But now, for all his grand works, the solar she'd chosen to call Master was starting to seem less shining and more. To go where he could not - to make a name in the world and reform the corrupt Immaculate Order. The idea of a celestial tutor with a vow to honor and obey her was almost too good to be true, and he has promised to make her as grand as any solar - a paragon of all that a Terrestrial should be. At the time, apprenticing herself to the Solar Monk seemed like a good idea. Stepping into the lift cage and shutting the door, she let out an uneasy glance around her as the lift began to descend, wondering yet again just what she was getting herself into. Short, sandy hair of broken threads and an unruly disposition rested atop her head under a bowl helmet, her blue jade crossbow slung over her back. She was as one might expect a fighting woman to look - short but strong, with a stocky frame, clad in leather armor that gave her the best mix of freedom of movement and protection.
Outside the chosen of the gods or faerie, heroism within rarely manifests as beauty without. It was at the entrance to this lift that The Student stood. Almost unseen among this grand construction was a simple elevator - build into the structure from top to base - to convey those from the ground above to the top below. Into the sky below this nexus shot a beam of the purest enlightened essence, focusing as it went until it plunged into the liquid sky, seeming to fade into the fluid beyond, sending up ripples from where it struck. A nexus of crystal spires served as the towers crown - each one shining a brilliant white with the energy channeling through it. Appearing as a spiderweb of white light on the underside of the disk, constantly changing as vials charged or discharged, this assemblage fueled what lay atop the tower, visible from the base only as a corona of white light about the disk. Where the shaft met the base, a thousand tiny vials of glass each held a single white light: a lightning bolt of trapped autocothonian essence, pure and true from the depths of the exaltation it made. Up the central shaft hum'ed a great conduit, carrying the raw motes the tower would need to do it's work, while all about it arcane runes shimmered in the metalwork, moving like creature alive. A device born of Brigid's Wyld Cauldron and the essence of the Great Maker that flows through all Solar exaltations, it was writ through with devices of magitech design. But from within and above, the true complexity was revealed. The tower itself was deceptively simple - from the base, it was naught but a metal gantryway reaching down towards the sky, a disk perched at the end. By this method, the tower was built, until the last bat chained it to the walls around it and then fell dead, the waypoint still and quiet, save for the sound of water dripping from the sky below. Whirling about the center in a vortex of leather and wingbeats, they build the tower from the ground level down, each bat falling dead as it's single task was completed, tumbling up into the sky where it vanished with a splash. Each one was as a mundane bat - but on their head was mounted a third eye and on their back a third wing ending in a clawed hand, a single tool grasped within as a smith might hold his hammer. From the holes all around the sky - the shattered remains of broken buildings that never existed nestled within - a great flock of bats emerged. Gravity reversed itself as the azure sky became pooling water, the earth a great domed cealing below.
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Flowers that blossom only in the death grip of winter grew under a sky made of sapphires - heartless wild fires who's touch melts only iron and who's smoke turns men to foxes raged out of control, a great crack splitting the earth clear in two. Like a skilled trainer coaxing an animal out, he had called the power of the wyld out of seclusion - telling it it need not fear the order of Creation, that it was his word that ruled the day, and that that word was change. The lawgivers arrival had changed it, the touch of solar magic revealing the chaos underneath. A bit touched by the Wyld, perhaps, as land near the bordermarches tends to be, but other than the occasional glowing plant or tie-dye colored animal it was as mundane as the earth in which anyone in the village might have grown their food. It had not been there yesterday - yesterday this space had been only a field.
At the edge of reality, there stood a tower.