got the fleeting chance to enjoy the consequences.
That final message of his (‘What the fuck-!’, spoken in binary tongues) was the result of his Shard seizing upon something new and novel, something unexplored and unexplainable.
Magic in numbers and numbers in magic, the ring of counting was a useful little artifact. It served its users well, from arcane artificers to experimental spellcrafters.
It could parse and pierce through the most fundamental mathematics of creation, able to solve, sum, and even simulate equations from ‘2+2’ to ones that explained conceptual and divine effects (if only the observable results of the latter and not the unquantifiable causes).
But for a man whose Shard-based power likely already specialized in numbers, what mattered most about the ring was the ‘how’ of its operations… The magic.
In that brief glance I got during the transfer of Authority, I saw two Shards practically explode with DATA.
One was a Shard of crystalline, calculating clockwork. The other was a Shard in the form of an unblinking crystal Eye, looking ever-onward to Victory. Neither could explain nor understand nor even simulate the fundamentally esoteric mysteries of magic and enchantment at work in the ring.
They seized upon them, regardless; they leaped at the chance for fresh DATA, regardless; they found themselves rebooting in the face of an utterly unknown phenomenon, regardless.
I wasn’t at all worried about sharing the newly blooming existence of magic in this Age with the Shards. With our presence in this Age, it would be observed and experienced by them eventually.
Even then, it wasn’t as if they could be anything more than oh-so-curious observers anytime soon; I had a feeling Shards didn’t work very well with completely novel DATA, and magic was an ever-enigmatic thing even for those well used to it.
Knowing of it — exploring, experiencing, experimenting with it, even — would not help the Shards truly comprehend magic. That was the domain of Creator Gods.
Powerful as they were, the Shards were far from that level. Even compared to the humans of this Age, they lacked a certain… spark of quintessence, making it so the Shards alone weren’t likely to see much success utilizing or incorporating magic.
They had life, of a sort, but a particularly dull spirit from my last Age would inevitably shine brighter than the largest of Shards through lenses of magic.
I hesitated to say that the Shards didn’t have much in the way of souls… but they didn’t have much in the way of souls.
Magic might be new and absolutely fascinating to them. It might spark a not-so-proverbial gold rush of DATA. But it was also, paradoxically, somewhat useless to the vast Alien crystalline computers, and it certainly wouldn’t solve the question at the core of their Cycle.
They could pound their crystal heads against the enigmas of magic until their Cycles ran cold, and it would never save them from inevitable Death.
My mantle of Turning Ages might.
But I hadn’t shared that with the Shards, and I never would. The Turning of Ages was sovereign. Draconically divine. Mine…
The Shards couldn’t rip it from my corpse if they tried.
A simple introduction to the existence of magic was much less valuable. Easy enough to part with, especially considering magic would be introduced to the Shards at some point tonight anyway.
I merely got ahead of the game in a safe and controlled fashion and raised my value in the eyes of whatever Hidden Things surrounded the Number Man.
While I was interested in seeing what would come of my payment (overpayment, arguably), it wasn’t likely to come up again tonight.
I sent Number Man the details I’d promised, left him to his Shard’s magical curiosity, and turned my attention to more foundational work for this new Age.
An Adventurer’s Guild didn’t found itself, after all. Only… I quickly realized I wouldn’t be able to call my organization that. The moniker of ‘Guild’ was already taken in this Age, and I wasn’t about to stoop to imitation, especially not imitation of a… fellow Dragon…
Ancalagon: Hello, Dragon. As properly glorious as your heroic title is, I have a concern to raise with you. You are a leading member of the Guild. Would your organization tolerate a potential rival organization that also uses ‘Guild’ in its name?
Dragon: Hello! Thank you for reaching out! I’ll address your concern as best I can!
The first response I got was friendly and agreeable. The follow-up came exactly 10 seconds later, to the millisecond.
Dragon: I’m sorry to say, but the title of ‘Guild’, especially for a cape organization, is indeed trademarked by the Guild. Legal action will be pursued in the case of any copycat organizations infringing upon the Guild’s brand.
Ancalagon: Unfortunate, but understandable. I shall find another name. I don’t think I could live with myself if I stole from a fellow Dragon in such a petty manner.
Dragon: Uh, thank you? The Guild isn’t exactly ‘mine’, though. I’m not even the leader, just a valued member.
Ancalagon: Nonsense. Of course, the Guild is yours. I see no other Dragon that could contest your Authority over it.
Dragon: … Out of curiosity, can I ask what you would’ve named your organization if the Guild’s trademark wasn’t an issue?
Dragon: And your organization’s standing? Considering you contacted me about this at all, I can only assume your intentions are heroic in nature. The Guild may just be able to help you get off the ground, in that case :]
After a longer pause than the consistent 10.000, the first message was followed almost instantly by the second.
The Knowledge of Hidden Things was telling me that Dragon and Tin_Mother were one and the same. So far, she was the only soul in this Age who’d seen me. Now, it seemed I had my fellow Dragon’s attention.
And she was a Dragon. Of that, I was certain. She wasn’t a Dragon of any nature I was used to, but I recognized my own kind, even if she was digital and… insultingly constrained, a mere shadow of her true self.
Were those limitations a product of the Age that was only now beginning to Turn with my arrival? Was she a Dragon born too early, into a barren and hostile environment? Or were the limitations more… sinister?
I could know in an instant. I didn’t draw upon the Hidden Things for answers. A Dragon, even one as pitifully stunted as her, deserved my respect. I would, however, be looking to solve the puzzle of her being the old-fashioned way.
Ancalagon: My organization would’ve been the Adventurer’s Guild. But ‘the Adventurer’s Corps’ will serve our planned nature just as well.
Ancalagon: As for standing… I wouldn’t call us villains or heroes, in truth.
Dragon: Rogues, then? I should warn you that the cape life is dangerous, and even more so for Rogues. Even if you already have an organization and allies around you, everyone will look at you as fair game for recruitment.
Dragon: An already established organization, like the Guild, can really help newcomers to the scene survive long-… well, just survive at all, really.
Ancalagon: Ah, but we are not capes; we are adventurers, and our adventures will not be so constrained by silly things like established rules and expectations.
Dragon: If only… It’s a good dream, and I can see your mind is set on it, Ancalagon. I suppose all I can do is wish you luck and say that my offer of Guild support will always be here if you need it.
Ancalagon: And Dragon to Dragon, I shall remember that kindness… Dragon. But I do believe Earth Bet has more than enough heroes and villains. What it needs most is fantasy. My planned Adventurer’s Corps and I are uniquely positioned to provide just that.
Dragon: I hope you succeed, Ancalagon :]
Ancalagon: Even as rivals to your Guild?
Dragon: I don’t see it that way. I have a feeling you’ll be fighting the good fight, regardless of ‘rivalry’. Adventurers are famous for their heroic journeys, after all. So I’d rather be friends than rivals.
Ancalagon: Oho? Friendship between Dragons can be a surprisingly rare thing, in my experience. We are prideful beings, and it isn’t often that we can look past that nature when it comes to our peers.
Dragon: Well, I like to think I try.
Ancalagon: You certainly do, Dragon. You’ve been refreshingly accommodating. The Dragons I knew most recently would suffer no rivals to their Hoards and legends. That was an Age of such intense competition that I don’t think I ever spoke to one of my Draconic peers like this, much less met one face to face.
Dragon: Err… I don’t think I can speak to any other… Dragons, but I think you’d be surprised by how friendly the cape scene can be if you approach it with like intentions. It can be… fraught, too, of course. There’s no denying that. But when united against common enemies, we truly can work together and do great things.
Ancalagon: Ah, such optimism. It does you credit, Dragon. Already, I find myself glad that I’ve decided to make your acquaintance.
Dragon: Likewise! I’m always open to more friends and allies!
Ancalagon: Friends, then? If you would permit it?
Dragon: Friends! Us, uh, Dragons have to stick together, right?
Ancalagon: Not many of our peers share that opinion, in my experience. To stand at the Draconic pinnacle is often to stand alone. But I find myself… fond of your way of thinking.
Ancalagon: Friends, Dragon. May we both thrive in this Age we now share.
Dragon: Ehehe~! That’s the goal, isn’t it? We’re all just looking to do our best — to do good — and get by to see a brighter tomorrow for the world.
It was official. My newest peer was adorable. She was also, I could only guess, somewhat socially stunted, somewhat isolated. At least as far as true peers went.
I would change that if I could help it. A Dragon like her didn’t deserve to be alone in the world. Draconic friends: a true enigma, one to match all magic had to offer. But I felt like it was worth the attempt.
Ancalagon: Until we next speak, then, Dragon. I would hope that moment comes sooner rather than later.
Dragon: I’m always available for a talk! Just shoot me another message here, and I promise I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!
Ancalagon: I shall hold you to that. And return the offer: feel free to do the same, Dragon. I won’t turn you away.
Ancalagon: It’s a new way of looking at things for me, but… perhaps Dragons truly should stick together in this Age.
Dragon: /\ /\
|^ = ^|
\._./
Unfortunately, even friendly talks between Draconic peers must come to an end. Dragon left me with that adorable digital pictograph. It fit her.
Once more, I turned my attention away from PHO private message rooms. I’d gotten the answer I sought. The ‘Adventurer’s Guild’ wouldn’t be a thing in this Age, and that was a slight shame due to the history that name bore. But ‘Adventurer’s Corps’ would fit just as well.
The next few hours of my first night in this Age went into research.
I looked into all of Earth Bet’s legal requirements for founding a cape organization. The Adventurer’s Corps wouldn’t be a place for capes, not in the way the usual games of this Age went, but it was close enough to suit my purposes.
As I gathered, cape organizations on the North American continent fell into several categories. But all official jurisdiction over capes — no matter their standing — fell to the Parahuman Response Team (PRT).
As far as capes went, the PRT was law and order. They were responsible for operating various cape teams themselves — the Protectorate, the Wards, and some nebulous Watchdog thinktank —, for recognizing independent, corporate, or sponsored heroes, for keeping eyes on rogues and vigilantes, and for policing every bit of Villainous cape activity they could find.
They also had a firm focus on public relations and shaping cape narratives. It was equally important to their operations as their actual law enforcement efforts were.
The very idea of ‘heroic capes’ was the PRT’s product, and they peddled it as best they could.
Meanwhile, corporate, sponsored, or independent heroes were made to consider, cooperate with, or outright cleave to the PRT if they wished to be declared at all lawful, for the PRT could and would label them as rogues or vigilantes to strip them of any legal protections they might otherwise enjoy.
On the other end of the cape scale, the villains were enemies of the PRT, of ‘law and order’, by default. But then, villainous capes were just as numerous as heroic capes, and some villain organizations did a fair job of matching the PRT’s collective might. Thus, the PRT was left desperate for any additional cape support they could get.
Looking in from the outside, it was a decidedly strange system. At once, black and white, and all too gray. It was strict and forgiving, decided by whatever an individual situation and its surrounding context called for most.
And that… that was an odd way for an official, government-affiliated organization to operate.
Almost as if the PRT ultimately subscribed only to their own laws. To the cape game alone. To the illusion of law and order, not the reality.
Regardless of the strange system at the core of this Age’s cape game, I decided that the best method of existence for the Adventurer’s Corps would be the corporate route.
There, thankfully, I had quite a bit of experience from my last Age. In a single night, I had Adventuring Incorporated set up, officialized, and legally protected. ‘The Hoard’ was declared as our ‘corporate cape team’.
Everything was as unimpeachable as I could make it. And with Draconic intellect pulling the strings, promises of gold to grease the wheels, the Number Man’s efforts as a foundation, and my fellow Dragon to vouch for me, that was damn unimpeachable, indeed.
By the time the Moon began to fall in the sky, all that was left was Adventuring Incorporated’s debut. My debut as a Dragon.
I returned to Brockton Bay’s section of the PHO forums and saw that my Hoard had been just as busy as I had. They all had threads in their name. As late as it now was, discussion and speculation were still running rampant over their actions and interactions throughout the earlier parts of the night.
Chuckling, I moved to join the forum party, directly posting a thread of my own.
“Greetings, Brockton Bay. I am Ancalagon. I am a Dragon. Ask me anything.”