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jennafansWhen a Law of Creation is broken...
Is killed by the Host, I mean.
When an Imperial thing is taken and shattered and drowned in the Lands Beyond Creation...
Sometimes they survive even still. The shining glimmering wishes at the heart of the broken thing, the splintered fragments of the Law they were, light up Ninuan as stars. They dream, in the dark senselessness of that place, a quiet and malformed dream of Creation.
These are the Lostlings. They are islands of Is in the Not. They are small things, waylets and inclusions of Creation. Some might be the size of worlds and some might be as small as a street corner, but they usually content themselves with being town-sized.
Their dreams of the world are not correct, or, at least, not comprehensible. They have spun what meaning they have out of the stuff of Ninuan; but with no Narsinha to delineate the world, no Azbogah to structure it, and no N’mosnikttiel to populate it, their worlds are no true Creation.
To be in the dream of a Lostling is to be assailed by its focus. They are lonesome, dreaming blindly in the dark. Another mind, another self, that finds them in their byways and speaks to them is a gift of unknowable value. To share with them your vision is balm on their bruised souls.
They are hurting and scared over from the crime done to them. They are inhospitable, often, to outsiders because they cannot comprehend what outsiders are, but they don't really mean to do harm. Their wounds contort them into strange shapes, but there is something of worth and beauty in here.
The void does not tolerate them. The void hunts them down, sends the kin of the Warmains and the Strategists to slay them, sends the kin of the Deceivers to tear them up by the roots. They are not particularly hard to kill, except...
If the Riders should kill them incautiously, should cut them with knives before binding them in coils of magic or winnowing from their hearts the last guttering light of Heaven...
The force of the miracle that bore them would be released into Ninuan itself. It would coil about unbeing, taint it subtly with the nature of Creation. Some scholars assume this must have already happened, must already be happening--
Must be, perhaps, why the sky of Ninuan has falling stars in it.
Lostlings buy Ability for three points, and even that is rare. They are blind to Ninuan and estranged of Creation, and are usually semi-conscious creatures the size of a medium town. Geasa are common; Gifts and Bonds rare.
Like the Serpents and the True Gods, Lostlings have a Vastness about them; they are infant worlds whose scale is relative, who permeate their surroundings with an air of whatever wish they are built around.
Again like the True Gods, Lostlings have a Deepness; they come from without, they are a law in and of themselves, their perspective is alien and relates them to their world.
Again like the Serpents, Lostlings have a Sealed power. This is commonly some sort of limited omnipotence; many Lostlings look into their world, see that they are alone, and make of themselves a demiurge. It is with this power that they cut away the void and make meaning in the darkness, and because of its limitations that there is only one Creation in all the endless Not.
Breaking at last from any relation to the squirming gods of earth and matter, Lostlings are Wounded. They are a scab of hurt, an infection, a malformed immune response from the void that encysts them within bubbles of meaning. They are the mirrors to the Mimics, in this way; at their core is a Blasphemy not against the world but against the void, that which threatens unbeing, that which could undermine that which the Riders fight and die to protect and propagate.
Is killed by the Host, I mean.
When an Imperial thing is taken and shattered and drowned in the Lands Beyond Creation...
Sometimes they survive even still. The shining glimmering wishes at the heart of the broken thing, the splintered fragments of the Law they were, light up Ninuan as stars. They dream, in the dark senselessness of that place, a quiet and malformed dream of Creation.
These are the Lostlings. They are islands of Is in the Not. They are small things, waylets and inclusions of Creation. Some might be the size of worlds and some might be as small as a street corner, but they usually content themselves with being town-sized.
Their dreams of the world are not correct, or, at least, not comprehensible. They have spun what meaning they have out of the stuff of Ninuan; but with no Narsinha to delineate the world, no Azbogah to structure it, and no N’mosnikttiel to populate it, their worlds are no true Creation.
To be in the dream of a Lostling is to be assailed by its focus. They are lonesome, dreaming blindly in the dark. Another mind, another self, that finds them in their byways and speaks to them is a gift of unknowable value. To share with them your vision is balm on their bruised souls.
They are hurting and scared over from the crime done to them. They are inhospitable, often, to outsiders because they cannot comprehend what outsiders are, but they don't really mean to do harm. Their wounds contort them into strange shapes, but there is something of worth and beauty in here.
The void does not tolerate them. The void hunts them down, sends the kin of the Warmains and the Strategists to slay them, sends the kin of the Deceivers to tear them up by the roots. They are not particularly hard to kill, except...
If the Riders should kill them incautiously, should cut them with knives before binding them in coils of magic or winnowing from their hearts the last guttering light of Heaven...
The force of the miracle that bore them would be released into Ninuan itself. It would coil about unbeing, taint it subtly with the nature of Creation. Some scholars assume this must have already happened, must already be happening--
Must be, perhaps, why the sky of Ninuan has falling stars in it.
Lostlings buy Ability for three points, and even that is rare. They are blind to Ninuan and estranged of Creation, and are usually semi-conscious creatures the size of a medium town. Geasa are common; Gifts and Bonds rare.
Like the Serpents and the True Gods, Lostlings have a Vastness about them; they are infant worlds whose scale is relative, who permeate their surroundings with an air of whatever wish they are built around.
Again like the True Gods, Lostlings have a Deepness; they come from without, they are a law in and of themselves, their perspective is alien and relates them to their world.
Again like the Serpents, Lostlings have a Sealed power. This is commonly some sort of limited omnipotence; many Lostlings look into their world, see that they are alone, and make of themselves a demiurge. It is with this power that they cut away the void and make meaning in the darkness, and because of its limitations that there is only one Creation in all the endless Not.
Breaking at last from any relation to the squirming gods of earth and matter, Lostlings are Wounded. They are a scab of hurt, an infection, a malformed immune response from the void that encysts them within bubbles of meaning. They are the mirrors to the Mimics, in this way; at their core is a Blasphemy not against the world but against the void, that which threatens unbeing, that which could undermine that which the Riders fight and die to protect and propagate.
