Sorry about how long this took.
I'll most probably have to go over it again.
It's more of a draft.

Anyway..

==

What makes a God?

The ability to create, out of nothing? Then Mountain might be one. Even if there was a reality outside his realm of consciousness, able to see him as well as what he created he surely had to count as a ‘Demi God’. And he had became curious, not because he was bored, bored always assume a arrow of time but because he was becoming involved.

For him there was no instants of ‘nothing’, only those instants that had an arrow of time. But he was also able to choose his reality from that pool of indeterminacy, in where all those possibilities rested. Think of it as that pond in which you lazily gaze, some nice summer day. In the woods maybe? Isolated from all human activity. Maybe you feel for a swim, maybe a dive too? And as the water turns from clear to that golden brown it gets chilly, and as you dive ever deeper you find your sight disappear, in the end leaving you nothing but blackness and a numbing coldness.

Humans are not made for that, but Mountain was.
=

As Planet continued he found much the same effects ruling as the Suits had. But he had already developed several hypotheses’ to explain the gravitational fluctuations while on the surface. And now he found one of them coming into focus, the one where he had speculated about mini black holes, And as he already had surmised that his Earth wasn’t a natural construction it didn’t surprise him. Eventually the same happened to him as it had done for the others, the translation between spaces being as surprising for him as it had been for them. But, as he looked at his tracker he could see it flicker to life, its beacon weakly glimmer, for the first time since he had started it up.

At last the hunt was on.
==

“You hungry?” asked Jeff

“Yes.”

“Okay, if it’s a dream then let’s find out who’s dreaming it.” He said smiling at her.

“Let me try first.” He set the image of fresh bread and cheese clear in his mind and concentrated.

Maybe he didn’t try hard enough? Maybe he was aiming to high here, a sandwich then? What was it Royal had said, relax and let it come to you, wasn’t it? Well, he really wanted that sandwich to come now.

“Damn, I can’t get it to work Janelle. You try it.”

Janelle had to hide her triumphant smile. She knew it, it had to be her dream. She wasn’t sure if she had made Jeff though, or if he just somehow had slipped in?

“Typical boys, always intruding.” She muttered as she concentrated, She felt vegetarian today so, something tropical perhaps, ananas pizza?

“A roast?”

One second it wasn’t there, the next it was. Two plates, steaming hot and each one flaunting its own piece of roast, with a mix of mashed potatoes, salad greens, and, ananas?

Jeff looked at her, clearly impressed.

“Ok I won’t roast you for this.” He said.

“But damn, I was so sure it was me?”

“Roast?” Janelle asked still trying to decide if it was her invention.

“You know, poking fun of.”

Janelle suddenly found her nagging suspicions bloom.

“You! It was you.” She said. “You tricked me, didn’t you? Admit it..”

“But how did he know about the ananas?” she mumbled to herself as she tried to stare him down.

Now it was Jeff’s turn to feel confused, why did she look at him that way? Although he refused to let that distract him from his tasting.”

“Delicious.” He proclaimed as he dipped his finger in the gravy for the second time. “You have such a good imagination Janelle, or would you prefer me to call it taste? Try it.”

That decided it, 'good huh'? Now she was dead certain he was poking fun of her, but he was right, she had to try it. And as she tasted it she realized that no matter who or what that had made it Jeff was right. This had to be the best roast, ever.
=

Now, humor me a little. Try to think of the constant ‘c’, being lights speed in a vacuum, as if it was a clock beat instead of a speed. Normally defined as a ‘distance in time’ it isn't entirely correct when thinking of Mountain. Where Mountain normally 'were', where and what ever that is, there could be no such clock beat. To him a clock beat only could exist in his choice of focus, and without him choosing there was no ‘arrow of time’ to be seen.

You might see it as he consciously could choose both ‘beats and direction’, and then there was the added complication of 'scales' of course. Those scales that for us find their upper limit at ‘c’, whilst their lowest limit becomes at Plank scale. Where lights smallest propagation, or beat, is one Plank length in one Plank time.

So, you might wonder where Mountain normally ‘was’, under that weird Planck scale, or maybe over it? Did he exist at some place, faster than light? Well, I admit that such definitions do make sense for us mortals, living as we are inside SpaceTime. But for Mountain, he just couldn’t care less, after all, he always knew where he was.

Just, here.

While they had finished their meal darkness had started to fall, the void above them slowly changing its hue to a dark velvety blue, and behind it distant lights twinkling. As they looked up in wonder Janelle gasped as she saw a shooting star blazing its trail across the sky.

“Look.”

As they watched it seemed to slow down, and suddenly Jeff realized that it was growing.

“Not good.” muttered Jeff, who decidedly hadn’t planned to finish his life under a meteorite.

“We better find some shelter, Janelle?”

She didn’t answer, it was as if she couldn’t hear him? And as he took hold of her it felt as if she was melting away, becoming more and more insubstantial for every breath he took.

“Janelle! We need to move.” As he tried to shake her into wakefulness.

Suddenly she was gone, vanishing without a trace, and with her that falling star too.

In despair Jeff started to search, but she was nowhere to be found.

“It better be a dream.” He mumbled as he at last sat down to catch his breath.

“What if it isn’t?” his last words hopelessly jumbled.
=

Janelle didn’t know where she was as she looked around, it was as if she had blinked to then find her, where? With her body feeling as if wrapped in cotton, and with nothing except a diffuse white light reaching her, from everywhere.

“Hallo, anyone here?” It was eerily silent.

‘Human, be awake.’ it was more of a thought than a word.

‘Janelle is it? Good to meet you at last Janelle. Jeff and his companion I’ve meet already.’

“Companion?”

‘What do you call it? Ah I see, Argel.’

Janelle found her mind strangely disconnected, having no fear and no real curiosity either.

“Why am I here?” she asked just the same.

‘I needed a sample, one individual is not enough.’

She could feel it page through her, as she was an open book.

‘Well, that should be all Janelle, thank you for your time.’

“But where am I? What are you doing with me?”

‘Nothing Janelle, I will set you back soon. And you already know where you are.’

And in some strange way it made sense, she did know where she was, even though not exactly where it was.

“I’m dreaming, isn’t I? You’re just a dream.” She told it as she felt the presence draw back, did that make her and Jeff a dream too?

“Wait, will I meet you again?” she called out, not knowing why.

“Don’t worry Janelle, I’m always here.”

Mountain had found a hobby. He had no answer to why he wanted one, most of the things existing he did have answers for, but as for his own destiny? That one was unfathomable, even to him. But yes, nevertheless he had lately found himself becoming something of a, collector?
==

Lord Slade looked up from his latest missive. They kept piling up on his desk, and he had no choice but to deal with them. It was his chamberlain standing in the door.

“Yes Arthur?”

“Sire one of the high priest asks for entrance. He says it’s urgent.”

“Damn them to hell.” Muttered Slade.

“Sire?”

“Is it news about my Lady?” He was deeply worried about her, the cantrips worked no good, and nothing his physicians had tried seemed to ease her mind. The only solution they had found was to drug her into such a deep sleep that he feared for her very life.

“No Sire, maybe, I don’t know? He refused to explain, only to tell you that it was most urgent Sire.”

That was the problem with those priests, Slade thought, not for the first time. Once bearers of truth and compassion they now seemed reduced to merely another rabble of power hungry manipulators, thirsty for the king’s ear.

“Oh well, let him in will you.” He asked. “Eh, and thanks Arthur, go get some rest now.” He added a little sheepishly . His chamberlain getting older for every day, he knew it was high time to find a replacement, but Arthur was too good to retire.

“In all truth better than me lately.” He muttered bitterly as he went back to sit behind his old black desk, sweeping some of the more secret paper work into a open drawer. One never knew what those priest would do.

The man that came in was clad in red, everything looked red thought Slade sarcastically, from the High priests bloodshot eyes to his robe. He was also fat and slow of motion. Climbing the tower to Lord Slade's private study had taken most of the breath out of him, which in fact was one of the main purposes Slade had secretly planned for, placing it that high. The long climb created fewer disturbances, and with it some illusion of privacy for Slade. As he labored with what little he could do, to hold that unending tide of destruction that had came to be lately.

He watched the man bow, still breathing heavily.

“Lord, most noble defender of the faith. I’m afraid I bear ill tidings.”

Well, that was only to be expected thought Slade sourly. Those few that climbed the whole way usually did.

“Yes, arch bishop?"

“Our prognosticators have been strangely restless of lately Sire, warning that the guardians are stirring in their sleep.”

The guardians? That was not good, as if the constant skirmishes they had wasn’t enough.

“Which Guardian?”

“No Sire, not which, all, it seems as if they all are getting ready to wake.”

The Guardians were, well, half myth, half-truth. The Golden Faith that the archbishop belonged too, once grounded on their faithful watch over those sleeping, had of lately became a bigger player in the kingdom. It was said that the great temple itself was resting over the guardian’s nest, but nobody knew for sure, well, maybe the priests did? But, if so, it was one of their most guarded secrets. He had no trust for them.

“So archbishop. Do I need to worry?” he asked slowly as he with barely hidden distaste studied the burly man shrewd movements, as he tried to move close, to take a peek at the kings correspondence.

“Sire.”

The priest wrung his hands, nervously studying the King as he parlayed with himself. He was too shrewd the King, not young anymore but still hale and hearty. To cross his ways was a most foolish thing. But he was also one of the fairest men in the kingdom, and a diplomat of great accomplishment. Who but the Lord Slade could have held this kingdom together so long?

Then there was this thing he had about priests of course. The archbishop knew all too well that Slade found priests to be of little good, having upset their plans more than once. But he had no choice but to acknowledge their presence and power. And perhaps it was time at last, perhaps the time had came for the true faith to take that leading role the archbishop thought as he damned the old mans carefulness in hiding his papers. Smugly enshrined in his secret longing for those lost days when the faith had been strong and glorious, and Kings their mere tools.

“No Sire, we will handle it. But we thought you needed to be told.”

As the archbishop went away he knew he had thrown the dice, for good or for bad. The priesthood was nobody's servants, except the guardians perhaps.

“Blessed thy be Amorkath.” He mumbled as he devoutly crossed his right hand to his eye. Right hand for blessings, the left for cursing.

But as for the rest of it? A theocracy was after all the natural way of the land, wasn’t it? With kings growing too big for their boots only asking to be cut down to size.

“Without our light, and our guidance, this realm will surely fall.” He loudly declared as he ponderously trundled those last steps to meet his entourage.

“Children, make haste. The temple awaits.” Sweeping his blood red robe around him. Well, he had given the King his last opportunity of choice, with the King foolishly refusing his responsibilities to the faith. Now, it was time for negotiations, and plans. After all, there were other lands. Lands that still remembered, respecting their ancient power. The only thing still worrying him being the guardians themselves. ´They were too unpredictable, but the chance of them really raising was slim, wasn't it?

Honestly, he had little faith himself in the prognosticators. Chosen from their beauty more than their abilities they were something of a constant thorn in his side. Once there had been strict demands and tests before accepting them into service, but those days it was their beauty that decided. As sad as it might be they had primary became the outlet for the priests darkest desires, some stopping at nothing to force the maidens into service. But as the archbishop once piously had remarked.

"Making a priest won't unmake the man."

"We all have human failings, smile upon us Amorkath." the archbishop mumbled as he felt his personal prognosticator working her wonders below him. All as his palanquin quickly threaded its way through the crowded smoky streets, ignoring the screams of those unlucky trampled under. His bearers muted hairless giants of north, steadfastly carrying him through the caves, ever closer to the temple of Amorkath.

==