#howitz

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In my mindscape, deep down where even the appearance of normal reality gives way to structures floating in the void, the main marker you navigate by is a mountain. Rocks and pebbles of all colours are visible on its surface, but mostly the earth is red, the kind of reddish brown you see in Australia.

Most people do not go close, but if you do, the mountain starts to look like a scrapheap. There are armour and weapons thrown on it half buried, scraps of cloth and brightly polished metal. Most people's eyes refuse to recognise what they are seeing until they are close enough to realise that the 'pebbles' are head sized and the overall appearance of red is from blood, burns, and non-human skin.

Perhaps their eyes refuse to recognise it as a heap of bodies because it is not grisly. It feels utterly neutral, there is no emotion attached, it simply exists.

This is the record of the people who I killed, directly or indirectly.

It is no monument to Glory, I do not take pride in it. Nor is it a source of guilt or tragedy, though there are bodies within that pile I will weep over not having been able to save. It does give perspective to the power I wield and the life I have led, but that is not the point of it. I fight only to protect, I am still the man you all know, no hidden side to my nature shown by this.

Those who see the mountain for what it is misunderstand, they think that I carry their weight and try to reassure me, try to ease guilt that isn't there, or think I am looking for sympathy. They do not seem to understand.

I am a priest of the God of Life and Death and part of my job is to remember and care for the dead. It is only right that I remember those who have fallen by my hand, if I do not take responsibility for remembering them, then who will? And who should?

It is a marker, no more, no less.

I remember.

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There was darkness. Just darkness.

Slowly his mind started to become aware of his mental form, firstly his eyelids, though he didn’t have the strength to open them. Then his forehead, ears...

The process took far too long, and his mental self was so heavy, just lying there in nothing. He tracked the progress of his torso, his arms... hands (thank the gods his hands), legs, feet. There, he was all there as he should be.

There was no-one else though, no familiar mind/souls brushing against his own. He was quite utterly alone, for the first time in years. And he was so heavy. So unbelievably heavy that he couldn’t think beyond the senses and basic existence, but at least he existed.

The heaviness on his thoughts didn’t really ease with time either. He did slowly search his soul for his connection to the Judge, flopping back to basic existence as he found the glimmer in his hands. Good. It was there, but so weak, so unbelievably weak... just like him.

At least I never felt like this when I wasn’t active. Dear Lords, what happened to me?

His hands were itching. He tried to reach out to itch them only to find he was leaden, so he gave up and went back to sleep.

There was time, and then he was aware again, still with mental self present. That was good, that meant he could rest if he needed to. His tattoos still itched though, almost unbearably. He needed to scratch them, even if just to calm them down. With an immense effort his arm shifted. Dear Lord was it that hard? He would have to keep going, this was driving him crazy.

After an incredible effort both hands were lying on his stomach, the blessed relief of an itch was his. That done he loosely linked his hands together in the way they were so accustomed to and let his consciousness fade again.

He awoke later to find his arms were back at his sides again, damnation! Did they go back there whenever he slept?

Wait, slept? That was an awfully... alive... word. He hadn’t slept in her mind, just gone inactive. The effort to get his hands onto his stomach and linked again was less this time, though it was still hard to think. The best thing he could do in this situation was probably to pray, but praying involved thinking.

Let's give it a try then.

Lord Judge, please hear me if you can...(dear Lords I’ve not done this in years) ... I am one of your faithful, Howitzer Voltanis Elderwood. I may have been... gone, for years, but I need your help now, please, please let me have even a fraction of your power, despite how faint my voice may be, please, hear me if you can and grant my request.

Please let Him hear me...

There was a feeling of something whispering into his hands for a moment before the connection was broken and his arms moved back to his sides, the man giving a mental yell of frustration, tears beading at his eyes. He’d just contacted him! He’d just managed to and now he was having it snatched away again!

After a few minutes the helpless anger subsided and he was able to think. His arms had been moved by a force outside his control. That meant there was something else out there and it was interacting with him. Something else...

.... was he alive?

He’d need to open his eyes to find that out. Rats, that took more effort than he could manage at the moment, even if he did feel a little better for the trickle of power he’d received. He also now knew he was alive, and could guess that everything felt so heavy because he hadn’t had a body for so long.

The best thing was that he knew he could do it again.

He slept.

The next time he awoke thinking was easier and he felt the spark of determination back in his eyes/mind. He was alive, there was something out there to see, there was a reason to try now.

So heavy.

I can do it.

His eyelids were stuck together.

There’s something out there to see.

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It was a quiet night.

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One militiaman in practical leather armour leant on the balustrade at the side of stone bridge, looking out at the quiet rippling water with a smile, closing their eyes to tap the sturdy stone underneath them. Yeah, nature was nice and the trees and grass were pretty enough but... he turned to look at the buildings, a myriad of tiny pinpricks of light.

He smiled. Yeah. This was his city.

He started walking again.

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The wind was attempting to pull the last few leaves off the trees as the Lady sat at her desk, her pencil dipping rhythmically as she paused to look outside at the night with a smile. She closed as her shoulders relaxed, a faint smile creeping to her lips as she stood and extinguished the candle.

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The priest gently stroked his lover's hair, smiling fondly down at the resting man and feeling something not unlike a purr stir in his heart. He dipped his head slightly to plant a gentle kiss on his lover's head before settling back again, relaxing with a slight smile.

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The wemic's tail twitched slightly to support the small child better against her and the chair leg as she sewed, careful attention on her needle and thread as she formed the small symbol on the vest, one eye on the rest of the room and the sleeping refugees as she worked.

Her people. Maybe not for long, but hers for now. She let that protectiveness fill her, weaving itself through her thread and glimmering at her fingertips.

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The wind caught moon-bright hair, making the messy white strands fly out to the side from where the man was perched on a telephone pole, an easy relaxed crouch as he scanned the streets around them. He stood with same easy grace and stretched, letting the wind play with him as he relaxed for a moment, then dropped back down to street level to rejoin the woman as easily as if he'd jumped off a step.

"Let's get going then."

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Grass whispered under white robes as the Stork ghosted over them, grey eyes sharp as he admired their beauty. After a moment his eyes softened a little with a slight smile. A moment later his eyes lifted to the calm rippling of the River in front of him, the true smile of someone greeting an old friend slipping across his face as he stepped into the clear, cool water. The moonlight around him shattered into bright ripples as he turned his face to the sky, eyes closed in bliss.

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A woman tapped quietly at her computer, hair tumbled loose over her shoulders as she tucked herself more comfortably into her little corner piled high with paper and little glimmering memories. An empty mug sat by her, headphones almost invisible amongst her hair. She snuggled herself a little more deeply into the warm feeling of peace and quiet, unseen wings shimmering around her before looking round with a smile.

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At it's simplest, Warp is the name we use to describe when someone has twisted their soul in order to make it closer to an 'ideal'.

Usually this refers to magic and can apply to any aura or element but it can also apply to other ideals, for example a supplicant becoming more and more like their sponsor.

When Warp happens they tend to get better at whatever it is they are warping themselves to do, but also start to lose who they are and usually their humanity.

It can be reversed, but requires a long time of refinding themselves and who they are. In the most severe cases, this can take years and may even require a memory wipe.

Those who can sense warp usually describe it as feeling 'wrong' or sickening, however the form it takes is different for each person as it depends upon their views of what the 'ideal' is. Because of the nature of warp, it is likely that the person won't realise what they are doing to themselves.

While each case of Warp is unique, there are general trends for those who become warped due to aiming for the ideal of their Aura. These act as general examples to give you the idea.

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Light: Loses their humanity by getting lost in details, plans, controlling things. The detached cruelty of a scientist.

Notes: Megalomania, cat and mouse, the human controlling the ant farm and the lives inside it.

Example: "Everything would be so much better and more efficient if people just listened to me. I know what works and what doesn't. You just need to do this, but they won't agree with me, so I just do this and they'll act that way without me even needing to get involved. See? it works when I run things, your ideas are wrong, I can do so much better, if they won't listen to me I'll make it so they have to do as I say…"

Gold: Lose who you are in the performance, give up you in exchange for brilliance. You are the life, the act, the dance, the animal, the magic.

Notes: In more extreme cases when not putting on an act or performance the person can seem dull, lifeless or blank.

Example: "I have used remembered emotions/personality facets to mask, replace and control what I feel for so long that I no longer know who or what is the real me or what I am 'truly' feeling." She paused, "I made masks from my soul until every emotion was a mask, neatly catalogued and contained to be used at will, but nothing feels true or untouched any more." A hint of self disgust entered her tone, "Of course all emotions feel false if you know you can manipulate them that easily, you start wondering if you actually feel it or it's just swapping the mask." She paused again to look down at her lap, tone abruptly sobering up, "But the worst bit is when you try to take away the masks, because there's nothing left underneath them."

Neutral: Lose yourself in caring for others. Self-sacrifice.

Notes: Hero syndrome, often results in caring too much and getting broken or burning themselves up for others.

Example: "No! You shut up! Do you know how many people have suffered and died in this place? Can you HONESTLY tell me that people care? I've worked with them, I've seen people starving in the cold while others throw away food after stuffing their faces! I've seen bruises and bleeding, people thrown aside because someone didn't like the colour of their skin or the way they spoke, so no, no I'm NOT going to stop. Otherwise they'll just keep on killing and getting others killed for them. I won't stand for it any longer."

Silver: God-complex, Puppetmaster, manipulation of the mind and soul until everything is just something to be moved as you wish. Losing empathy, morality, the rules don't hold you.

Example: "I can wrap you around my little finger, you know, I can take your thoughts and change them without you knowing I did it. I can make you dance, kill your friends, pull out your soul and play with it between my fingers before impaling you with it." He smiled, it wasn't a pleasant one, "Remind me why I should care about what you think?"

Dark: Hedonism, chaos, absolute freedom, also 'traditional' or 'stereotypical' insanity. Live in the moment, see if you can do it just to see if you can, do what you want, live by impulse and instinct, no consequences, no plans, chaos.