Community

Again? Again, again, again.

It was the same voice. It was her voice. But it was his voice now, masculine where it was feminine, deep where it was high, dark where it was light, hard where it quavered.

Me don't hurt. Don't again. Don't please. 

But you have to know you have to know you have to know...

The shape gathered itself up. Still a mess of black wires, it tumbled through the space, not a mat like the other, but a gathered form that looped and wound about itself, gathering itself, pulling itself into the space.

They all have to know. Or they'll do and do and do. They'll go and go and go. And then what? What's happens when the going and the doing is over, hm? Do they know? Do you know?

Do you know anything at all?

He twisted himself and settled squarely in front of Life.

And the Other. Does he know? 

Of course you don't know. You can't know until you know, can you? You couldn't me before I, and you can't you before you. But somehow I know. Do you want to know?

The thing floated on the bubble of the silence for a moment, letting it swell. It pondered.

Do you want to know? I could let you all know. And then there'd be things to know. There wouldn't just be a Me and a You and a... Other. There'd be a Know. And we wouldn't just know about this, we'd know about a lot of things. There'd be things and things and things and we'd know about them. He would know about them. Would you want to know if knowing meant, well, knowing?

Even as the other thing gathered up, this thing gathered down, seeming to seep into itself. It was like a sigh.

You are me. You saw. It killed. Part. 

You are me and I am you. Both are dead but you are not. Understand? you died but then you didn't. But you can still, again and again.

He died, she said, as the months tumbled into seasons and the sparrows fluttered by the sea.

He died, they said, head of stone, cracked marble breast, heap earth, heap earth.

He died, we said, when the sky fell into the earth and the water wrapped the stone.

 And again and again it happens. Every day it happens. You happen to, but only to me. And again and again. Sometimes more of you, and sometimes less. And sometimes me all at once. But it happens, again and again, for you, for them, for all. But not me. For I am already me. And someday, so will you.

Everyone dies. 

That was the secret to ignite the wind. And on it carried more, songs and whispers, yells and sighs. And they Know now, for there is Knowing to be done.

3 PP (Domain): Beget God: The God of Knowledge is born when the secret of death is told.

Death
Generic: 0/2 Domain: Death: 0/1 Skills: G: 0/0 I: 0/0 E: 0/0 Combat: 0

One point must be made absolutely clear: divine beings don't necessarily have mouths.

The reason for this is that their physiology isn't so much physiology as it is theology. What are the religious ramifications if a god has a mouth? Does that mean that mouths are a fundamental structure of the universe that predates the gods who have them? If so, shouldn't the concept of a mouth, rather than the gods who have mouths, be worshipped? Clearly, these mouths must be the prime movers, the things that created everything else, including the gods. And how would such theology apply to mortal life, where mouths are less about theology and more about physiology?

The matter is further complicated by the fact that mouths imply a body, and divine beings don't necessarily have bodies, certainly not as the concept would eventually come to be defined by mortals. The term "god-flesh" is generally understood by scholars to be a standing for the metaphysical, abstract, bibbly bobbly pseudo-body that gods would presumably actually have. Which is to say, their bodies are not bodies. It seems that paradoxes are inherently necessary if one is going to talk about religion.

Point being, when mortals say that Nos sprung from the mouth of Death, it should not be taken literally.

Setting theological conundrums regarding divine bodies aside, somewhere within Death's "body" there was a... well, not mouth, for the reasons enumerated above. Somewhere within Death's "body" was a "central locus for the concept of communication." This might have been a mouth, might not have been, mortal theologians would talk your ear off debating that point (and don't even bring ears into this!). But it was from this nexus that the god's words came from. And, when the words "everyone dies" left the god's "communicational ideographical mouth thingy," a tentacle was not far behind those words. Indeed, the words had barely passed Death's metaphorical lips when this tentacle tried to push its way out of her "talk-hole."

Unfortunately, as you might imagine, the word "tentacle" has its own baggage. This particular descriptor is further complicated by the fact that, unlike the tendrils of Life and Death, these tentacles had a rigid understructure to them, insofar as something that exists in a conceptual, abstract realm can have a tentacle, or, indeed, a rigid understructure. This structure wasn't straight, nor was it curved. It was, for a lack of a better word (and, it should be noted, at this point words were a rather new and fangled thing, as far as creation was concerned), a joint. Not just one joint, several, and the tentacle wasn't so much a single thing as it was broken up into several smaller tentacles towards the end that was pushing its way out of the dead god's paranormal speech apparatus.

Or, to be short, it was a hand, attached to an arm.

The hand, as it decided that things like itself should be called, pushed its way out of the goddess's might-be-a-mouth-but-we-can't-really-say-for-sure, bent back, and planted itself firmly on what might have been the dead god's face. Another arm pushed its way out of Death's mouth, planted itself on what also might have been Death's face, followed by another, and another. Once these limbs felt they had a good hold on reality (well, the abstract, non-material reality in which gods presumably live), they pushed. For a moment, it seemed that they were trying to rip Death's "Speaky-Central-Node" from its "abstractly might-be-a-body." But, with a pop (oddly enough, no theologian debates that it occurred with a pop), the new god made an exit, stage left... err... mouth (however, theologians do debate on this point).

The new god straightened itself, ensured all its limbs were in proper order, checked to make sure he still had legs ("still" being a largely subjective term, since it hadn't existed before from which it might have had legs leftover), and then turned to look at Life and Death. It devoted a head exclusively to each, with a third looking at seemingly nothing (though this was in the general direction of a fissure in creation, from which another god was creating itself).

The two heads engaged with the present company said, in unison, "Halloooooo!"

GodBlock Show