The Great Core's Paradox - Chapter 275: Those of Erandur

I shifted about upon my Coreless-self’s shoulder, trying to find a better position from which to overlook the Great Core’s newest followers. There weren’t that many of them, all told. Regrettably, we had found more bodies of Coreless than living Coreless in our attempts to scour the tower-nest before its inevitable destruction. By the time the inferno reached its peak, sending much of the tower-nest crashing down and preventing us from searching any further, we’d only managed to save around thirty Coreless in total – most of them extremely old, or extremely young.

And every time I saw one of the lost, dead Coreless – those who should have become followers of the Great Core as was only right – I saw red.

This blasphemy would not go unpunished.

The Coreless that I had recently saved, as well as the other new converts of the many-nest, felt their own [sorrow] at the horrible understanding of what was lost. Devout as they were, the loss of potential followers for the Great Core surely felt like venomous fangs striking at their very hearts. Some even fell to the ground, weeping at the thought.

The sight gladdened me, even in the midst of my righteous anger; though many were lost, the Great Core had still gained true believers, as was only just, so dedicated to the Great Core that the loss of its potential believers felt as if it were a loss of their own.

“…I still can’t believe that they went this far,” I heard a Coreless say, shaking his head. It was the one who’d arrived with the Grateful One, having followed in our wake after we traveled to the flame-infested tower-nest. In front of him, the inferno still blazed atop the tower-nest – or, rather, what was left of it. Much of the Coreless structure had already toppled under the effects of the flames, falling upon itself in a cacophonous collapse. He looked dazed, his eyes blank like that of a bad-thing that had recently made the mistake of charging face-first into an unyielding wall. The Grateful One stood beside him, covered in her dark ore-flesh, and returned to him a look filled with [understanding].

“I know, Ewan,” she said. “It’s one thing to know what someone is willing to do – what they have done. It’s another to witness it for yourself. It’s…something that can’t ever be forgotten. Even when you want to.”

His hand twisted into a ball, knuckles running white with tension. “…I won’t,” he finally said, letting the tension release. The Grateful One seemed [satisfied] with whatever it was that he said, even if that feeling was tinged with [sympathy] and [sadness].

I moved on from the two Coreless, slithering off from my perch atop my Coreless-self and towards towards where I could see the-female-who-was-not-Needle making noises at one of the first of the Coreless that we’d saved from the flames – the one who had carried my [Little Guardian’s Totem] with him, and who I had witnessed attempting to save his fellow Coreless so that they might live to provide the Great Core its proper reverence.

“…wouldn’t take no for an answer,” he was saying, a stream of nonsensical noises spilling from his lips. “I was near the entrance when they arrived, as I had already found out that the [Little Guardian’s Totem] I was wearing stopped working just at the edge of the tower; I needed to be closer to show anyone what it could do. Because of that, there was already a good-sized crowd gathered. That’s when they came across. They…didn’t even really say anything. Not at first. Just started grabbing people, throwing some to the ground and clapping chains around their limbs, while pointing their spears at the rest. I’m not even sure the fire was necessarily on purpose at first. Just a torch that got knocked over in the chaos. But…they sure capitalized on it, in the end. Grabbed everyone that tried to run out, killed anyone who resisted too much to capture, and then blocked the way out as they left.”

I slithered closer still, the stream of noises pausing as the-female-who-was-not-Needle bent over to pluck me from the ground and place me upon her shoulder. The speaking Coreless stared at me, and I hissed a greeting before he began making his noises once more.

Not-Needle continued to listen with an air of [solemnity] that was tied together with an all consuming [anger]; it was an odd mix. I could tell, based on the subtle vibrations of her ore-flesh below me, that she was simultaneously desiring to spring into action – to rush off and leave the noise-making Coreless behind – and to stay and listen to him further.

“…after that, I managed to drag myself close enough to the wall of the tower that my wounds started to heal,” he continued, one hand clutching at the [Little Guardian’s Totem] hanging from his neck. “It took a little while; by the time that I made it there, the flames had already grown so much that there was no hope of me stopping them. There were chil-” he stopped with an odd choke, wetness collecting in his eyes. Not-Needle reached over to place a hand on his shoulder, and he hung his head. “I did what I could,” he finally said. “But…”

“You did more than anyone could ask for.”

As the two Coreless fell into silence, my other disciples began to congregate within the area. Their expressions mirrored the [solemnity] and [anger] of not-Needle’s own. Each of them had witnessed the devastation wrought upon the tower-nest, though not so personally as the-female-who-had-not-Needle had been able. By the time they arrived, all that could be saved had been, and those who would be lost were already lost. Even so, it was clear that the loss of the Great Core’s potential followers had hit them hard, as it would any of its devout faithful.

I hissed my approval at the sight. As tragic as the loss was, it was good to see that the Great Core’s Coreless understood their priorities.

Will, his jaw set in a hard line, was the last of the disciples to arrive. His ore-flesh-clad form seemed even more radiant than usual, though I knew that wasn’t possible; its mana, long since captured from a Lesser Core, was static. Still, he gave off a commanding aura, forcing the other disciples to straighten their backs and raise their heads.

Soon enough, the remainder of the Coreless began to flow into the area, pulled from the surrounding area as if by a preternatural sense for the importance of what would come next. They seemed eager to draw close, to listen in. Desperate for instruction and command in the wake of the blasphemers’ most recent strike. Even the little ones drew close, clinging to the hands of their caretakers all the while.

Will looked around, noting the sudden presence of the crowd – at how [eager] they were to hear him, as if simple noises could take their [grief] and [anger] and [helplessness] and turn them towards something better. I watched the moment the noises he’d been planning to make stuck in his craw, forgotten.

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And then, through the connection between us, I felt him decide on something different. He cleared his throat, turning away from his fellow disciples and toward the gathered crowd.

“We are of Orken,” he began. “We were not born among your towers, nor as one of your people. We are not of Erandur. But even so, each and every one of us can recognize the great injustice that exists in the towers of this city. And no, I do not mean what happened here today – though that is surely one of the greatest injustices imaginable.”

He paused for a moment, a few sobs running through the gathered crowd. Even those who had not been saved from the nearby tower-nest, who had traveled across the cavern alongside my disciples, were not immune to it.

“Because what happened here today is a symptom of a much larger disease,” Will continued, his voice cutting through the solemn air. “It is a disease that festers within the heart of Erandur itself, spreading its corruption like a plague, and poisoning the minds of those who wield power over others – of those who think that, because they have that power, they are somehow better.”

I hissed, feeling the [conviction] in my disciple’s voice, even if I didn’t understand the meaning behind it. Will turned around, pointing at the crumbling and ruined tower-nest, tiny flames still playing across its charred surface.

“Your people were taken because of this disease,” he said. “And, rest assured, we will take them back.”

There was a momentary pause in the noises that spilled from Will’s lips, overtaken by a great noise from the other Coreless. A roar that came from many mouths. One that, normally, I would have associated with something like [happiness] or [inspiration]. Instead, it seemed to be a [satisfied] sort of [anger/grief].

Like [bloodlust] tinged with [righteousness].

He must have been calling for revenge against the blasphemers. I leaned in closer, all but falling from the-female-who-was-not-Needle’s shoulder as I watched, only the power of [Clinging Grasp] keeping me stable.

“But that is not all that must be done,” Will interrupted, holding up a hand. The roaring Coreless grew silent. “As I said, we are of Orken. We are not of Erandur. And maybe that is why it’s so obvious to us that something is wrong here. Because this,” he said, glowering, “should not happen. You are of Erandur. You were born among its towers, as one of its people. So, tell me, why are you so divided?”

The crowd was oddly silent at that, and I found that I was having a hard time following the noises that Will continued to make. But I could tell that it had them enthralled; their eyes were wide and almost unblinking, unerringly trained on my disciple’s face.

“I have heard stories, in my little time here. Each tower can only hold so many; the excess is pushed out, left to the fringes, to smaller and weaker – newer – towers. You,” he said, “that excess, have become the defending line of your people. Those who, when monsters arrive, are the first to be attacked and the first to defend. But, inevitably, you do so alone.”

Will paused for breath. A few mumbles broke the silence, but nothing more.

“At first, I thought this was simply an issue of distance, or even cowardice. Logistics; I could accept that. Your people are split apart from one another, and having to cross the cavern without the protection of the null-water, barring the bare few pools that are less protection than they are obstacles along the way, is not something that is done lightly. Especially when monsters are known to be out.”

I could feel the fluctuating emotions of the listening Coreless, whipped into a frenzy by the sounds spilling from my disciple’s lips, one after another. It was [grief], [anger], [helplessness], a little [shame] and much more besides; so many emotions intermingled that I struggled to keep track. That I was even the Coreless themselves were unable to keep track.

Yet, again, none dared to speak over my disciple.

“But it is only now, after this travesty – this tragedy – that I realize the truth. The people of Erandur say that they are of Erandur, but they do not believe it. Not truly. If they did, something like this,” Will said, motioning again toward the crumbling, flaming tower-nest, “could never happen. Would be unthinkable. But, in the minds of the people who did this…you are not theirs – instead, you are simply there. A wall for any monsters to break themselves against, and to break in turn. Nothing more, nothing less.”

My disciple turned away from the ruined tower-nest, looking back towards the crowd. They stared at him in turn, each of their eyes fixated on his – as if, somehow, he had caught the gaze of each and every one of them at once.

“Yet, now you have become even less than that. Captives. Little more than meat, to be taken when they find themselves hungry. Bodies to labor when they themselves will not.”

Their eyes were leaking again, many hands balling into fists. But they hardly blinked, hardly moved, transfixed as they were.

“You are of Erandur,” he said, voice beginning to grow in intensity and [conviction] with each new sound. “But Erandur has proven that it does not exist. Not really. But it could. If you join us, if you aid us in convincing the others, we could make it so. Food, so that none may find themselves in poverty, starved for the lack of it. Healing, so that disease and injury find no root to spread. Groves, grown like roads, linking each of your towers together – that the idea of division becomes unthinkable, because there is none.”

The crowd stayed quiet, but I could tell that it wasn’t for lack of desire. I could feel the [fervor], the way that their emotions had been whipped up into an unimaginable frenzy. The way that they fidgeted in place, as if on the verge of dashing off at any moment. But my disciple still held them within his gaze, transfixed.

And so, when he spoke one final time, his voice soft, commanding, and unyielding all at once, they were still there to hear it.

“But before that, there is a disease that has long since festered,” he told them. “And it must be purged.”