The Sovereign Moonstone

Usurping Dominion

The laboratory is dominated by a single machine, its tendrils of iron and silicon snaking their way through every direction. In its center, two receptacles, in the center of mirrors upon mirrors upon boxes upon valves upon wires upon mirrors. Some of the components are mechanical, some have simply been reshaped to be. Each one of them so infinitely precise that even the most learned cryptomathematician would not be able to find fault in them.

On the outside, two figures sit side by side. F.F. Gebrandt, smiling as she looks at you, and January, holding a single clock in her hand. They will be here to witness the history you are trying to create.

Place the final pieces
The moonstone will go into one socket. The Paperweight will go into the other. When the machine starts, you will know whether your theory is sound.

To love, to hold, to rule.

You place both components in their receptacles, and close the door behind you. You lock it with seven keys, and stand next to both women. You have done all you can, now it is up to them.

Two powerful women gaze at each other, January with an impassive expression, Gebrandt with a knowing smile. Together, they start the experiment - Gebrandt throws a lever, as is the wont for her penchant for the dramatics, and January winds a clock, before the entire world around you turns to darkness. There can be no light to disrupt this experiment, no law beyond the ones you need inscribed.

At first, the sound of the machine is mechanical, uncanny and otherworldly, but slowly, as each of its lungs of iron and joints of cogs and nerves of silicon and neurons of gold work together, the sound that reaches your ears is not that of a machine, but that of a heartbeat, pulsing quickly with each passing step.

The Prime Neathoscope starts working then - Violant light is the first to flood the chamber, highly concentrated as it bathes into both of the ingredients. Irrigo light is next, to consume and destroy all which is unnecessary for your purposes. You would close your eyes if you had them - you don't.

Apocyan light to inscribe into reality itself the memory of their origins, Cosmogone light to bathe it into the possible and the impossible, Viric light to to bind it to the innumerable possibilities of dream. Peligin light to allow both to transform and and mold. Gant light - the only thing left when all is stripped away, the single point where all the light converges.
And just as the breathing heartbeat of the machine reaches a grand crescendo, the darkness takes it all away again, and the crackling of forming frost takes over your ears. The liberation allows no law to exist, and so no law shall be the only thing that can be inscribed. In that final moment, you hold your breath, the breath that is iron, the bones that are bronze, the nerves that are methanol, the neurons that are copper, and you feel it crack, like a million million glass shards breaking into the ground.

You open your eyes, and the darkness is gone. F.F. Gebrandt gasps for breath, as if she was on the verge of joining the Fathomking's court. January seems stunned, speechless, motionless as a statue, as she gazes upon the thing that is left behind in the laboratory.

A single stone, searing silvery-blue, marking the ground beneath the two receptacles. The laws of the seven colors of the Neathbow inscribed, the laws of the Correspondence and the combined powers of two Judgement-children, all compressed into the gravity of a single point. When you gaze upon it, you understand, for just a brief moment, why one would willingly submit themselves to the Judgements.

But only briefly.

You have usurped a Judgement's dominion.
You've lost 1 x Renewed Moonstone (new total 0)
You've lost 1 x Ray-Drenched Correspondence Paperweight (new total 0)
You've gained 1 x Sovereign Moonstone (new total 1)

Healthy paranoia

You have the Sovereign Moonstone...

Healthy paranoia

You have the Sovereign Moonstone, a product of just as much knowledge of the Red Science as it is of the Liberation, the power to emulate, in a tiny way, the dominion of a Judgement. When you hold it, your flesh feels as if it will sear together, and gazing upon it causes a sharp pain behind your eyes. Its power is difficult to describe in words, and almost as difficult to describe in the Correspondence.

It is a crucial component of your plan. It is also the only component whose creation you could not completely oversee. You needed the help of the Liberation to craft something such as this, and January was the only source of it that you could count upon; and she was not fond of the creation of a new Sovereign. The only way to convince her, was that you would give her your utmost and unconditional trust, that she could do whatever she wanted with her part of the project, and you would bring her whatever she wished, and you would never ask any questions.

Despite your aims, you are a Master of the Bazaar, and she is of the Calendar Council. You are enemies, opposed in everything but perhaps a final, long distant dream. She could have done so many things to betray you - so, so many things. She would never tell you outright, but you cannot allow a single thing to fail when the time is come.

You have to know whether the Moonstone will work.

Test its use on yourself
An ethical scientist only works with willing volunteers. You are the only one who would volunteer for this.

Game Instructions: This is a bad idea.

Recursion

You hold the stone, and with it, carve unto your flesh the necessary sigil. With each stroke, you feel your skin repulse and convulse, with each movement, you feel it sear and sizzle. The smell of burned fur fills your lungs and waters your eyes, but you keep going, moment after moment, to inscribe a sigil upon your belly, with a knife that is a stone, a knife that is law, a knife that is dominion. When you are done, the stone clatters to the ground, and in pain, you gaze upon the sigil that now burns in your belly.

"Suppression by the Commands of the Sovereign"

A sigil that will not allow its recipient to move, to act, to think, to exist in a manner not explicitly approved by its Sovereign. A sigil that removes all concept of free will from its marked, turning them into little more than a tool for use by the monarch. A sigil that literalizes the relationship the Judgements have to their subjects. You do not feel different. Yet.

Taking a deep breath, you look into the Moonstone, burning a hole into the ground, and with a determined motion, you grasp at it--

You are Sovereign, a Monarch, a powerful ruler of which no law can escape. You are subject, a peasant, a meaningless speck of dust before your betters. You are a star in the sky, you are a maggot in the dirt, you are a feller of nations, you are a dying and decaying farmer, you are a merchant-prince of the Bazaar, you are a starving urchin, you are the mycellium upon which the world survives, you are a budding plant, too weak to live on its own. You are the cordyceps fungus; you are the ant moments before being eaten.

Your mind splits and breaks and shatters and unwinds, you are both, you are neither, you cannot exist without a Sovereign, the Sovereign is you, but you are the peasant, you are the ruler and the ruled, you are the muck and the sky and the rain and the plants and the mushrooms and the millions upon millions upon millions of corpses buried beneath the dirt and you are the animals who feast upon carcasses and you are the worker who butchers the animal and you are the merchant who sells the remains and you are the worker who gorges on the meat and you are boss whose whip breaks skin and you are the Masters who punish the boss and you are the Bazaar who holds the Masters and you are the Sovereign who punishes the Bazaar and you are the last breath of a star and you are the muck and the sky and the rain and the plants and the mushrooms and the millions upon millions upon

An occurrence! Your 'Nightmares' Quality is now 49 - Raving!

millions of corpses buried beneath the dirt and you are the

animals who feast upon carcasses and you are the worker who butchers the animal and you are the merchant who sells the remains and you are the worker who gorges on the meat and you are boss whose whip breaks skin and you are the Masters who punish the boss and you are the Bazaar who holds the Masters and you are the Sovereign who punishes the Bazaar and you are the last breath of a star and you are the muck and the sky and the rain and the plants and the mushrooms and the millions upon millions upon millions of corpses buried beneath the dirt and you are the animals who feast upon carcasses and you are the worker who butchers the animal and you are the merchant who sells the remains and you are the worker who gorges on the meat and you are boss whose whip breaks skin and you are the Masters who punish the boss and you are the Bazaar who holds the Masters and you are the Sovereign who punishes the Bazaar and you are the last breath of a star and you are the muck and the sky and the rain and the plants and the mushrooms and the millions upon millions upon millions of corpses buried beneath the dirt and you are the animals who feast upon carcasses and you are the worker who butchers the animal and you are the merchant who sells the remains and you are the worker who gorges on the meat and you are boss whose whip breaks skin and you are the Masters who punish the boss and you are the Bazaar who holds the Masters and you are the Sovereign who punishes the Bazaar and you are the last breath of a star and you are the muck and the sky and the rain and the plants and the mushrooms and the millions upon millions upon millions of corpses buried beneath the dirt and you are the animals who feast upon carcasses and you are the worker who butchers the animal and you are the merchant who sells the remains and you are the worker who gorges on the meat and you are boss whose whip breaks skin and you are the Masters who punish the boss and you are the Bazaar who holds the Masters and you are the Sovereign who punishes the Bazaar and you are the last breath of a star and you are the muck and the sky and the rain and the plants and the mushrooms and the millions upon millions upon millions of corpses buried beneath the dirt and you are the animals who feast upon carcasses and you are the worker who butchers the animal and you are the merchant who sells the remains and you are the worker who gorges on the meat and you are boss whose whip breaks skin and you are the Masters who punish the boss and you are the Bazaar who holds the Masters and you are the Sovereign who punishes the Bazaar and you are the last breath of a star and you are the muck and the sky and the rain and the plants and the mushrooms and the millions upon millions upon millions of corpses buried beneath the dirt and you are the animals who feast upon carcasses and you are the worker who butchers the animal and you are the merchant who sells the remains and you are the worker who gorges on the meat and you are boss whose whip breaks skin and you are the Masters who punish the boss and you are the Bazaar who holds the Masters and you are the Sovereign who punishes the Bazaar and you are the last breath of a star and you are the muck and the sky and the rain and the plants and the mushrooms and the millions upon millions upon

millions of corpses buried beneath the dirt and you are the

animals who feast upon carcasses and you are the worker who butchers the animal and you are the merchant who sells the remains and you are the worker who gorges on the meat and you are boss whose whip breaks skin and you are the Masters who punish the boss and you are the Bazaar who holds the Masters and you are the Sovereign who punishes the Bazaar and you are the last breath of a star and you are the muck and the sky and the rain and the plants and the mushrooms and the millions upon millions upon

millions of corpses buried beneath the dirt and you are the--

--twelfth Master of the Bazaar, a Curator, a man on a mission, panting and drooling your own blood upon the ground of your Lodgings. There is a burning sear in your hands, there is a growling to your stomach, there is a heaviness to your eyes. You are exhausted, tired, so, so tired.

"Herr Gesellschaft?" the familiar voice of Glim rings upon your ears. You are out of your cloak, completely and utterly beat, and with what little strength you have, you gaze upon them, to see them holding the Sovereign Moonstone. You can see it boil their skin and sear their flesh. They do not seem to care. "What happened?"

You do not have the strength to respond.

An occurrence! Your 'Nightmares' Quality is now 7 - THEY ARE COMING THEY ARE COMING THEY ARE COMING!

Recovery

Were you anyone else, you would likely spend some time in the Royal Beth, under care and supervision of trained professionals to keep you safe until you recovered from your insanity.

But you will have to retrieve your mind the hard way.

Recover your mind
The hard way.

Tautologies

One is not two, two is not three, three is not four, four is not five, five is not six, six is not seven, seven is not one.

The sky is not the earth, the earth is not the sea, the sea is not the forest, the forest is not the mountains, the mountains are not the sky.

The West is not the East. The East is not the North. The North is not the South. The South is not the Unterzee. The Unterzee is not the roof. The Roof is not Parabola. Parabola is not the West.

Correspondence is not the Discordance. Discordance is not the Illumination. The Illumination is not English. English is not French. French is not German. German is not the Correspondence.

The universe is not kind, but people can be kind, people can love, and love is true, and real, and beautiful. There is beauty to be found in darkness, there is hope to be found in life, there is kindness that can be sown, and nurtured, and grown, into millions of millions of myriad futures of joy.

A tentacle is not a hand, a hand is not teeth, teeth are not hair, hair is not skin, skin is not nerves, nerves are not fur, fur is not your soul, and your soul is not your heart. But a heart, a heart is the only thing which can hold the beautiful dream you wish to share.

And a dream does not need to be false.

The world makes a little more sense.

Recovery

Were you anyone else, you would likely spend some time in the Royal Beth, under care and supervision of trained professionals to keep you safe until you recovered from your insanity.

But you will have to retrieve your mind the hard way.

Open your eyes
Breathe, relax. Your mind is your own again.
You unlocked this by not having any Nightmares.

A timely rescue

When you finally open your eyes, you see yourself upon a bed. Glim is sat next to you, unblinking and deeply concentrated. The Sovereign Moonstone in a small dais in the center of the room. You see bandages where Glim's hand clutched the stone, and only when you rasp do they manage to break out of their concentration and turn to you.

"Herr Gesellschaft?" their voice is of concern, and you try to rasp out a response, but your throat is too dry to form words. After a moment, Glim quickly gets up, pours you a cup of water, and slowly hydrates you back into speaking form. "I took that stone away from you when I saw you standing there." the moonstone glimmers almost in response, "Burned my hand something fierce, but you seem to be all better now."

You have learned a bit of the flaw in the moonstone's design.

Questions

When you can finally speak again, Glim asks you simple questions: Are you well? Are you hurt? Why are there searing blue sigils on your belly?

They know not to expect direct answers, but you give them what you can. You are hungry, you are thirsty, you are, somehow, not tired. And, at least for now, your mind is your own again. They prepare you a meal, and several tonics to help you back on your feet. Only then do you ask the important question: While Glim held the Moonstone, did they give you any commands?

"I'm not sure." they reply, "I don't know if anything I said could be construed as a command."

You ask Glim, if they can, to clutch the Moonstone again, and utter any command they wish. Glim, after a brief hesitation, clutches the moonstone and speaks, "I command you to lay down on the bed."

It does not work.

Confront January
After you are fully rested, of course. You are, after all, still a Master of the Bazaar.

Trust

Long after you have returned to full form, long after you have returned to your cloak, long after you have remade your flesh to remove the Law you inscribed upon it, and long after you have placed the Moonstone somewhere safe, you go to find January. As ever, she proves elusive, especially from your eyes and those of the Bazaar. You have to rely largely on Glim, and the occasional connection from the Great Game, to finally secure a meeting with her.

In a single dark room, where no law can be spoken, you enter with your eyes closed. "Herr Gesellschaft." January's voice booms commandingly in the Liberation, "I assume this is about our previous interaction."

You explain to her what you did: You seared the law upon your skin, and when you clutched the Moonstone, your mind broke and unraveled, breaking into a recursive pattern of hierarchies. "You were both Sovereign and Subject. The Subject cannot move without command from the Sovereign, the Sovereign cannot give commands if they are a subject. This makes sense with the theory we had established."

But when Glim clutched the stone, nothing happened.

"You are a Master of the Bazaar." she starts, "Were our goals any less aligned, I would have attempted to kill you several times over by now." you will not bother reminding her that she still did, "But in putting your unconditional trust in me, you have proven that your desire is sincerely held."

"Our relationship was obvious. You gave me all the opportunity in the world to completely destroy your plans, and yet you also gave me a plan that I wanted to see to fruition. You trusted that my desire to see the Masters gone trumped my ability to care about who removed them. But I expected that you would need to ensure the Moonstone's function - it is what I would've done."

"And so, I returned this trust with my own: The Moonstone works, as perfectly as you wanted it to." a pregnant sigh escapes her lips, "But no amount of trust should be given to a tool this powerful - no trust should be afforded to tyrants, and a Sovereign is a tyrant at heart."

"All I did was limit the Moonstone's targets. There can only ever be two subjects: The Bazaar, and you. And there can only ever be two Sovereigns: You, and me."

Is she not scared that you could control the Bazaar for nefarious ends?

"Trust me; as you have done so before." is all she responds, before the ticking of the clock resumes, and she requests that you leave.

You have found the perfection of the Moonstone's design.