Intergalactic Summit

The notion of moonlight vigils in rejection of devouring demons lit my wick, and so I loaded a few hundred of my finest boys into the Orca and set off for a spiritual retreat on Hilaban. How I love Hilaban: the private beaches, the pine trees, the golden soil, vineyards, Ni-Kunni dance instructors.... Ale-Alephansyo? I think we need to add a "cha" to that new number. "Boom boom ... boom boom boom boom - cha!" On the "cha" they push out those cute little asses, yes, just like that sweetie - be careful with that one, dear, he's fresh off the Fenrir if you know what I mean. Yes, more oil...

Where was I?

On Hilaban! White sand, baby oil, a legion of squirming Sebiestor football players... oh! Right. Sand, baby oil, sodomy, not such a good mix. Mummy's bad, boys! Up the trail! Up the trail, everyone!

On Hilaban! Ancient redwood bunkhouses, wine, and a great big bonfire!

Staring at the fire through the squirming naked bodies, I realized that I had left my exotic dancers in Amarr. I am very fond of a new freckle-faced Inktomi boy, I think he'll be a good influence, and that's when it hit me. You see, pondering the Takmahl these last few months, I had developed an unshakable conviction that ancient Amarr served as a penal colony for whatever long lost civilization first plied the starways between here and someplace over there far, far away.

Penal colonies are large domineering fortresses, often well stocked to diminish contact with the Outside (as each contact becomes a vector for naughtiness in or out). "Yes, yes, jolly good, just plop persons of inconvenient political, theological, criminal, or what-have-you bent on that rock over there and forget about them." For that matter, the entire cluster could possibly have served such a purpose: "I hereby sentence the defendant to the space anus of yonder Australopithicus Constellation.... Oh, bloody hell, our civilization seems to have ended. Poor form, that."

Given a large domineering fortress, well stocked to diminish contact with the Outside, and a necessarily authoritarian regime of jailors lording over the abject and imprisoned, one might envision emergence of a highly ordered, militaristic society constructed upon a brutal caste system in a post-apocalypse cluster. Penal measures often come with a moralizing religious bent; moreover, many inmates in my hypothetical prison transgressed against the previous regime on spiritual matters (insisting everyone wear funny hats; and, that no one enjoy sex).

However, the exigent need for this proto-civilization to survive would demand integration of some warded into the warden caste. In that regard, supple choir boys (so to speak) might look more appealing on warden sheets (so to speak) than beefy, jump fuel gargling union organizers (so to speak). The choir boys would have no particular reason to give up their holy ghosts, and after a few thousand years, poof, a warden caste with strong religious tendencies conquers a large portion of the re-emerging cluster (while seeing the rest as in dire need of severe remedial discipline).

Yes, yes, but what about the Devouring Demons, you ask?

Quite!

It's not going to be all choir boys and union organizers on that prison rock. Some of the prisoners would in fact have been quite dangerous, even in a star-spangled civilization in possession of technology sufficiently advanced as to appear like magic in comparison to contemporary standards. I dare say most of *those* prisoners were kept in extreme states of buried stasis. Moreover, when the origin civilization collapsed, the wardens would no longer have faced political difficulties from simply killing the most inconvenient wards. That would have been a bit messy, however, and I dare say, not every thread was tied off.

Consequently, my own vision of Amarr might be stated as: a place for That Which Must Not Become Free. And so, as the sinewy young bodies wiggle and merge in dancing firelight, we two come a step closer, that "Devourer" and this bitter old woman.

That goes without saying. I've certainly caused the death of a great many helpless creatures just so I can ride the gold elevator up to Sarum's, Tash-Murkon's, Emperor Family's, Viziam's, Inherent Implants' and... maybe a couple of others that I am forgetting... jump clone lounges. Yet my own death tallies are modest by comparison to the average among us. Consequently, although I haven't gotten to the "not all bad" part of "devouring" *really*, suffice it to say that I most certainly consider the capsuleer population as a whole (myself consequently included) so vile that, were it to be "devoured," it should be to the benefit of all Creation.

In short, what appears to have not occurred to the purveyors of that quaint Matari superstition is that "devouring" great evil represents an act of great good. So while I find the premise of an imprisoned "Devourer" irresistible, in my paradigm, it is those who try to keep such a creature imprisoned who are the despicable elements of society.

The introduction of Amarr's God into Matari spiritual beliefs by way of a "Cult of The Devourer" (who must be released for the benefit of all Creation) therefore becomes an expression of The Reclaiming itself... a premise upon which I shall expand - quite madly.

Won't that be fun!?

I must also apologize, Kikia, if I am being too blunt.

This space is reserved for when my brain stops bleeding and I can come up with an adequately concise reply.

Down with this sort of thing. Or possibly Up. It is not particularly easy to tell.

Devouring isn't all that bad.

Only yesterday did I devour a very nicely cooked bit of Steak, medium rare, had a bit of blood left in it but that just adds to the flavour.

Again, the "destructive element" stands as rather the entire beneficial point.

Presumably, you would recognize that destroying a great evil is an act of great good. In your myth, the "Devourer" is out to destroy the Matari people. Yes, yes, clearly that would be an evil act. But I do not see God in terms of "good" or "evil," and am quite happy to work with what I'm given.

Allow me to direct your attention to the map button on your ship's interface. Go ahead and poke it.

Now, select "ships destroyed in the last 24 hours."

The death and destruction caused by capsuleers is more abundant in our cluster than hydrogen. It would be marvelously interesting to know exactly how long it will take capsuleers to kill more people than evil meanie poo-poo head slavers have enslaved. I wonder if we've crossed the threshold, already.

Now let us imagine that instead of Devouring the Matari people, a modified "Devourer" were introduced to young Matari spiritualists. This new Devourer would be an incarnation of God intent upon Devouring... capsuleers. Every last one of them. Chomp. Damn. I seem to have lost a foot. Bit of a riff on both the Sani and End... er... Equilibrium themes, really. Man has sinned and is being punished by demons. However, God will see humanity through by Devouring said demons.

Now, I wonder which "Devourer" those we (rather pretentiously) refer to as "baseline" might find more appealing?

Credit where due, I must thank your little troupe for the inspiration. The impact would not be the same if I had tried to invent a Matari mythological component on which to attach the concept all by myself. I had been leaning in the direction of a re-engineered Wolf cult, which was rather the focus of my slaver hound cross-species recombinant experiments, but this! This puts fur on the beast! Even now, a cadre of gifted Ni-Kunni artists are feverishly tattooing my newest boys with all manner of snaking Uroboros designs in all the right places... oh, yes! Careful with that one, dear. He's fresh off the... well, you understand.

It seems the inability to see positive in destruction may be deeply ingrained in some past selective foible, some misalignment of protein, some - how do you say... flaw? - in the genetic signatures of your people. It is good to know, as such knowledge allows me to plan more carefully for the emergence of a Cult to the Devourer among those disposed and downtrodden "baseline" Matari so poorly served by their demonic "protectors."

Concrete metaphors will clearly be required, shining parables to the merits of gluttonous consumption!

Yes, in the interests of setting firm theological chutes for my nubile young acolytes, I have purchased a Wolf, and some ratatatatat guns, and boosted up the zoom, and ... oh my stars! That does vibrate in all the right ways, now, doesn't it lads!? A bit cramped, granted, I think this is... connected to you, sweeties, yes it does seem to be... now where is the brake? Do you see anything that looks like a brake, boys? It's probably big and knobby and a bit off color and... oh, you can't see the GUI...

Well, I suppose a collision works.

Yes, a Wolf, fancy ratatatatat guns, a blueprint to smith my own toxic waste bullets (as is apparently the way of the Matari people; or at least, so says so right here on the shipping manifest...), and I have begun to make amends with the Republic.

I shall devour the past to teach the future of (Evil) God's grace!

Bite by bite, nibble by nibble, I whittle down that warlike footing I would otherwise find myself on with Monsieur Shaka'boo-tay but for my charmingly diplomatic personality. Given the size each serving is currently constrained to, this meal will take from now until I figure out how to re-open the EVE Gate.

But wait! The merits of this parable do not stop with Mr. Shaka'boo-tay!

In devouring even the tiniest morsel of dead freedom fighters, I necessarily tarnish the previously golden relations I enjoyed with my own people. In that as well there is a teaching moment, for - like the Uroboros circling back upon its tail (no, not your tail this time, bunny, next time), like the Uroboros circling back on its tail (fine, your tail too), I shall consume the tarnish.

Devouring the past, as well as the consequences of devouring the past, elevates the present.

As the beautiful mandala symbolizes the risk of material attachment, with its destruction, the spirit is freed. Freedom! In this way, I instill within my bulbous little nymphs both an appreciation for speed tanking (in a sporty number associated with their native mythology - vroom vroom howl!); and... the merits of devotion to the Devourer.

The thing is, everything she is saying makes sense. It's just phrased whimsically.

Tibby, you say the sweetest things, sweetie!

In reflecting on your new found calling, now, I suppose I've rather spun myself into a tizzy not unlike Old Man Kuvie's observation from a year or two prior, wherein we pod people were a cancerous "mistake" intent upon choking Life Itself from the cluster. Rather than turning everyone into cybernetic crash test automatons, I'm going with "Plan Faith," but on the fundamental malady in need of a cure, there is significant congruence. I suppose there is also Mummy's lycanthropic Sebiestor puppy project, so who am I to judge, *really*?