When it comes to historical record keeping in the Great War, there are two persons who took it upon themselves to become the greatest historians of the era. Ironically enough, both are Imperial.
The first are the written texts of Kassandora, of War. Although her works are obviously biased and terribly so, Kassandora does not exaggerate or lie when talking of troop movements, of logistics, of battles, sieges and frontlines. Many of the minor Divine Orders which worked sporadically throughout the Great War have less details about themselves than Kassandora has of them.
Once one gets passed her scathing comments, which are just as commonly directed at her own general staff as they are at the White Pantheon’s, one realises that Kassandora wrote with full honesty. Every Imperial defeat in battle has an accompanying short novel written by Kassandora which explains exactly why the defeat happened and what the Empire can do to prevent it from happening again. Every Imperial victory has an analysis of White Pantheon battle tactics and how they were successfully exploited. Kassandora has chronicled the lives of generals, again both Imperial and White Pantheon. She has written up entire family trees and even psychological analysis.
Whereas this is a thoroughly unprofessional opinion, there is a grand, cosmic justice in the fact that the best chronicler of the era we call the Great War is the Goddess of War herself.
Whereas Kassandora may come as no surprise, the second person does. Where one wrote, the other painted. Olephia, Goddess of Chaos, has such talent with the brush that it is said even a modern photograph cannot capture an image better. Many survivors of the Great War, when shown the paintings made by Olephia, state the same thing: it is exactly as they remember it. Paintings of cities are given such details that models can be created from them. We know of mountain ranges and valleys that no longer exist because Olephia painted them. In fact, it is not even that we know the mountain range, we know every crack and crevice in that mountain thanks to Olephia’s brush.
Whereas Kassandora of War being the bookkeeper of the Great War makes sense, there is a grand irony in the fact that the Goddess of Uncreation who can only destroy is responsible for these lifelike paintings. After the Great War, when much of Arascus’ rot was excised from the world. Kassandora’s text of record-keeping were kept but her ideological works were removed for the good of humanity. When it came to Olephia’s paintings, there was unanimous consensus that they remain and not be destroyed.
Many are housed in National Galleries throughout the world.
- Excerpt from “Studying the Formless”, a book documenting not the Great War but rather historians who research it. Written by a team of Allian historians.
Kavaa marched just slightly behind Malam as the Goddess of Hatred inspected the men Kavaa had brought back from Arika. Arascus had been correct, giving them something to do had in fact stemmed the bleeding. Even if it handed been the pinnacle of smooth sailing either. General Sokolowski had given them one look and immediately decided that they were not cut out to be the sort of careful, reserved soldiers he was looking for. Frankly, Kavaa couldn’t even blame the man. It was obvious from one glance at the men that there was something off. They stood too still, they didn’t smile, their eyes lethargically scouted around the environment but they remained sharp and focused. They didn’t talk.
It was the silence and the discipline that really got to Kavaa. That was an unnatural sort of silence and the sort of discipline that only existed in a commander’s dreams. Kavaa and Malam both walked in their Divine Imperial uniforms of professional black. The former with hair tied back in a grey tail, the other with hers in luxurious rolling waves that flared out to make it look like the Goddess was wearing a cape of white. “They’re even more impressive than I thought they would be.” Malam said.
Kavaa wasn’t going to defend herself or give them pity. They received enough of that already and pity was not helpful to anyone. “These are the ones that didn’t just break from the immortality.”
“Oh no.” Malam said. “These ones broke too.”
“I meant they didn’t break as much.” Kavaa said.
“Or maybe they broke too far?” Malam asked. “And you’ve completely detached them from any sort of humanity they possessed?”
“Usually the rule in medicine is that too little of a dose simply has no effect and too much causes damage.” Kavaa replied dryly as Malam got to the end of the line and turned around. The Goddess of Health turned around with her. And they started making another line down this Lubskan field. This team couldn’t be taken straight to Rancais of course, they had to be trained and suited up first.
What Malam wanted to train them for, Kavaa did not know. They were already excellent fighters in all regards. “Maybe so.” Malam said. “Maybe it is so, or maybe these men received enough of a dose to wipe their humanity away entirely. Those who aren’t here are the ones who tried to cling on to some scraps they had in the past.”
“Well they’re here anyway.” Kavaa said. “Do you want them or not? I’ll be sending them back to Arika if you say no.”
“Can’t stand to look at your own creation?” Malam asked. Kavaa opened her mouth to argue back and then realised she was simply going to insult Malam back. She had no issue with calling the woman a worthless waste of air, but she knew how to diagnose herself too. If Malam had just called her stupid, Kavaa would not care. She cared now because there was truth in it. The white-haired Goddess chuckled to herself. “My my, are we going silent?”
“Are you going to wax philosophy all day or what?” Kavaa asked and Malam laughed out loud.
“The men are ready, I can see it in their faces. They’ll be able to do the job. It’s just on the SIS to find all the addresses at the same time. I suspect we have a good two-thirds, three-quarters of all of Anarchia’s blessed at this point. That’s just raw maths and gut feeling though.” Malam took another step, Kavaa followed along. “The question here is not whether the men are ready, its whether you are ready.”
Whereas before Malam got Kavaa angry, now she got her downright furious. “Who do you think I am?”
“You’re the Goddess of Health.” Malam said, her coat swished with each step, her white hair brilliantly reflected the sun above it. So brilliantly it was almost blinding. “You’ve seen tragedy after tragedy and disaster after disaster but how many times have you caused one? It is one thing to dig bodies out of rubble, it is another to sentence your own men to death a thousand times over.”
“And I put men down when there is nothing left to heal.”
“When is there nothing left for you to heal?” Malam asked. “Your vow calls for it, your men put others down but do you?” Kavaa took a deep breath. Malam was smart, she had to give her that. But there was such a thing as being too smart.
“I do my job.” Kavaa said. “There is nothing more than that. If my job is to once again rip mortality from them, then I shall do it.”
Malam shrugged. “That took a lot out of you to say.”
“Does anyone like their job?”
“I do.” Malam replied. The worst part was that she probably was being honest. “But I have to admit, inspiring hatred and obsession does seem more fulfilling than being a Divine cure-all. You have my sympathies, getting thanked so much must be terrible.”
“Do you think I’ve not had this talk with myself a thousand times?”
“I personally have a different mantra, but to each their own.”
“It’s not a mantra!” Kavaa finally shouted.
“Well what is it then?” Malam asked. “Because if you have to repeat it endlessly to keep convincing yourself of it, then what are you doing Kavaa? Is that not the definition of a mantra?”
Kavaa sighed and calmed herself down. She was never much good in these arguments, she knew others could run laps around her. Malam had just done it. She just had to not play the game. “Then let it be a mantra. I do not care for your judgement Malam.”
“How many times are we going to repeat that before we believe it?” Malam asked immediately and Kavaa flinched.
“Are you like this to everyone?” Kavaa asked.
“Generally I am.” Malam replied flatly. “Helenna knows how to play me though. Dad does too but that’s obvious.”
“Is that an excuse or what?”
“You asked me a question and I answered and even expanded Kavaa.” Malam said and Kavaa realised the other Goddess was correct. “How is that an excuse?” Honestly, Kavaa herself did not know. She had just said because she wanted to lead down the same path Malam had just led her down. “Do we have anything else?”
“You’re tough.” Kavaa said and Malam smiled to herself.
“As are you Kavaa, as are you.” She said and clicked her tongue again. “You’re hired.”
“Excuse me?” Kavaa asked. What? And was with the tone? Malam suddenly sounded as if she was happy beyond belief…
“I just wanted to see whether you’d be up for it. I assume you will. Can you bless them from a distance?” To be honest, Kavaa would not hold the grudge. The White Pantheon had taught her how to let go of such minor trite as being annoying and she was just happy to be off the conversation about herself.
“I can load them up on life.” Kavaa replied, she made her tone slightly more energetic.
“Then we’ll do that.” Malam said. The pair of Goddesses walked a few more steps. “By the way. This is off-topic but Helenna asked for my opinion on something.” The Goddess of Hatred brought out her phone with nimble fingers. Kavaa didn’t say anything, she just waited for the woman to finish scrolling to whatever it was she was scrolling. And then, she thrust the phone into Kavaa’s hand. “What do you think of that?”
It was a painting of one of the Raptor planes. The plane was flying downwards and straight towards the audience looking as if it was about to jump out of the paper. Its angry beak and furious eyes ready to destroy anything that came before it. And behind it, with its feathered wings lined up perfectly so that they were at the same angle as the metal wings of the plane, with its claws resembling the autocannon in the maw of the plane, was a huge bird. It was a Raptor over a Raptor, the biological was painted in such a way as to be the mechanical’s shadow. It was…
Kavaa smiled to herself. Well, it was Olephia’s work through and through, there was no mistaking that sort of skill. “You can scroll.” Malam said.
Kavaa scrolled to another painting. This one was of the plane flying through the air, behind it was a huge bird of its namesake. Another masterpiece, this one was painted to be all sharp colours, with the Raptor silhouetted by the blue sky. And then to another, it was a shot of Raptor One flying straight from above. Below it was fire. And on that fire, a shadow of the bird. “What do you think?” Malam asked.
“It’s beautiful work.” Kavaa said. Malam rolled her eyes.
“I know its skilled, what emotions does it inspire?”
Kavaa stared at the pictures for a few moments more. “Power?” She asked. “Awe?” Malam sighed again. “Well what do you want me to say?”
“I expected something higher than that.” Malam said. “More…” She tutted and clicked her tongue. Those black eyes were not disappointed, they were simply unimpressed. Well at least that was better than what the woman’s tone suggested. “In-depth, so as not to use a doctor’s tongue.” Kavaa wasn’t going to fall for the bait. Obviously Malam wanted her to swear and even more obviously, she had some terrible comment ready.
“Well that’s what I feel! Power and awe! What else?”
Malam smiled and took her phone back from Kassandora’s hand as she patted the Goddess of Health supportively on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, propaganda is a skill because people like you exist.”
Kavaa stood there for a few moments. Should she even be offended? She had never professed to be some expert of literature. “So?”
“The intention of the artist is obviously to imbue life into machine, the reason the bird is larger is to make the Raptor larger than life. There are obvious parallels between the bird and the plane in order to blur the line between life and machine. In other words, what the artist has managed to capture here is not just a shot of a plane but rather of a machine and its spirit.” Malam finished in a snappy tone, smiling with self-satisfaction at Kavaa’s unimpressed glare. What exactly was Kavaa supposed to do with that summary? The only thing required for such an analysis was confidence and nothing else. There was no correct answer, so there was no reason to even bother finding one. “Which one is the best?” Malam skipped Kavaa’s question entirely. That was fine, Kavaa didn’t really want an answer anyway.
“The first one.” Kavaa said definitely.
“Why?” And what sort of question was that? It was like asking why someone liked a certain type of drink over another.
“I don’t know.” Kavaa said. “It just is.”
“If you were to select a few to make into a display, which would you pick?”
“I’d pick all of them.” Kavaa said. “Call it Birds of Empire.” Malam’s pitch-black eyes refocused on Kassandora and the Goddess of Hatred smiled. She practically cooed with glee at Kavaa’s suggestion.
“This is exactly why I asked you.”