[center][color=red]The Marian Gate Station, outskirts of the Ruins of Iddin-Mar, Old Omestris[/color][/center][hr] [center][sub][written by Lovejoy, shylarah & CollectorOfMyst][/sub][/center] Outside the cramped military transport the ice and snow was all-encompassing. The Corpseland of Omestris, they called it. It didn't look much like a corpse, for it was beautiful in its own way. Empty and silent, the snows pure and white, ungreyed. Three days ago they had finally left behind the fringes of the machine city. They watched as those frontier ghost sectors, with the steam stacks of their ancient factories still billowing pale ethereal mist into the colorless sky, gave way to endless white. And if they stared out the rear windows, they could glimpse Magnagarad, rising like a dark mountain of iron against the white, encrouching everything. They were miles from its end, and still it seemed near. Even after the invasion, all that existed in the no man's land between Varya and Omestris was a nigh endless snowfield. On their journey they would glimpse the odd SA garrison standing derelict upon the ice every now and again, and one time, they even saw the ruins of what looked like an ancient Omestrian temple, but for the most part, the journey had been long, grim and boring. Father Oren and Mother Ziotea sat in the train car, completely alone save for the young SA soldier sitting on the seat opposite them. Private Andrei Semenov had joined them at the lone station at the edge of Magnagrad, where they had taken the only train bound for Omestris. Semenov had known of their coming, and informed them that he had been sent to serve as their guide. When Oren told him that they didn't require a guide, the young man had become nervous and didn't have an answer prepared, only that it was his duty and he couldn't disobey his orders. It didn't take Oren and Ziotea long to figure out what Semenov was really there for. Two Omestrian inquisitors, returning to their homeland-- the Church had taken note of this, and had sent this poor, young SA grunt to watch over them. When the train made its final stop at the station known as the Marian Gate, they found themselves at the precipice of a massive ice shelf which stretched miles beyond miles into the distance and then curved around again on itself. It was as if there was a massive wound in the ice, and far below them, cutting deeper into the ancient icebed than Oren or Ziotea had ever seen, lay the ruins. Iddin-Mar. [center][b]***[/b][/center] The short Inquisitor did not fear the snowy wastelands of the world. She might not be able to craft an aegis with the skill of some of her fellows -- especially Ragnar -- but she had enough skill that a few hours out beyond the reach of the machines that kept city-dwellers warm was merely difficult, not deadly. The traincar was heated, of course, but while fending off the frigid cold that sought to sap warmth and life did chill her, Ziotea didn't seem to have the trouble with simple cold the way most did. Sure, it was cold, but even as a child on the streets huddled in a nook with Rodion to preserve heat, she was always warmer than he. Ziotea wondered how her friend was doing. He'd matched her perpetual restlessness, in the days between the news of their orders and when Father Oren had suggested she join him on a trip to the lands of ancient Omestris. She understood why. They were rarely apart -- not for more than a day since...she couldn't even remember. Had they ever been separated, since they met? Perhaps not. Odd that it should feel so natural. Even when they were fighting, the only time she'd ever leave the room instead of just not talking was if she needed to beat something up. Breaking furniture was frowned upon; practice dummies less so. All the same she was glad of this opportunity, Rodion or no. There would have been little for her to do in Cero even if she was allowed near the Karmzina before its launch. She would be spending plenty of time cooped up in the ark on their trip across the sea, and she really didn't care to start it early. Nor had she ever been to Omestris -- as far as she could remember, she'd spent the entirety of her life in Magnagrad. She felt no connection to the place -- she wasn't really Omestrian, after all -- but she did wonder what it was like. All she knew of the world beyond Magnagrad, particularly beyond Varya proper, was stories and legends. Omestris was spoken of as a land of heresy, where forbidden fire was kept alive. She didn't even know what fire would look like aside from its colors, the colors she'd been cursed with at birth. Maybe seeing the ruins would help her understand why, what it was that she was supposed to be. Why the Omestrians' god had abandoned them to Lord Varya and his followers, and the miserable slavery she'd seen just enough of that she would never forget it. Lord Omestris must have been able to do something to help them -- he was a god, after all. But if he was anything like Lady Lanostre, he probably didn't care. Even Lord Varya didn't care, not really. What she'd seen at Culmination.... She sighed, her breath fogging the glass of the window and quickly forming frosty patterns on it. Father Oren was quiet, and for that she was grateful. Yes, she should be getting to know the man better while she had the chance -- they'd had a few teambuilding exercises with the three Leviathan members ordered to join them, but they were nowhere near as familiar as the members of her own warband, even the ones she avoided as much as she could. If she did decide to talk with him, she'd rather do it without their watchdog present, but there would only be a couple hours after the young soldier's probable departure once they were back in Magnagrad. She felt a little sorry for him, really. If for some reason she and Father Oren really did mean to go apostate, what could he possibly do against two Inquisitors? He'd need incredible skill or amazing luck to beat even one of them, much less both, and he seemed uncomfortable around them to start with. "I don't think I've ever seen anything quite so white," she said at last. "Everything in Magnagrad is gray, or beige, or the color of rust. I didn't know a white like this existed." [center][b]***[/b][/center] Oren was watching their recent acquaintance through half-lidded eyes. It was a curious decision, to send this young man with them. Seminov didn't seem to be the best of spies. Especially when he was pitted against two Omestrians... even if one wasn't full-blooded, she still possessed an incredible ether pool, from what Oren had heard. Speaking of Ziotea, she had seemed restless the last few days. They had made only a little conversation, mostly out of necessity or pleasantries. Their alliance was felt, not spoken, he believed. Still, she was on edge. Perhaps it was her separation from the smith? Oren had often glimpsed the two side-by-side throughout the years. And, if the gossipers were to be believed, they were more than just childhood friends. The private shifted, and Oren's attention turned back to him. Really, the entire situation with Seminov was perplexing. Unless there was some other motive for his being there, there really was no sense to it. Inquisitors were well reputed for being elite fighters, so neither he nor Ziotea would really be intimidated by his presence. Unless they more expected only one of them to turn apostate, and the soldier was there just to give them an edge. As far as Oren could tell, he was almost evenly matched with his companion, though if it came to it, Oren was pretty certain she'd overcome him. In either case, a more seasoned soldier, some grizzled veteran, would have been better to send with them. Oren felt the corners of his mouth twitch as he entertained the thought. Not many of those around at the moment. So perhaps it was just their only option, and he was thinking too much into it. The train jolted a little, which meant they were slowing down. He opened his eyes and stood. "I don't think I've ever seen anything quite so white," he heard Ziotea say. "Everything in Magnagrad is gray, or beige, or the color of rust. I didn't know a white like this existed." Glancing outside, his eyebrows rose at the sight. Oren... hadn't quite expected this. Well, Iddin-Mar wasn't exactly the same ruin he'd been to before, but still... "And yet you travel with one whose hair is white," he said, a hint of humour in his voice. "But I suppose it is a brilliant view." Sighing internally, he looked to their escort. "Well... shall we go see what else we might find?" [center][b]***[/b][/center] She turned to look at him thoughtfully, but needed no more than a glance before shaking her head. "No. It's white, but it's not the same color." A frown creased her brow. "Everything in Magnagrad is stained. Even us." Ziotea didn't elaborate, feeling the change in the motion of the car and standing to grab her spear and spiked shield. The latter was slung over her shoulder, the spear resting comfortably in the crook of her arm for the moment. It wasn't so much longer before the train clacked to a stop, the steamworks sighing heavily as if grateful for the reprieve. She stepped off the moment the chime sounded to say the doors could be open, not bothering to wait for the other two. Her sturdy boots made muffled thumps on the platform, little more than a cleared area and a small building. Beyond, the icy ground abruptly fell away, leaving a gaping hole in the earth. Below she could see the broken forms of crumbling buildings, crouched in the snow like the shapes of the homeless who died during the night and were found frozen the following morning. The empty snowfields weren't the Corpseland. This was -- this relic of what must have been a proud race once a long time ago, before the Varyans and their Ravenous Lord came calling. This place would hold no answers, she realized. What had she even hoped to find? But perhaps she could still take something away from it. Some clue as to what once was, and maybe a hint of what she was missing. Maybe it would teach her the right question. Father Oren's question got him a grunt of a reply, and the small woman walked toward the edge. Aye, the place was a corpse, gutted and left without even a proper grave. And here they were to pay a visit to a legacy of bones. [center][b]***[/b][/center] "Wait for me!" the young soldier yelled, his voice trembling under his warming mask. Whether he was cold or terrified, or both, was unclear. Private Semenov was short for a Varyan, barely taller than Ziotea, and with the layers upon layers of fur he wore over his uniform, the SA soldier looked like a fat little bear standing there in the confines of the train. It was obvious that the lad was absolutely freezing, as he began to shiver like a rumbling engine as soon as he stepped out of the train car.The icy wind was galing lightly, its power not strong enough to stir the two inquisitor's coats in its grasp, but for a "regular" soldier like Semenov, it must have been bitingly cold. "Welcome to the Marian Ga--" His words were cut short when he saw Mother Ziotea standing by the edge of the ice shelf, gazing at the ruined majesty beneath them. Her hair was, hm. He couldn't quite describe it, but he found himself transfixed by it for what seemed like minutes, admiring how it contrasted against the white expanse around her. He turned suddenly, and found Father Oren staring at him. "R-right! This way." He readjusted the strap of his rifle and allowed it to fall casually at his side before hastily walking off the platform and towards what looked like a large circular hatch embedded within the snow. Strangely, its metal diameter seemed completely untouched by snowfall. Semenov labored through the knee-deep snow drifts before finally reaching the handle of the metal hatch, signaling the two inquisitors to follow behind. As soon as they stepped on the ceiling of what appeared to be a large bunker, the crunching of their boots against the snow turned to metallic thuds. Semenov took one last look at the ruins of Iddin-Mar and sighed wistfully. "It's a... beautiful view, it really is, but we need to head underground to actually reach it," he told them before grabbing at the handle with both hands and turning. It took some effort for the young soldier to turn it completely, but when the handle finally gave way, a cloud of steam erupted forth from the thin gaps between the hatchdoor and bunker. The sudden change in temperature made the young soldier step back clumsily. "Urgh... Yeah, ether lamps. They keep the entire bunker warm," he said, gritting his teeth as he struggled to lift the heavy hatchdoor. He grunted loudly, and finally, the hatch door swung open beneath them. Semenov climbed down a short ladder leading into the darkened half-lit bunker below, waving at his two charges to follow him into the ground. Before they reached the bottom, the two inquisitors heard the echo of a gruff voice beneath them. "It's Semenov! Oi, boychik, who've you brought along with you this ti--" The bearded soldier's words were cut short when he caught sight of Ziotea and Oren. "I-Inquisitors?" a blonde-haired woman stammered to no one in particular, her voice astonished and filled with fear at the same time. A half-smoked cigarette hung limply from her lips, the currents of white ether within its filter fading out. She was sat at a plain-looking table, a deck of lazily-shuffled playing cards as well as a near-empty bottle of cheap virrika lay scattered on its surface. The bearded man, seeming to remember his training, suddenly stood at attention. He wore a grimy tanktop and a pair of even grimier military trousers. There was no weapon at his side and even from where they stood, the inquisitors could smell the virrika on him. "Sergeant Mikhail, Sergeant Veena, this is Father Oren and Mother Ziotea. They're here to see the ruins," Semenov told them while ripping off his layers. He then removed a warming suit hanging from a rack and hastily put it on. Free of the furs and heating mask and now wearing the less bulky warming suit, the inquisitors could see just how young he was. Private Andrei Semenov couldn't have been older than fifteen. The woman hastily put out her cigarette. "Your Reverences, please forgive the er... state of our garrison, we.. had no word of your coming," she said, her eyes burning a hole through Semenov. "We, uh, we don't get a lot of visitors," she added. "That's right, if we had known--" "Oh come on. At least we didn't catch you two fucking," Semenov answered, chuckling to himself. He stole a glance at the two inquisitors, hoping he'd see at least a smile from one of them. When they didn't seem to laugh at his joke, he cleared his throat. "A-Anyway, it'll be night soon, so we should get moving. Next we'll ride the lift, which'll take us down to the ruins proper."