Welcome to Gaia! ::

“For years the world lay bleeding. Left for dead. Its resources had been exhausted, inhabitants massacred and its landscapes scarred with ash and fire. At first it played dead, too frightened to move. All that had survived was frozen with terror. Then, slowly, hope returned. She spread her golden wings and embraced the dying world. Grass began to grow, birds sang and life returned.”
The wizened old woman leaned forward in her creaking chair, the light from the fire highlighting her wrinkled eyes and smile. Before her a group of children stared up, curious and eager to hear the tale she told most nights. Few of them could remember The Time Before clearly.
“In the valley of Rhondda a beast had been biding its time. Through the darkness his eyes shone bright, steam rose with every breath to the skyless atmosphere. The beast had been brought to its knees by evil but was never destroyed. It was conserving its energy, growing stronger. Do you know the name of the beast? Children.”
“Clydach!” The young ones called excitedly.
Ifan leaned back against the kitchen counter and shared a wry look with his elder sister. It amused him that they never got bored of the story.
“Yes, our own city of Clydach! When greed took hold, our factories stayed true, when decay came we fought to keep moving. Now we have risen.” The old woman raised her arms dramatically, casting shadows across the small, gas lit room of the cottage. After a pause for effect she brought her arms down and held one bony finger up. “Now, those who mocked us are knocking at our doors. When they cowered, our machines roared. While their homes fell to rubble, ours stood fast. Now they fight with sticks and stones and we rule with guns. Now, the sky has returned and this era is ours! The era of the workers, where goods are currency and you children are our future.”
“Thom should pay her.” Ifan smirked , watching his cousins and siblings as they beamed with pride knowing they were the future. “They’ll never know about the cost of keeping our factories running.” He shook his head. Fear had kept greed at bay. When the machines had started to rust the exhaustion of keeping them patched up had lost them many lives.
Anwyn smiled at him and placed another dish on the drying rack.
“True, though they didn’t die in vain did they? We’re all here, healthy and prosperous.” She picked a tea towel up from the side and tossed it at him. They were the eldest of six. Anwyn was twenty and Ifan eighteen. They had lost their parents during the Bad Time. Now, they lived with their grandmother and their Aunt and Uncle in a cottage barely big enough for all of them. Though, as Thom said they must all be thankful to have a roof over their head. Even if it did leak occasionally and they had to sleep on the floor.
“You off to market tomorrow?” Anwyn asked, wiping her cloth around a plate. Made in Clydach like everything else in the house.
“Yeah, they’re taking radios, see if anyone will buy them. All part of Thom’s grand plan. Propaganda.”
Thom was the man who had founded the walled city of Clydach. When many were losing their heads he had seen opportunity. Here was an industrial town with hills of coal and factories that made just about everything anyone would need. As wars raged in the Valleys he rallied the workers and convinced them to build a wall. As thick as the ones that the Roman’s had once built. They adapted the factory lines, made weapons to keep the others out and opened the mines that had been sealed since the 1980s. “He thinks if we can get allies, we can sell our guns, they’ll make a good price we’ll have them by the balls.”

-Market Day -

The market was held in Caerdydd. Once the thriving capital city of the land of Cymru. Now it was nothing but a shanty town. Families lived together in crumbled dwellings, old public buildings that were still standing but dilapidated. They cowered in shops and malls, their dirty faces peering mournfully at those that passed them by. In the Bad Time, those who could afford it escaped to compounds, those that were left behind were left with nothing.

They made their way from Clydach, on barges, down the river to the old city. Ifan could remember the Time Before, when the city had been filled with life and laughter. His Nana had lived in Caerdydd and they would visit her every other weekend. His mother and sisters would go shopping and he would go to watch the rugby with his father. That all seemed like another life now, as they floated past rubble piles and burnt shells of buildings that had once held life.

Each barge was armed, and trained guard would escort them as they drove their trucks up the ramp to the shore. Ifan stared out the window of the truck he had been assigned to. Pale faces stared back from makeshift shelters where fishing nets hung drying outside. They were carrying goods, radios, and some textiles made by the children of Clydach.

The Market was a big event, held once a month in The Millenia. In The Time Before Ifan had come to watch rugby here with his father. Teams from all over the world, battling for sport in the world class stadium. Now traders from all over came to barter and sell. It was the only way many could eat. In some places the ground was still poisoned by ash and chemicals.

The caravan from Clydach rolled into the open space to whispers and cheers. Everyone knew they had the best goods. Luxuries. Now the world was healing people were beginning to think about enjoyment again, about fashion and having what others did not.
“Do we have a treat for you today.” Ifan called loudly as he stepped down from the truck. Around him his fellow workers had jumped to action and were setting up the stalls.
“Pottery, crockery, cutlery, fine woollen cloth, shirts and dresses, blankets, leathers, shoes.” He reached for the handset of the loudspeaker attached to the truck. “Come on over. The finest goods from Clydach. Coal for your fires, jewellery for your wife, blades engines, generators, pots, pans anything you like. And today, something veery special.” He had a crowd now, faces of all colours staring up at him. “We have a radio!” whispers went up through the crowd. “Yes ladies and gentleman. A radio! Now, for the first time in three years you can listen to the world beyond Caerdydd. We have our very own station at Clydach, broadcasting music and news for South Cymru!” He grinned broadly. This would get them. “All yours for a bargain price, a bargain I promise! We take pigs, cows, sheep, fruits and vegetables of good quality. We take wine! Silks, spices and metals. All good negotiable.”

The only thing they did not sell were their weapons. They had to keep some power over the others.
Ifan took up his place on the textile stall with the other men. Women of Clydach stayed at home, not because they were less important than the men, but the market could get rough, they had been threatened before. An armed guard stood at each stall to deter those who might try their luck.
“Come on ladies, come and see our fine fabrics. Look here, cotton blouses. Even some silks.” Money had become obsolete since the Bad Time. Barter was currency in the market. Women were trading fruits and vegetables from their gardens for clothes and trinkets. Ifan handed an elderly woman a woollen shawl for a box of bananas. On the stall next door his friend Wyn traded a radio for a chest of spices and several bolts of silk. They sold hard and fast until they had next to nothing left, yet boat loads of essential goods to take back with them.

“Hey, If look what I got.” Wyn was grinning like an idiot, waving what appeared to be nothing more than a rolled up piece of paper. Paper was expensive, but still nothing to get excited about.

“What?” Ifan was in the middle of packing his crates up, fruits, meats and some silks that he knew the textile quarter would be excited about. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm and waited patiently.

“A map.” Wynn placed the paper on top of a crate and rolled it out. “Got it from one of our regulars. Said he’s found a good untapped trading source. It’s quite a way from here, but worth it. Said the land was rich, the people too.”

Ifan looked the map over, it certainly seemed like one hell of a journey. Though soon they would need to spread their wings. Local trade only got you so far.

“Any proof?” In their business you had to be practical, there were always cons out and about looking for an innocent Mark to fool.

“Look at these.” He hauled a big crate up to the table and lifted a cloth. Inside, something moved. Ifan raised an eyebrow. “If that’s a rat, this is not funny.” He said, reaching into the box and moving a piece of cloth. Beneath it a small, mouse like creature stared up at him. It was a blue/white colour, fluffy and not like anything he had seen before. “What the hell is that Wyn?”

“The guy said it was a Floox. Said they were immortal or something. You should have seen this guy. He was an odd one. Had wings and elf type ears. He said this place, where this other market is. That there are beings there, they say they’re gods. They’re powerful and everything is better there.”



Ifan puffed his cheeks then let out a slow stream of air.
“You idiot. You’d better not have traded anything good for it. You knows Thom will have your head. That’s a bloody mouse. Nothing fancy.”

“But what if it is, what if it’s true Ifan? If we go here and we find this place. If we bring back the goods we’ll get promoted. No more sweating away in the factory all hours. We could be foremen.”

Ifan looked down at the creature and smirked a little.

“Right, and pigs might fly. Put that away and get a move on. I want to be back before morning.”




[Word Count::1,767 Points:: 2 Solo]

THREE
{{ Lifewater }}

Word Count:: 1735 Points:: 2 Joint

FIVE
{{ Companions }}

“Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. All these years waiting, i think I would know.”
“Well, you just said there, it’s been a long time. Might be false instinct.”
“No, I am never wrong. It’s him, will be him.”
“Say it is him, now what? We just waltz up? He’s not going to remember us.”
“No, no, nothing like that. We have to be sure, he looks like a boy in need of help. I think help just found him.”

Ifan sat in the shelter of the tea house hugging his knees and trying his best to ignore the voice in his head. He had been given a death sentence, this thing, like a cancer that would consume him. Use him to fuel its divine awakening. How was he going to tell his sisters? He had a responsibility, he was supposed to help them, to keep them safe. How could he do that knowing he was doomed.

Lost in self pity he was oblivious to the two creatures watching him from the lawns, one, half snake half woman and the other, a cat-like creature with two tails.

“You go, I will probably scare him. Humans are weak like that.”
“Right, so I just act like I want to help?”
“You do want to help. We’ll take him back to the room. Make him feel welcome.”
“Okay, right, i’ll meet you back there then.”

Ifan looked up to the wooden ceiling. He had nowhere to go, no friends. Though, there was Xun, he had been nice. Maybe he would help him.

“Hello.”

Ifan looked up and in the direction of the soft, female voice. A creature stood in the door way, she had brown fur, long tails and ears and a warm, yet nervous smile.
“Hello.” He replied, smiling back.

“Um, are you okay? I was just passing and I saw you sitting here. You looked troubled.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I was just feeling sorry for myself. Wondering what to do next. I sort of ended up here by accident.” Ifan pushed himself to his feet and breathed the fresh air in deeply. “Are you a god?”

The woman laughed.
“No, no. I’m a felin. I just live here. Do you have somewhere to stay?”

Ifan shook his head, relieved that she was not one of the gods.
“No, not really.” Deep within him something stirred. Ifan ignored it.
“Well, come with me. My family live within the Pantheon. You can stay with us whilst you find your way.”
Ifan studied the woman for a moment, gauging whether he could trust her. It was all too easy to follow people blindly in this land of the gods, so he had learned.
“It’s fine, I promise.” Her smile was warm and welcoming. “We see refugees from all over, what kind of people would we be if we just let them starve and freeze to death.
“Okay, thank you, you’re very kind.”
He slipped his hands into his pockets and followed after her, towards the large stone building and up some stone stairs. He had not been into this part before, before him a long hallway stretched into the distance, lined with doors. Some were blank, others had pictures on them. Ifan walked slowly as he took in the different doors, wondering what lay behind them. He was paying so little attention to where he was going he almost bumped into the woman as she stopped.
“Sorry.”
She laughed and pushed the door open. They appeared to be in another hallway, this also had doors. These doors were not so descriptive. They were plain, some makeshift. As they walked down the hall it opened out into a large communal area where a mishmash of people and creature mingled together. None of them noticed as the pair of them wove through and down another hall to one of the non-descript doors.
“Here, home sweet home.” She pushed the door open to reveal a modest living area. The furniture appeared to be hand-made, though of a good quality. To his right a fire burned in a tiled hearth, the only sounds were of the wood cracking and the ticking of a clock on the wall straight ahead.
“I’m Escha by the way.”
“Ifan Jones.” He held his hand out in greeting. Esha took it and shook lightly.
“I live here with my friends Cirene and Nisha . They’ll be home soon. They’re working on the rebuilding of the towns outside. Make yourself at home, I’ll put some lunch on.”

Ifan looked around the small room. One item of furniture catching his eye. It was not made of recycled materials like the rest. An old chair, it reminded him of the ones he had seen in museums or in historical dramas on the TV. Made of solid, dark wood, high backed and sweeping elegant arms. It was upholstered in a deep red leather, though that had seen better days.

The thing inside him stirred again. Urging him forwards, Ifan’s hand moved to touch the chair. His fingers stroking the smooth varnished wood.
Mine.
Ifan withdrew his hand and turned to look at Escha, she was cutting some home-made bread, a knowing smile on her lips.
“Where did you get the chair?”
“Found it. Like everything else in here.” She shrugged and gestured to the chair. “Have a seat. It needs a bit of restoration.”
Ifan sat slowly in the chair and looked around the room again. There were other items that seemed out of place. A gilded mirror above the fireplace, at odds with a coffee table and sofa made from scraps of wood. He wondered what kind of place they might have made such things.
Ifan relaxed into the lumpy chair and rested his head back against the back of the chair. It was a comfortable room, cosy. It reminded him of his nan’s house, he felt so at home he didn’t really notice himself begin to drift off.

“It’s definitely him. He remembers.” Escha’s hushed voice was the next thing Ifan heard. Slowly he blinked awake, the room was blurred at first, the figure of the person ... no creature. As the room became clearer he discovered that the newcomer was half snake, half woman. A rather voluptuous woman at that. He jumped, sitting up straight in the chair.
"Um, hi." He stuttered, looking between the two females.
The snake woman smirked, Ifan was not sure that he like the look of it.
"Well hello there." She moved closer to him, the way she was looking at him, almost as though she was looking through him.
"I'm ..."
"Nisha." The voice that spilled from Ifan's lips was not his own. It was deeper, rougher, the accent less of a lilt and more throaty. "I know who you are." An alien smile crossed the young man's lips. "You found me then."

"Of course my Lord, once you were ... awakened I felt it. We all did."
Esha nodded in agreement with her companion as she layed the makeshif table up for dinner. "We did Sir."
"We knew it would not be long, we have been working to ensure it. Aiding the artisans with their workshops, supporting the rebuilding."
"Rebuilding. Ah yes." He had seen the troubles in his hosts mind. Something had happened on a devine level, there would be time to learn what. "Good, good. The boy is not entirely useless, he understands our cause. He is a child of industry and industrious himself." Isambard rand Ifan's fingers over the fine workmanship of the chair. Carved and made by the finest materials, by the finest craftsmen. Despite what some thought, Industry greatly appreciated such work, even if it was not possible on a level of mass production.
"The temple?"

"Fallen my lord. It has all fallen. The city may still exist but we are unable to travel through the doors. There are others though, gods who can open them."
He gave a nod. "Indeed, though there is much to do here I imagine. I will build my strength first."
Esha put bowls of soup and plates of bread on the table as Nisha and her master spoke. She was usually happy, though much happier now he had returned. It gave them all a purpose.
"Dinner is servged."

Word Count:: 1385 Points:: 2 Solo

SEVEN
{{ God in the Machine }}

Word Count:: 1,043 Points:: 2 Joint

NINE
{{ Holiday Cheer }}

Word Count:: 1255 Points:: 2 Joint

ELEVEN
{{ Hum of Machinery }}

Word Count:: Points:: Solo/Joint

THIRTEEN
{{ Through the Door }}

“This way, or at least I think it is.” Esha led the way through the halls that contained the doors of the gods. As they passed those that possessed pictures Isambard decided that he needed to get himself one. As much as he liked his small rooms, they were hardly fitting when all the others had places in the halls of the Pantheon.
“You think?” Ifan asked.
“Well, yes. Zeta gave me the directions in case I needed anything. I’m pretty sure she said here on the right.”
Ifan stopped in front of two doors side by side. They were very different. One in dark colours, a crow, a field and a candle, the one next to it colourful and vibrant, spirals like the seeds of a sunflower.
“So, um which is it?” He asked.
Esha shrugged. “I don’t know ... do you want to pick one?”
“Okay, but if I get an angry god it’s your fault.” He smirked at her and reached out to knock on the colourful door, it seemed more ... friendly than the other.

They waited for a momentary pause before the door was opened by a tall, rather voluptuous goat lady. Efan smiled and tried to keep his eyes on her face.
“Um, hello, I’m Ifan, host of industry and this is Esha, I believe you two know each other. I’d like to speak with um, either your master or mistress.” That was assuming the god that lived with them was either.

Zeta smiled at Esha and looked back to the young man, another host looking for answers no doubt.
“My mistress, Lady Number is home. Come in, I’ll see if she will speak with you.”
“Thank you.” Ifan stepped inside the hallway and noted that the second door led to the same atrium. Interesting. He decided before following the demoness through to a huge, bright courtyard. It had tiled floors and a fountain in the middle. Amazing he thought to himself, Isambard definitely needed to get himself a godly place.
“Wait here.”

Let me do the talking.
Ifan nodded as he waited rather nervously, allowing the god to take over his body. Sinking into the recesses of his mind.
Zeta returned and behind her was a woman who was clearly the goddess they were looking for. She was small in stature, though carried herself well, with dark hair, crow like wings and a flowing dress that reminded him of a stereotypical goddess from a work of art. Number Goddess ...
“Lady Number, I am Isambard, God of Industry. I seek your assistance.”
The goddess looked him over and nodded her head, the charms braided in her hair clicking together with the movement.
“With what?” She asked, a smile on her lips. “I’ll see if I can be of service.”
“I need to find a place, a world and a city. I have heard you might be able to help me find it.”
“The doors you mean? I am able to open them. Though only if the world you are looking for is still in existence.”
Isambard did not wish to think about that. He could not contemplate the possibility of Albion being gone.
“Well I do not know about that but it’s worth a try.”
The goddess gave a nod.
“You are prepared for what you might find? “
Isambard took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes I am prepared. I am aware there may be nothing, or at least not much left.”
He watched a smirk cross the goddess’ lips. He knew she was probably thinking he was getting beyond himself. Attempting to travel worlds as a mere rock in a human body. Still, it was something he had to do.

“I will help you, do you wish to go now?”
“Not quite, I need to arrange a few things.”
Again the goddess gave a nod. “Later then, I will meet you in the hall in a few hours. If that is enough time for you.”
“Yes, that would be perfect, thank you.”

*****
A few hours later Ifan made his way up to the halls of the gods once more. This time he had Nisha in tow which made him rather uncomfortable. He did not quite trust the snake woman, though he was too scared to say anything. He had brought several things in Isambard’s instruction. A clockwork key and a tool kit. Both seemed rather random, though who was he to argue. He just hoped they didn’t come across anything hostile and bigger than they were.

The short goddess was waiting for them in the hallway. He had to admit she wasn’t really what he would have imagined a number god to look like. Her style seemed rather, hippy, and though she seemed well composed he had to wonder.
“Are you ready then?” She asked, looking between him and Nisha.
“As I’ll ever be I guess.” He smiled a little and wondered what her host had been like.
“I’ll aid you, though, your god in his current form will be unable to work it. Also, you must know where you are going.”
Ifan smirked and nodded. “Right. So, how does it work, I guess you don’t know where we want to go. Albion?”
The goddess looked to Nisha and back to Ifan. “No, I don’t, perhaps once but not now, you will have to help me. Place your hands on the door and put a picture in your mind. The sounds, smells, the sights.”
Ifan let Isambard take him over and watched from within as his own hand, the one with the gem reached out to touch the blank door, Nisha’s joining him. The goddess then place her hand nearby and he could feel a power move from her to them, it felt warm, strange. Then he could see the city as Nisha and Isambard remembered it. Smoking chimneys, trains and not the electric, silent kind. Steam trains, thundering on tracks high above the city, whistles. There were brick terraces, stretching over hills into the distance, the deep sound of a ship’s horn in the distance and in the middle a building, much like a cathedral towered into the sky.

The goddess pushed the door, it opened with a creak of rusty hinges to reveal a stone concourse, some of the slabs were cracked and broken, weeds sprung up between them. Directly in front of them was a rusting hulk, the remains of one of the steam trains.
“I’ll let you be.” The goddess smiled. “I will have one of my aoide watch the door and ensure it does not close.”

Word Count:: 1,101 Points:: 2 Solo

FIFTEEN
{{ The Return }}

Word Count:: Points:: Solo/Joint