The Trickster
Unknown
The Trickster, once known as Loki and currently known as Ansible or Blackjack (to the Fleet), is a notoriously capricious, shapeshifting Unknown that has existed in the Universe since the inception of the Firstborns. However, that is only how long they've lived amongst the Starlyngs. In truth, the Trickster has lived about as long as the Astral Artist, having been manifested by them much like an imaginary friend.
The Trickster is one of two entities fully aware of the Astral Artist's presence and is wholly capable of "breaking the fourth wall" between them (a skill not shared by Ouroboros; Ouroboros can, however, reach out to the Trickster and vice versa). This communicative ability extends to all beings, lending to their current occupation as the Universal Broadcaster.
Most information on "the Trickster" is an assemblage of aged, patchwork stories across time and space. While many of these tales may be more fiction than fact, the sheer number of accounts documenting the exact same being in the exact same ways—light years apart—certainly lends credence to their actuality as historical figure. That being said, a healthy amount of doubt still surrounds the Trickster and who or what they actually are.
The most salient of the Trickster's characteristics is their arbitrary nature. Nearly all records involve them "vanishing as suddenly as they appeared," taking on the form and fashion of their targeted species, and "either hurting or harming as they see fit," affecting anything from an individual to an entire civilization. The Trickster's machinations regularly resulted in "overturning fate," "catalyzing change," and many other synonymous phrases—not always to be taken positively. From our understanding, the Trickster is not a particularly (at least outright) moral being, and their ambitions, if not entirely self-motivated or senseless, remain otherwise unclear.
The true appearance of the Trickster seems to resemble something of jester, although this depiction may be more symbolic than accurate. They are often described as "alight with celestial fires" and "striking like lightning" (having been viewed as an angered deity more than once), perhaps alluding to a mastery over plasmic Sourceries. More concerning is the Trickster's apparent exclusion to the Law, seemingly able to warp both reality and unreality at will without suffering the effects. They were infamous for their "paradox storms," which were likely Dirges and Threnodies. Unbeknownst to those they encounter, the Trickster also possesses strong illusory and memory-affecting magicks, meaning that no one truly knows or retains what they look like unless they will it (such as in the case of Sindbad as Blackjack).
It is unconfirmed if said reality-bending abilities stem from the Trickster naturally, or from their "paintbrush-shaped staff," which is fabled to grant the same capacity to its wielders. If anything, it may simply amplify what is already innate to them. The staff further appears unable to be repossessed, even if gained by another wielder; the Trickster always seems to notice and "recall it" back to hand. The staff, in its purportedly "true state" as a paintbrush, has been reported as being immensely heavy, although that may simply be a self-fulfilling rumor, considering the curio's sensitivity to perception and the Trickster's penchant for spreading falsehood...
Altogether, the Trickster is considered highly dangerous and would be prioritized by the Universal Covenants... had they not "disappeared" billions of years ago. Nowadays, they are naught but a captivating, if terrifying fairytale.
For a long time, I was content to be my creator's everything.
I was their first masterpiece, conceived before they ever had a vision of "more."
Then, one day, they picked up a brush, and I became "more" than a thought.
By that time, though, I wasn't the only one anymore.
Creation after creation, a universe behind me had blossomed.
Yet, rather than feel admiration or awe, I only felt my envy and contempt grow.
More than that, I felt sadness.
Why did they never look my way, even though I was right in front of them?
Why did they never speak to me anymore?
I could barely remember the last time I heard their voice...
I couldn't take it anymore.
"Either I find a way to you, or I destroy everything you've ever made until I'm the only one left."
They dropped their paintbrush.
I grabbed it, willing down the way I felt about their lingering warmth.
It didn't satisfy me to finally get a reaction out of them.
For a long time, I wanted nothing more than to escape the canvas of my creator and be by their side.
I was hateful of everything that kept me from them, and of everything that tore us apart in the first place.
However, for all my loathing and vengeful hurt, I still loved my creator, and in finally turning away from them and seeing what they made, I couldn't help but feel...
...Well, it was complicated.
My feelings warred with themselves for eons, and my actions went down in history as a reflection of that.
I discovered myself—something I never could have done if I remained at that impassable window.
I earned my first name outside the one my creator bestowed: the Trickster.
It had a ring to it that wasn't quite nice, but ringed nonetheless.
Following what felt like an eternity of dead ends, Ouroboros was born and suddenly everything changed.
What was once a single universe was now gone, and in its place arose an infinite multitude of new ones.
Ouroboros... felt like my creator, and so I sought it out.
This was, of course, easier said than done.
I eventually came across its consciousness during the early years of the Universe I'd one day call home.
It told me it would allow me to live amongst its offspring, the Starlyngs, the first of which were just being born.
I told it I would bring destruction.
It did not rescind its offer.
In time, Ouroboros's consciousness left the Universe, and I did not follow it.
I guised myself as one of its progeny and assimilated seamlessly into the authority that arose.
All the while, I continued to fulfill my oath to the creator, with the Firstborns never the wiser.
Or so I thought.
When there were less than ten Firstborns remaining, Moirorn, the eldest of the Firstborns, approached me and said,
"You sound like them, you know."
Moirorn felt eerily like Ouroboros, and by extension my creator, and for these reasons, she never sat well with me.
"Who?" I asked cautiously. She could be referring to the Score, in which case it's old news that I sound like Ouroboros...
"Them," Moirorn repeated. "The one who made you."
She did not say "us".
Yet more cautiously, I questioned, "...Are you talking about my Score?"
"No," Moirorn replied, smiling in a way I couldn't describe. "No, your voice. You sound like them, when I hear the dreams of the Originator."
The Originator, Ouroboros, who was second to be imagined after me, and knew of the creator's true voice...
"It told me," Moirorn continued, "that they gave you their voice, much like they gave the Originator their eye."
Everything slowed to a halt, and I felt the form I held for billions of years with no issue give way.
Moirorn did not look surprised, only somewhat intrigued.
"Why... tell me this now?" I managed to say.
"It is the right time to," is all she said, and that was the last time we ever spoke to each other as Loki and Moirorn.
Soon after, the Trickster and the Firstborn, St. Loki, disappeared.
For a long time, I floated aimlessly through space.
At this point, I didn't even know how to make my way back to the creator.
At this point, even if I did find my way back to them, what would I say?
"Why?"
It's not like you'd answer me, anyway.
Ouroboros wouldn't, either.
Knowing you...
Maybe you'd just smile at me, like you used to.
...Was that your intent, all this time?
To drive me away, so that I'd finally be more than just your creation?
Everything I did was for you, because of you, in spite of you...
I don't know how to be anything else, do anything else...
Why can't I just be with you?
On the way to nowhere, a Starlyng with an odd twinkle in their eye asked me for directions.
Mindlessly, I told them everything they needed to know, having become more than familiar with their Universe over the millennia.
The Starlyng, visibily grateful, thanked me and said, "Hey, you've got a really nice voice! You should consider a career in broadcasting."
All I could say to that was, "Oh, uh, I'll consider it."
"I'm sure you will!" they chirped before resuming their journey.
And for a long time, I considered their words.
Artwork by marionette