They share this much with us:
They exist in time.
They have individual selves, each with its own consciousness, abilities, and drives.
They don’t always get what they want.
But they do not die, or reproduce. They are few, only six in number:
Areth, who dares greatly;
Evoy, who dreams widely;
Sclepi, who studies endlessly;
Franz, who conjectures fearlessly;
Rakelin, who cherishes all that exists;
Tiran, who mocks and derides without limit.
They have no “needs,” as men have needs. Though they interact, their dealings with one another, and with the Realm around them, are in no sense “physical.” Indeed, the Realm itself is not “physical.” There is nothing in it to manipulate.
We corporeal ones, made of physical matter and surrounded by it, enslaved by our physical needs, equipped with minds and tongues formed by and for those needs, must speak of them as if they were men, and of their workings as if they were much like ours.
Evoy was alight with excitement. Areth approached hesitantly, fearing to disturb the flow of his Brother’s thought.
“What animates you, Evoy?”
“I have learned a thing!”
A new concept?
Evoy paused, apparently unaware that his neologism was not pellucid of meaning.
“It is when one acquires knowledge one did not previously possess. Knowledge of things beyond the Brothers, and beyond any Brother’s prior experience.”