EVENT APHELION CRASH (maw event)

Merc
M.AW

Newness greeted his eyes. Many items were in seemingly perfect condition. A reflection on the excess of over production regardless of need. Things went to be burned, disposed of, after sitting in perfect condition without purchase or need.

Merc, riding in his mech unit, strode along the increasingly turbulent, mucky, sucking down amalgam of mixed waste. He had landed on the furthest out of the small chain on islands. Identified to him from his Wizard-Map so long in the making. Cautiously looked down from above on his sky island, and had ridden the intense thermals rising from the island chain in his glider. Going low enough to see for himself the miasma, the swarming mass of plastics, metals, trash - the signs of civilization, of abandoned technologies across ages.

Now they were all here. From the great plastic patches that swarmed the ocean, washing about, bullied by currents and ley-winds into a critical mass.

Unseen to the eyes but felt in the bones, in his being, was a growing spiritual, psychic storm of electric soul energy. A magical cyclone - the mouth of which centered on the largest island below.

denined new forms so long... denied changeee, denied selfff
His mech had also been accumulated and improved across the ages. He had worried it would sink into the softer sands underneath the waste material, but after landing found that they were so thick, his mech feet compacted them down as he piloted it in jerky lunges across the miasma.

One islet, one spit, a long beach of plastic later. He approached over a short ascent, met the crest and started down through hazy fumes of reclamation, of chaotic rebirth.

"Ahhhhhhhrrrrrrriiiiiivvvvvallllll"

A sensed word, the mission, whispering in his mind. Merc piloted forward, he'd chosen an angle a bit of parrallel to the edge, roughly circling along the mass - stabbing his mech-staff deep into the layers of tech-waste, industrial byproduct, hoping he could anchor against any strong downward cascades.

Begiinnn the beginnnmnnning

The heat rising, the light falling above him as he waded deeper. With every few hundred steps, the haze thickened above until the sky was a grey and seething nothing.

The staff had encountered solid ground, or something so compacted as to be equivalent. Mech and man continued along this path. It was descending lower, the mech was swallowed, pushing forward in the plastics.

After a while, Merc and mech emerged into a cave mouth of some sort. He fiddled a few knobs, and a weak yellow light emenated from the staffs jeweled top. He looked out upon... a further waste field - but no, that wasn't right. Heavier items had fallen through the plastic over time, real technology here. The massive motors of old shipping vessels. The heavy spindles of drill rigs, attached with hefty chain to rigging, torn off at hinges. And along the floor, though more solid now, were chips, decks, boards, screens, glittering in the reflected staff-light.

*all the formssss... collected here... the changing... now static, now nothing, not resting, not living, NOT changing... suppressed... *

The mech's cooling was valiantly losing its

NOTES

• Add in more SYMBOLISM, VISUAL CHANGES, this is a space where SURREALITY is emerging into the world.
• The Trash heaps should SEETHE AND SWARM like living things
• When he enters into the 'womb' there should be shapes in the darkness, swinging arms and assembly cranes, that arise from the floors and walls, that are fitting together pieces, they are joined not with welding or bolts or screws
• magic holds them together, the forms are MADE and collapse
• At the heart there is one container that keeps being made and unmade
• It takes one form and collapses, other metals fall into it, into a new pattern and shape but become chaotic and unstable
• Merc is the one that helps SHAPE THE FORM
• In the center of a swirling pool of surreality, chants and visions around him, visions of animals, of life, of machines and technology, of a GROWING STACK of inventions leading to the heavens
  • He falls along the scales seeing things at the smallest level, and then at the greatest height, as if an ant from a mountain, he changes shape
• He creates a FRACTAL FORM, one that seems to shift even as it stays the same, he weaves the magic at levels... and he CHANTS
• everything transformed

Maw is born, shapes begin to boil forth.

• the ineffectual machines begin to form and move under their own power
• the space begins to fill with roars and machine clanking
• word like growls echo in the space
• Merc FLEES
• he realizes for the first time the words are OUT OF HIS HEAD
• He is alone and freed.

denined new forms so long... denied changeee, denied selfff

• He had cross the ocean

• Followed waves of waste

• walks up upon spits of increasingly solid waste material

• as it becomes solid, he is upon an island (maybe volcanic or something in origin, no strike that, he is walking up onto land)

• he. climbs and ascends the island

• then begins to descend into a pit

• the heat increases

• it is the forging heart of a chemical, geothermal plant, that once cleanly burned waste, but was over come

• it is the HEART OF THE MAW

• He descends deeper, down many meters

• He begins to feel OSCILLATIONS OF MAGIC or of strange and cosmic forces

• In the darkness

• deeper darkness

• he delivers the seed (a bit sexual?)

• perhaps he simple removes a barrier, and then deconstructs most of his mech

• taking apart the pieces of high and low technology

• reassembling them with other things he finds

• guided by a force

• he creates...

• the genesis object

HIGH-WIZ/M.AW/M.AW Key

MAW IS BORN