The verbal arena of Ja’regia represented the pinnacle of cizran architecture, though some of its majesty was marred by a cloud-canopy of documents fluttering through the air of the Tabulis Dis’quosum like a roiling thunderhead of angry paperwork. The vaulted ceilings and open space amplified the angry shouting, cacophonous calls, and infuriated invectives that vied for volume over one another. Here within the halls of the Ja’regia, the formalities of cizran pride laid low to ambition, and there was only room for the banter and impossible discourse that were the fundamental building blocks of Su-lahn’s legislation. Here, the fruits of the noema’s meticulous, plodding directives were debated and dissected, stretched and extrapolated, and utterly warped to fit the narrative of those most skilled in the art of discourse. Domnik favored this region with a different form. His gossamer wings elicited a constant whine he hovered among other flying cizrans. The screaming of a thousand voices ebbed like a tide of noise as bodies--some that angrily fisted documents in the air, screaming an interpretation of a half-century old legislation and others that whirled around in hysterical circles as they furiously recanted a previous decision of their party--crashed upon one another in a locker of strife. Within the last few recent centuries, the Tabulis Dis’quosum had gained the moniker, the Impossible Court, because its course had suffered so much since kr’nalus. There was still order to the chaos, and Domnik had mastered this insanity through centuries of practice. In Cizran society there was no such thing as a uniform currency, instead the monitors that one might think would track transactional trends were instead monitoring something more important. Some of the graphs marked reputation and approval ratings of certain individuals, others were registering the strength of a civilization--crops to a growing empire. The staggering amount of information would be overwhelming to one not accustomed to it. Instead, Domnik knew what was important and what was superfluous. He understood how to read these trends. The cizran also knew the Au’lan, who arbitrated the chaos within. There was a beautiful discordian order to the chaos within the Tabulism Dis’quosum, one that instilled Domnik with an archaic sense of nostalgia. He could still see her inner beauty, the Tabulis, and the sensation filled him with wistfulness. Domnik glided over the sea of chaos his two sets of wings flapping incessantly and the honeycomb of blowholes that dominated his abdominal half-dome expelling a constant stream of air that kept him aloft. He descended like a deformed angel from distant celestial gates, upon the Au’lan, one Buoliq Ac-Lanar,. His wings folded and became bat-like appendages that propped him up. Domnik had brokered a special relationship with this Au’lan. Buoliq was of Shal-anar--an influential “family” whose parasitic tendrils burrowed deep into the flesh of Cizran politics. “Buoliq,” Domnik regarded the Au’lan, “how goes Chapter 353’s Ac-Nuovo Legislation?” The cizran turned to face him, its face a blank slate, and its voice a melodic humming of resonance in the back of Domnik’s mind. “It is filed; it has cleared appellate court, and seems to be progressing to court district 14 §32, however--” “That--” the Avi’lys testily interjected, “is not what I requested .” “I understand, and I apologize, but the affidavit was insufficient cause to move your legislation through district 56’s higher court and the motion was blocked by Ω Gorlund.” Gorlund, a cizran high judiciary from district 15, was proving to be more than a nuisance, Domnik thought. The avi’lys paused for a moment in contemplation. “Very well,” he conceded, “I’d like to file Article 45.” “Of course,” the Au’lan consented, “I shall complete the necessary forms.” [center]***[/center] The soil churned as merciless treads sundered their surface, and the din of the heavy machinery in the camp ahead gave the kukull pause. From the spiny tree cover the stoneswallower hunched low and watched with animalistic caution. A large construction machine, of treads and shovels, patrolled between a large cylindrical pylon of metal. It watched uncomprehending as the large machine paced from a larger pile of glowing stonework to the cylinder in a constant cycle of gathering and dumping. The small launch site was little more than a gathering of ships. One low skiff meant for overland travel had unfurled its form into a pyramid structure, portable in nature, but semi-permanent. The second ship--the furthest from the kukull--was a large boxy construction that sat dead and empty, but seemed large enough to fit the loader and pylon onto it, as well as the heap of aforementioned stone that sat closest to the forest line. The skiff, ship, and pile all ringed caravan-style around the erect metal obelisk to which they were loading the delicious shalam in. The kukull stared at the pile longingly, but was taken aback by the Q’ush that stepped from the skiff. The Q’ush blinked blankly at the datapad, switching his stare between the consignment, and the mountain of animate stone that stood behind a copse of trees that couldn’t possibly conceal its hulking form He didn’t recall a kukull being required, nor did he even have access to one. Scratching his head with confusion he approached the kukull as one would approach a misplaced wrench. “You’re not supposed to be here…” he gurgled, musing to himself, as one would to an inanimate object. A spark of surprise jolted through his cold-blooded body as the lumbering golem regarded him with its glowing blue eyes. What the worker saw troubled him. The creature was entirely stone and magic true, but beneath that thin veneer of stone, underneath that furrowed brow, there was a spark of intelligence that should not have been there. He stumbled backwards, an action that startled the golem into backstepping deeper into the forest, before the q’ush rushed to his office. If the Cizrans knew he was harboring such a creature without reporting it, he could only imagine what they would do to him! The stoneswallower watched the q’ush franticly retreat back to the strange pyramid. Taking this as an invitation to gorge itself, the kukull knuckle-walked over to the pile, as a strange feeling of jubilance and excitement bubbling within. The sensation of danger, at this point, had almost entirely faded from its mind--whatever threat that was bore in its mind that it fled from was severed then withered and died. The golem watched greedily as the scoop-bearing machine came over and gathered more from the pile, and the golem followed it, picking pieces of stone off its harvest. By the time it had reached the pillar, which now the kukull could see was nearly four times the size of itself, he had eaten all the stones in its chassis. Curiosity got the better of the stone creature as it peered into the drop-off, and the soft, emerald glow of a stockpile of shalam lit its face. Diving in, the kukull disincorporated, and lounged in what it considered to be paradise. A few moments later, the Q’ush burst from his office with frustration. Had they never heard of a sentient kukull before?! He knew what he saw! There was a giant golem hiding right over… The amphibian blinked, noticing the stone golem was gone. It was just him and his automated loader. He sighed with frustration, and went about his work. If this shalam was to return to Cizra Su-Lahn in time he would have to pull double time. A few hours later, the obelisk and many more like it abound on Q’aab would converge upon a large ship in orbit, and there they would send off to the epicenter of the Cizran Empire. [center]***[/center] The rocket engine sputtered, choked, and died as thick black smoke billowed from §3’s exterior. The investigator made no mental comment as he arced through the air like a shredded kite and crashed ten meters from the Shrine of Tsathoskr’s threshold. The event made all the noise of two freight ships made of porcelain clashing into each other in the middle of an orphanage for obstreperous azotl. The momentum carried §3 underneath a wave of dirt and sand for a moment before he came to a pathetic stop just inches from the actual threshold. A few solid moments passed as a handful of curious clergy emerged from the debaucherous temple. They were greeted with a mound of refuse, dirt, sand, and, eventually, a small periscope that peered up from the wreckage. The periscope scanned the few clergy members before a shrill mechanical voice addressed them with the equivalent of a verbal run-on sentence. [h3]“IMPERATIVE: DO NOT BE ALARMED. DECLARATIVE: I AM MODEL §3 OF THE HALL OF RECORD’S DEPARTMENT OF INTERNAL AUDITS AND INVESTIGATIONS. I AM HERE UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF ARTICLE 2,367 REGULATION 32 SUBSECTION C.”[/h3] The clergy paused, shared confused looks, and then looked back at the submerged mound as a new racket caused a wince to splay across their faces. Whatever was buried underneath that cairn had unearthed itself as an augur pierced through the side of the mound, and out emerged what could only be explained as a mobile, electronic trash heap. §3’s treads were damaged beyond repair in the crash, and now it was pulling itself along the ground like a bisected soldier who, just moments ago, had stepped on a landmine. It took §3 a few minutes to heave itself through the doorway and into the structure where its investigation would begin. →Engage Thermal Scan ERROR CODE: 4A THERMAL SCAN IS NON-FUNCTIONING. →Engage Micro Scan ERROR CODE: 4A MICRO SCAN IS NON-FUNCTIONING →Engage Tachyon Scan As §3 began to scan the interior of the temple a light of the same offensiveness as a welding arc filled the room. Surely enough, the same tachyon emission it had found within Prisoner 3091’s cell was present here. As §3 cycled through its gamut of scans, much to the dismay of anyone who had any sort of light-based sensory organs, it found many matches between its previous investigation, including the same genecodes as before, one of which belonged to Sinclair, and the other that matched to one Silexis of cizran high-caste. [h3]“INTERROGATIVE: DID YOU WITNESS ONE [quote="Sinclair]‘Sinclair’[/quote] WITHIN THE GROUNDS OF THE [quote]‘Shrine of Tsathoskr’[/quote]?”[/h3] As the robot identified the suspect with a pre recording of the accused’s name, it shot a hologram that flickered like a lazy neon light of the warden’s appearance. The clergy recognized him and with brisk nods they offered what information they had seen. As §3 patiently listened and recorded their testimony. At the end of the investigation he transmitted the information back to the Hall of Records with a modem screech that would surely cause any who heard it to bleed from their ears.