New Beginning 23: One for the Record Books

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Re: New Beginning 23: One for the Record Books

Celadon's Penultimate
While Darkess and Tundra were busy concerning themselves with vile and weird creature comforts, Sister Siren had long held her peace, tarrying in the eerie silence of the Echo Chambers. With no vibration beyond her slowed and steadied breath to disturb the mortal air, the sounds within her very mind reverberated with ominous clarity, affording her an unreal calm in which to be immersed for meditation.

Siren's mind murmured, muttered strange and unknown tongues, practiced ancient and blasphemous dialects, in the harmony of beauteous tones. With practice came the perfection of a Latin choir, a hymn of Pagan sacrifice, and a tribal African clarion call, strewn about on psychic winds like serpents through water.

She sang them forward, and for wicked and sinister symmetry, sang them backward in her mind, all at once, never missing a note. And when the backward mantra was done, she began again, both versions simultaneous.

There within those incantations lay the resonance she had once discovered, and long since forgotten.

There among the Celtic Pagans was the angry primal scream of madness and ecstasy.

There among the African tribesmen was the exultant rapture of heathen freedom.

There among the Roman priests was the call to prayer, before the call to battle.

Within them, at just a second before the final chord, she heard it. Heard it again, as though for the first time.

The Thrice-Harmony. The gentle and melodious wind howling at a beauteous crossroads, where the Songstress might make magic to leave the Muses green with envy. A song of such exalted and deadly transcendence, as to do the Sirens proud.

Among the very first collection of vibrations, from which all music began.

That vague and vacuous, overwhelming overture, the first strain of the Music of the Spheres...
“…Judge not what a man has done, but judge what he could have done if he was a different bloke altogether. For art thou a leper? And a leper can changeth his spots…”   --Rudy Wade, Misfits (Series 4, Episode 8)
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Re: New Beginning 23: One for the Record Books

Celadon's Penultimate
Uttering an absolute nothing into the unfurnished Echo Chamber, Siren's mind roamed through psychic space, piecing together yet more strains, yet more chords to develop the overture from infancy into vibrant youth.

Her auditory memory collapsed the sounds, one after the other, into an ebb of long-gone oracles and a flow of forgotten prophecies. History played within the measures in a constant, thunderous stream, so much an ocean of rhythms and motions and patterns. Time picked up and left off and drifted and deviated and straightened and curled and twisted and coiled to the tune of an unfathomable stream of harmonies.

Sound gave way to rhythm and to silence//
To void and to motion and to song//
To peace and to force and to violence//
In defiance, its measure thunders on//

Soundless psychic vibration coursed through the air, and hummed across her skin like so much erratic electricity.

And she the conduit//
she was fond of it//
Humming songs from her past//
she caught onto it//

Siren's mind was traveling through time, and simultaneously making its way through a stubborn and unpredictable stream of consciousness. That was the best her mind could muster. To make the straight journey through such a perilous past as that which had been endured by this universe might overwhelm even such a mad and prodigious musical mind as that of Sister Siren, the descendant of the Musica Universalis.

Calling, crying to the Cosmos, in her madness//
Raving, ranting, in lyric triads//
For the gods, like weary dryads//
And learn, from them, the depth of true sadness//

Like any good roller coaster, this trip started off slow, building unwieldy suspense, rising up into ominous crescendo. Yet, now, having every one of her emotions right and properly broken up into innumerable pieces, that fragile ego was swept up, set aside like stardust at the feet of the divine. She uttered only a gasp, before the ride quickened to warp speed. Her soul was thrust out, faster than light. Siren was off--up, up and away.
“…Judge not what a man has done, but judge what he could have done if he was a different bloke altogether. For art thou a leper? And a leper can changeth his spots…”   --Rudy Wade, Misfits (Series 4, Episode 8)
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Re: New Beginning 23: One for the Record Books

Imagine you are a mortal.

A small thing, bound in flesh and time. A mind unable to extend beyond its own frame, its own space. Deaf to the cosmic harmonies of the stars and blind to the dance of the astral realms. Tiny in the scope of the universe, tiny in the scope of the world.

Imagine you gain power. Imagine you gain insight. Your mind and power expand beyond your frame, you change in body and soul. As time passes, you drift from your old life- your world has changed; where before you were bound in shape and space, now you dance through species and traverse places no man has walked before.

Imagine you continue this path, abandoning humanity by the wayside. With arcane science and technological magic you expanding and grow to become a universe unto yourself. You turn dreams into reality; reality into dreams. You can spin universes from dust and whims; bring forth worlds like a delicate array of soap bubbles.Your power is phenomenal, cosmic and widespread.

With friends and allies, you pull entire species and war from nothing. They hold power as great as yours; as one you bend reality itself as an amusing diversion. Entire wars scour the galaxies to supply appropriate antagonists, entire worlds are made to serve as the center of a single party. You embrace this entertainment; these friends.

...but still you look outwards, your gaze touching the furthest stars and..things live beyond you. Songs in the darkness; sights outside the universe. You don't understand; can't understand. So you push forth.

You copy the wisdom of the ancient Egyptians and forge for yourself a many-parted soul. Seven pieces you take from your heart and imbue each with power and sapience. Each made on old archetypes and arcane correspondences; each made to follow a specific pursuit. They are made to maintain your works; entertain or enlighten those who seek you.

Affairs in order, you reenact your ancient past and abandon this universe-shell as you did your human form. Your mind rushes past the borders of reality and into the unknown.

Imagine you are outside the realm of the imaginable. In a realm of the starkly illogical. You cease to really exist and in doing so begin to understand. Like someone reading a light by the shape of the shadows on a cave wall, you understand what is by becoming what is not. Slowly, you seep back into existence, following the flow of cosmic forces. Your mind refracts into a thousand perspectives; a thousand thoughtless events and flows through forces both mystic and mundane.

As you reach for enlightenment, however, a note of discord provokes for the first time a thought. Some other thing rockets into cosmic ascension, reaching for the power it provides. Some part of you that remembers physicality, remembers humanity, frowns facelessly- casting an incidental array of small disturbances through the multiverse.

With great regret you begin to descend, rocketing back to the shell you abandoned so callously eons ago.
“She'd become a governess. It was one of the few jobs a known lady could do. And she'd taken to it well. She'd sworn that if she did indeed ever find herself dancing on rooftops with chimney sweeps she'd beat herself to death with her own umbrella.”
― Hogfather
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Re: New Beginning 23: One for the Record Books

Celadon's Penultimate
In reply to this post by Celadon's Penultimate
Aimless, and yet perfect in her course, the mind of Sister Siren began to harmonize with the cascade of divergent harmonies.

 ♫I am called♪





am called

The Siren♪

♪Who seek

From the Cosmos

My Ascension♫

♫Foregoing space

Transcending time

To subjugate the whole


Each word was spoken with a different voice, and even a different number of voices. Siren's mind was fading away, and yet bolstered up into something far superior--her psyche was swept forward and further forward into a grandiose and orchestral maelstrom, a blasting and thunderous opera, a choir made from the voices of immense philosophical abstractions. She made her request known, in the proper manner of entreaty, and perhaps now, the Cosmos was responding.
“…Judge not what a man has done, but judge what he could have done if he was a different bloke altogether. For art thou a leper? And a leper can changeth his spots…”   --Rudy Wade, Misfits (Series 4, Episode 8)
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Re: New Beginning 23: One for the Record Books

Celadon's Penultimate
This post was updated on .
Indeed, at this point, every stanza, every lyric, every verse of this full and overflowing space-time rhapsody blazed by her, rushed violently passionate, and yet Siren felt herself pulled without effort against the tide.

There all about was the overwhelming force, the heartbreaking music, the beauty-without-interlude of the Cosmos' own heart beating, of its own brain radiating immaculate and ingenious paradoxical thought.

She had done it. What before Siren had been too afraid to do, she had now done, and done well. As The Doctor had looked into the Time Vortex, and so many young gods might seek Ocean and Tethys in The Deep, Sister Siren had not only found the Music of the Spheres, but for the time being, her psyche was at one with it.

Cosmic sounds buzzed and zinged and whirred past, like the inner workings of an unfathomable beehive. The planets hummed a deep and visceral chorus, and all sentient music clashed and collided into dazzling solos, spectacular remixes and immaculately exceptional collaborations. Just a moment's peace afforded to her, Siren vibed with a funny rock-gospel strain, that dipped into a strange-yet-friendly pop-country number. Theme songs and theatrical music numbers and duets and shower singers and noisy garage bands all had their place, and were perfect, even with all their glorious flaws. In the ambient, beautiful background, every color of a nonexistent rainbow shimmered like the very pinnacles of knowledge and beauty.

As the emptiness sang, Siren's wispy subtle body resonated, becoming closer and closer to psychic concord with it. With barely the beat of a gnat's wing separating Siren from eternal Nirvana, at permanent unison with the Musica Universalis, she now focused, tried with all her might to bring the necessary power into closer reach.

Siren wished with all her might, and it drew the songs clamoring to her, like bait to fish. Of course, the bigger fish thrust all others aside, and encompassed her mind entirely. At last, she was garrisoned about with the song of Jupiter's revolution about the Sun, and its deep and rumbling affection only empowered her for stronger, stranger magics.

Her mind opened its eyes.

Her body opened its eyes.

The ecstasy of her psychic walkabout would catch up to her mortal form at last, lifting her body slow up from the floor of the now-gloriously-ringing Echo Chamber. Each inaudible psionic reverberation against the walls was stronger, more powerful than the last, until the Echo Chamber was not big enough to contain it all. The strange psychic noise began to permeate Motherboard Prime's Battlemoon as silent vibrations, seen as little more than a mild tremor to the mundane creatures encamped all about her. Before long, the entire Battlemoon was channeling force from the Music of the Spheres. Every sensitive mind, every mystical hotspot, every machine with transmitter technology was tapped.

Power radiated.

This time, when Siren began her primal invocation, that sultry and sensual seduction, all the mortal universe would hear.

Voices simultaneous, Siren sang forward and backward that dirge of destiny, that unfathomable secret of the universe, with finesse so subtle as to seep through space and time. And when the song had reached its destination, it ended all at once, in a blinding flash of psionic light only Siren could see. Her body and mind had reunited, in a place wholly apart from Prime's Battlemoon, or even from the space which it occupied...or the time.

The scenes all about her were, indeed, a subtle change from 2015, but the first thing that Siren cared to take note of was, naturally, the first noise to reach her ear.



Four-hundred yards away, the hilariously raunchy lyrics rang in her head like through her own personal headphones. The song ended, the radio announcer came on, introducing it as Rihanna's fresh new song, hot off of the presses. Only 13 days ago had it been released.

Siren's mind was piqued.

It was 13 days after the release of Rihanna's 'new' album, Loud. That album was released on November 12, 2010, which put her at the 25th of November. She had arrived not only on time, but with days to spare, before the 29th, the first day of the New Beginning. And with knowledge gleaned from the whispers of the Music, she would solve the mysteries of its cause, and she would be sure to end it, before it could start.
“…Judge not what a man has done, but judge what he could have done if he was a different bloke altogether. For art thou a leper? And a leper can changeth his spots…”   --Rudy Wade, Misfits (Series 4, Episode 8)
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Re: New Beginning 23: One for the Record Books

Celadon's Penultimate
This post was updated on .
Before long, though, Siren could only let out a frustrated and dejected groan of disgust, feeling like her own mission had ended before it had started. The Music had called her all over Earth, from California to Texas to Mississippi to Florida to New York, to even parts like Australia and the Netherlands.

Whispers on immaterial winds would nudge her in one direction, and then she would lose the call entirely. Then another call, sometimes lasting for days on end, as she made her way to one airport, music'd her way past security and all clearance, crossed over one state, continent or body of water, and came out the other side, sniffing about like some wretched psychic bloodhound.

"This is ludicrous!" She said at last, when the winds died down, and she found herself at the Airport, just short of boarding a plane to Michigan, "This is absolutely insane. I've been all across this wretched world. I've heeded your whispers, held them close to my heart like a Catholic to her prayers. And you mean to tell me that I have yet to see even one Member of the Forum? Not even one? That is balderdash!"

Use the Music. came the call.

"France was lovely, but no Vespert. The Netherlands was cool, but no WHD. The UK, no Soupster. Australia, no Myself OR BruiseViolet. NO Dryad in California, no Miscreant or Philote in Texas, no Zaleramancer in Mississippi, no Penultimate in Florida. They are HUMANS, are they not?"

Yes. Use the music. The call replied.

"I've been using the music." Siren hissed, glaring at confused Earthlings as they bypassed her at the airport, "I've been heeding your every whim, and you've been tossing me about like a rag on the winds. I refuse to believe that in this laughably small world, and the Music of the Spheres as my guide, I couldn't locate even one measly human."

They have no measles. The Music retorted. Follow the music.

"This is insane. I'm arguing with a collection of tones and tunes. Music I keep mistaking for a mind. Powerful music, but music nonetheless." Siren stormed out of the airport, as she recognized human law enforcement slowly gathering, and looking her over with mounting suspicion, "You know, if I weren't so doggedly determined, I'd be tempted to use my magics to return back home."

How is that? The Music inquired. How, without the Music?

Siren stopped dead in her tracks, glaring suspicious into empty air, "...what do you mean, without The Music? You plan on going somewhere?"

Not we. You. Came the solemn reply, Heed the music.

Siren rolled her eyes, and flipped her hair with a huff. "You're making even less sense than you have been over these past--"

Twelve days. You have been on the trail for twelve days. And we shall hold you at bay no longer. Move in The Music's wake.

Her heart sinking, Siren stammered, "T-tw-twelve days? I've been on this wild goose chase for twelve days? They should have all been exterminated by now! You can't be serious! I haven't even discovered what it is that causes the New Beginning! You must show me, so that it can be prevented! If they can't be taken out, they'll be left powerless, I'll see to it--!"

All at once, Siren was taken with a harsh and wracking cough. There seemed a frightening shortage of air, despite the high winds. She had noticed it before, but had convinced herself it was merely her mind playing tricks. Now, though, she was shivering all over, and not from the powerful thrum of The Music's influence.

We shall hold you at bay no longer. The Music repeated. You have been on the trail for twelve days. Go where The Music leads.

"Alright, I think that's enough out of you." Siren snapped, trudging into a relatively warm back alley "Take me back home."

Gestures were made, and words were said, in precise order, and acceptable timing. Nothing happened. Shaking her head, she blamed her lack of focus on the cold and tried again. Still, no response came. A third time, and she beckoned to The Music, having snapped what tiny twig of patience might have remained.

"Damn you, for an entity with no mind, you certainly are stubborn."

What gives you the impression we possess no mind? The Music returned now, sounding less like the alien monotone, to which she was accustomed, and more like something deep and indignant For one so obsessed with gaining knowledge of we, your ignorance is most astonishing. But then, if that were not the case, you would never have come back to this time in the first place. No, we have a mind, you-who-have-named-yourself-Sister-Siren.

A sharp gasp escaped Sister Siren's mouth, and she clasped it with both hands, beginning to piece together the grievous error she had made. In her contemplation, the Music continued.

There was a mind within the Music before Physis knew knowledge. There will be sentience within the Music long after Telos had taken his toll. We are Aeon's companion, who swim the seas of Nun, and loved Chaos and Ginnungagap as playmates in their infancy. Our breath was lullaby to Heimarmene and Ananke and the Fates. And you, who bow before the Muses and envy the Sirens, and plot ambitiously to overtake Lorelei, it is you who would tame The Music? The Music, whose whispers ring through The Depths, to inform and advise Lord Ocean? Whose choir stretches out into emptiness to cradle the stars?

There are none Mundane who master The Music.

None who harness it, and force it into servitude.

You would sooner bridle Fate, and subjugate Destiny.

Daring to speak, if only for last words before The Music's judgment, Siren mustered, "Then what have I done? I followed you. I went where you lead me. Tell me, if you didn't follow my plan, then was I following yours instead?"

Naturally. The Music smiled in the abstract, Siren could feel the condescending weight of its triumph Your path was sure to intersect with The Forum, but it was foolish assumption that we would point you to them. No, you were moving to leave traces of The Music behind. Wherever you went, so, too, would a long path of our voice trail in your wake. Our knowledge, our experiences, our passion, our power. You entangled us, as instructed, in patterns known to all the supernatural wellsprings. Your ritual has been acknowledged as permanent in the very Akasha, and as we converse, the Records move to comply with our signal.

"I made no signal." Siren hurried out of the building winds, until she found a promising place of refuge--a Music Shop. She stepped in, muttering to herself, "The Akasha hold everything, all mortal knowledge, including my intentions."

Your intentions matter not. The lion is not set before the Judgment for killing to survive, nor is the antelope counted a fool for falling prey. Nature is what it is. You gave the clarion call, and now, as was your ambition, Nature heeds. Though, admittedly, for our intention, not yours. So, before you ask, we will hold you in suspense no longer.

The power you invoked? The sign you made with your globetrotting? Was it magical? No. It was divine, down to a science.

It is called The Perfect Paradox, a signal of something so beautifully transcendent in nature that the energy of all reality must put forth resource to ensure its survival as an event, even allowing for the induction of a paradox--or multiple paradoxes--to hold it in place. That is the final mark we left, as you traced from the that alley to this music store. And it was more than worth it, to make use of your last few drops of power. Fortunate for you, the stroke of midnight will start your strength to returning. Yet it will not be nearly enough power for you to return to your proper time.

As with your every other attempt, in so many dead and divergent timelines, you will merely have to wait until 2013 to build up the power necessary to return home. Perhaps you will have learned from your hubris by then, and perhaps, by then, we will be feeling more gracious.

That was that. Left to dally in that quaint music shop, Siren would be unable to shake the knowledge of the overwhelming power to come. Undulating waves from the Akasha were moving ever closer, with paradoxical speed like a meteor through space, and would collide with the traces of power left by The Music across the world. And at the stroke of midnight, when the Music and the Akasha intersected like so much supernatural electricity and magnetism, interlaced with Siren's overwhelming magic, they would trigger the birth of thoughts, hopes and dreams into reality, for a group of unwary teens scattered across the world, united only by exploits on a humble website.
“…Judge not what a man has done, but judge what he could have done if he was a different bloke altogether. For art thou a leper? And a leper can changeth his spots…”   --Rudy Wade, Misfits (Series 4, Episode 8)
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