Nightmare Reality

When you lie in bed at night, and your mind seems to run wild over uncharted fields of imagination, there inevitably arise those patches that shock, horrify, and terrify. Nightmares we call them, and mature individuals are told to shrug them off, they don't mean anything anyway.
But what if that advice is wrong?

Circles in Circles

The Archbishop led Hethir to a small chamber, only the two of them were admitted in. Mary, Garius and Val were brought chairs--Hethir was honestly surprised to see that they were padded and looked rather comfortable; he had expected differently. Inside, the room was bare to a fault. The walls looked to be rough stone crudely scraped smooth, the floor only improved by thousands of footfalls having worn it smooth. There were no ornaments or furnishings; and the room's only other notable feature was a round stone table set in the exact center of the room.
That was merely the physical appearance of the chamber.

Lack of Update This Week: Explanation

This week I've taken the time I would have spent writing another update or two, and started writing basic outlines for the next half dozen posts for the Dust serial. In previous posts I only had a vague idea of where I was going with the story--even within the post itself, I sometimes surprised myself with how it ended. While it's sometimes enjoyable, I think overall the quality was suffering for it. So I sat down and started to figure out exactly where I was going to take things and write it all down.

Patience grasshopper... regular posting will resume, once I start to figure out what I'm doing.
-Matthew

Anger of the Archbishop

The Archbishop of Santure was not a physically imposing figure. He was not quite six feet tall; and skinny enough to border on emaciated. But if anyone was foolish enough to judge the man based on that, it wasn't Hethir. They had met before, and engaged in a mental duel that would have had bards fighting each other for the honor of composing a ballad--had anyone but them known it. Besides being among the most capable spellcasters in the world--power amplified even further by the temple--the Archbishop was a very powerful psychic. Their duel had ended in something of a draw the last time, and if he was honest with himself, Hethir would have to admit he wasn't certain of winning even if he fought dirty. Also that duel had been out in the city of Santure, not inside the temple. And the Archbishop had been delivering a speech to a gathered throng and at least somewhat distracted. Now he was in the seat of his power, entirely focused, and had no illusions to maintain. Hethir was still trying to get his mind functional, had no useful allies around, and had apparently lost his connection to Michael back on the ship.
This could go very badly for him.

Nanotech: Alpha Swarm

Attn: Dr. Strenz

The Alpha Swarm has surpassed our greatest hopes, however they still seem to be suffering from several distinct limitations.

First, despite our best efforts, they remain incapable of learning new information. Our attempts to create a hive-mind memory have apparently failed, we must pursue this further.

Second, they seem to be able to recall a particular form only for as long as they carry the mass of it. It also seems that this limitation extends to a roughly 5 minute time span, with the time limit being shorter with more complex items. Thus, while the swarm can absorb an object, and then flawlessly recreate it, it cannot then replicate the object, even if it is attempted immediately.

Thirdly the nanites seem to eventually hit a critical mass in terms of numbers. It is unclear at exactly what point this occurs, but it also can be clearly witnessed. The swarm can rebuild itself from only a milligram of nanites back to its starting mass of 1 Kg, but it does not seem to be able to grow larger than 2Kg. We theorize that the nanites numbers overwhelm their ability to communicate, and that nanites that are still connected to the hive begin to register the disconnected nanites as hostile invaders, and reabsorb them.

Avatar Knight

It had been a long time since Hethir's mind had been this silent. Even when knocked out he was generally lucid in mind, even if his body couldn't really act.

This was different. A white void suffused his mind, leaving him little besides his identity. It was impossible to tell how long he had been like that, but slowly he became aware of a changing landscape. Shadows had begun to appear in the blank space he inhabited. The world began to filter back into consciousness, and

his eyes opened.

Holy Hellfire

Hethir's group managed to reach the temple without drawing too much unwanted attention. Trace was doing his best, but he was still unmistakably gawking at the temple as they drew closer. For a few minutes Hethir had given Trace the mental equivalent of a shoulder-jostle to snap him out of it, but he soon gave up. Trace's jerky attempts to act casual drew nearly as much attention, and he looked like he was hiding something, so he just sighed and let the knight gawk.
As they neared the front entrance, Hethir's heart began to beat faster. The last time he had been here... had not been a pleasant experience. He suppressed a grimace; hopefully this time would go better. They crossed the massive threshold and entered the cavernous front room, and Trace checked out of even attempting to restrain himself. His eyes fairly bugged out of his head and his mouth hung slack as he looked up towards the vaulted ceilings. Hethir had to admit that he couldn't entirely blame him. He imagined that even after seeing it a hundred times it was still a stunning sight. Every surface of the walls and ceilings was covered with elaborate and intricate carvings and murals all interwoven with each other. In one place carvings were made to support and frame images from history; while other places had carvings spewing forth from them. No two were alike, it must have been the work of thousands of artisans working for years to create them all. Of course these were not the Temple's most impressive feature. Weaving through the carved pillars that supported the distant ceiling was a massive flying serpent. Its scales glowed with the brilliance of a forge-fire, and its eyes were brighter still. It wove through the room in complex and seemingly random patterns, but watching its sinuous length sliding through the air was hypnotic. Hethir knew that it was an illusion, but that did little to reduce the awe that the sight inspired.
It was a constant reminder for those who visited the temple that Lumis would not abandon his followers.