behold my bullshit
f5

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All of existence which shares one point of relation is bound together by that solitary instance in which all was relative. For every moment that could be, and every possible direction that a pattern could be made within a burst of light and colors, there comes new variables and possibilities. For every inch, there climbs another inch of choice in any direction. What begins as but a single point escalates to a monstrous globe of possibility in only a matter of seconds. This rate of growth and possibility is no more a force that can be measure with the eyes, than it is an idea to try to understand and visualize what could be.

Some say that existence as they know it is the only way that existing could be. Decisions do not carry any weight from the past into what they feel then, for regret or greater joy. But every moment of their life is another branch reaching out in an infinite fractal line reaching out from that moment in which all things were as one possibility; that existence would defy oblivion.

In one fractal of existence, a world which had its' very soul torn from it, leaving only a shell with withering life and hope upon it floats carelessly among the stars. Once a gem of the cosmos, a planet capable of sustaining complex life taken shape as humanity, the planet had been plunged into premature Armageddon. It was no great calamity of nature, or a catastrophic blow from an outside celestial body which left the world bare and parched of the brilliant greens and blue hues. It was a terrible bargain, with devils among men, which brought ruin to a fledgling planet.

Terrible forces reached out through the absence between the stars, and to men they made contact. With goals undisclosed, the darkness fell upon the world as it had reached a paradigm of culture and commerce, and through vexed hearts wove atrocity through unwitting lives. Until, at last, a gathering made summons to the very face of this cruel tide, and struck a bargain so foul that it would never be matched.

These vain and heartless men, who together formed what was known as the Amberclaw Union, were misanthropes who proclaimed to have greater destinies than what it meant to be man. They bartered their world, and all the life in it in exchange for bodies they believed their truest, and a kingdom to rule as their own. They wished to be dragons, and with delusions and excuses to justify their decisions, so they would be.

In a night, life was snuffed from the world like a candle wick tossed into the sea. Humanity, and much of the world's beasts and flora were bleed from the world and lost to the black skies. Behind the wakes of this calamity, the Amberclaw Union remained. Not as the beautiful or majestic creatures they dreamed themselves to be, but twisted aberrations, behemoths, and monsters. Claws of a thousand, thousand, thousand screaming voices raked through each of their minds and bodies until the last vestiges of sanity were chiseled clean from them as a mountain beneath an endless jet stream of water.

Yet in the fallout of their suffering, their wishes were so cruelly laid out before them. New life rose from the ashes, as hundreds of eggs, ready to hatch with life swimming under the sturdy shells dotted the horizon. They were denied their majesty, but they would not be denied their kingdoms.

Raising up the walls of the only patch of life left upon the dead world, the Amberclaws, now a twisted union of monster and beast heads fixed to a single body, ruled over their kingdom with the cruelty of all sin and eyes as sharp as the sharpest hawk. They channeled out those they deemed unworthy of the glory of their kingdom into the wastes with nothing to survive off of other than each other, in as literal and figurative ways as possible.

Taernyll was born to this dystopian world, in which the souls of mankind were forced into dragon hide, reincarnated and oblivious to the terrible condition that the world was in compared to the glory it once was. He survived inquisition, totalitarian rule and escape, starvation and disease, ghetto cannibalism, and the Earth itself brought up as terrible colossi hell-bent on crushing the abominations which festered within marble walls. He did so by chance, wit, guile, and the blessed chance of his birth.

Raised by a criminal lord, in the eyes of the Amberclaws should they ever concern to cast eyes on what they deemed as filth, Taernyll was spared trafficking, death, and worser fates in the terrifying condition outside of the "Great Utopia." He had the blessing of his birth, being magically capable, to thank for his life as after a desperate display to the capricious old gimp, she decided to take him under her wing as an honored guest.

Learning the ways of the world he was born into as quick as a whelp learns to breath, he grew under a guise of nobility and honor to his savior, Cypheus, while fostering a growing cynical nature that became obsessed with undoing the world. Of any of the magically-gifted dragons who avoided inquisition, let alone those who had by chance escaped, Taernyll was the only one who felt there was the chance that the terrible fate of the world could be undone.

Through extortion, political coups, militant uprising, usurpation, and scavenging clues to great power from the remains of the colossi the dragons fell, Taernyll found himself in possession of a glass eye taken from one of the first fallen colossi. Through it he witnessed the horrors of the past, the bleak future waiting immediately upon the horizon, and the feeling of his heart sinking as he learned that within the Amberclaw's keep, a seer was using the sister-eye to find the blue dragon. Taernyll, who had kept hidden for 33 years, was at once found and the shadow of the blood-thirsty military flight barreled down upon him.

In a fit of desperation and rage, he cast the relic against the stone wall. As shards of the glass orb scattered across the surface, an unbelievable energy was relinquished from the crystal relief. With the curse of the Amberclaw's bargain, and the magical talent of his birth, he was as a conduit for the might of the Colossi-- avatars of the planet itself. The energy rolling through his veins, wracking them with a pain, and pleasure indescribable, was as a touch of creation. With this awesome power running through him, Taernyll flew into a maddened path of destrustion through all that the world had become. Possessed by an unholy need for destruction, but directed toward the maestro of all this wickedness by a sense of justice and vengeance, he obliterated anything which stood before him.

It was when he arrived at the threshold of the seven-faced demon that he learned even this great boon was as nothing to the sinister power behind their blows. When it became clear victory was impossible, Taernyll's mind became singled on a single desire- to escape from this, from everything.

When all sound became mute, when all touch became numb, when all sight became blind, it appeared to him that he had been met with his death. Light and darkness at once began to pull back against the surface of cold stone, and Taernyll found himself within an uncanny carved study, with empty shelves as far as the eye could see climbing up and up and upwards. Through the forces which had ignited within him, his greatest desire was fulfilled; escape. He existed now outside of time and space, outside of reality as a whole. His limbs lay down in exhaustion in a timeless palace of empty halls, his sanctuary from everything that could be. The Eye, he dubbed it, as from the pools of water at the center of the raising ledges, he could see through all possibilities and outcomes.

It was then that he found that he could extend his reach through the waters, which never rippled or splashed, and pry his way into any existence he so wished. From the center of all existence, he resides, anchored to the point 0 of all things, and from it, he adventures through existence to existence, as a god, as a king, as a wanderer, as a servant or slave. Until boredom take him to explore a new horizon. He continues to exist there, timeless and immortal, narrowly escaping death and disaster at every turn, as he indulges in meddling with the affairs of worlds, then the stories of a world, and the stories of those stories, making his own along the way. The maddening disheveled memories of a mortal mind who has existed well past the point it has any right to, fighting the hardest battle that could ever be fought;

How does an immortal stave off boredom?

- Tae interveiw http://www.furaffinity.net/journal/4880026/