Sure. Couldn't do any harm I guess.
Hokum Member
The man in the moon
STATUS: As long as you're accomplishing things then it's good. 10 mos ago
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I ' m a w r i t e r
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The Conference
The Zandor Citadel
Location Classified
On the top floor of the Citadel was a circular room, the walls of which recently replaced with three foot thick Ocularium, allowing those within to see out, yet seeming like no more than a metallic surface from an outside perspective. From inside the room was a spectacular view of jungle canopy and mountain ranges in all direction, as the pastel hues of dawn made its spread across the sky.
Chief General of Commands, Bundaris Stras, sat at the round Darkwood table in his polished shoes, pressed grey suit, white shirt and a black tie that matched his perfectly combed hair. His green eyes held a naturally intense stare, totters upon by a single thick line of brow hair. He held firm to his ideal posture, back straight, Jawline horizontal, both hands rested in loose fists on the table while inspecting the faces of other subordinate officers in his company, all of whom were dressed in their military uniforms and staring back with eyes of speculative anticipation.
“First order of business!” Bundaris’s voice belted out with its usual commanding roar. “Situation of nations! First nation of interest: Auclairé!”
Never quite getting used to the intimidating presence of Bundaris, Leading Commander of International Surveillance, Eris Falt, recovered the best he could from the Chief’s sudden outburst, readjusting to find comfort in his seat, before replying; “Nothing of direct influence to us, but the latest images provided from Orbiter 5. suggest the pending deployment of a warship from their Southern Port. Reasons for the deployment are unknown, Sir. However, ZIM (Zandor Intelligence Ministry) speculates that it may have something to do with the Auclairé vessel we spoke of in our last meeting -”
Bundaris holds up one hand to interject. “Is it just me, or does thinking about Auclairé make others hungry as well?”
“It’s probably due to the name sounding vaguely familiar to a Chocolate Éclair, Sir,” Darmin Wyn, the head advisor to the Morale Division suggested; “Those pastry creams are very tasty.”
“Indeed!” Bundaris agreed sternly.
“I like the custard center ones.” One of the female officers added. “I’d just die for one of those right now.”
“Enough!” Bundaris said, and slammed his hand back down on the table. Getting back to business, he takes his intense glare to the 2nd minister of defence, Pomella Hik, a pretty blond young woman, saying; “Have two of our vessels at the ready. If the Auclairé vessel happens to breach our waters for whatever reason, I don’t want to be sitting around with our thumbs up our ass.”
“Military assault vessels, Sir?” Pomella asked, fluttering her eyelashes at the Chief.
“What are you, stupid, woman?” Bundaris asked her with a derisive scowl. “We aren’t at war with Auclairé. Why the hell would we use Assault vessels to greet a nation that’s never shown hostility toward us?”
“I’m very sorry.” Pomella replied in a dying voice as she shrunk in her seat.
“A couple of standard Coast Guard Ships will do just fine.” Bundaris added. “And be sure you make no contact unless they actually breach our waters or otherwise make contact with us. Is that clear? We have our own business to attend to.”
She gives a timid nod to confirm.
Chief General of Commands, Bundaris Stras, sat at the round Darkwood table in his polished shoes, pressed grey suit, white shirt and a black tie that matched his perfectly combed hair. His green eyes held a naturally intense stare, totters upon by a single thick line of brow hair. He held firm to his ideal posture, back straight, Jawline horizontal, both hands rested in loose fists on the table while inspecting the faces of other subordinate officers in his company, all of whom were dressed in their military uniforms and staring back with eyes of speculative anticipation.
“First order of business!” Bundaris’s voice belted out with its usual commanding roar. “Situation of nations! First nation of interest: Auclairé!”
Never quite getting used to the intimidating presence of Bundaris, Leading Commander of International Surveillance, Eris Falt, recovered the best he could from the Chief’s sudden outburst, readjusting to find comfort in his seat, before replying; “Nothing of direct influence to us, but the latest images provided from Orbiter 5. suggest the pending deployment of a warship from their Southern Port. Reasons for the deployment are unknown, Sir. However, ZIM (Zandor Intelligence Ministry) speculates that it may have something to do with the Auclairé vessel we spoke of in our last meeting -”
Bundaris holds up one hand to interject. “Is it just me, or does thinking about Auclairé make others hungry as well?”
“It’s probably due to the name sounding vaguely familiar to a Chocolate Éclair, Sir,” Darmin Wyn, the head advisor to the Morale Division suggested; “Those pastry creams are very tasty.”
“Indeed!” Bundaris agreed sternly.
“I like the custard center ones.” One of the female officers added. “I’d just die for one of those right now.”
“Enough!” Bundaris said, and slammed his hand back down on the table. Getting back to business, he takes his intense glare to the 2nd minister of defence, Pomella Hik, a pretty blond young woman, saying; “Have two of our vessels at the ready. If the Auclairé vessel happens to breach our waters for whatever reason, I don’t want to be sitting around with our thumbs up our ass.”
“Military assault vessels, Sir?” Pomella asked, fluttering her eyelashes at the Chief.
“What are you, stupid, woman?” Bundaris asked her with a derisive scowl. “We aren’t at war with Auclairé. Why the hell would we use Assault vessels to greet a nation that’s never shown hostility toward us?”
“I’m very sorry.” Pomella replied in a dying voice as she shrunk in her seat.
“A couple of standard Coast Guard Ships will do just fine.” Bundaris added. “And be sure you make no contact unless they actually breach our waters or otherwise make contact with us. Is that clear? We have our own business to attend to.”
She gives a timid nod to confirm.
“Next Order of business!” Bundaris thundered. “The federation!”
“Nothing to report, sir.” Eris speaks up again, referring to the information on his little electronic notepad device. “Latest reports indicate the entire Federation has mysteriously become inactive over the last few days.”
“Very well.” The Chief turned his head thoughtfully for a moment. “Keep orbiter 2. Surveillance ongoing. Nothing more.”
“Understood.”
“Nothing to report, sir.” Eris speaks up again, referring to the information on his little electronic notepad device. “Latest reports indicate the entire Federation has mysteriously become inactive over the last few days.”
“Very well.” The Chief turned his head thoughtfully for a moment. “Keep orbiter 2. Surveillance ongoing. Nothing more.”
“Understood.”
“Now for The Lanist Khaganate!” Bundaris lowered his voice an octave with speculation. “I received reports of turmoil near their Eastern borders. Can anyone confirm?”
“Can confirm!” The first minister of Defence, Dug Stine, spoke up, his brown googly eyes almost popping from his head as he lurched forward in his seat with excitement. “Orbiter 4. Confirmed nuclear detonation East of their border.”
“Are you being serious with me right now?” Chief Bundaris glared at Dug with a slightly perturbed glower. “They set off a nuclear warhead? I thought only Listirine occupied that area of land. Are they using that area as a nuclear testing ground or something? Someone should inform them to conduct that sort of activity farther from their home, or preferably not at all.”
“No-no-no!” Dug said, shaking his head dramatically, “From what we can tell they were actually at war with the Listirine. We have reason to believe The Khaganate are looking to expand into that area of land.”
“Well then,” Bundaris remarked with a solid chuckle, “Someone should instead inform the Khaganate that it probably isn’t worth their trouble. That land would be riddles vast miles of Listirine holes. Very unstable for building on.”
“And one even bigger hole now,” Dug confirmed with a smile, “a nuclear blast tends to have that effect unstable ground.”
“Then be sure to keep tabs on their progress.” Bundaris continued to chuckle while several others in the room laughed along. “And be sure to send me personalized images of their efforts in filling that hole!”
The room broke out into laughter.
“But seriously!” Bundaris thundered once again. The room suddenly fell silent. “I don’t like the idea of nuclear weapons being used on this planet unless deemed absolutely necessary.” He smooths his hand over his perfectly groomed hair, and adds; “We have enough problems without having to worry about radiation floating around in the atmosphere.”
“Absolutely!” Desli Bash, secretary of Defense spoke up with a sharp nod of her head and slapped her hand on the table. “I’ll be sure to send them a transmission stating our concerns on the matter.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” The Chief barked at her, then turned his attention back to Dug; “Just continue surveillance at this point. Keep me apprised of their efforts. If they continue to use nuclear power beyond that of reasonable assessment, we can think about offering them a more suitable compromise to assist their goals.”
“Understood!” Both Dug and Desli confirmed at once. “But there’s just one other thing.” Dug added, waving his hand about fiercely; “The Khaganate have constructed some variety of massive land vessel. Just thought it might be best that we're all aware of that.”
Bundaris looked at the man suspiciously, and asked in a flattening tone; “…What sort of massive variety of Land Vessel?”
“The big kind, sir.” Dug replied with a smirk. “Our reconnaissance department informs us that they refer to the vessel as a Landship. It is literally the size of a decent city. Heavily armed. Well armored.”
“What in all of creation do they need something like that for, Officer Dug?” Bundaris was raising his voice again.
“We aren’t entirely sure.” Dug answered, then bit his lip with disappointed for his lack of knowledge.
Bundaris glared at the officer for a moment, and said. “Then be sure to find out.”
“Absolutely.” Dug said, edging back in his seat. “Understood.”
“Can confirm!” The first minister of Defence, Dug Stine, spoke up, his brown googly eyes almost popping from his head as he lurched forward in his seat with excitement. “Orbiter 4. Confirmed nuclear detonation East of their border.”
“Are you being serious with me right now?” Chief Bundaris glared at Dug with a slightly perturbed glower. “They set off a nuclear warhead? I thought only Listirine occupied that area of land. Are they using that area as a nuclear testing ground or something? Someone should inform them to conduct that sort of activity farther from their home, or preferably not at all.”
“No-no-no!” Dug said, shaking his head dramatically, “From what we can tell they were actually at war with the Listirine. We have reason to believe The Khaganate are looking to expand into that area of land.”
“Well then,” Bundaris remarked with a solid chuckle, “Someone should instead inform the Khaganate that it probably isn’t worth their trouble. That land would be riddles vast miles of Listirine holes. Very unstable for building on.”
“And one even bigger hole now,” Dug confirmed with a smile, “a nuclear blast tends to have that effect unstable ground.”
“Then be sure to keep tabs on their progress.” Bundaris continued to chuckle while several others in the room laughed along. “And be sure to send me personalized images of their efforts in filling that hole!”
The room broke out into laughter.
“But seriously!” Bundaris thundered once again. The room suddenly fell silent. “I don’t like the idea of nuclear weapons being used on this planet unless deemed absolutely necessary.” He smooths his hand over his perfectly groomed hair, and adds; “We have enough problems without having to worry about radiation floating around in the atmosphere.”
“Absolutely!” Desli Bash, secretary of Defense spoke up with a sharp nod of her head and slapped her hand on the table. “I’ll be sure to send them a transmission stating our concerns on the matter.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” The Chief barked at her, then turned his attention back to Dug; “Just continue surveillance at this point. Keep me apprised of their efforts. If they continue to use nuclear power beyond that of reasonable assessment, we can think about offering them a more suitable compromise to assist their goals.”
“Understood!” Both Dug and Desli confirmed at once. “But there’s just one other thing.” Dug added, waving his hand about fiercely; “The Khaganate have constructed some variety of massive land vessel. Just thought it might be best that we're all aware of that.”
Bundaris looked at the man suspiciously, and asked in a flattening tone; “…What sort of massive variety of Land Vessel?”
“The big kind, sir.” Dug replied with a smirk. “Our reconnaissance department informs us that they refer to the vessel as a Landship. It is literally the size of a decent city. Heavily armed. Well armored.”
“What in all of creation do they need something like that for, Officer Dug?” Bundaris was raising his voice again.
“We aren’t entirely sure.” Dug answered, then bit his lip with disappointed for his lack of knowledge.
Bundaris glared at the officer for a moment, and said. “Then be sure to find out.”
“Absolutely.” Dug said, edging back in his seat. “Understood.”
“Next order of Business!” Bundaris thundered again. “Unidentified Flying Objects! Now what the hell is going on with this situation?”
The Minister of Space Exploration and Alternative Science - a young man by the name of Wol Monti, with an greatly exaggerated overbite and glasses - stood up to formally address the Chief, saying; “Chief Bundaris, Sir. As you know, the unidentified objects entered our atmosphere some days ago. We now have reason to believe they are of extra-terrestrial origin and have established a colony of sorts many miles South East of Khaganate territory. Our most recent records also indicate that one of their vessels are on rout to the Federation, another is headed toward that strange organization known as Alfieque’s Army. We however have no idea of their intentions, Sir.”
“Sit down, Wol.” The Chief advised sternly. “This isn’t a classroom.”
“Understood, sir.” Wol complied and retook his seat.
Chief Bundaris looked out at the view of the jungle covered mountains as he considered the information for a while. Taking his attention back to Wol he shook his head firmly, and told him: “Do nothing. Continue Surveillance for now. Under no circumstances will you attempt initiate contact with them. Keep me informed of any and all changes. That’s all.”
“But… little green men, Sir!” Wol objected, removing his glasses with the glimmer of hope being dashed from his eyes. “How can we not do som–“
“Enough!” Bundaris hammered his fist on the table in all seriousness. “We don’t know if they’re little green men! They may be pink for all we know!”
“I’m terribly sorry, sir!” Wol recoiled in his seat. “I’ll never presume such a thing again.”
“Besides…” Bundaris added, adjusting his tie to regain composure. “We have enough unknown concerns to deal with in our own backyard. We’ll deal with anything else when it becomes necessary. Not before.”
“Understood….” Wol replied timidly, returning his glasses to his face.
The Minister of Space Exploration and Alternative Science - a young man by the name of Wol Monti, with an greatly exaggerated overbite and glasses - stood up to formally address the Chief, saying; “Chief Bundaris, Sir. As you know, the unidentified objects entered our atmosphere some days ago. We now have reason to believe they are of extra-terrestrial origin and have established a colony of sorts many miles South East of Khaganate territory. Our most recent records also indicate that one of their vessels are on rout to the Federation, another is headed toward that strange organization known as Alfieque’s Army. We however have no idea of their intentions, Sir.”
“Sit down, Wol.” The Chief advised sternly. “This isn’t a classroom.”
“Understood, sir.” Wol complied and retook his seat.
Chief Bundaris looked out at the view of the jungle covered mountains as he considered the information for a while. Taking his attention back to Wol he shook his head firmly, and told him: “Do nothing. Continue Surveillance for now. Under no circumstances will you attempt initiate contact with them. Keep me informed of any and all changes. That’s all.”
“But… little green men, Sir!” Wol objected, removing his glasses with the glimmer of hope being dashed from his eyes. “How can we not do som–“
“Enough!” Bundaris hammered his fist on the table in all seriousness. “We don’t know if they’re little green men! They may be pink for all we know!”
“I’m terribly sorry, sir!” Wol recoiled in his seat. “I’ll never presume such a thing again.”
“Besides…” Bundaris added, adjusting his tie to regain composure. “We have enough unknown concerns to deal with in our own backyard. We’ll deal with anything else when it becomes necessary. Not before.”
“Understood….” Wol replied timidly, returning his glasses to his face.
“Now, for the business we’ve all been waiting for!” Bundaris said, clapping his hands together. Everyone in the room shot forward in their seats, eyes gaping in suspense as he continued his final announcement – “Detec 1. Successfully entered orbit overnight. It is as we speak processing a vast range of dimensional images of the Badlands! Within hours from now, and for the first time in the history of our Empire, we will have a clear and present idea of just what we are dealing with!”
Applause took the room in a roar, and Bundaris rested smugly back in his seat, allowing his officers to settle down again before completing his report.
“Now, don’t get too excited just yet.” He told them as they lowered into their seats again. “We still have a lot of work to do. But there’s no doubt in my mind that our next meeting will consist of strategies to retrieve our missing people from Vos and bring them back home safe again. Failing that….” He concluded, taking note of each face as he looked around the room, “…in the possibility that we find there’s no one left to save, I suppose our next meeting will be comprised of a more… aggressive plan of action.”
Applause took the room in a roar, and Bundaris rested smugly back in his seat, allowing his officers to settle down again before completing his report.
“Now, don’t get too excited just yet.” He told them as they lowered into their seats again. “We still have a lot of work to do. But there’s no doubt in my mind that our next meeting will consist of strategies to retrieve our missing people from Vos and bring them back home safe again. Failing that….” He concluded, taking note of each face as he looked around the room, “…in the possibility that we find there’s no one left to save, I suppose our next meeting will be comprised of a more… aggressive plan of action.”
Hiatus
One and a half years ago, Her Eminence Goaldinhoe’s sanctioning of the movement to find her missing people by any means possible gave birth to a great number of revolutionary developments. The following is an example of one such technology.
Second Instalment of Visual and Sensory
Perceptic Telefusion: Primarily used for military and government projects, Perceptic Telefusion is the name given to Zandor’s Cloaking Technology. It was developed, as fate would have it, by an elderly Zandorian commoner by the name of Percep Covort. Perceptic Telefusion is basically a type of electronic interface which is conducted via plasma relay systems, designed to read and extrapolate data from a specified radius around its host, while simultaneously using light refraction, sonic interference and reflective heat intervention to recreate the visual and sensory display of said radius, thus causing its host to appear invisible by visual, sonic and heat sensory means.
On a side note: After living a long life as a simple commoner, Percept Covort was lifted in ranks to Senior Science Official of the Zandor Empire on account of his invention. He passed away two weeks later. May he rest in peace.
On a side note: After living a long life as a simple commoner, Percept Covort was lifted in ranks to Senior Science Official of the Zandor Empire on account of his invention. He passed away two weeks later. May he rest in peace.
Something of Peculiar Beauty
There came a time in everyone’s life when they encountered something… enriching, and no matter how long someone searched or how much pain they endured, there is always that faint, dwindling spark of hope lingering in the dark recesses of their mind. For a long time, Devlin had considered that special something to be Mada, the one that hoisted her from the ruins of devastation, the one that kept her safe for years, the one that reformed her from the traumatised mess of a girl she once knew. Yet regardless of the majestic fortitude of Mada, he wasn’t any match for the stirring graces that derived from the small, selfless act of another… tortured human soul.
…She was getting very little from listening in on the chat taking place in various corners of the room, and was just about to receive her first taste from the contents of her bottle when benevolence touched down on the table before her. Her first instinct was ire, that old foreboding darkness, it felt like a ravenous swelling of flames within her chest, pumped out from her heart in a spell of a thousand needles that pierced her flesh – It would have no doubt been seen by the perfect stranger as a red flush of rage painting the scowl of her face, while he took the liberty of making himself at home in a chair at her table. Her unprovocative view of the wall was now gone, replaced by the… farcical mimes of a mute.
The tortured soul….
Mada was a telepath, and although he could speak, he rarely did unless he needed to; mostly communicating through thought or otherwise simple gestures of his own. Not only did Mada’s lack of spoken words make Devlin accustomed to various styles of body language, it also taught her the skills of less than common observation. Well, perhaps it would have been obvious to anyone, but she already knew the porridge was for her before this stranger gestured his intent - but regardless of that - the somehow pitiful display of the young man before her managed to wrestle her beast to assent.
She could have never expected this. The ire within quickly subsided in the face of this implausible outcome, yet her glower may have lingered in its absence while she watched him quietly, not so much as even willing a peep while he silently designed his announcements.
It was something of peculiar beauty, and for the moment, at least, she’d been distracted from her troubles. The possibility of humiliation hadn’t entered his mind, or maybe it just didn’t matter to him. This was his sacrifice - not one of money or charity; whether he could help her or not was beside the point, it was the purity of his intention that plucked at the crust of her heart. The vulnerability of kindness. This was his handle upon the evils in this world. This was his strength… and it made his effort perfect.
She was quick to discover the man’s strength, yes, but she was nobody’s fool. His strength could have been anybody’s weakness, and it was possible she was about to be swindled by a cunning hustler.
As the young man sat there in continued silence awaiting a response from Devlin, her expression was now absent, void of any trace of emotion at all. She scarcely regarded the porridge and bread with a shift of her eyes, released the bottle from her grip, then eased back in her chair. Lifting one hand slowly, she drew back the hood from her head and leaned her body to one side, her eyes piercing his with an analytical stare.
“I don’t think you can help me, and what I seek could very well kill me. It’s best I keep no friends.” She said, and glanced at the warm bowl of food once again. “I thank you for the food.” She added, then looked over her shoulder at the barkeep before returning her eyes to his. The smallest trace of a grin was now present. “He only offered me stew. It tasted like… shit.” Her nostrils lightly flared while she reached out with one hand and dragged the bowl of porridge closer to the edge of the table. “I don’t know what he told you, stranger, but I have no more to give. So if that’s what you’re here for then… you best be on your way.”
Devlin was by no means sure that her assumption held any substance, and honestly she was hoping it didn’t. He was one of the more intriguing individuals she had met and she didn’t want to spoil the prospect of learning more about him. It wasn’t very often she could say that about someone, and for this reason she refrained from hostility towards him. Hopefully she wouldn’t cause offense by throwing his integrity into question.
She was still now, eyes fixed on his, holding the slightest of speculative grins while awaiting his response.
…She was getting very little from listening in on the chat taking place in various corners of the room, and was just about to receive her first taste from the contents of her bottle when benevolence touched down on the table before her. Her first instinct was ire, that old foreboding darkness, it felt like a ravenous swelling of flames within her chest, pumped out from her heart in a spell of a thousand needles that pierced her flesh – It would have no doubt been seen by the perfect stranger as a red flush of rage painting the scowl of her face, while he took the liberty of making himself at home in a chair at her table. Her unprovocative view of the wall was now gone, replaced by the… farcical mimes of a mute.
The tortured soul….
Mada was a telepath, and although he could speak, he rarely did unless he needed to; mostly communicating through thought or otherwise simple gestures of his own. Not only did Mada’s lack of spoken words make Devlin accustomed to various styles of body language, it also taught her the skills of less than common observation. Well, perhaps it would have been obvious to anyone, but she already knew the porridge was for her before this stranger gestured his intent - but regardless of that - the somehow pitiful display of the young man before her managed to wrestle her beast to assent.
She could have never expected this. The ire within quickly subsided in the face of this implausible outcome, yet her glower may have lingered in its absence while she watched him quietly, not so much as even willing a peep while he silently designed his announcements.
It was something of peculiar beauty, and for the moment, at least, she’d been distracted from her troubles. The possibility of humiliation hadn’t entered his mind, or maybe it just didn’t matter to him. This was his sacrifice - not one of money or charity; whether he could help her or not was beside the point, it was the purity of his intention that plucked at the crust of her heart. The vulnerability of kindness. This was his handle upon the evils in this world. This was his strength… and it made his effort perfect.
She was quick to discover the man’s strength, yes, but she was nobody’s fool. His strength could have been anybody’s weakness, and it was possible she was about to be swindled by a cunning hustler.
As the young man sat there in continued silence awaiting a response from Devlin, her expression was now absent, void of any trace of emotion at all. She scarcely regarded the porridge and bread with a shift of her eyes, released the bottle from her grip, then eased back in her chair. Lifting one hand slowly, she drew back the hood from her head and leaned her body to one side, her eyes piercing his with an analytical stare.
“I don’t think you can help me, and what I seek could very well kill me. It’s best I keep no friends.” She said, and glanced at the warm bowl of food once again. “I thank you for the food.” She added, then looked over her shoulder at the barkeep before returning her eyes to his. The smallest trace of a grin was now present. “He only offered me stew. It tasted like… shit.” Her nostrils lightly flared while she reached out with one hand and dragged the bowl of porridge closer to the edge of the table. “I don’t know what he told you, stranger, but I have no more to give. So if that’s what you’re here for then… you best be on your way.”
Devlin was by no means sure that her assumption held any substance, and honestly she was hoping it didn’t. He was one of the more intriguing individuals she had met and she didn’t want to spoil the prospect of learning more about him. It wasn’t very often she could say that about someone, and for this reason she refrained from hostility towards him. Hopefully she wouldn’t cause offense by throwing his integrity into question.
She was still now, eyes fixed on his, holding the slightest of speculative grins while awaiting his response.
@Seraphin
Really nice post there! Perfectly orchestrated imo. Just wanted to let you know that I'll be heading to bed in a few hours and probably won't be able to reply before I do. But I'll get one up as soon as I can tomorrow, hopefully sooner if possible.
Really nice post there! Perfectly orchestrated imo. Just wanted to let you know that I'll be heading to bed in a few hours and probably won't be able to reply before I do. But I'll get one up as soon as I can tomorrow, hopefully sooner if possible.
Zandor Military Penal Asylum
Observation Room 1.
Camilla was once again confined to a cell, only this time by her own people. She was seated in a chair that was bolted to the ground of an otherwise empty room, being observed through one way window by the two dozen physicians, officers and guards in the next room. She no longer looked like the hideous beast that had killed MP Mortem earlier that afternoon. By time anyone found Mortem dead in his clinic’s office she had already reverted to her human appearance, crouched in the corner and scared half to death for the terrible acts she couldn’t remember doing.
The walls of the room were on the most part fairly standard for an observation room of this distinction. It was dimly lit with a single bulb in the center of the ceiling. It had two foot thick Iron walls and floor, concrete ceiling, with a small communications system high up in one corner, while the one way window was made of a new revolutionary material called Ocularium. Ocularium didn’t work at all like standard one way glass, where the perception of one way transmission is achieved when one side of the glass is brightly lit and the other side is dark. In fact, Ocularium wasn’t glass at all, but rather a form of another new invention called Imagitanium, which was a newly formulated, Transparent Titanium.
“Camilla.” A man said, his voice was distinctly of an elderly sort, deriving from the communications device in the upper corner of the room. Camilla jumped in her seat at the sound of his sudden speech, but she relaxed quickly, brushing back a fall of hair behind ear as she listened intently. “My name is Practitioner Rali Dous.” He said, “How are you feeling, Camilla?”
She took a moment to configure her thoughts, and replied in an apprehensive tone; “I’m okay, I guess.”
“Camilla,” he asked, “Do you know why you’re here?”
She took a deep breath, exhaling heavily as she answered. “I killed someone?’
“That is correct.” The voice confirmed, though the man held no notions of judgement in his voice. “Camilla, I am here this afternoon to assess your condition. Are you willing to participate in this evaluation?”
She nodded, yes. Though she didn’t really feel like she had any choice in the matter.
“Camilla.“ He began. “You informed me that you are aware of the reason for your being here, that you did in fact kill a man. Do you have any memory of this event?”
“No.” Her answer was instant, shaking her head almost wildly as she did so.
“Camilla –“
“Please don’t! Just stop!!” She cut him off with a spike of aggression. “Can you just stop repeating my name like that. I know what my name is! Just stop it!”
A silence followed that lasted for several seconds before the man’s voice returned:
“Camilla….” He said. “The name of the man you killed is MP Mortem. Can you describe to me your memory of events that took place while in his company?”
She grit her teeth with distaste at the man’s deliberate use of her name after she specifically requested that he not. Nevertheless, she controlled any further outbursts, and found a simple reply: “Before or after he died?”
“What do you recall of the moments immediately following MP Mortem’s departure?” He asked.
“I think I woke up or something. I was sitting in the corner of the room and looking at all the blood. He…” She paused, turning her eyes to the floor and lowering her brows with disgust. “…His head was beside me on the floor.”
“And can you tell me what you recall from before the incident?’
“He was taking samples,” She answered, raising her eyes to the reflective face of the window, “First he took some hair, then he was about to take a cut of my fingernail – but something was wrong.” She added, shaking her head confusedly; “He was having problems, like…. He couldn’t cut my hair properly because it was too strong. But eventually cut some anyway. But it hurt….” She paused, rolling her eyes to the communication device. “I punched him in the face.” She bit her lip as an indication of remorse as she turned her eyes back to the window.
“And it was after punching MP Mortem in the face that he then attempted to remove a segment of your fingernail?”
“Yes.”
“Did he succeed in removing the segment of nail from your finger?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure. He was having problems cutting it again, then I blacked out. Then the next thing I know I woke in the corner of the room like I said before.”
“Camilla….” He continued, his voice now denoting a trace of care for her, “Can you tell me how you felt in the moments before you blacked out?”
“Yeah…” She said, turning her eyes to the floor as she recalled the feeling. “I was feeling angry, or sick. Maybe a mix of both. But it was weird…” She raised her eyes to the window once more. “…I didn’t not like him or anything. I knew he wasn’t trying to hurt me. It was like I was feeling someone else’s feelings. I didn’t wasn’t to feel what I was feeling but I couldn’t help it.” She sighed heavily to add, “Then I felt… like… some weird movement inside my stomach, like there were all these things crawling around inside me. Then after I started feeling that I don’t remember any more. Everything… disappeared. ”
There was close to minute of silence before the man returned with more questions.
“When you felt these things.” He asked. “MP Mortem was attempting to remove your fingernail fragment?”
She replied with a simple nod for yes.
“Camilla. I would like to ask one more question before I conclude this session.” He paused, then added in a peculiar tone; “How did you feel when you woke up and saw what you had done?”
Camilla turned up her nose with a sneer, gave a shake of her head, and snapped at him;
“How the fuck do you think I felt? It was horrible!”
The walls of the room were on the most part fairly standard for an observation room of this distinction. It was dimly lit with a single bulb in the center of the ceiling. It had two foot thick Iron walls and floor, concrete ceiling, with a small communications system high up in one corner, while the one way window was made of a new revolutionary material called Ocularium. Ocularium didn’t work at all like standard one way glass, where the perception of one way transmission is achieved when one side of the glass is brightly lit and the other side is dark. In fact, Ocularium wasn’t glass at all, but rather a form of another new invention called Imagitanium, which was a newly formulated, Transparent Titanium.
“Camilla.” A man said, his voice was distinctly of an elderly sort, deriving from the communications device in the upper corner of the room. Camilla jumped in her seat at the sound of his sudden speech, but she relaxed quickly, brushing back a fall of hair behind ear as she listened intently. “My name is Practitioner Rali Dous.” He said, “How are you feeling, Camilla?”
She took a moment to configure her thoughts, and replied in an apprehensive tone; “I’m okay, I guess.”
“Camilla,” he asked, “Do you know why you’re here?”
She took a deep breath, exhaling heavily as she answered. “I killed someone?’
“That is correct.” The voice confirmed, though the man held no notions of judgement in his voice. “Camilla, I am here this afternoon to assess your condition. Are you willing to participate in this evaluation?”
She nodded, yes. Though she didn’t really feel like she had any choice in the matter.
“Camilla.“ He began. “You informed me that you are aware of the reason for your being here, that you did in fact kill a man. Do you have any memory of this event?”
“No.” Her answer was instant, shaking her head almost wildly as she did so.
“Camilla –“
“Please don’t! Just stop!!” She cut him off with a spike of aggression. “Can you just stop repeating my name like that. I know what my name is! Just stop it!”
A silence followed that lasted for several seconds before the man’s voice returned:
“Camilla….” He said. “The name of the man you killed is MP Mortem. Can you describe to me your memory of events that took place while in his company?”
She grit her teeth with distaste at the man’s deliberate use of her name after she specifically requested that he not. Nevertheless, she controlled any further outbursts, and found a simple reply: “Before or after he died?”
“What do you recall of the moments immediately following MP Mortem’s departure?” He asked.
“I think I woke up or something. I was sitting in the corner of the room and looking at all the blood. He…” She paused, turning her eyes to the floor and lowering her brows with disgust. “…His head was beside me on the floor.”
“And can you tell me what you recall from before the incident?’
“He was taking samples,” She answered, raising her eyes to the reflective face of the window, “First he took some hair, then he was about to take a cut of my fingernail – but something was wrong.” She added, shaking her head confusedly; “He was having problems, like…. He couldn’t cut my hair properly because it was too strong. But eventually cut some anyway. But it hurt….” She paused, rolling her eyes to the communication device. “I punched him in the face.” She bit her lip as an indication of remorse as she turned her eyes back to the window.
“And it was after punching MP Mortem in the face that he then attempted to remove a segment of your fingernail?”
“Yes.”
“Did he succeed in removing the segment of nail from your finger?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure. He was having problems cutting it again, then I blacked out. Then the next thing I know I woke in the corner of the room like I said before.”
“Camilla….” He continued, his voice now denoting a trace of care for her, “Can you tell me how you felt in the moments before you blacked out?”
“Yeah…” She said, turning her eyes to the floor as she recalled the feeling. “I was feeling angry, or sick. Maybe a mix of both. But it was weird…” She raised her eyes to the window once more. “…I didn’t not like him or anything. I knew he wasn’t trying to hurt me. It was like I was feeling someone else’s feelings. I didn’t wasn’t to feel what I was feeling but I couldn’t help it.” She sighed heavily to add, “Then I felt… like… some weird movement inside my stomach, like there were all these things crawling around inside me. Then after I started feeling that I don’t remember any more. Everything… disappeared. ”
There was close to minute of silence before the man returned with more questions.
“When you felt these things.” He asked. “MP Mortem was attempting to remove your fingernail fragment?”
She replied with a simple nod for yes.
“Camilla. I would like to ask one more question before I conclude this session.” He paused, then added in a peculiar tone; “How did you feel when you woke up and saw what you had done?”
Camilla turned up her nose with a sneer, gave a shake of her head, and snapped at him;
“How the fuck do you think I felt? It was horrible!”
Meanwhile, in The Tower of Meth
Basal Troven stood in his usual attire before the Sovereign, who was slumped in her chair, face planted despairingly in one hand. She was draped in a full-body black dress. They were alone in a room that was also dark, not blindingly so, lit only by a candle perched upon a small dresser near where the sovereign sat grieving.
“Will you be okay?” Basal asked her, his face and voice both depicting his state of concern.
I’ll be fine.” She muttered softly. “We’ll work this out. Camilla will be fine as well. I’ll make sure of that.”
“There is another matter of importance we need to address.” He regretted to say.
She lifted her face from her hand, her eyes heavy with dark derision in regarding her friend.
“It’s about the Transespial.” He continued, seemingly unaffected by her look. “As you know all the tests performed on the Transespial System have been successful, and short range scans have revealed artificial structures beneath the Badlands.” He paused to lift his voice an octave for added elation. “As by your orders, the last few weeks have been spent installing a Transespial system to Detec 1. The crew and the satellite are now ready for launch, Your Eminence. All they need now is your go ahead.‘’
Faith Eminence Goaldinhoe sat back in her chair with a long exhale, the darkness in her eyes slightly abated by the light of the candle. “It would seem I have received good news for a change.” She said, raising one find in direction of the heavens as she then lurched forward in her seat, and added;
“Launch Detec 1. Immediately!”
“Will you be okay?” Basal asked her, his face and voice both depicting his state of concern.
I’ll be fine.” She muttered softly. “We’ll work this out. Camilla will be fine as well. I’ll make sure of that.”
“There is another matter of importance we need to address.” He regretted to say.
She lifted her face from her hand, her eyes heavy with dark derision in regarding her friend.
“It’s about the Transespial.” He continued, seemingly unaffected by her look. “As you know all the tests performed on the Transespial System have been successful, and short range scans have revealed artificial structures beneath the Badlands.” He paused to lift his voice an octave for added elation. “As by your orders, the last few weeks have been spent installing a Transespial system to Detec 1. The crew and the satellite are now ready for launch, Your Eminence. All they need now is your go ahead.‘’
Faith Eminence Goaldinhoe sat back in her chair with a long exhale, the darkness in her eyes slightly abated by the light of the candle. “It would seem I have received good news for a change.” She said, raising one find in direction of the heavens as she then lurched forward in her seat, and added;
“Launch Detec 1. Immediately!”
Hiatus
One and a half years ago, Her Eminence Goaldinhoe’s sanctioning of the moment to find her missing people by any means possible, gave birth to a great number of revolutionary developments. The following is an example of one such technology.
First Instalment
Of
Visual and Sensory
Imagitanium
Visitanium and Ocularium are two by-products of Imagitanium. Imagitanium is a highly tensile, electronically interactive and transparent form of Titanium, formulated by a military scientist by the name of Adeptin Forge. Adeptin stumbled upon the formula for Imagitanium while endeavoring to discover cloaking technology. It was another scientist that managed to discover cloaking technology for Zandor one year ago, but Adeptin’s invention a few months prior to that point nevertheless became a revolutionary development in the Zandor construction industry.
Imagitanium, Ocularium and Visitanium are now used in the construction of a new line of Zandor building innovations, including basic domestic structures, satellites, space craft, as well as land and water veering vessels throughout the Zandor Empire, for both civilian and military alike.
Imagitanium, Ocularium and Visitanium are now used in the construction of a new line of Zandor building innovations, including basic domestic structures, satellites, space craft, as well as land and water veering vessels throughout the Zandor Empire, for both civilian and military alike.
A horse is a horse, of course
Devlin was still standing there with bottle hanging from her grip, considering her options of either returning to her room or sitting at the table she was staring at, when a ‘thump’ caught her attention. Like she was just waiting for an opportunity to divert her petty dilemma, she turned her head quickly to see a man… or was he a horse… recovering from knocking his head on the doorframe while entering the tavern.
A man with horse legs walks up to a bar and asks the bartender for a strong whiskey.
The bartender looks at him and says….
Devlin looked away, shaking her head dismissively. She had heard rumors of men who change their form from man to horse, though she couldn’t recall much about them and hadn’t actually seen any before, at least not in human form. Had she seen one in horse form she may not have known what she was looking at. In any case, the new turn of events managed to jolt her from her dilemma. Despite her natural aversion to smalltalk or any kind of conversation with others for that matter, she decided to take a seat at the empty table in front of her. It was, after all, likely that the arrival of this… horse man… would steer any possible attention from herself, thus reducing the possibility of being approached. Besides, she had good reason to eavesdrop on the conversations taking place around her. She hadn’t visited Nadska before, but it was reasonable to assume that such a diverse range of races coming together in a tavern at this very late hour of night wasn’t commonplace, and it was therefore possible that such a convergence had something to do with her own reasons for being there.
Keeping her hood on, she took a seat at the table, popped the cork from the bottle then, without first taking a drink, she just sat there, hand gripped loosely to the neck of the bottle, staring at the wall on the far side of the room while homing her attention on the chatter taking place around her.
A man with horse legs walks up to a bar and asks the bartender for a strong whiskey.
The bartender looks at him and says….
Devlin looked away, shaking her head dismissively. She had heard rumors of men who change their form from man to horse, though she couldn’t recall much about them and hadn’t actually seen any before, at least not in human form. Had she seen one in horse form she may not have known what she was looking at. In any case, the new turn of events managed to jolt her from her dilemma. Despite her natural aversion to smalltalk or any kind of conversation with others for that matter, she decided to take a seat at the empty table in front of her. It was, after all, likely that the arrival of this… horse man… would steer any possible attention from herself, thus reducing the possibility of being approached. Besides, she had good reason to eavesdrop on the conversations taking place around her. She hadn’t visited Nadska before, but it was reasonable to assume that such a diverse range of races coming together in a tavern at this very late hour of night wasn’t commonplace, and it was therefore possible that such a convergence had something to do with her own reasons for being there.
Keeping her hood on, she took a seat at the table, popped the cork from the bottle then, without first taking a drink, she just sat there, hand gripped loosely to the neck of the bottle, staring at the wall on the far side of the room while homing her attention on the chatter taking place around her.
Second Thoughts
Devlin didn't know how long she'd been asleep before waking, probably not very long, it just didn't feel like she'd properly rested. At the same time she didn't feel like sleep would be taking her again any time soon. After a while of considering her two current options, an outburst of laughter that managed to carry up from downstairs made the decision for her. It wasn't that she was attracted to the sound of laughter, nothing like that, but at this point she was willing to use any excuse she could find to get a stiff drink into her and relax. The curiosity of seeing who the annoying bigmouth was seemed a good a reason as any.
She got from her bed, dressed herself, adorned her weapons - taking a moment to curiously regard the sword that had been glowing a few minutes earlier - then headed down stairs.
When she reached the foot of the stairs, she paused to survey the new arrivals for a few a seconds; a shabbily dressed young woman being the most likely of the few to be responsible for the unnecessary outburst of laughter. She obviously had no decency or respect for herself, no less anyone else. After taking note of the new arrivals, Devlin headed to the bar where the barkeep was in much worse of a mood than he had been earlier. Apparently losing valuable gems can do that to a man.
They stared at each other a moment, his look being one of a man about to confess his darkest sins to a priest, which Devlin had a feeling was indicative of his overwhelming need to tell her about his misfortune.
“Something wrong?” She asked, voice emotionless as her face.
His bottom lip began to tremble as he worked up the courage to tell her. “I lost that Sapphire!” He confessed, screwing up his face like he was holding back tears. “Even after you told me not to – what do I go and do? I go and lose the thing anyway!” He hung his head in shame.
“It doesn’t look lost to me.” She said, unwavering in her emotionless tone.
He lifted his head, widening one eye with conjecture. She gave a little nod, eyes darted to one side in direction of the floor behind him. Pivoting quickly he looked down and saw the Sapphire on the floor by the cupboard, and releasing a small squeal of relief, mixed with that of certain delight. He scooped it up off the floor before stuffing it into the buttoned pocket of his shirt.
“It won’t be getting away on me this time!” He assured himself, as he turned to Devlin and grinning from ear to ear. “Now, what can I get you, young miss – another milk?”
“No.” Her voice remained flat, staring at him for a moment while procrastinating the decision she had made. “Give me something strong. Something to help me relax.”
“Troubles sleeping?” He gave a hardy chuckle, took a bottle from the top shelf to his right and placed it firmly on the counter in front her. “A few swallows of this and you’ll soon forget all about those things that keep you up late at night. Believe you me, I’m a man of my word! And don’t you worry!” He added, rolling his hands down the front of his attire as if wiping them dry, “You don’t owe me a penny, take the whole bottle! But would you like a cup to portion it out just a little?”
“No,” she replied, with a nod, “The bottle will do just fine.” She took the bottle from the counter, turning to walk away as she advised him once again; “And don’t lose that Gem this time.”
At least the bartender was happy again as he went about pouring another round for the awaiting customers in the room, while she stopped by an empty table wondering if maybe she should take the drink to her room. After all, she wasn’t exactly a social butterfly and she could have done without the obligation to converse with people if they happened to come her way. But then…. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she didn’t really feel like being alone either. It wasn’t like Devlin to be indecisive, and it was no doubt a side effect of the disturbing dream that was causing her current imbalance. The petty conflict kept her standing, bottle in hand, just staring at the empty table from the shade of her hood.
She got from her bed, dressed herself, adorned her weapons - taking a moment to curiously regard the sword that had been glowing a few minutes earlier - then headed down stairs.
When she reached the foot of the stairs, she paused to survey the new arrivals for a few a seconds; a shabbily dressed young woman being the most likely of the few to be responsible for the unnecessary outburst of laughter. She obviously had no decency or respect for herself, no less anyone else. After taking note of the new arrivals, Devlin headed to the bar where the barkeep was in much worse of a mood than he had been earlier. Apparently losing valuable gems can do that to a man.
They stared at each other a moment, his look being one of a man about to confess his darkest sins to a priest, which Devlin had a feeling was indicative of his overwhelming need to tell her about his misfortune.
“Something wrong?” She asked, voice emotionless as her face.
His bottom lip began to tremble as he worked up the courage to tell her. “I lost that Sapphire!” He confessed, screwing up his face like he was holding back tears. “Even after you told me not to – what do I go and do? I go and lose the thing anyway!” He hung his head in shame.
“It doesn’t look lost to me.” She said, unwavering in her emotionless tone.
He lifted his head, widening one eye with conjecture. She gave a little nod, eyes darted to one side in direction of the floor behind him. Pivoting quickly he looked down and saw the Sapphire on the floor by the cupboard, and releasing a small squeal of relief, mixed with that of certain delight. He scooped it up off the floor before stuffing it into the buttoned pocket of his shirt.
“It won’t be getting away on me this time!” He assured himself, as he turned to Devlin and grinning from ear to ear. “Now, what can I get you, young miss – another milk?”
“No.” Her voice remained flat, staring at him for a moment while procrastinating the decision she had made. “Give me something strong. Something to help me relax.”
“Troubles sleeping?” He gave a hardy chuckle, took a bottle from the top shelf to his right and placed it firmly on the counter in front her. “A few swallows of this and you’ll soon forget all about those things that keep you up late at night. Believe you me, I’m a man of my word! And don’t you worry!” He added, rolling his hands down the front of his attire as if wiping them dry, “You don’t owe me a penny, take the whole bottle! But would you like a cup to portion it out just a little?”
“No,” she replied, with a nod, “The bottle will do just fine.” She took the bottle from the counter, turning to walk away as she advised him once again; “And don’t lose that Gem this time.”
At least the bartender was happy again as he went about pouring another round for the awaiting customers in the room, while she stopped by an empty table wondering if maybe she should take the drink to her room. After all, she wasn’t exactly a social butterfly and she could have done without the obligation to converse with people if they happened to come her way. But then…. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she didn’t really feel like being alone either. It wasn’t like Devlin to be indecisive, and it was no doubt a side effect of the disturbing dream that was causing her current imbalance. The petty conflict kept her standing, bottle in hand, just staring at the empty table from the shade of her hood.
Insomnia
It was unfortunate the anticipation for sleeping in a proper bed for the night resulted in one with uncleaned sheets. Still, the straw padding was pleasant, despite the smell of body odor and other human fluids left behind from previous tenants. She opened a window to let the air circulate, removed her weapons and clothes to the space on one side of the bed, then lying down it didn't take long to fall into a dream….
…The dream started out as they always do. She was standing amid the ruins of her childhood home staring down at the dead glaze of her father’s eyes when something interrupted the moment. This grim moment was normally interrupted by something different each time, yet this time by a low, familiar reverberating growl.
She raised her eyes to see what had caused the disturbance. In that instant the landscape had transformed into a barren wasteland of old, brittle bones stretched out far as the eye could see beneath a deep, crimson sky. On the sea of bones, not far from where she stood, sat an old decrepit dragon with its head hung low, eyes half shut as blackened blood dripped in slow motion from its serrated jaws. The old dragon had clearly endured burdensome ages of turmoil and violence, no longer sustaining the strength to carry on. It paid no mind to Devlin until she stepped closer. The sound of crushing bones beneath her feet echoed across the grim landscape, to which the beast merely lifted its weighted eyes in lax regard.
“You return.” She called. Though she had audaciously lifted her voice with hard clarity, it was born as little more than a murmur, the strength of tone suppressed by the morbid thickness in the air.
“I come to meet my fate.” The dragon replied, its graveled, vapid voice breaking through the atmosphere as he lowered his eyes to the bones at his feet. “You should depart this place…. Be it not enough you bring me to naught, that you must desecrate my ancestors beneath the tread of your feet?”
“I was defending my life!” She said, recalling a day she had slain the dragon in the company of other warriors. “It was not you I sought – and was my blade alone the one to pierce your flesh? Why blame me for what I must do?”
“You misunderstand. I am not what you think.” The dragon slowly raises its head, its eyes now beholding her with a vibrant, emerald green. “I am the last of my kind. You can not kill that that is already slain.”
“Then make me understand!” She insisted, the fear of ignorance swelling in her chest.
“Nay…” The dragon lowered his look once more. “I have taught you all I can…. but alas, take heed to my final words. The puppet master cannot be slain by cutting the strings of the puppet.” In the last of his words the dragons legs gave out beneath him. He crumbled, breaking into pieces, his flesh flaking as it dissolved into the air and leaving only its bones to join the remnants of his ancestors.
It was then that Devlin realized his identity – but it was far too late. She attempted to cry out his name, to call him back from the binds of death, yet her voice did not come forth. Straining to so much as even make the slightest sound, she dropped to her knees in a flood of despair while thunder did clash and tears of blood began to rain from the crimson heavens –
She raised her eyes to see what had caused the disturbance. In that instant the landscape had transformed into a barren wasteland of old, brittle bones stretched out far as the eye could see beneath a deep, crimson sky. On the sea of bones, not far from where she stood, sat an old decrepit dragon with its head hung low, eyes half shut as blackened blood dripped in slow motion from its serrated jaws. The old dragon had clearly endured burdensome ages of turmoil and violence, no longer sustaining the strength to carry on. It paid no mind to Devlin until she stepped closer. The sound of crushing bones beneath her feet echoed across the grim landscape, to which the beast merely lifted its weighted eyes in lax regard.
“You return.” She called. Though she had audaciously lifted her voice with hard clarity, it was born as little more than a murmur, the strength of tone suppressed by the morbid thickness in the air.
“I come to meet my fate.” The dragon replied, its graveled, vapid voice breaking through the atmosphere as he lowered his eyes to the bones at his feet. “You should depart this place…. Be it not enough you bring me to naught, that you must desecrate my ancestors beneath the tread of your feet?”
“I was defending my life!” She said, recalling a day she had slain the dragon in the company of other warriors. “It was not you I sought – and was my blade alone the one to pierce your flesh? Why blame me for what I must do?”
“You misunderstand. I am not what you think.” The dragon slowly raises its head, its eyes now beholding her with a vibrant, emerald green. “I am the last of my kind. You can not kill that that is already slain.”
“Then make me understand!” She insisted, the fear of ignorance swelling in her chest.
“Nay…” The dragon lowered his look once more. “I have taught you all I can…. but alas, take heed to my final words. The puppet master cannot be slain by cutting the strings of the puppet.” In the last of his words the dragons legs gave out beneath him. He crumbled, breaking into pieces, his flesh flaking as it dissolved into the air and leaving only its bones to join the remnants of his ancestors.
It was then that Devlin realized his identity – but it was far too late. She attempted to cry out his name, to call him back from the binds of death, yet her voice did not come forth. Straining to so much as even make the slightest sound, she dropped to her knees in a flood of despair while thunder did clash and tears of blood began to rain from the crimson heavens –
“Mada!” Devlin cried out, her voice finally breaking free as she woke with a start. Seated on her bed she was cold with sweat. The cool breeze from the open window was like fingers of ice upon her skin. It took a moment to remember where she was and that the dream was but only a dream. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but feel that dream was much more, she had never before encountered Mada in her sleep, in the form of a dragon or otherwise.
Is he dead…? She wondered, turning eyes of dread toward the small segment of stars visible through the window. It wasn’t necessarily true, and she certainly didn’t want to believe it, that her only friend had died. It was so; Mada was old, even ancient in years, and he was also the last of his species, but such knowledge didn’t confirm a thing. After all, it was still just a dream, and very rarely could she say that her dreams were anything more than a jumbled mess of erratic and unreliable information. Yes, this particular dream had an unusual clarity to it, but the fact remained that the dream was grossly symbolic, and symbolism could be construed in a world of different ways.
As she continued to sit, staring out at the stars, attempting to convince herself that the dream was no more than a random convergence of knowledge, a shimmer of light caught her attention from the corner of her eye. She looked to see the sword on her bed, the antiquated steel of its blade partially exposed and glowing an emerald green beneath the stack of her other weapons and clothing. It had never glowed before.
The sword was a gift from Mada, presented to her on the day she departed his company and set out on this current journey. She watched it for a moment, holding her breath before - accompanied by a sense of relief and yet a lingering knot of anxiety - the green glow of its steel faded into the darkness.
She dropped back on her bed, eyes open to the night textures of the ceiling, no longer knowing what to think. If he was dead… she had no way of knowing unless by returning to his cave to see. But no, She couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t have wanted her to. She had her own path to find. Following what seemed like hours, but was more likely only a few drawn out minutes, it was clear the state of her troubled thoughts wouldn’t allow sleep again any time soon. Sitting up again on her bed, she considered returning downstairs for a stronger drink to tame her anxiety.
Is he dead…? She wondered, turning eyes of dread toward the small segment of stars visible through the window. It wasn’t necessarily true, and she certainly didn’t want to believe it, that her only friend had died. It was so; Mada was old, even ancient in years, and he was also the last of his species, but such knowledge didn’t confirm a thing. After all, it was still just a dream, and very rarely could she say that her dreams were anything more than a jumbled mess of erratic and unreliable information. Yes, this particular dream had an unusual clarity to it, but the fact remained that the dream was grossly symbolic, and symbolism could be construed in a world of different ways.
As she continued to sit, staring out at the stars, attempting to convince herself that the dream was no more than a random convergence of knowledge, a shimmer of light caught her attention from the corner of her eye. She looked to see the sword on her bed, the antiquated steel of its blade partially exposed and glowing an emerald green beneath the stack of her other weapons and clothing. It had never glowed before.
The sword was a gift from Mada, presented to her on the day she departed his company and set out on this current journey. She watched it for a moment, holding her breath before - accompanied by a sense of relief and yet a lingering knot of anxiety - the green glow of its steel faded into the darkness.
She dropped back on her bed, eyes open to the night textures of the ceiling, no longer knowing what to think. If he was dead… she had no way of knowing unless by returning to his cave to see. But no, She couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t have wanted her to. She had her own path to find. Following what seemed like hours, but was more likely only a few drawn out minutes, it was clear the state of her troubled thoughts wouldn’t allow sleep again any time soon. Sitting up again on her bed, she considered returning downstairs for a stronger drink to tame her anxiety.
Hello. Enjoy your stay.
That Afternoon
Zandoran Primary Medical Facility
“Hello Camilla, my name is MP Mortem, how are you today?”
Camilla was fine if not a little nervous, seated back in the examination chair in a light blue clinic gown. “I’m fine thanks,” she replied, faking a small smile, while her eyes looked over the many instruments on the Medical Practitioners bench. They were alone in the small medical bay, door closed for privacy.
“The Sovereign informs me that you’re fine with proceeding with further examination today.” He said, taking a seat in a wheeled chair in front of her with a metallic clipping tool in hand. “I just want to make sure you’re still okay with this before we begin.”
“I’m fine with it.” She confirmed, and inhaled with slight unease. She presents him with another, weak smile.
He wheels closer, leaning over as he prepares to take a sample. “Just relax.” He grants her a smile of his own, “And let me know if you need me to stop at any time. Nothing I’m going to do will cause you any pain, but still want to make sure you’re comfortable.”
“It’s fine. Do what you have to do. Whatever it takes to help. But haven’t you guys already examined me?”
Mortem chuckles as he separates a few strands of her hair and raises the clipping devise to take a sample. “Indeed we did.” He tells her, as the device clamped down, “but after our recent findings, we thought maybe regular check-ups should be in order, at least for a while. You’re the intrigue of all our scient….” His voice trails off, his attention honing in on Camilla’s hair, which doesn’t seem to want to cooperate.
“Is there a problem?” She asks, observing his curious expression.
“I….” Mortem glanced at her, reverting his attention back to what should have been a minor task at hand. “Seems you’re hair has gained strength since your first examination.”
It had only been a day since her first examination, and Camilla let out a little giggle, thinking he was joking, while Mortem furrowing his brow, squeezed on the scissored handles of the clippers, seriously trying to cut through her hair.
“Maybe you need to sharpen the – “ She started to joke, only to be stopped when the clipper finally snapped through the few hair strands, causing her to lash out – striking Mortem in the face with her fist as she yelled out in pain!
Mortem launched back in his seat, stunned for a moment with a hair sample in one hand and the clippers in the other. He looked dazed at her for a second and then asked in a dubious tone: “That hurt you?”
“What the fuck did you do?” She spat out the words, running her fingers through her hair to try and sooth the pain, which was in fact instantly starting to subside.
He looked down at the hair in his hands then shook his head at her with honesty. “I cut three strands of your hair, that’s all,” he said, lifting the strands for her to take a look, “It shouldn’t have caused you any pain.”
Camilla was equally baffled. She was aware that cutting hair shouldn’t have caused pain, and since the pain was subsiding, she disfigured her face with a look of remorse. “I’m sorry for hitting you, Mr. Mortem.”
With a sigh that ended in a light laugh, he turned to place the sample in a dish on the bench, and assured her; “It’s fine, really, just a little sting.” He turned back to her, clippers still in hand, maintaining a look of amusement. “Have you been feeling any different over the last day? Nausea? Headache? Anything worth mentioning?”
She shook her head. “No. Nothing. I was fine until now.”
They both had a little laugh together before Mortem wheeled himself closer again and lifted the small finger of her right hand. He queered skeptically. “Think we’re ready to take a nail sample now?”
She smiled to politely agree, yet there was something wrong. As he took her finger in hand a feeling of dread overcame her. Her smile flattened, and for a moment Mortem thought he saw movement in the white of her eyes, like the eyeball itself rippled in a wave across its surface.
“Uh, you sure about that?” He asked. “I don’t want to hurt you again. I sure don’t want to get punched again. You have a mean left hook.”
She didn’t smile again, despite his jest. Her expression remained deadpan, eyes wide as she stared at him. The feeling of dread inside her was intensifying into something more, almost as if she could feel a knot of worms writhing in her bowels. Nevertheless, she ended up responding with a confirming nod.
“Do it.”
Hesitating for a moment, but then going against a new instinctual sensation that maybe he shouldn’t, he did anyway. Propping her finger, he drew the clippers in, covered her nail with his blade, then sharply clamped down.
As he had suspected following the bout with her hair, the clipping devise had no effect on her fingernail. Muttering under his breath, his eyebrows furrowed once more as he applied more pressure. In his persistent effort to penetrate the nail he didn’t bother to look up and notice the menacing look overriding Camilla’s face. She was losing control of herself, literally. The more the man strained to cut through her fingernail, the stronger the writhing inside her became. Her dread was turning to rage. Her thoughts were becoming fragments, losing touch with her conscious mind.
She blacked out.
No longer aware of her actions, her eyes began to cloud over with a silver-like mist. Her breathing became heavy. Her lips peeled back. Nostrils flared. A deep, foreboding grumble escaped her as then Mortem noticed brown veins forming on her hand.
He dropped the clippers and sat back sharply in his seat to see Camilla’s irises were no longer visible. Her eyes were entirely covered by a silver-like film. Her mouth was dropped open, lips stretched back and displaying layers of serrated, amethyst colored teeth, while segments of her body began to fade from existence like parts of her skin and flesh had started to dematerialize. Mortem gaped in stunned horror at what he was seeing, finding no will to react before Camilla let out a bloodcurdling scream and lunged at him –
An instant later she had pinned Mortem to the floor, straddled to his chest as she pried the clippers from his hand and thrust them deep into his neck, gave them a sharp twist, and then cast them to the side as blood gushed from his jugular and flooded the floor.
Camilla was laughing, clearly delighted by the sight of the man quickly dying. He was unable to speak, struggling for breath while frantically grasping at his neck in a futile effort to stop his bleeding. He was down to his last few tugs of spluttering breath when Camilla raised to her feet, gripped the base of his skull with both hands while pinning his torso to the floor with her feet and - with the sound of bones popping and moist tearing of flesh - proceeded to rip his head off.
Gripping the man’s curly brown hair, she lifted his head to hover his face in front of her own, and while glaring into his empty stare with her big silver eyes, she spoke to him in a gentle and somehow soothing tone:
“Essin corlin tehsmoleh…. Essin corlin tehsmoleh.”
Camilla was fine if not a little nervous, seated back in the examination chair in a light blue clinic gown. “I’m fine thanks,” she replied, faking a small smile, while her eyes looked over the many instruments on the Medical Practitioners bench. They were alone in the small medical bay, door closed for privacy.
“The Sovereign informs me that you’re fine with proceeding with further examination today.” He said, taking a seat in a wheeled chair in front of her with a metallic clipping tool in hand. “I just want to make sure you’re still okay with this before we begin.”
“I’m fine with it.” She confirmed, and inhaled with slight unease. She presents him with another, weak smile.
He wheels closer, leaning over as he prepares to take a sample. “Just relax.” He grants her a smile of his own, “And let me know if you need me to stop at any time. Nothing I’m going to do will cause you any pain, but still want to make sure you’re comfortable.”
“It’s fine. Do what you have to do. Whatever it takes to help. But haven’t you guys already examined me?”
Mortem chuckles as he separates a few strands of her hair and raises the clipping devise to take a sample. “Indeed we did.” He tells her, as the device clamped down, “but after our recent findings, we thought maybe regular check-ups should be in order, at least for a while. You’re the intrigue of all our scient….” His voice trails off, his attention honing in on Camilla’s hair, which doesn’t seem to want to cooperate.
“Is there a problem?” She asks, observing his curious expression.
“I….” Mortem glanced at her, reverting his attention back to what should have been a minor task at hand. “Seems you’re hair has gained strength since your first examination.”
It had only been a day since her first examination, and Camilla let out a little giggle, thinking he was joking, while Mortem furrowing his brow, squeezed on the scissored handles of the clippers, seriously trying to cut through her hair.
“Maybe you need to sharpen the – “ She started to joke, only to be stopped when the clipper finally snapped through the few hair strands, causing her to lash out – striking Mortem in the face with her fist as she yelled out in pain!
Mortem launched back in his seat, stunned for a moment with a hair sample in one hand and the clippers in the other. He looked dazed at her for a second and then asked in a dubious tone: “That hurt you?”
“What the fuck did you do?” She spat out the words, running her fingers through her hair to try and sooth the pain, which was in fact instantly starting to subside.
He looked down at the hair in his hands then shook his head at her with honesty. “I cut three strands of your hair, that’s all,” he said, lifting the strands for her to take a look, “It shouldn’t have caused you any pain.”
Camilla was equally baffled. She was aware that cutting hair shouldn’t have caused pain, and since the pain was subsiding, she disfigured her face with a look of remorse. “I’m sorry for hitting you, Mr. Mortem.”
With a sigh that ended in a light laugh, he turned to place the sample in a dish on the bench, and assured her; “It’s fine, really, just a little sting.” He turned back to her, clippers still in hand, maintaining a look of amusement. “Have you been feeling any different over the last day? Nausea? Headache? Anything worth mentioning?”
She shook her head. “No. Nothing. I was fine until now.”
They both had a little laugh together before Mortem wheeled himself closer again and lifted the small finger of her right hand. He queered skeptically. “Think we’re ready to take a nail sample now?”
She smiled to politely agree, yet there was something wrong. As he took her finger in hand a feeling of dread overcame her. Her smile flattened, and for a moment Mortem thought he saw movement in the white of her eyes, like the eyeball itself rippled in a wave across its surface.
“Uh, you sure about that?” He asked. “I don’t want to hurt you again. I sure don’t want to get punched again. You have a mean left hook.”
She didn’t smile again, despite his jest. Her expression remained deadpan, eyes wide as she stared at him. The feeling of dread inside her was intensifying into something more, almost as if she could feel a knot of worms writhing in her bowels. Nevertheless, she ended up responding with a confirming nod.
“Do it.”
Hesitating for a moment, but then going against a new instinctual sensation that maybe he shouldn’t, he did anyway. Propping her finger, he drew the clippers in, covered her nail with his blade, then sharply clamped down.
As he had suspected following the bout with her hair, the clipping devise had no effect on her fingernail. Muttering under his breath, his eyebrows furrowed once more as he applied more pressure. In his persistent effort to penetrate the nail he didn’t bother to look up and notice the menacing look overriding Camilla’s face. She was losing control of herself, literally. The more the man strained to cut through her fingernail, the stronger the writhing inside her became. Her dread was turning to rage. Her thoughts were becoming fragments, losing touch with her conscious mind.
She blacked out.
No longer aware of her actions, her eyes began to cloud over with a silver-like mist. Her breathing became heavy. Her lips peeled back. Nostrils flared. A deep, foreboding grumble escaped her as then Mortem noticed brown veins forming on her hand.
He dropped the clippers and sat back sharply in his seat to see Camilla’s irises were no longer visible. Her eyes were entirely covered by a silver-like film. Her mouth was dropped open, lips stretched back and displaying layers of serrated, amethyst colored teeth, while segments of her body began to fade from existence like parts of her skin and flesh had started to dematerialize. Mortem gaped in stunned horror at what he was seeing, finding no will to react before Camilla let out a bloodcurdling scream and lunged at him –
An instant later she had pinned Mortem to the floor, straddled to his chest as she pried the clippers from his hand and thrust them deep into his neck, gave them a sharp twist, and then cast them to the side as blood gushed from his jugular and flooded the floor.
Camilla was laughing, clearly delighted by the sight of the man quickly dying. He was unable to speak, struggling for breath while frantically grasping at his neck in a futile effort to stop his bleeding. He was down to his last few tugs of spluttering breath when Camilla raised to her feet, gripped the base of his skull with both hands while pinning his torso to the floor with her feet and - with the sound of bones popping and moist tearing of flesh - proceeded to rip his head off.
Gripping the man’s curly brown hair, she lifted his head to hover his face in front of her own, and while glaring into his empty stare with her big silver eyes, she spoke to him in a gentle and somehow soothing tone:
“Essin corlin tehsmoleh…. Essin corlin tehsmoleh.”
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