Atrophy

Beyond the Storms

@LexiconIf you don't post on Thursday we will all be very, very, very, very, very, very, very upset but understanding in a way that is supportive, but uncomfortably so that it will actually guilt you for letting us down in the first place and then you'd feel pretty bad or something, I don't know, don't make us responsible for other people, we can hardly take care of ourselves.

...uh, I more or less got a post ready, just gotta do my usual ritual of procrastinating for just a while longer.

Beyond the Storms

Okay so I'm trying to post but I'm in Chicago and I have no idea where I am so I think I'm probably not gonna get to post tonight

@Mercenary Lord

You're in Chicago. You already said so yourself.

(Do yourself a favor and get some Portillo's while you're out there.)

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

Happy One Year Anniversary, ya jerks, although technically I think we're a few days early. Consider that post a present or something, because otherwise I'd seem grossly unprepared for this achievement.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

Ennis, Days Earlier

All things considered, he had been expecting a warmer welcome. The ambassador—no, that wouldn’t do anymore—the heir didn’t want some grand parade or a soiree for his return, nor did he expect fireworks or a string quartet, but at least a greeting by his family would have been nice. Instead, the only familiar face he saw was the one of his father’s steward, who coldly told him to wait for Lord Dedrick Cade in his study like a common businessman. Too tired by his travels to make a fuss, Ennis took a seat in the leather chair facing the much larger, emptier one across the desk from him. There he fidgeted nervously, trying to think of how he’d convince his father to have his men join forces with the Barceans and Guratans against Gartian. Certainly, more impossible tasks had been accomplished before.

Ennis heard footsteps and stood, turning in time to see his father arrival. Lord Cade had his son’s face and height but not his build. While Ennis could barely lift his sword without straining himself, even in his sixties Lord Cade still looked like he could best most men and even a few Divineborn in a fight. Looking again, however, Ennis could see the slow gait in his walk and the exhaustion in his eyes, and his hair had greyed significantly since the last time the two had spoken and had receded so aggressively that it looked like a bird’s beak and two wings. To make up for the lack of hair on the top of his head, the man had taken to growing plenty on the bottom. Ennis took a step forward and held out his hand; the old man was having none of that. Reaching forward, he pulled his son into his arms and gave him a strong hug, patting him twice on the back with both hands.

“What, they didn’t feed you down there?” said Dedrick, pulling himself back from his son as if to fully take him in again.

“It’s good to see you too, father.”

“Good doesn’t even begin to describe it, son,” he said, taking a seat at his desk. He gestured for Ennis to do the same. “I heard quite a few rumors about you growing friendly with those Serio brats and was worried that perhaps our King had heard the same. For once I am glad that he has deaf ears, otherwise I feared you may not have been able to make it home so easily.”

“Y-yes,” said Ennis, nervously glancing at the desk. Everything upon it was neatly sorted and organized, with not a single paper out of place. He swallowed hard, and then began to spin his yarn. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. Before I returned home, I had a chat with the Queen. She had any interesting proposition for me, well, for us.” He decided it would be easier if he made it sound like it wasn’t his idea; at least not until he could get a read on his father. “She called it a way to broker a prosperous peace between H’kela and Barcea. An alliance of sorts, if you will.”

Something in that statement struck the elder Cade as amusing, causing him to hoot and slam his fist on his desk. Ennis was able to muster a slight, uncomfortable smile as his father continued to laugh and shake his head, incredulously. “So she was like her father after all: unable to accept defeat.”

“Defeat?” said Ennis.

A smirk lined Dedrick’s lips. “Barcea lost. The Queen surrendered herself the other day to protect their city. An admirable, if naive, sacrifice. But surely this is not news to you, because I cannot see why you would want to talk about this amusing anecdote otherwise. Surely, it would be unwise to even suggest that you gave consideration to an alliance between our families. Why, it would almost be as stupid as admitting that you had willingly suggested the idea in the first place.”

“What?” asked Ennis, caught off guard by the clear implications of his father’s words. If he wasn’t certain of what his father was saying, he didn’t have to wait long to figure it out. Dedrick dropped the smoke and mirrors right there.

“Don’t try to play the fool with me, boy. Who do you think taught you that trick?” he said, standing up and putting his hands on the desk, his shadow looming over Ennis. “You think I don’t know what my own son has been up to? You think I won’t make sure that my heir doesn’t get himself killed because he was embarrassed once by his King? His King, mind you, that his father has sworn loyalty to, just as the Cades have always sworn loyalty to?”

“You were spying on me?”

“I was keeping you safe, boy,” said Dedrick, glaring down at his son, “from your own stupidity and from the talons of that Queen you so admired. Do you know what it would have done to our family, to our legacy, if word got out that you had been colluding with the enemy? If Yan and Nia hadn’t been there the Kirun would have been in flames. We both would have been hung. Is that what you want, boy?”

“No. I just thought—”

“You didn’t think. It’s not your job to think. Your job is to shut the hell up, produce a male heir, and to respect your father. Our time will come, boy, but not yet. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, father,” said Ennis softly as he sunk down in his chair, feeling as if he was a child being scolded for breaking a vase.

“Excellent. Until things have settled and I can see that you’ve come to your senses, I will not permit you to leave the premises. I had Danners make up your room for you; you are dismissed.” With that, Ennis stood from his chair as if he was a puppet being drawn by strings and made his way to the door. His hand had hardly grabbed the handle when Dedrick called out to him: “Oh, just one more thing.”

Ennis turned back, trying to avoid his father’s gaze.

“Welcome home, son.”

Vesta

Yet again a spell of silence had fallen over Vesta once Cyril broke the news about their Queen’s capture. She seemed calm on the surface as they headed into H’kela, but underneath she was a thunderstorm of anger. As they rode, she killed the time by passing judgment on the others, although mostly her eyes just casted accusations on Krissandria for failing in her duty to protect the Queen. If Olain’s daughter had been harmed by Gartian in anyway, or if she had been k—she felt herself bitedown on her lip, using the pain to distract her from the potential reality. Too many times did she picture what she would do to the Queen’s Guard if they didn’t reach Kori in times. It was hypocritical, considering her own failure years ago, but she couldn’t help herself nevertheless. They were to blame.

No, Gartian is to blame, said a tiny voice inside of her head, and it was this little voice that she forced herself to listen to, yet only when she witnessed that the Queen was still alive did she truly divorce the idea of seeking some form of retribution from Krissandria.

She was unable to enjoy the feeling of being able to freely walk again as she pushed herself through the crowd, desperately trying to get as close as possible to the scaffold. For every rib she elbowed and boot she stepped on the favor was returned right back to her by a H’kelan, eager for the blood of their enemy. It was easy to think of them as monsters, despite knowing deep down that if the roles had been reversed and if Gartian had been up in the block a similarly large crowd would’ve formed in Barcea as well, even if their new Queen seemed to be done with the barbaric way of the old. Yet as Alasa let his arrows fly and they pierced the executioner, the crowd changed back into a mass of humans that, upon witnessing the death of one of their own, fled in horror. And then, it was just two groups of soldiers, us and them.

Vesta dropped her cloak—it was too damn warm for that thing anyway—and drew her sword. She knew that the Lady of Demons had told her not to put too much strain on her knee, but she also knew that she was still better with a blade than she’d ever be with a bow. Besides, a trial by fire would be the perfect way to see just how much of her old movement she had retained. Running (Running!) at the first soldier in yellow that she could see, the woman had already slashed her sword across his side before he could even raise his weapon to thwart her. When was the last time she had been able to close a gap like that? She couldn’t remember.

She felt her vision shift from the execution block to temple balcony and then back to the block again. Their snipers would be able to keep their enemies off of Kori for the time being, but it was still imperative that they saved Kori before going after Gartian. How long until one of their watchful eyes missed a crossbowmen that had his sights trained on their Queen? But the way to the Queen was behind a sea of angry yellow and sharp steel, dotted with splashes of explosives, bursts of magic, and peppering of barrages from her side. It wouldn’t be easy for Vesta to reach alone, even if she was more whole than before, but even if it turned out to be impossible it didn’t matter to her; she had to save Kori.

Her sword bite into another soldier as she smacked a spear to her side with her scabbard before she dropped low to avoid a broad slash and then drove upwards with a mighty slash. No pain in her knee yet; she could feel a smile form on her face as she sprung to the side of a hammerblow. She ripped and tore into the enemy soldiers with her blade, twisting and turning her body like a dancer to avoid getting opened up herself. Slice, turn, stab, duck, cut, spin, sweep, gut; the routine continued on uninterrupted, each step as fluid and practiced as it had been decades ago. Yet she could still hear her breaths get more ragged, could still feel her arms get heavier with every swing. Karin may have cured her knee, but she couldn’t cure the damage of time.

The Queen, the Queen, she thought as she urged herself onward.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

@The Darklight ProjectSoon, likely tomorrow or the day after.

Beyond the Storms

Lower Deck 1

Constance could not say what tossed her around more: the violent sea or their boorish Captain, who seemed to be under the impression that her limbs were the strings of a marionette. Regardless, she was entirely sick of it all, from her safety being held almost entirely in the (more capable, although she’d never admit it), hands of the Captain, to the frivolous concerns that seemingly always found a way to worm themselves into her mind. As the sea bucked her against the wall she found herself thinking of yet another sleeveless dress that she’d be unable to wear due to a new foray of unsightly bruises, although despite her trivial thoughts (or perhaps entirely because of them) she still managed a soft shriek—and, as if on cue, the Captain was already picking her back up, standing her like a pin ready for the next strike.

Perhaps Rick Garrloch had heard that she’d be aboard this ship and had informed the Captain that it was absolutely necessary that she be treated like a complete dog. She scowled, as Conway barked more words right into her ears. And after I had spoken so kindly of Mr. Garrloch at my last soiree despite him refusing to attend. She had spoken kind words, honestly, but anybody in attendance could tell that she hadn’t meant a single one of them, something that she had privately told half a dozen of partygoers. But her private conversations were for her and the other party alone, so it hardly held any relevance. Honestly, the nerve of that man. See if I ever invite him to one of my parties ever again.

Rick Garrloch had also never intended anyone of her parties, despite numerous invitations. But, again, hardly relevant.

Despite yelping (mixed with copious amounts of coughing) out of shock every time that she felt Conway’s rough hands push or pull her, she couldn’t help but grip his shoulder and lean her forehead against the back of her hand in relief as the fire was extinguished. She tittered softly as she tried to catch her breath and still her thumping heart. Her nose wrinkled at the stench of lingering smoke, salt, and sweat, and still her eyes were watered, but none of that mattered. Whatever curses she had for Conway were gone the second crisis had seemingly been averted, replaced with just the happiness to be alive. She blinked away the temporary blindness and surveyed the hall as she took a step away from the Captain, her hand already acting on its own to fix her hair that she had certainly messed up.

“Good job, boys,” she said, finding her voice. “That was a real treat; let’s do it again sometime. Really, though, perhaps we should leave the fire in the kit—”

She was cut off by the announcement for the upcoming wave. If she had the time to think about it, and perhaps if she was recounting the story at a later date with a mai tai in hand and her feet firmly on land, she would be able to find a way to have a laugh at the idea that after needing so much water to put out a fire some divine body had decided to answer their prays, if a minute too late and in the most inappropriate way ever. However, she didn’t have that sort of time. Already her body was tensed for the inevitable act that was to come next; it was as if she was some kind of super magnet and their Captain was a lump of iron. Still, despite being prepared for it, she still let out a shout as he grabbed her and dove to the floor.

“Why must the somethin’ you grab ahold of always be me?” she demanded even as she hung onto his jacket for dear life as the floor became the walls and seawater rushed past her, soaking her to the bone. She hardly registered the struggles happening beyond her as she dug herself into the man, fully aware that the only thing that kept her from falling freely to some final fate being the arm wrapped around her back and whatever cloth she could cling onto. Earlier that day she had been so excited to experience the Drop; now, she wanted nothing more than this second drop to be done and gone as the Garrloch crested over the top of the wave and began its ride back down.

And, much like the wave, the words she had for Conway seemed to swell up and out of her mouth, her better judgment unable to hold them back, “Obelisk take you, what sort of hurry are we in that we must rush off in the middle of the damn storm of the century? Was there some second ship built in secret that we are trying to beat? Are we that concerned that the other obelisk is going to fly away? Because, assuming it’s still there after all of this and not smashed against the hangar wall, we do have a means of reaching it even if it does. I’m not saying that you made an error, Captain, I’d never even think that. I know this is your ship and I’m positive that you know best, but I am saying is that we do need their to be a ship for you to captain. Otherw—”

Although Constance continued talking, her words were replaced with bubbling as the saltwater rushed into her mouth as it surged past her and Conway as the ship righted itself. She felt herself pulled upwards by Conway’s arms, the bubbling replaced with sputtering and choking as she coughed salt out of her lungs. She continued coughing as she rested her soaked head against Conway’s jacket like a tuckered out child, squeezing onto him tighter still. Meekily, she looked around and realized that, from her initial impressions, the boat was still one and that she was still alive in it. She was too thankful to feel embarrassed for her behavior or her previous words as she continued to claw at Conway’s coat, even as he no longer held onto her.

“Lass, I need ya to leggo. You aren’t as light as ya think.”

"Aye, Captain," she said as she withdrew her hands quickly and slide out of the way so that Conway could actually stand up.

“And it’d be best if ya keep yer comments about how I handle my ship ta yerself, lest you want ta swim back.”

“Aye, Captain,” she said, quieter this time, her eyes falling away as they sparked with guilt.

“We might make a sailor outta ya yet, lass,” said Conway, as he headed off to organize the others.

It was a horrific thought.

Beyond the Storms

Should be getting up a post fairly soon.

Carvings of the Galaxy

@Deserted Yeah dude. Wanna start us out? I'm at work for the rest of the day.

Beyond the Storms

I hope we all get our Fire Safety Merit Badge after this!

Beyond the Storms

Lower Deck 1

The helmsman must have overheard Constance’s belittling of the man, because the instant she finished speak the ship once again tried to flip itself over as Conway’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers about a fire. She caught herself on the arm of one of the men she had been trying to rally to save herself from yet again slamming into a wall, grimacing with minor embarrassment and annoyance that others even saw her stumble. If she had been knocked down, then the only word or two that she would have with Conway would be four-lettered, colorful, and improper to share in any sort of company, good or otherwise.She patted the man that she had used as a safety net on the shoulder twice, the gesture serving as some kind of half-hearted ‘thank you’, and then smoothed out her clothing and brushed a swathe of hair behind her ear.

It was bizarre, she knew it, but she wanted to still look impeccable, even if the entire ship was about to go belly up as it burned down. Constance believed in the importance of appearance. If she looked proper, if she looked confident, if she looked happy, then others would have to believe that was the case. It didn’t matter if her heart was racing a mile a minute, or if she was beginning to compile a list in her mind of all of the things she wouldn’t be able to do. Nobody could see those things, nobody could know of her fears. Even Constance tried to force herself to not recognize a fear—she lied and told herself that she had none, or that they excited her, that it was fun, that she loved the thrill of it all. It worked, mostly, or at least it was this time, her spirit beating back her animal mind that was firing off flares signalling imminent danger and barking at her to turn back.

Thus, when the sailor drafted Constance to join the nurse and the reporter in their newly formed amateur fire brigade, she jumped at the call with a look that could only be described as inappropriately gleeful. She had, after all, done her own share of firefighting at her own parties when a drunken guest got too close to a candle or tried to show off the latest party trick that they had learned, the help too far away to respond in time. Those fires, however, had mostly been small and inconsequential, easily bested by a quick douse of water or a smothering via jacket. She had never seen a fire started by a lightning strike. Constance was certain that this fire would be the same as the others; in an hour they would all be laughing about it over cocktails and hor d'oeuvres.

Doubt began to cloud over her like the black, acrid smoke that was billowing overhead; she could hear the crackle of the flames from beyond the corner. She blinked her stinging eyes and her smirk wavered as the flames came into view, the blaze raging fiercely as it warped the metal around it into twisted appendages. Having been so excited to be the first to the fire, she had pushed ahead of the others earlier. Now, as she felt the heat on her face and the sweat form on her brow, she had wished she had been in the back. There, she could have easily slipped away, claiming later that she had been lost in the smoke or the confusion. If she turned now, the others would know that she had run. They would label her a coward or view her as deadweight. Her lips drew into a thin line as she lifted her hand to cover a cough that was trying to escape from her mouth. It didn’t matter what other people said, really. After all, the only thing that trumped appearances was survival—live long enough to change the tale.

But she couldn’t turn and flee, because there were simply too many people crowded behind her. Well, that and Conway had just chucked a hose at her. She didn’t catch it at first as the hose slammed against her chest, awkwardly managing to catch it with her knee and her forearm. She shot Conway a narrowed look as she struggled to wrangle the hose as if it were some slimy sea serpent trying to squirm out of her grasp. There were many things she wanted to discuss with the man, largely because, one, his helmsman couldn’t steer the ship that, two, he had lead into a brutal storm followed by, three, his crew forcing her to fight their fires caused by lightning when, four, if the ship had been properly designed with a lightning rod would have never been a problem in the first place. All of this she wanted to say, but when she opened her mouth to speak so much smoke came in that it was impossible for the words to come out. Choking on smoke, the hose clattered against the ground; she followed after it, dropping to her knees as she continued to cough.

She knew instantly that she had screwed up and gotten too close to the fire. Cursing herself for being stupid, the woman looked behind her with watering eyes—why did she even still care if anybody was looking at her now? She watched as Luna fought the inferno, jealous at how unfazed the other woman seemed to be, unaware that the nurse was probably as terrified as she was. She watched as a man fell in behind Ed, instructing him on how to use the hose with a smile on his face amongst all of the chaos, unaware that it was as probably as forced as her own always were. Grimacing, she grabbed the hose from her kneeling position and turned it on, using a knee and her arms to keep it steadied at the fire. She wasn’t going to be the only one who didn’t do anything. She refused to be the one looked down upon; she had spent her entire life struggling to get to a point where that was simply impossible.

And besides, they couldn’t let the boat sink—she still had to give Conway a piece of her mind.