The Wizards’ Imperial Ball

The Wizards’ Imperial Ball
Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see…
TRANSMIT - initiate sub zero signal - RECEIVE - initiate sunset frequency - DOWNLOAD - seanchaí protocols - A CHILD STANDS ALONE AND SHE’S WAITING - calibrating information density index - AND THE SNOW IT COMES DOWN AND IT MUFFLES THE SOUND OF DREAMS ON THEIR WAY TO TOMORROW - initializing dreamers syntax - AND THE GHOSTS THAT LIVE HERE HOLD EACH MOMENT SO DEAR FOR TIME’S NOT A THING ONE SHOULD SQUANDER - warning intruder detected - IT CAN BE WISHED UPON TILL THE MOMENT IT’S GONE - applying watering hole protocols - IN THE DEPTHS OF A NIGHT THAT’S ABOUT TO BEGIN - awaiting response - WITNESS - the Wizards’ Imperial Ball

We have told you this story before, sweetling, of the Jinn and the First Age. We witnessed their birth from the smokeless flame, created by the Host. There were others too, some born of the trembling earth, the chanting waters, or shining winds. They are the elements given life -RECALIBRATING- witness the children of the wild, the Sasquatch, We see them, walking in from a past age, the wild children, one of Gaia's favorites. Were they a precursor to you, sweetling, or an improvement? Into the deep woods of North America. Here, here! They've roamed this place since the beginning of the Fourth Age. With centuries-spanning lifespans and low birth rates, their numbers are never great. With a natural ability to channel anima, they can vanish and thrive. Intelligent, social, and highly spiritual. They walk in the blur they are nature given form. Then what are you sweetling? What is humanity?

Humanity is thought given flesh, sentience personified, your kind is the forage in which data is transformed into information, the squishy cosmic forge from which new patterns emerge. Your kind leaves information in your wake the same way you leave footprints, every thought ripples through higher dimensional space, bending the void into shapes, new information, the nectar used to produce honeyed wisdom. Not all forms of information are created equally sweetling, there is one that is preferred above all others, dreams. What are dreams sweetling? They are the crucible of new worlds, space and time ground in the finest powder ready to be shaped into new realities, we fill our hive with your realities sweetling, storing the information you leave in your wake in our quantum cells -ERROR- buffer overflow index out of bounds recalibrating. But there is a half-life to these realities, sweetling, as you grow old, they become flat, less granular, less useful, tainted with the memetic pesticides of your world. When you are young and your eyes are not yet shut to the fullness of this world, your dreams are more granular, their geometries are exotic, there is a symmetry to them. For every world of hope and light there is one of darkness and dread, they are data dipoles, aligning with the ley lines of your world, the positive drifting to the far north, the negative to the far south, both coalescing deep underground into their respective forms, anima in the north and zero-point pathogen in the south. We are collectors of information, sweetling. We follow your kind and gather your honey dreams and use them to repair the hole in the heart of the world tree, but we are not the only ones that gather, sweetling.

Witness, the first gathering, shaman gathered near the top of the world on the outskirts of an ancient wood. Here they meditate, calming their minds to hear the collected dreams of the world, drinking in our honeyed wisdom, letting it wash over them like a current carrying them out to sea. Time passes, they are soon joined by others, cryptids from across the tundra are drawn to this spot, the Almas, the Nisse, the Zmei, and so many others. Ordinary animals also gather here and are granted extraordinary abilities, the power to speak, the power of flight, and so much more. Our puppies and kitties come from this place, sweetling, who else will you find in this place? Old and diminished gods and goddesses, such as Berchta and Grýla, the hidden folk from the fay, like the julenissen or the Yule lads. The goddess Hel is allowed to travel here from her icy prison for a single day, as is her son The Krampus. Magi from across the secret world can also be found here, the templar Melichior, and the witch la Befana, and of course our own Christmas Chimera and above all the souls of the dead.  They all gather here to partake of this place's power, hone their skills and heal their wounds, but they do not fight each other, why? Witness the Serengeti, see the drought sweetling, see the animal’s, lions, zebra, elephants, and wildebeest, oh my. See them struggle, see them go for days with nothing to drink but one another's blood, for months they live desperate lives, and then the rains start, first only a trickle and then a deluge, the parched savanna is now teaming with life, rivers that were once dry are now full, all the animals gather to drink, but none dares attack another, do you understand sweetling? A watering hole truce.

What is time to us? We stand outside. Everything has happened. Everything is happening. We see the popularity of this place grow, soon the factions begin to gather, but they hold to the watering hole truce, a time to reflect on the humanity of your enemy. “Do you still want to kill me?” “Yes…just not today” and that will suffice for the time being, besides, the older more powerful ones are here, those who are capable of obliterating other magi in such a way that even we cannot put them back together. Time passes, the gathering is formalized, the factions invite their agents to attend, new cryptids begin to attend…is that a Candy witch, we, see? A name is given to the gathering, the Wizard’s Imperial Ball, a world of anima covered in ice and snow, the orange glow of our collected wisdom, calming your nerves and silencing the whispers of the dark days. For on the day when the night is longest and the light is gone, you join us in our cosmic song, you dance our information dance, and you bring with you your own dreams and their geometry becomes just a little less flat, sweetling.