A book closes and a feather falls,
this time on a sword unsheathed.
The storm gathers and the phoenix reborn,
the time to do battle is nigh.
The number is four, the symbol a circle,
six demons lie broken on the path to the tower.
The woman in black, the stars in the sky,
follow them to points of knowing returns.
Lightning flashes and thunder peals,
the fields of time echo what once was.
The sea below churns, the clouds above roil
a beach of dreams under a sky so blue,
and where the two meet, I shall wait.
Of the Black and of the White,
the Wanderer speaks yet again with the Knight.
The gnome works on steam and steel,
taking to the skies in dreams yet undreamt.
Ankh and knot, gossamer and flames,
the mind's eye sees what is not, yet could be.
Space from time, time from space,
the path lies not forward but to return.
The abyss watches and the candle flickers,
the means is the end, unto itself.
Let the battle be joined, the quest begun:
for the path must be walked,
and I must walk it.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Children of Ruin: Preparation
Loktar half-stood, half-kneeled over the outcropping of rubble, the smooth, worn grips of his rifle in his rough hands. The muzzle of the rifle was propped up by the edge of the outcropping, and Loktar had done what he could to conceal it; he hoped that the dawn light wouldn't reflect the lenses of the weapon's scope, giving his position away.
He had no particular target, nothing in particular to watch for; he had only been here for two hours, but none of the various people milling about the building three blocks away and four stories down had given any indication that they were more important than their peers, and Loktar had no interest in breaking cover to take down a simple grunt. They needed disorientation among the Cult guards, and a random member struck dead suddenly would not be enough - it had to be someone in their leadership.
"Come on, you dirty bastards." He muttered in thick, gravelly Ronkan. "Give me something to shoot."
-----
"You are improving." Ian said softly. Li's arms entrapped his own, her tail wrapped around one of his legs. He quickly shifted his foot, and with newfound leverage, managed to somehow flip the small woman over his head and onto the ground before him, his open palm at her throat before the dust had risen. "But still not good enough."
He smiled, and helped her to her feet, as Dalaris watched nearby, perched on an outcropping of rubble. "That is some absurd stuff." The bard said, his mouth a smile of disbelief.
Ian shook his head. "These are basic maneuvers. My master would make short work of me."
"Still, though, that's some... good work, I guess." Dalaris insisted.
"The arts martial may be inborn to the lunari," Li said, dusting herself off, "but you have surpassed what we are intuitively capable of."
Ian only shrugged.
"Enough praise. We all have our own gifts: Dalaris, I can no more conjure up magic than walk on air; Li, you have forgotten more of the machines of our world than I have ever bothered to learn." He nodded, as though that was the end of the matter. "Our morning exercise is complete. Let us go to the others, and see if they are ready for what awaits us."
The other two nodded their agreement, Dalaris hopping to his feet. The three headed for their camp, in the bowels of the ruined building.
-----
"So you sailed with the Blackjack?"
The moogle and clavat were seated across a fire from each other, which had been kept low to keep the smoke to a minimum. They were nestled in the corner of one of the basement levels of an abandoned building, several blocks away from what seemed to be the center of the Cult's activities in the city. While the others were out training or watching, Memphis and Tethysia had stayed behind - Tethysia to calm her mind and attune herself to the timeline of the world, and Memphis to keep her company.
The clavat nodded. "Oh yeah, totally. I hadn't tol' y'all 'bout it b'fore? I coulda swore I did."
Tethysia shook her head. "No, you haven't mentioned it, that I can remember."
"Well, I did. There ain't much more ta say'n that, aither. We did all the kinds a thangs y'all think of when y'all think a th' 'jack. She was a good ship, an' I was sad ta hafta say goo'bye to 'er, bu' I had some more pressin' thangs goin' on elsewhere."
"Like what?"
"Family thangs." Memphis said shortly, and shook her head. "I don' wan'a talk 'bout it. Bad times, an' such. 'fore all this," She motioned idly with a hand, "but bad things, sure 'nough." She nodded.
Tethysia pondered this, then nodded slowly. "I suppose, if you want it to be left alone, then I'll leave it be."
"Thank ye."
There was a long pause, the only sound the crackling of the fire.
"So... got yer min' all figgered out, an' such?"
Tethysia nodded, smiling. "Oh yes, I'm good. I've allocated as much quintessence from the world timeline as I can, which... unfortunately isn't much, but it'll hopefully be enough to help us get through the rift."
There was a thumping sound coming from above them, and the sound of a loose door creaking open.
"That'll be the others." The moogle said, and hurriedly began gathering up her things. "Come on, Memphis, let's get our things together, so we're ready."
-----
"The plan." Ian said, once the three had seated themselves and Memphis and Tethysia finished packing their meager gear. While they had worked, Ian and Li had sketched a rough diagram of the surrounding city in a dusted-over part of the floor.
The other four nodded.
"Memphis is to head up to Loktar's position. The rest of us accompany Li to the Takuro and Milan, and ride up to this point," He pushed his finger into the dust on the map, "where I will give a signal to Memphis." He looked at the clavat.
"Green flag means y'all are good ta go." She said. "Yellow flag means y'all want me ta tell Loktar ta wait, an' red flag means y'all ran inta trouble."
Ian nodded. "Correct. If we give a yellow flag, we will send another signal within two minutes. If we give no signal, act as if we had given a red.
"If all is well, then Loktar will choose a target. Memphis will send us a signal when he has selected one." He looked to Dalaris.
"Blue flag means... he's found a leader, because nobles are blue-blooded. Brown flag means he's going to shoot a normal guy, because brown is like the ground. Gray flag means he's shooting a vehicle to try to blow it up, because the Takuro is gray."
Ian nodded. "Correct. Once Memphis has given us a signal, we return a signal to indicate our readiness - same colors as the first signal we send.
"Loktar is to count to three once the message is relayed. On three, he shoots his target. If he loses it, Memphis sends a..." He looked to Memphis once more.
"Yellow flag."
"Correct, yellow flag. Yellow flag to the Takuro means..." He looked to Dalaris.
The bard thought for a moment.
"No good, we are already moving." Li said with a sigh.
"Yellow flag from Memphis means Loktar lost his target." He said. "I know it, I just..." He shook his head.
Ian placed a hand on the bard's shoulder. "There is going to be little room for error here, my spellcasting friend. If we move before Loktar has brought attention to himself, we will be cut down rather quickly."
Dalaris nodded. "I know, I know. Yellow means lost target. I've got it."
Ian cocked his head at him, then removed his grip. "I do not mean to be harsh, Dalaris. But one false step will be the end of us. No matter how formidable our skills, we are no match for power armor.
"Once Loktar has taken his shot, we move in. Li leads the way on Milan, while I will drive the Takuro."
Li leaned her head back, and looked askance at him. "Are you sure?"
Ian nodded. "It is not a moogle design, and so Tethysia is too short. Dalaris wields the power of Magic, and we cannot risk his abilities interfering with the vehicle. There is no other choice."
"I know that," Li said, "but can you drive?"
He shrugged, and smiled slightly. "It has been many years since I last put foot to pedal, but I am confident that my meager skill will be sufficient.
"The Cultists know that they will be unable to retaliate against a sniper from their position, and so will send a patrol to take him out. Loktar's position has but one reliable entry-point," He pointed it out on the map, "and so the Cultists will take this route." He drew a line in the dust.
"Meanwhile, Milan and the Takuro will take this route to this point," He indicated a different part of the map, "at which point Li will leave us to draw attention from Loktar and Memphis. Those in the Takuro will drive the vehicle as far as we can into the building, then exit and begin searching the premises.
"As we enter the building, Memphis will send us one last signal..." He looked to Dalaris.
"Green means they are on their way with no trouble. Yellow means they're in trouble, but it's nothing they can't handle. Red means we need to help." Dalaris ended this with a triumphant nod.
Memphis smiled slightly. "Glad ya got et all worked ou', hun."
"Once we are inside, we have split into two groups: Team A, consisting of myself, Dalaris, and Tethysia, and Team B, consisting of Li, Memphis, and Loktar.
"Team A's goal is to seek out the temporal rift hidden somewhere within the complex. Of this group, I will take point, Dalaris will take rear."
"So long as I have some quintessence left," Tethysia spoke softly, "I should be able to sense the rift, once we get close."
Ian nodded. "Team B's goal is to come in after Team A, seal the entrance, and provide rear guard to Team A, ensuring that no Cultists can sneak up on us.
"Once we have found the rift, Dalaris will use his abilities to make a sound at a specific frequency, to which Li has already tuned Milan's audio sensors."
"If you make the noise, and we're within five miles or so, we should be able to pick it up." Li said, nodding.
"And we are certain that there is no chance of resistance to this?" Ian asked, looking to Tethysia.
The moogle nodded. "The effect Dalaris will produce is magically-created, yes, but the sound itself is not magical. Milan will be able to pick it up without difficulty."
"Provided we are in range." Li said. "But that should not be a problem... the range on the band is rather large, right?"
Ian nodded. "Yes. Loktar said that it was an older shortwave band, used by the Coldlands military for local operation."
"You remember that I can't actually make a real noise, right, on it?" Dalaris asked, leaning forward. "It's just going to come across as static..."
Li nodded. "Yes, but it will be weird static. Milan is already configured. Ursus isn't too bright, but he can figure that much out."
Dalaris raised an eyebrow. "Ursus? Who is that?"
Li smiled slightly, but the smile was tinged with sadness. "Long story." She said slowly. "An old friend, who..."
Ian shook his head. "Some things are best left unsaid. We all lost something when the world moved on. Let it be."
Dalaris tilted his head, then held up his hands, leaning back once more. "Alright, fine. One day, though, you folks need to explain to me what's going on."
"Once Team B gets the signal, they are to join Team A, who will be holding position at the rift. Once all members are present and accounted for, we go through it.
"Leave no one behind. Even if one of us falls, do not leave the fallen to the Cult. We may be able to find a priest in the other time."
Ian looked at each of the others in turn. "That is the plan. Do we all have an understanding?"
Four heads nodded in relative unison.
Ian stood, and the others followed suit. "Then let us begin."
He had no particular target, nothing in particular to watch for; he had only been here for two hours, but none of the various people milling about the building three blocks away and four stories down had given any indication that they were more important than their peers, and Loktar had no interest in breaking cover to take down a simple grunt. They needed disorientation among the Cult guards, and a random member struck dead suddenly would not be enough - it had to be someone in their leadership.
"Come on, you dirty bastards." He muttered in thick, gravelly Ronkan. "Give me something to shoot."
-----
"You are improving." Ian said softly. Li's arms entrapped his own, her tail wrapped around one of his legs. He quickly shifted his foot, and with newfound leverage, managed to somehow flip the small woman over his head and onto the ground before him, his open palm at her throat before the dust had risen. "But still not good enough."
He smiled, and helped her to her feet, as Dalaris watched nearby, perched on an outcropping of rubble. "That is some absurd stuff." The bard said, his mouth a smile of disbelief.
Ian shook his head. "These are basic maneuvers. My master would make short work of me."
"Still, though, that's some... good work, I guess." Dalaris insisted.
"The arts martial may be inborn to the lunari," Li said, dusting herself off, "but you have surpassed what we are intuitively capable of."
Ian only shrugged.
"Enough praise. We all have our own gifts: Dalaris, I can no more conjure up magic than walk on air; Li, you have forgotten more of the machines of our world than I have ever bothered to learn." He nodded, as though that was the end of the matter. "Our morning exercise is complete. Let us go to the others, and see if they are ready for what awaits us."
The other two nodded their agreement, Dalaris hopping to his feet. The three headed for their camp, in the bowels of the ruined building.
-----
"So you sailed with the Blackjack?"
The moogle and clavat were seated across a fire from each other, which had been kept low to keep the smoke to a minimum. They were nestled in the corner of one of the basement levels of an abandoned building, several blocks away from what seemed to be the center of the Cult's activities in the city. While the others were out training or watching, Memphis and Tethysia had stayed behind - Tethysia to calm her mind and attune herself to the timeline of the world, and Memphis to keep her company.
The clavat nodded. "Oh yeah, totally. I hadn't tol' y'all 'bout it b'fore? I coulda swore I did."
Tethysia shook her head. "No, you haven't mentioned it, that I can remember."
"Well, I did. There ain't much more ta say'n that, aither. We did all the kinds a thangs y'all think of when y'all think a th' 'jack. She was a good ship, an' I was sad ta hafta say goo'bye to 'er, bu' I had some more pressin' thangs goin' on elsewhere."
"Like what?"
"Family thangs." Memphis said shortly, and shook her head. "I don' wan'a talk 'bout it. Bad times, an' such. 'fore all this," She motioned idly with a hand, "but bad things, sure 'nough." She nodded.
Tethysia pondered this, then nodded slowly. "I suppose, if you want it to be left alone, then I'll leave it be."
"Thank ye."
There was a long pause, the only sound the crackling of the fire.
"So... got yer min' all figgered out, an' such?"
Tethysia nodded, smiling. "Oh yes, I'm good. I've allocated as much quintessence from the world timeline as I can, which... unfortunately isn't much, but it'll hopefully be enough to help us get through the rift."
There was a thumping sound coming from above them, and the sound of a loose door creaking open.
"That'll be the others." The moogle said, and hurriedly began gathering up her things. "Come on, Memphis, let's get our things together, so we're ready."
-----
"The plan." Ian said, once the three had seated themselves and Memphis and Tethysia finished packing their meager gear. While they had worked, Ian and Li had sketched a rough diagram of the surrounding city in a dusted-over part of the floor.
The other four nodded.
"Memphis is to head up to Loktar's position. The rest of us accompany Li to the Takuro and Milan, and ride up to this point," He pushed his finger into the dust on the map, "where I will give a signal to Memphis." He looked at the clavat.
"Green flag means y'all are good ta go." She said. "Yellow flag means y'all want me ta tell Loktar ta wait, an' red flag means y'all ran inta trouble."
Ian nodded. "Correct. If we give a yellow flag, we will send another signal within two minutes. If we give no signal, act as if we had given a red.
"If all is well, then Loktar will choose a target. Memphis will send us a signal when he has selected one." He looked to Dalaris.
"Blue flag means... he's found a leader, because nobles are blue-blooded. Brown flag means he's going to shoot a normal guy, because brown is like the ground. Gray flag means he's shooting a vehicle to try to blow it up, because the Takuro is gray."
Ian nodded. "Correct. Once Memphis has given us a signal, we return a signal to indicate our readiness - same colors as the first signal we send.
"Loktar is to count to three once the message is relayed. On three, he shoots his target. If he loses it, Memphis sends a..." He looked to Memphis once more.
"Yellow flag."
"Correct, yellow flag. Yellow flag to the Takuro means..." He looked to Dalaris.
The bard thought for a moment.
"No good, we are already moving." Li said with a sigh.
"Yellow flag from Memphis means Loktar lost his target." He said. "I know it, I just..." He shook his head.
Ian placed a hand on the bard's shoulder. "There is going to be little room for error here, my spellcasting friend. If we move before Loktar has brought attention to himself, we will be cut down rather quickly."
Dalaris nodded. "I know, I know. Yellow means lost target. I've got it."
Ian cocked his head at him, then removed his grip. "I do not mean to be harsh, Dalaris. But one false step will be the end of us. No matter how formidable our skills, we are no match for power armor.
"Once Loktar has taken his shot, we move in. Li leads the way on Milan, while I will drive the Takuro."
Li leaned her head back, and looked askance at him. "Are you sure?"
Ian nodded. "It is not a moogle design, and so Tethysia is too short. Dalaris wields the power of Magic, and we cannot risk his abilities interfering with the vehicle. There is no other choice."
"I know that," Li said, "but can you drive?"
He shrugged, and smiled slightly. "It has been many years since I last put foot to pedal, but I am confident that my meager skill will be sufficient.
"The Cultists know that they will be unable to retaliate against a sniper from their position, and so will send a patrol to take him out. Loktar's position has but one reliable entry-point," He pointed it out on the map, "and so the Cultists will take this route." He drew a line in the dust.
"Meanwhile, Milan and the Takuro will take this route to this point," He indicated a different part of the map, "at which point Li will leave us to draw attention from Loktar and Memphis. Those in the Takuro will drive the vehicle as far as we can into the building, then exit and begin searching the premises.
"As we enter the building, Memphis will send us one last signal..." He looked to Dalaris.
"Green means they are on their way with no trouble. Yellow means they're in trouble, but it's nothing they can't handle. Red means we need to help." Dalaris ended this with a triumphant nod.
Memphis smiled slightly. "Glad ya got et all worked ou', hun."
"Once we are inside, we have split into two groups: Team A, consisting of myself, Dalaris, and Tethysia, and Team B, consisting of Li, Memphis, and Loktar.
"Team A's goal is to seek out the temporal rift hidden somewhere within the complex. Of this group, I will take point, Dalaris will take rear."
"So long as I have some quintessence left," Tethysia spoke softly, "I should be able to sense the rift, once we get close."
Ian nodded. "Team B's goal is to come in after Team A, seal the entrance, and provide rear guard to Team A, ensuring that no Cultists can sneak up on us.
"Once we have found the rift, Dalaris will use his abilities to make a sound at a specific frequency, to which Li has already tuned Milan's audio sensors."
"If you make the noise, and we're within five miles or so, we should be able to pick it up." Li said, nodding.
"And we are certain that there is no chance of resistance to this?" Ian asked, looking to Tethysia.
The moogle nodded. "The effect Dalaris will produce is magically-created, yes, but the sound itself is not magical. Milan will be able to pick it up without difficulty."
"Provided we are in range." Li said. "But that should not be a problem... the range on the band is rather large, right?"
Ian nodded. "Yes. Loktar said that it was an older shortwave band, used by the Coldlands military for local operation."
"You remember that I can't actually make a real noise, right, on it?" Dalaris asked, leaning forward. "It's just going to come across as static..."
Li nodded. "Yes, but it will be weird static. Milan is already configured. Ursus isn't too bright, but he can figure that much out."
Dalaris raised an eyebrow. "Ursus? Who is that?"
Li smiled slightly, but the smile was tinged with sadness. "Long story." She said slowly. "An old friend, who..."
Ian shook his head. "Some things are best left unsaid. We all lost something when the world moved on. Let it be."
Dalaris tilted his head, then held up his hands, leaning back once more. "Alright, fine. One day, though, you folks need to explain to me what's going on."
"Once Team B gets the signal, they are to join Team A, who will be holding position at the rift. Once all members are present and accounted for, we go through it.
"Leave no one behind. Even if one of us falls, do not leave the fallen to the Cult. We may be able to find a priest in the other time."
Ian looked at each of the others in turn. "That is the plan. Do we all have an understanding?"
Four heads nodded in relative unison.
Ian stood, and the others followed suit. "Then let us begin."
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Darkened Star
O star of stars, so distant and far,
Yet my love for you remains unmar'd
A cloud passes 'tween us, hiding your light
My world, once happy, now plunged into night
Once filled with cheer and hope for days ahead,
Now bereft, alone, hands filled with tears shed
Your face, your touch, your kiss are all gone;
My thoughts only for you against the dawn
Hands raised, eyes closed, I beckon above:
Why will you not return my love?
Yet my love for you remains unmar'd
A cloud passes 'tween us, hiding your light
My world, once happy, now plunged into night
Once filled with cheer and hope for days ahead,
Now bereft, alone, hands filled with tears shed
Your face, your touch, your kiss are all gone;
My thoughts only for you against the dawn
Hands raised, eyes closed, I beckon above:
Why will you not return my love?
Monday, January 12, 2009
Children of Ruin: Light in the Darkness
The sky was cloudless and full of stars, the first such night that had been witnessed by the ruins of Neo Mechanicus in many moons, moons which now shone overhead, full in concert, their pale blue light cast over the rusting hulks of the buildings that had once, not too long ago, shone brightly under such a sky.
A lone orc sat, cross-legged, on a precipice overhanging the hollowed-out remains of one such building, hunching forward slightly, a sign of his advanced age, a mane of once black hair - now going grey - tied tightly back into a ponytail. He had walked the world and seen many such nights, but only a few had been spent in a world where the technological mecca that had once been his home city lay smote down against the earth, reduced to so much rust and rubble. A rifle was slung over his shoulder, an artifact of the time before the destruction, and its cold steel reflected the light mockingly, a reminder of times now dead; the symbol of St. Tracy stamped on its stock seemed the most eager for the light, yet it, too, seemed to taunt him.
"Loktar." A soft voice whispered from behind him. "Something troubles you."
The orc turned, and saw the familiar wide eyes of one of his companions: Li, a lunari, a race of people who were similar physiologically to halflings, but adapted to the night - naturally and utterly nocturnal. Li's tail - long, slender, and covered in black fur - swished gently against her leg, making almost no sound.
Almost.
"Yes, Li." Loktar rumbled, then turned his gaze back over the ruined city. "Something troubles me." He gestured with a hand out over the ruins.
She sat nimbly beside him, with movements that he almost could not catch. She looked out over the city for a few moments, then tilted her head to look up at him.
"There is nothing that can be done for it now." She spoke softly. "We have all lost something, Loktar. The world is moving on. You know that."
Loktar nodded. "Yes."
"Then why do you insist on looking at it?" She asked, more forceful now. "It does us no good to hold onto the past. We have to think about the present."
Even before she had finished, Loktar was shaking his head. "Past, present... you have listened to Tethysia too much, or perhaps not enough." His gaze hardened as he turned to face the small woman. "If she is right... perhaps it can change."
She started to speak, but he held up a calloused hand.
"If, I said. But that should comfort me, shouldn't it?" His gaze returned to the city.
Li tried several times to say something, but could not find the words. The few times she thought she had found what to say, she saw the orc's eyes focused, moving almost imperceptibly: tracking far-away movements in the distant dark. Whatever it was, he needed all his concentration to see it, and attempting to answer him would cause him to falter.
Two hours later, they rose, and headed back to their camp.
-----
"Explain it to me again."
A distance away from where the orc and lunari were gazing wordlessly over the remains of the city, a small group huddled around a campfire. A more disheveled group had never been assembled, they were convinced, yet here they were: two humans, one from the farthest reaches of what had once been the Greater Ronkan Empire, another from the Boomerang Isles; a clavat who had once been a hand on one of the most notorious pirate ships of the day; and a moogle, from who knew where - even she had forgotten, her memory distorted and ruined by the destruction of the city.
One of the humans was dressed in rugged traveling clothes, a sword scabbard hung on his belt and a loop for his guitar - how in his restless hands - on his back. His hair was cropped short, bright and blonde, and his grey eyes shone brightly in the night.
The other human was dressed simply, a simple shirt and simple pants made of black silk, which glinted in the moonlight - steelcloth, and all but the other human amongst them knew it. His hair was black and longer than the other human's, ragged and unkempt from a long period of travel and misuse. His closed eyes would have glinted a pale blue color under the night's skies.
The moogle was young, exuberant, full of life, a light blue pompom dancing above her white and tan mottled fur. Her eyes shone a deep, dark blue, showing a depth of understanding that seemed beyond the others - she seemed to always be seeing more than they. Her garb was rough-and-tumble, the familiar denim style of this part of the Greater Ronkan Empire, and her attire looked as though it had seen a long journey.
The clavat was dressed in loose-fitting clothing, thickly made of wool - to protect her from the frigid winters of the cursed north, or so she said. Her dark green eyes danced in the flame, the eyes of a trickster, curtained by flowing brown locks that reached the middle of her back.
"Dalaris, it's late. We should call 'er a night." The clavat spoke, her accent a strange drawl that the group still found foreign, coming from the mouth of a clavat.
"No, I need to understand this, Memphis." He said, strumming lightly on his guitar, more of a nervous twitch than a conscious motion. "What are you trying to accomplish here, in this ruin? We should be heading for safe ground. We don't know if it'll come back..." His voice trailed off, and he shifted his gaze around the campfire nervously.
The moogle laughed, a light-hearted sound that seemed utterly bizarre and alien in this desolate place. "Dalaris, trust me, your anxiety is misplaced. If it were to come back, we would all know it, and there would be plenty of warning. Talking about it isn't going to summon it." She smiled.
Dalaris smiled grimly, and nodded slightly, rocking ever so slightly back and forth. "Alright, Tethysia. But could you explain it, anyway?"
The moogle called Tethysia smiled and nodded, her blue pompom bouncing jovially as she did so. "Yes, I will explain. I know we've had to keep quiet since we found you, what with sneaking about and trying to avoid the Cult, but now that we're out of their earshot, we can try to explain."
"There has been... a disruption. In time." She said, the smile fading quickly from her face and her eyes. "It's... a door. A door to the past. But door isn't really the right term, either... it's more like a... a rip, a fracture. This isn't an opening like a templar would make, a concrete doorway to another time. It's like the fabric of time itself is being torn apart by something."
"Did the... entity cause it?" He asked.
At this point, the other human looked up, breaking his meditation. "No."
Tethysia nodded. "Ian is correct. The entity didn't cause it. Though it wasn't there for very long prior to that... it's possible that they're related, but I'm not sure."
"How can you be unsure?" Dalaris asked. "Aren't you a templar, or whatever? Aren't you supposed to know?"
"Dalaris, hon," Memphis cut in, "Tethysia lost 'er mem'ry. She fergot a lotta thangs she used ta know."
"How'd that happen?" He asked.
"The Cult." Ian, eyes closed once more, responded softly.
Tethysia nodded slightly. "The Cult used some kind of... either psionic or akashic effect to wipe my memory. The process wasn't perfect, but it was enough to disrupt whatever it was that I was supposed to do here. But I know that it has to do with the rift that is here, somewhere."
"And changing this." A gruff voice from beyond the range of the campfire said.
"Loktar the Keen." Ian's eyes opened once more, and this time he rose from his lotus position, and moved towards the orc. "Is the city quiet?"
Loktar came forward, into the light, and nodded once, slowly. "Too quiet."
Mempis looked up at him - a full four feet separated the two, when she was sitting - and raised an eyebrow at him. "That 'cause it's dead, or 'cause th' Cult's up ta somethin'?"
Another voice, quieter and more feminine than Loktar's, replied: "Both."
-----
The small band had reassembled itself around the campfire to better accommodate the six of them: Ian next to Tethysia, next to Memphis, next to Dalaris, next to Li, next to Loktar, next to Ian. What tiredness what been present before Loktar and Li's return had vanished from their faces - their lives depended on avoiding the Cult.
"We know they've been moving crates of supplies from the rest of the city to a central location." Li said, her voice short and atonal. "We can't be certain what is in them, but..."
"They are ammo crates." Loktar finished.
"But we also know that they're not all usin' tech." Memphis said, rubbing her chin slightly. "Since some of 'em're psi er akash, enyway, righ'? So they couldn' be usin' tech?"
Tethysia nodded. "A large majority of the Cult forces seem to be anarchic or tech, but recently - and I can't say how recently, or how I know this - there has been an influx of psi among their numbers. I get the feeling they had a... change of leadership, maybe, to encourage that? It's only a feeling."
"And with psi, the tech's gotta go." Dalaris said, nodding. "So the question is - what are they doin' with all that ammo?"
"Removing future problems." Loktar said slowly. "Heavy on psi, so remove your enemy's ability to wield technology."
"But no efforts were made to remove magical presence?" Dalaris asked.
Loktar shrugged. "Neo Mechanicus. What magic?"
Ian smiled at this. "Our good sniper makes a point. Neo Mechanicus has no inherent magical bias, and the environment is satured with technology. There would be no point in removing magical threats, as they would be rare, and few who would stay here would know how to use them."
"Ammo crates are not the only thing they are collecting." Li said. "They are collecting weapons, as well. Even experimental plasma prototypes, from the CWI facility outside of the city."
"They have collected far more weapons than their numbers would require." Loktar continued. "Even if we take the worst guess - five-hundred? - they have collected far more than that. Thousands."
Tethysia's brow furrowed. "What could they possibly need with all those weapons?"
"Well, it certainly is quite the conundrum, ain't it."
"They're outfitting an army. That's the only thing they could want with it all." Dalaris said, shaking his head.
"What army?" The orc asked gruffly, shaking his head in return and crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back.
"Maybe they're..." Dalaris looked around, his face contorting somewhat, searching for an answer. "I don't know, teleporting them in, somehow?"
Tethysia shook her head. "The fallout from the entity is acting as a dimensional anchor, no one can teleport in or out."
"I know, I know." Dalaris said, throwing his hands up. "But really, I mean, thousands of weapons, and even some experimental ones? From way outside their main point of operation? What's the point? Even if someone were to come here with the intent to get rid of them, how many could they really bring? I mean, the Cult has Saints-damned power armor! A few experimental photon-thing proto-whatevers isn't going to do anything useful against them, so why bother collecting them unless you're trying to outfit an army!"
The group was quiet for a short while.
"Loktar," Ian said quietly, "have you noticed an increase in their numbers?"
The orc shook his head. "Not on that scale. Perhaps a few, but not that many."
"Wait." Memphis said, holding up a small hand. "Hol' yer horses fer a minute. Tethysia, you said that there's some kinda thang, like a hole, 'at ya can use ta go through time er somethin', righ'?"
The moogle nodded.
"An' we got a bunch a weapons an' all that kinda thing, jus' kinda disappearin'?" She looked to Loktar and Li, who nodded.
"What if they-"
Tethysia's eyes opened wide, and she stood suddenly. "Oh, Uriah's Road, why didn't we realize that before!"
"They're equipping an army, alright. But it's not here, and it's not now. It's then!"
"...wait, what?" Dalaris asked, a puzzled look on his face.
"It's on the other side of the rift!" The moogle exclaimed. "They've found the rift, and they're using it to forward their own agenda! The equipment seems to disappear because it isn't here anymore; it's wherever the rift goes!"
Ian nodded. "So it is decided, then."
"We must find the rift. Not just because of Tethysia's purpose here, but also to stop whatever plans it is the Cult has for whatever time is on the other side."
The other four nodded their agreement.
"Time to make our move."
A lone orc sat, cross-legged, on a precipice overhanging the hollowed-out remains of one such building, hunching forward slightly, a sign of his advanced age, a mane of once black hair - now going grey - tied tightly back into a ponytail. He had walked the world and seen many such nights, but only a few had been spent in a world where the technological mecca that had once been his home city lay smote down against the earth, reduced to so much rust and rubble. A rifle was slung over his shoulder, an artifact of the time before the destruction, and its cold steel reflected the light mockingly, a reminder of times now dead; the symbol of St. Tracy stamped on its stock seemed the most eager for the light, yet it, too, seemed to taunt him.
"Loktar." A soft voice whispered from behind him. "Something troubles you."
The orc turned, and saw the familiar wide eyes of one of his companions: Li, a lunari, a race of people who were similar physiologically to halflings, but adapted to the night - naturally and utterly nocturnal. Li's tail - long, slender, and covered in black fur - swished gently against her leg, making almost no sound.
Almost.
"Yes, Li." Loktar rumbled, then turned his gaze back over the ruined city. "Something troubles me." He gestured with a hand out over the ruins.
She sat nimbly beside him, with movements that he almost could not catch. She looked out over the city for a few moments, then tilted her head to look up at him.
"There is nothing that can be done for it now." She spoke softly. "We have all lost something, Loktar. The world is moving on. You know that."
Loktar nodded. "Yes."
"Then why do you insist on looking at it?" She asked, more forceful now. "It does us no good to hold onto the past. We have to think about the present."
Even before she had finished, Loktar was shaking his head. "Past, present... you have listened to Tethysia too much, or perhaps not enough." His gaze hardened as he turned to face the small woman. "If she is right... perhaps it can change."
She started to speak, but he held up a calloused hand.
"If, I said. But that should comfort me, shouldn't it?" His gaze returned to the city.
Li tried several times to say something, but could not find the words. The few times she thought she had found what to say, she saw the orc's eyes focused, moving almost imperceptibly: tracking far-away movements in the distant dark. Whatever it was, he needed all his concentration to see it, and attempting to answer him would cause him to falter.
Two hours later, they rose, and headed back to their camp.
-----
"Explain it to me again."
A distance away from where the orc and lunari were gazing wordlessly over the remains of the city, a small group huddled around a campfire. A more disheveled group had never been assembled, they were convinced, yet here they were: two humans, one from the farthest reaches of what had once been the Greater Ronkan Empire, another from the Boomerang Isles; a clavat who had once been a hand on one of the most notorious pirate ships of the day; and a moogle, from who knew where - even she had forgotten, her memory distorted and ruined by the destruction of the city.
One of the humans was dressed in rugged traveling clothes, a sword scabbard hung on his belt and a loop for his guitar - how in his restless hands - on his back. His hair was cropped short, bright and blonde, and his grey eyes shone brightly in the night.
The other human was dressed simply, a simple shirt and simple pants made of black silk, which glinted in the moonlight - steelcloth, and all but the other human amongst them knew it. His hair was black and longer than the other human's, ragged and unkempt from a long period of travel and misuse. His closed eyes would have glinted a pale blue color under the night's skies.
The moogle was young, exuberant, full of life, a light blue pompom dancing above her white and tan mottled fur. Her eyes shone a deep, dark blue, showing a depth of understanding that seemed beyond the others - she seemed to always be seeing more than they. Her garb was rough-and-tumble, the familiar denim style of this part of the Greater Ronkan Empire, and her attire looked as though it had seen a long journey.
The clavat was dressed in loose-fitting clothing, thickly made of wool - to protect her from the frigid winters of the cursed north, or so she said. Her dark green eyes danced in the flame, the eyes of a trickster, curtained by flowing brown locks that reached the middle of her back.
"Dalaris, it's late. We should call 'er a night." The clavat spoke, her accent a strange drawl that the group still found foreign, coming from the mouth of a clavat.
"No, I need to understand this, Memphis." He said, strumming lightly on his guitar, more of a nervous twitch than a conscious motion. "What are you trying to accomplish here, in this ruin? We should be heading for safe ground. We don't know if it'll come back..." His voice trailed off, and he shifted his gaze around the campfire nervously.
The moogle laughed, a light-hearted sound that seemed utterly bizarre and alien in this desolate place. "Dalaris, trust me, your anxiety is misplaced. If it were to come back, we would all know it, and there would be plenty of warning. Talking about it isn't going to summon it." She smiled.
Dalaris smiled grimly, and nodded slightly, rocking ever so slightly back and forth. "Alright, Tethysia. But could you explain it, anyway?"
The moogle called Tethysia smiled and nodded, her blue pompom bouncing jovially as she did so. "Yes, I will explain. I know we've had to keep quiet since we found you, what with sneaking about and trying to avoid the Cult, but now that we're out of their earshot, we can try to explain."
"There has been... a disruption. In time." She said, the smile fading quickly from her face and her eyes. "It's... a door. A door to the past. But door isn't really the right term, either... it's more like a... a rip, a fracture. This isn't an opening like a templar would make, a concrete doorway to another time. It's like the fabric of time itself is being torn apart by something."
"Did the... entity cause it?" He asked.
At this point, the other human looked up, breaking his meditation. "No."
Tethysia nodded. "Ian is correct. The entity didn't cause it. Though it wasn't there for very long prior to that... it's possible that they're related, but I'm not sure."
"How can you be unsure?" Dalaris asked. "Aren't you a templar, or whatever? Aren't you supposed to know?"
"Dalaris, hon," Memphis cut in, "Tethysia lost 'er mem'ry. She fergot a lotta thangs she used ta know."
"How'd that happen?" He asked.
"The Cult." Ian, eyes closed once more, responded softly.
Tethysia nodded slightly. "The Cult used some kind of... either psionic or akashic effect to wipe my memory. The process wasn't perfect, but it was enough to disrupt whatever it was that I was supposed to do here. But I know that it has to do with the rift that is here, somewhere."
"And changing this." A gruff voice from beyond the range of the campfire said.
"Loktar the Keen." Ian's eyes opened once more, and this time he rose from his lotus position, and moved towards the orc. "Is the city quiet?"
Loktar came forward, into the light, and nodded once, slowly. "Too quiet."
Mempis looked up at him - a full four feet separated the two, when she was sitting - and raised an eyebrow at him. "That 'cause it's dead, or 'cause th' Cult's up ta somethin'?"
Another voice, quieter and more feminine than Loktar's, replied: "Both."
-----
The small band had reassembled itself around the campfire to better accommodate the six of them: Ian next to Tethysia, next to Memphis, next to Dalaris, next to Li, next to Loktar, next to Ian. What tiredness what been present before Loktar and Li's return had vanished from their faces - their lives depended on avoiding the Cult.
"We know they've been moving crates of supplies from the rest of the city to a central location." Li said, her voice short and atonal. "We can't be certain what is in them, but..."
"They are ammo crates." Loktar finished.
"But we also know that they're not all usin' tech." Memphis said, rubbing her chin slightly. "Since some of 'em're psi er akash, enyway, righ'? So they couldn' be usin' tech?"
Tethysia nodded. "A large majority of the Cult forces seem to be anarchic or tech, but recently - and I can't say how recently, or how I know this - there has been an influx of psi among their numbers. I get the feeling they had a... change of leadership, maybe, to encourage that? It's only a feeling."
"And with psi, the tech's gotta go." Dalaris said, nodding. "So the question is - what are they doin' with all that ammo?"
"Removing future problems." Loktar said slowly. "Heavy on psi, so remove your enemy's ability to wield technology."
"But no efforts were made to remove magical presence?" Dalaris asked.
Loktar shrugged. "Neo Mechanicus. What magic?"
Ian smiled at this. "Our good sniper makes a point. Neo Mechanicus has no inherent magical bias, and the environment is satured with technology. There would be no point in removing magical threats, as they would be rare, and few who would stay here would know how to use them."
"Ammo crates are not the only thing they are collecting." Li said. "They are collecting weapons, as well. Even experimental plasma prototypes, from the CWI facility outside of the city."
"They have collected far more weapons than their numbers would require." Loktar continued. "Even if we take the worst guess - five-hundred? - they have collected far more than that. Thousands."
Tethysia's brow furrowed. "What could they possibly need with all those weapons?"
"Well, it certainly is quite the conundrum, ain't it."
"They're outfitting an army. That's the only thing they could want with it all." Dalaris said, shaking his head.
"What army?" The orc asked gruffly, shaking his head in return and crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back.
"Maybe they're..." Dalaris looked around, his face contorting somewhat, searching for an answer. "I don't know, teleporting them in, somehow?"
Tethysia shook her head. "The fallout from the entity is acting as a dimensional anchor, no one can teleport in or out."
"I know, I know." Dalaris said, throwing his hands up. "But really, I mean, thousands of weapons, and even some experimental ones? From way outside their main point of operation? What's the point? Even if someone were to come here with the intent to get rid of them, how many could they really bring? I mean, the Cult has Saints-damned power armor! A few experimental photon-thing proto-whatevers isn't going to do anything useful against them, so why bother collecting them unless you're trying to outfit an army!"
The group was quiet for a short while.
"Loktar," Ian said quietly, "have you noticed an increase in their numbers?"
The orc shook his head. "Not on that scale. Perhaps a few, but not that many."
"Wait." Memphis said, holding up a small hand. "Hol' yer horses fer a minute. Tethysia, you said that there's some kinda thang, like a hole, 'at ya can use ta go through time er somethin', righ'?"
The moogle nodded.
"An' we got a bunch a weapons an' all that kinda thing, jus' kinda disappearin'?" She looked to Loktar and Li, who nodded.
"What if they-"
Tethysia's eyes opened wide, and she stood suddenly. "Oh, Uriah's Road, why didn't we realize that before!"
"They're equipping an army, alright. But it's not here, and it's not now. It's then!"
"...wait, what?" Dalaris asked, a puzzled look on his face.
"It's on the other side of the rift!" The moogle exclaimed. "They've found the rift, and they're using it to forward their own agenda! The equipment seems to disappear because it isn't here anymore; it's wherever the rift goes!"
Ian nodded. "So it is decided, then."
"We must find the rift. Not just because of Tethysia's purpose here, but also to stop whatever plans it is the Cult has for whatever time is on the other side."
The other four nodded their agreement.
"Time to make our move."
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Iron Twilight: The Genji and the Gaijin
The second piece.
-----
[ November 14, 108 RIY ]
[ Warjilis Trade City, Lionel ]
Dawn. The sun had finally crested above the ridgeline of the mountains to the east of Warjilis Trade City, a port city that had been built by both Ronkan and Colianthic hands. The city was a symbol of their friendship, the only place in the world where east and west truly mingled. Nearly every merchant from either nation who did business with the other came through this magnificent city, a blended mix of two seemingly-opposite cultures.
A clavat samurai by the name of Lore Genji-Ryoku awoke in her rented room above one of the many Colianthic shops. She was not yet acclimated to the late hour of sunrise, having only been in Warjilis for two weeks; however, as a samurai, she was mentally focused enough to adapt at least physically. She stretched, performed a few rapid exercises, then seated herself, preparing for her hour-long meditation.
As she closed her eyes, however, there was a rough knock at the door.
Quick as a flash, her katana was in her hands, before her mind had time to react. She breathed deep, then exhaled slowly, putting the katana down. No one would be foolish enough to attack a Genji, even in Warjilis.
She walked to the door, her careful movements graceful and quiet. "Who is it?" She asked in Tipan, her native tongue.
"Balthier." Came the response.
Ah, Balthier. Lore had been selected as one of only a few Genji to visit the Ronkan Empire; their time in the Empire was meant to serve as a learning experience, to find out as much as they could of Ronkan culture and society. Understanding in all things, as it was said; and it would take many lifetimes to fully understand these strange people.
Lore opened the door, and Balthier bowed slightly as she did. "Shall we walk?" He asked in her language, though his words were stilted. It was clear that he yet had much to learn.
Lore nodded. "One moment." She replied simply, and shut the door.
She went to the armor stand in the corner of the room, the only furnishing aside from the simple bed, upon which her armor rested. While the Genji had once only numbered seven, their families had grown large since those ancient times, and now there were dozens, if not hundreds, of their descendants. Not all who bore the family name of Genji chose that path, of course, but many did. The armor and daisho they were gifted with at the end of their training were wellcrafted facsimiles of Ishikaru's equipment, but they were still facsimiles. Lore's set was white and purple: white, to reflect that she was descended from the sixth clavat taught by Ishikaru, and purple, the color she had chosen to reflect herself. The wrappings of her daisho reflected these color choices, as well.
She donned the armor quickly, but without haste. Patience was a virtue amongst the clavat people, and this situation did not call for hurry. She tied her wakizashi to her belt and sheathed her katana on her back. Checking herself, she closed her eyes but for a moment, at an attempt to attain some amount of inner peace, then walked to the door and opened it.
"About time you decided to come out." Balthier observed, this time in Ronkan. Lore had some difficulty following the language, but did not let on that she understood most of it; most spoke more freely around her when they assumed she could not speak their language. She learned a good many things in that manner, that she could not have otherwise.
He smiled. "Shall we?" He asked, in her native Tipan.
Lore nodded, and gestured for the gunslinger to lead the way.
As they walked, Lore recalled the gist of what she had learned, both as a mental exercise and to ensure that she would ask new and relevant questions on this day. Balthier was a human, a people taller than clavats, but that shared many similar qualities; Balthier had said that the Xianese were human, though they looked almost nothing like the Ronkans. He was a gunslinger, as he had been in the Ronkan military for some time and trained in the ways of gunnery; he was apparently a noble of some kind, and said he hailed from Fovoham, one of the regions of the Empire.
"Perhaps today," Balthier said slowly in Tipan, as they ended their descent and reached the street, "You could tell me more of your people."
Lore was surprised by this - she did not expect a Ronkan to have an interest in her own culture. "What of them?"
"This city," He gestured with his arms, "This isn't Ronkan, but it's not Colianthic, either. It's a blend. I've taught you a good deal about Ronkan society in the past weeks. Surely you could teach me something of your culture?"
Lore considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. We can discuss this, if you wish. What would you like to know?"
Balthier pondered, rubbing his chin as they walked. "Why don't we start with you. Your name, for instance. What does it mean?"
Lore nodded. "My full name is Lore Genji-Ryoku. It means that I am a descendant of the sixth Genji, student of Ishikaru, and that I have the birthright to be trained in the Halls of the Genji, a birthright which I acknowledged and accepted."
"What is a Genji?" Balthier asked. "And what significance is it that you are descended from the sixth? Who is Ishikaru?"
"Patience, Ronkan." Lore said, smiling slightly. "One question at a time.
"Ishikaru was the savior of the clavat people. Ages ago, we warred against each other, much as your people did against the elves?" She looked to him, and Balthier nodded. "Konoe Ishikaru was a master swordsman, a skilled warrior whose strength and focus was without equal. He sought a blacksmith to forge him armor and a sword befitting his skill, but could find none; instead, he forged his own. With darksteel katana and armor, he rode against entire armies of clavat singly, and won.
"He was not a violent man, Ishikaru. He desired peace more than anything, but knew that - at this time in our history - the only path to peace was through war. And so he fought each army in turn, defeating each in turn. When it was done, he gathered the leaders of the clavat people, and brought them together under his tutelage. These became the Genji, the Perfect Warriors, trained in the ways of iaijitsu and bushido, forbidden by Ishikaru to teach their more secret techniques to those not of the Genji lines. Ishikaru himself then disappeared into the mists, but since those times, the training halls of the Genji have stood. Where once there were but seven Genji, there are now many, each descended from one of the first."
Balthier nodded. "So you are descended from the sixth?"
Lore nodded. "Yes. The sixth Genji was Lorist Yoshiko, a woman. She had led a dishonorable life and people, but as their leader, Ishikaru knew that to reform them, he must reform her. And so he taught her the ways of bushido and iaijitsu, and Yoshiko saw the light of honor. She cast away her taint, and arose as a Genji; she led her people to the same reformation. Her colors are orange and white: orange to reflect the flames of rebirth, and white to reflect the honor she has found in the ways of the Genji."
Balthier rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I see."
"This rebirth affected all clavats across Distarin. It was after this that the clavats became as you know them: friendly, helpful, always willing to lend a hand, to forgive and forget. We are not a vengeful people, as the teachings of Ishikaru - passed on through the Genji - have shown us the Way. It was after we defeated our own demons that we reached out to the mogri - moogles, as you call them - and to the Xianese, and joined our three peoples into one nation. Since then, our peoples have known peace."
"When you say 'the Way,'" Balthier mused, "You seem to put some emphasis on that. What is the way?"
"The Way is a philosophy, an approach to life." Lore replied. "It is similar in some ways, I think, to your religion, the Glabados?"
Balthier nodded. "In our religion, we have God, and the Saint Iocus, who came to us at the beginnings of the Ronkan Empire as a sign of His will that we were His chosen people, destined to rule over Sarteri."
Lore frowned at this. "Which is something that I do not understand, this god. Why he would desire the destruction of an entire race and way of life seems strange to me."
"I think you've forgotten our history." Balthier said with a smile. "The elves were an abomination. They treated not just humans, but all of the shorter-lived races with such contempt. When we made mistakes, they took away whatever freedom we had used to make them. They were of the mind that since we lived such short lives, we couldn't possibly learn from our mistakes."
Lore pondered, then nodded slowly. "I can see how they would come to that conclusion. It took the people of Colianth many years to recover from the devastation that led Ishikaru to rise up against his people. But he did not claim a divine mandate in doing so."
Balthier shrugged. "Perhaps he was a divine agent, and you simply choose to not acknowledge it. God works in mysterious ways, as they say."
Lore shook her head. "I am sorry, Balthier, but I do not believe this, and have no interest in discussing it, as you know. You are Glabadosian, and I am Taoist, a follower of the Way; let us leave it at that."
Balthier nodded, and bowed his head slightly. "My apologies for upsetting you, Lore."
Lore returned the bow. "Your apology is accepted, as always, Balthier." She sighed. "The Way is not easily understood, and so your confusion is expected. I should have recalled what you have said of the Glabados. We have no priests, as you do; we have no rituals, as you do. The Way is something that affects your entire life. It is not something that can be easily grasped in a morning walk."
Balthier nodded. "Fair enough."
They walked further in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of Warjilis. Lore pondered the world of the Ronkan Empire, a world filled with people like Balthier who believed in a deity, that their near-annihilation of another race was somehow justified because of their religion. She shook her head; how she could live in the same world as these people was beyond her. Prejudice of that sort was something totally alien to her mindset: the mogri and the Xianese had been far different from the clavats, and yet the three races had managed to find some common ground, and build up off of that. Surely the humans could have done the same, with the elves? She could not fathom them, a race that lived for hundreds of years. The knowledge and wisdom they must have held!
But such was the past; the elves, she understood, had fled the continent for lands unknown. She must look to the present, to understand these people and find a way that some reconciliation could be reached. While her people were often left to their own devices in the Empire, she had heard that some clavats had been branded as "heretics" elsewhere, deeper into the Empire's lands, and burned at the stake for their beliefs. It was difficult to believe that such barbarity could exist among the same people who had invented such mechanical wonders! Such rumors led to concern amongst her people: if they were willing to slay single clavats with impunity, surely they would - some day - come across the Lerner Ocean with their terrible machines, and attempt to subjugate Colianth, to spread their religion to all corners of the known world. If they could not tolerate the elves, perhaps they would come to be intolerable of the clavats, as well...
Lore sighed. That would not happen today, nor tomorrow. And perhaps with the teachings of Ishikaru, she could teach people like Balthier of her people, and prevent such a catastrophe from coming to pass.
-----
[ November 14, 108 RIY ]
[ Warjilis Trade City, Lionel ]
Dawn. The sun had finally crested above the ridgeline of the mountains to the east of Warjilis Trade City, a port city that had been built by both Ronkan and Colianthic hands. The city was a symbol of their friendship, the only place in the world where east and west truly mingled. Nearly every merchant from either nation who did business with the other came through this magnificent city, a blended mix of two seemingly-opposite cultures.
A clavat samurai by the name of Lore Genji-Ryoku awoke in her rented room above one of the many Colianthic shops. She was not yet acclimated to the late hour of sunrise, having only been in Warjilis for two weeks; however, as a samurai, she was mentally focused enough to adapt at least physically. She stretched, performed a few rapid exercises, then seated herself, preparing for her hour-long meditation.
As she closed her eyes, however, there was a rough knock at the door.
Quick as a flash, her katana was in her hands, before her mind had time to react. She breathed deep, then exhaled slowly, putting the katana down. No one would be foolish enough to attack a Genji, even in Warjilis.
She walked to the door, her careful movements graceful and quiet. "Who is it?" She asked in Tipan, her native tongue.
"Balthier." Came the response.
Ah, Balthier. Lore had been selected as one of only a few Genji to visit the Ronkan Empire; their time in the Empire was meant to serve as a learning experience, to find out as much as they could of Ronkan culture and society. Understanding in all things, as it was said; and it would take many lifetimes to fully understand these strange people.
Lore opened the door, and Balthier bowed slightly as she did. "Shall we walk?" He asked in her language, though his words were stilted. It was clear that he yet had much to learn.
Lore nodded. "One moment." She replied simply, and shut the door.
She went to the armor stand in the corner of the room, the only furnishing aside from the simple bed, upon which her armor rested. While the Genji had once only numbered seven, their families had grown large since those ancient times, and now there were dozens, if not hundreds, of their descendants. Not all who bore the family name of Genji chose that path, of course, but many did. The armor and daisho they were gifted with at the end of their training were wellcrafted facsimiles of Ishikaru's equipment, but they were still facsimiles. Lore's set was white and purple: white, to reflect that she was descended from the sixth clavat taught by Ishikaru, and purple, the color she had chosen to reflect herself. The wrappings of her daisho reflected these color choices, as well.
She donned the armor quickly, but without haste. Patience was a virtue amongst the clavat people, and this situation did not call for hurry. She tied her wakizashi to her belt and sheathed her katana on her back. Checking herself, she closed her eyes but for a moment, at an attempt to attain some amount of inner peace, then walked to the door and opened it.
"About time you decided to come out." Balthier observed, this time in Ronkan. Lore had some difficulty following the language, but did not let on that she understood most of it; most spoke more freely around her when they assumed she could not speak their language. She learned a good many things in that manner, that she could not have otherwise.
He smiled. "Shall we?" He asked, in her native Tipan.
Lore nodded, and gestured for the gunslinger to lead the way.
As they walked, Lore recalled the gist of what she had learned, both as a mental exercise and to ensure that she would ask new and relevant questions on this day. Balthier was a human, a people taller than clavats, but that shared many similar qualities; Balthier had said that the Xianese were human, though they looked almost nothing like the Ronkans. He was a gunslinger, as he had been in the Ronkan military for some time and trained in the ways of gunnery; he was apparently a noble of some kind, and said he hailed from Fovoham, one of the regions of the Empire.
"Perhaps today," Balthier said slowly in Tipan, as they ended their descent and reached the street, "You could tell me more of your people."
Lore was surprised by this - she did not expect a Ronkan to have an interest in her own culture. "What of them?"
"This city," He gestured with his arms, "This isn't Ronkan, but it's not Colianthic, either. It's a blend. I've taught you a good deal about Ronkan society in the past weeks. Surely you could teach me something of your culture?"
Lore considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. We can discuss this, if you wish. What would you like to know?"
Balthier pondered, rubbing his chin as they walked. "Why don't we start with you. Your name, for instance. What does it mean?"
Lore nodded. "My full name is Lore Genji-Ryoku. It means that I am a descendant of the sixth Genji, student of Ishikaru, and that I have the birthright to be trained in the Halls of the Genji, a birthright which I acknowledged and accepted."
"What is a Genji?" Balthier asked. "And what significance is it that you are descended from the sixth? Who is Ishikaru?"
"Patience, Ronkan." Lore said, smiling slightly. "One question at a time.
"Ishikaru was the savior of the clavat people. Ages ago, we warred against each other, much as your people did against the elves?" She looked to him, and Balthier nodded. "Konoe Ishikaru was a master swordsman, a skilled warrior whose strength and focus was without equal. He sought a blacksmith to forge him armor and a sword befitting his skill, but could find none; instead, he forged his own. With darksteel katana and armor, he rode against entire armies of clavat singly, and won.
"He was not a violent man, Ishikaru. He desired peace more than anything, but knew that - at this time in our history - the only path to peace was through war. And so he fought each army in turn, defeating each in turn. When it was done, he gathered the leaders of the clavat people, and brought them together under his tutelage. These became the Genji, the Perfect Warriors, trained in the ways of iaijitsu and bushido, forbidden by Ishikaru to teach their more secret techniques to those not of the Genji lines. Ishikaru himself then disappeared into the mists, but since those times, the training halls of the Genji have stood. Where once there were but seven Genji, there are now many, each descended from one of the first."
Balthier nodded. "So you are descended from the sixth?"
Lore nodded. "Yes. The sixth Genji was Lorist Yoshiko, a woman. She had led a dishonorable life and people, but as their leader, Ishikaru knew that to reform them, he must reform her. And so he taught her the ways of bushido and iaijitsu, and Yoshiko saw the light of honor. She cast away her taint, and arose as a Genji; she led her people to the same reformation. Her colors are orange and white: orange to reflect the flames of rebirth, and white to reflect the honor she has found in the ways of the Genji."
Balthier rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I see."
"This rebirth affected all clavats across Distarin. It was after this that the clavats became as you know them: friendly, helpful, always willing to lend a hand, to forgive and forget. We are not a vengeful people, as the teachings of Ishikaru - passed on through the Genji - have shown us the Way. It was after we defeated our own demons that we reached out to the mogri - moogles, as you call them - and to the Xianese, and joined our three peoples into one nation. Since then, our peoples have known peace."
"When you say 'the Way,'" Balthier mused, "You seem to put some emphasis on that. What is the way?"
"The Way is a philosophy, an approach to life." Lore replied. "It is similar in some ways, I think, to your religion, the Glabados?"
Balthier nodded. "In our religion, we have God, and the Saint Iocus, who came to us at the beginnings of the Ronkan Empire as a sign of His will that we were His chosen people, destined to rule over Sarteri."
Lore frowned at this. "Which is something that I do not understand, this god. Why he would desire the destruction of an entire race and way of life seems strange to me."
"I think you've forgotten our history." Balthier said with a smile. "The elves were an abomination. They treated not just humans, but all of the shorter-lived races with such contempt. When we made mistakes, they took away whatever freedom we had used to make them. They were of the mind that since we lived such short lives, we couldn't possibly learn from our mistakes."
Lore pondered, then nodded slowly. "I can see how they would come to that conclusion. It took the people of Colianth many years to recover from the devastation that led Ishikaru to rise up against his people. But he did not claim a divine mandate in doing so."
Balthier shrugged. "Perhaps he was a divine agent, and you simply choose to not acknowledge it. God works in mysterious ways, as they say."
Lore shook her head. "I am sorry, Balthier, but I do not believe this, and have no interest in discussing it, as you know. You are Glabadosian, and I am Taoist, a follower of the Way; let us leave it at that."
Balthier nodded, and bowed his head slightly. "My apologies for upsetting you, Lore."
Lore returned the bow. "Your apology is accepted, as always, Balthier." She sighed. "The Way is not easily understood, and so your confusion is expected. I should have recalled what you have said of the Glabados. We have no priests, as you do; we have no rituals, as you do. The Way is something that affects your entire life. It is not something that can be easily grasped in a morning walk."
Balthier nodded. "Fair enough."
They walked further in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of Warjilis. Lore pondered the world of the Ronkan Empire, a world filled with people like Balthier who believed in a deity, that their near-annihilation of another race was somehow justified because of their religion. She shook her head; how she could live in the same world as these people was beyond her. Prejudice of that sort was something totally alien to her mindset: the mogri and the Xianese had been far different from the clavats, and yet the three races had managed to find some common ground, and build up off of that. Surely the humans could have done the same, with the elves? She could not fathom them, a race that lived for hundreds of years. The knowledge and wisdom they must have held!
But such was the past; the elves, she understood, had fled the continent for lands unknown. She must look to the present, to understand these people and find a way that some reconciliation could be reached. While her people were often left to their own devices in the Empire, she had heard that some clavats had been branded as "heretics" elsewhere, deeper into the Empire's lands, and burned at the stake for their beliefs. It was difficult to believe that such barbarity could exist among the same people who had invented such mechanical wonders! Such rumors led to concern amongst her people: if they were willing to slay single clavats with impunity, surely they would - some day - come across the Lerner Ocean with their terrible machines, and attempt to subjugate Colianth, to spread their religion to all corners of the known world. If they could not tolerate the elves, perhaps they would come to be intolerable of the clavats, as well...
Lore sighed. That would not happen today, nor tomorrow. And perhaps with the teachings of Ishikaru, she could teach people like Balthier of her people, and prevent such a catastrophe from coming to pass.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Iron Twilight: Contemplating the Thalassian
I will shortly be running a new campaign. I've deemed this new campaign "Iron Twilight: The Fall of the Ronkan Empire," and will detail that particular part of my setting's history.
However, the group I will be running for has no experience with Trinity. In an attempt to introduce them to the setting, I'll be writing a variety of preview pieces that will attempt to convey various aspects of Ronkan life, at the height of their Empire.
This is the first such piece.
[ November 13, 108 RIY ]
[ Arcadia Noble City, Gallione ]
The technologists and "greasemonkies," as they called themselves, had been hard at work on the Thalassian, a 'walker of epic proportions, for the past two years. Standing at fifty feet tall, as wide as a building, limbs as thick as tree-trunks, the Thalassian would be the first 'walker of its size. Unlike other 'walkers, however, the Thalassian had no visible armaments: no guns, no harpoons, no swords. Instead, carabini - arcanically-treated orichalcum - had been inlaid into the plating of the 'walker, which would allow it to invoke magical energies, just as wizards and sorcerers did. The 'walker had no need for conventional weaponry when it could blast the foes of the Empire with fire and lightning; and while the Woodland League had been vanquished over a century ago, the Empire most certainly still had foes, be it monstrosities from the wastes of the Lost or the guerrila movement of the remaining druids hidden within the forests.
Dusk fell, and the various workers - now primarily consisting of mechanics, to put the finishing touches on the enormous construct's movement apparatus, and artificers, who worked tirelessly to imbue their power into the carabini - went to their barracks, save for one: Cidolfus Orlandu, the director of the project. The Thalassian was his vision, his dream; he had presented the plans to the Emperor in Lesalia, and had been granted the funding to proceed; the two years since then, however, had not been so easy, but he and his crew had prevailed. He now walked upon the top of the scaffolding near the Thalassian, and as dusk turned into night over the massive workyard, he contemplated his work, light from the world's twin moons casting an eerie pale upon the metal skin of the machine.
The work had been long and tedious. The dwarves of Zharrae Modan had begun to distance themselves from the rest of the world, and it required much diplomacy on the part of Cidolfus to convince them to part with the vast amounts of orichalcum required. The construction crews were eager enough, but much delicacy was required in the core of the 'walker, in which rested a complex orrery made of charged carabini. Turning the orichalcum into carabini had itself taken months; the artificers had worked day and night for six weeks, each day producing only a small amount of carabini. Working the metal also had its dangers: carabini was absurdly reactive when exposed to machinery, requiring the carabini to be worked by hand. Only three dwarves on Cidolfus' construction crew were able to do the work, and it took them another four weeks to mold the metal into the orrery and the inlays required.
But now, here he was: standing before the almost-complete Thalassian. It was an achievement indicative of the progress of the Ronkan Empire: the ways of the old and the new, of magic and technology, combined into a single entity. Wherever the elves were now, surely they knew that this was to be the result of progress; perhaps it was why they fled.
Tomorrow, the artificers would come in and begin imbuing the carabini with their infusions that would enable the 'walker to invoke the power of magic. They would hold off on placing the final, most powerful infusion, which would wait until the celebration on the 21st, when the Thalassian would be unveiled to the peoples of the Empire. The Emperor and the various Lords of the many City-States would be there: Marquis Elmdor of Limberry; Duke Larg of Gallione; Cardinal Delacroix of Lionel; Duke Goltanna of Zeltennia; Grand Duke Barrington of Fovoham; and Marquise Lorne of Wayverith. No word had come from Zharrae Modan or the Blue Hills, but it would be likely that they would send some dignitary or other to oversee the proceedings.
Cidolfus sighed. He was a descendant of Roywyn Forder, the human inventor who had produced the first schematics for 'walkers. It was her ingenuity that had allowed the Ronkan Empire to overcome the Woodland League, and to show the elves that the human people were not to be subjugated. That was over a hundred years ago; the elves and most of the druids had long since fled the continent, to lands unknown. Since then, the peoples of Distarin had come from across the Lerner Ocean, bringing with them their strange philosophies and foreign customs. Now, here he stood, the great-grandson of Forder, following in her stead, improving upon her designs - and implementing magic into the construction, no less! Magic that had been lost for hundreds of years, its use forbade by the elves.
Certainly there were those humans who continued its use, either with the required druidic sponsor, or somewhere in the vast expanse of the Lost. But only in the past fifty years had the human race begun to use magic extensively once again. Cidolfus shook his head in amazement - the rapidity with which humanity adapted astounded him. It was surely why humanity was Saint Iocus' favored people; the elves had done nothing but stagnate, and the various other peoples of Sarteri were trapped in their ancient ways and customs. The gnomes and moogles seemed adaptable, true enough, but their people seemed to lack the vitality of the human spirit: only humans, it seemed, were able to answer any profession that called upon them; only humans had risen up against oppression and fought against inequity. This was a human land, and these were human times.
But he was worried, as well. The gnomes - the blue gnomes, specifically - had warned in the early months of the project that some things were not meant to be trifled with, that magic and technology were separate for a reason. There was a reason that the two had never been combined before, in the history of the known world, or so they said: when pressed, the gnomes were unable to give these reasons, if there even were any. Nonetheless, as he watched the red and silver sparks that fell every few moments, for seemingly no reason, from the inlays on the limbs of the Thalassian, Cidolfus had to wonder...
"What have we wrought?"
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Thranos and Grakyl, Part III
The Intrepid was a well-crafted ship, despite having been a salvage job. Thranos had done the best he could with the parts available, and it was in the ship's reconstruction that he had met Grakyl. Together, the two cobbled the ship together, and set out into the world. Their first job was a rather menial one, but after that, they were unfortunate enough to be drafted - along with their ship - into the Analytical War, fighting on the side of the analytics. Grakyl managed to engineer an escape, however, and the two successfully fled, along with sufficient supplies to make the Intrepid a fully-functional ship.
It was during their time in the war that Thranos had devised his flight mechanism, which he did not share even with the gremlin. He had installed it himself, when they had time, and the gremlin often referred to it as the "blood box," as Thranos had covered the entire mechanism in a thin sheet of an orichalcum alloy, a red-gold metal. It was the one part of the ship that the gremlin had been expressly forbidden to touch; while Thranos trusted the gremlin with his life, the secrets of its maneuverability were something he did not trust him with.
"Um, Thran?" The gremlin's voice echoed out of the box on Thranos' left. "Th' LeyBrossian's shakin'..."
"I thought ye said she was shiftin' 'fore we took off?" Thranos replied gruffly.
"Yeah, but..." The gremlin seemed uncertain.
Thranos decided to ask the difficult question. "Will she hold tagether?"
The machine was silent for a moment, though Thranos thought he heard a low clicking sound ("Is tha' th' gremlin, or th' ship?" He mused to himself). "Yeah, she'll hold."
"Good." Thranos replied. "I'll set 'er on an easy course. No jerkin' aroun', so she should hold tagether." He mused for a moment, stroking his beard. "What about th' steerin'?"
"Yer blood box?" Grakyl asked, and Thranos thought the gremlin sounded somewhat amused. "Ya don't let me near it, so I dunno."
Thranos rolled his eyes. "Git nex' tae it an' lemme listen, ya li'l bastard."
The machine grew silent for a few moments, then Thranos heard an audible humming, with an occassional click. ("Click... click... click..." Thranos counted the clicks to himself.) "Shif' th' LeyBrossian up a gear." He said, after a few moments.
"She won't go any higher!" The gremlin exclaimed. "I said she was shiftin', an' I meant it!"
Thranos grimaced. ("If th' LeyBrossian can't go up a gear... maybe th' Folkorian 'ssembly?" Thranos was stymied.) "Set th' angular torque on th' Folkorian down ta three an' three quarters on th' main prop, wi' two an' a half on th' secondary."
"Ya want me to shift th' Folkorian down in flight?" Grakyl asked, his voice expressing surprise.
"Ya can shift 'er down by twistin' th' angle bracket on th' steerin' assembly. Twis' ta th' left."
"...I guess I dunno what's wrong." Came a confused and desperate reply. "If ya could tell me, I could get workin' on a solution..."
"Main gear in th' blood box is goin' too fast, by 'bout two rotes a minit." Thranos replied. "Angular torque on th' props is too high."
"But if we lower the torque, th' LeyBrossian's gonna shift up!" The gremlin exclaimed.
"How th' hell did ya rig th' damn thing?" Thranos bellowed. "Ya li'l bastard, did ya rig th' LeyBrossian ta th' angle brackets, or ta th' Folkorian?"
"Both!"
Thranos paused, amazed. ("How th' hell did 'e manage that?" He thought to himself.) "I'd ask ya why ya did tha', but we'll leave 'er be. Steerin' seems ta be fine, so long as we don't havta do anythin' too risky. But when we get th' chance, ye're fixin' this."
A sigh came from the other side of the box. "Fine, fine, whatever ya say, Thran..."
Thranos narrowed his eyes. He was not terribly concerned with how the gremlin performed maintenance on the ship, but if his rigged repairs were extending across the entire ship, that could cause problems if they were in a situation in which they needed to maximize the ship's performance. While he understood that the gremlin did what he could, they needed some hard coin to buy more supplies.
-----
Three hours later, the port city of Cara'nor was visible in the horizon. One of the few seaports of Kahasal, it had a bustling economy, a major center of trade and commerce for the psionic peoples that inhabited the continent of Lotharien. Crytalline buildings bit into the sky near the center of town, amongst which a shoddily-built airdock rested.
The dwarf began to speak the human's name, but Tetra was already on-deck. "I know, Thranos Bluebeard. We will be arriving shortly."
Thranos nodded grimly. "We'll be droppin' ya off 'ere in Cara'nor. We'd take ya ta where ya need ta go, but ye haven't said, an' we've got other plans ta deal wi'."
Tetra nodded. "I'm aware, and I understand. Cara'nor will be sufficient."
"Well, ye best be gittin' down, then. Landin's a bit rough." The dwarf grimaced.
Tetra nodded once more, and headed belowdecks.
"Grakyl!" Thranos yelled into the box. "Git 'er ready fer th' landin'!"
"Um... alright. You think she can take it?" Grakyl's voice was uncertain.
Thranos mused for a bit. The landing pad on the airdock was visible now; the ship was fortunately capable of vertical landing, so the short runway wasn't an issue. ("But if our steerin' goes, we won't be able tae make a good landin'..." The dwarf thought.)
The dwarf sighed. "If th' LeyBrossian starts strippin', jus' let 'er go."
"What!" The gremlin exclaimed. "Ya want me ta le-"
"Jus' do it!" The dwarf roared back. "Ya're not tae blame fer it, since I told ya tae do it. But we gotta make this landin' nice an' neat, an' nice an' neat this dwarf ain't, so we may havta shif' th' steerin' column..." ("Th' steerin' column! A course!") "Th' sixteen-gauge is what's causin' th' problems!"
"Mebbe?" The gremlin's response came slowly.
"Nae, lad, it's got tae be. We kin do this, but ye got ta git ready. Ye're goin' ta havta be quick on yer feet." He paused. "We clear fer landin'?"
The box suddenly erupted in static. "Intrepid, we hear and see you loud and clear. Landing pad two is open. Sending landing parameters now..." The device erupted into a sequence of chirps. ("Damn engine-men, always thinkin' everybody's runnin' wi' their machines...")
"We ain't got a box, so quit yer yappin'!" Thranos bellowed.
The chirping continued, unabated.
"Grakyl!" The dwarf bellowed into the box. "Change th' channel!"
There was a response of some sort, though the dwarf couldn't make it out, and the chirping stopped.
"Arrival time?" The gremlin's voice asked, sounding slightly more distant.
Thranos took a quick glance at the landing pad ahead. They were just about over the shore, now; the sun shone brightly off of the water, and reflected brilliantly off of the crystalline towers in the distance. "I'd say 'bout five minutes, give er take. Takin' 'er slow."
"Righ'." The gremlin replied. "So... how do ya wan' me ta do this?"
The dwarf thought for a long moment, as the ground beneath them continued to pass them by. "We're not usin' th' eighteen-gauge in the LeyBrossian, aye?"
"Yep." The gremlin responded. "We can't go inta fourth gear, so it's not bein' used."
"I want ya ta rip it ou', an' replace th' steerin' column wi' it." Thranos said slowly, to ensure he was understood.
"You want me to what?" The gremlin answered, his voice incredulous.
"Ya heard me." Thranos said. "Replace th' steerin' column."
"Th' LeyBrossian's shakin' already, an' ya want me ta replace th' steerin' column in flight?" Grakyl asked, his pitch raising higher and higher.
The dwarf drew in a deep breath. "If I don' touch th' wheel, she should be good tae go."
"No, no!" The gremlin yelled. "If I take out th' steerin' column, the wheel's gonna fall! Ya gotta hold it in place, perfect-like!"
Thranos smiled. "But ya kin do it, if we were tae do th' repair like that?" His heart began pumping faster.
"Takin' th' eighteen-gauge outta th' LeyBrossian... I dunno, mebbe?" Grakyl replied cautiously. "It might be an angle bracket, an' then we're out a LeyBrossian - cause it's gonna shake itself apart, if we do this - an' then th' blood box'll go, 'cause it's geared ta th' LeyBrossian, an' we ain't got a steerin' column that'll fit... not ta mention th' Folkorian's gonna go..."
"Kin. Ya. Do it." Thranos asked, giving firm voice to each syllable.
There was a high-pitched sigh on the other side of the speaker. "...aye, we kin do it."
Thranos smiled. "Then do it. On th' count a three, I'm gonna grip th' wheel an' hold 'er perfec'ly steady, an' yer gonna take th' eighteen-gauge outta th' LeyBrossian, an' replace th' steerin' column wi' it."
"She's gonna be rough." Grakyl replied, somewhat more calm than before.
"Oh, aye, I ken." Thranos answered, still smiling widely. "This is th' sorta thing I live for. Ready?"
"Aye, ready."
"One."
Pause.
"Two."
Pause.
"Three."
It was during their time in the war that Thranos had devised his flight mechanism, which he did not share even with the gremlin. He had installed it himself, when they had time, and the gremlin often referred to it as the "blood box," as Thranos had covered the entire mechanism in a thin sheet of an orichalcum alloy, a red-gold metal. It was the one part of the ship that the gremlin had been expressly forbidden to touch; while Thranos trusted the gremlin with his life, the secrets of its maneuverability were something he did not trust him with.
"Um, Thran?" The gremlin's voice echoed out of the box on Thranos' left. "Th' LeyBrossian's shakin'..."
"I thought ye said she was shiftin' 'fore we took off?" Thranos replied gruffly.
"Yeah, but..." The gremlin seemed uncertain.
Thranos decided to ask the difficult question. "Will she hold tagether?"
The machine was silent for a moment, though Thranos thought he heard a low clicking sound ("Is tha' th' gremlin, or th' ship?" He mused to himself). "Yeah, she'll hold."
"Good." Thranos replied. "I'll set 'er on an easy course. No jerkin' aroun', so she should hold tagether." He mused for a moment, stroking his beard. "What about th' steerin'?"
"Yer blood box?" Grakyl asked, and Thranos thought the gremlin sounded somewhat amused. "Ya don't let me near it, so I dunno."
Thranos rolled his eyes. "Git nex' tae it an' lemme listen, ya li'l bastard."
The machine grew silent for a few moments, then Thranos heard an audible humming, with an occassional click. ("Click... click... click..." Thranos counted the clicks to himself.) "Shif' th' LeyBrossian up a gear." He said, after a few moments.
"She won't go any higher!" The gremlin exclaimed. "I said she was shiftin', an' I meant it!"
Thranos grimaced. ("If th' LeyBrossian can't go up a gear... maybe th' Folkorian 'ssembly?" Thranos was stymied.) "Set th' angular torque on th' Folkorian down ta three an' three quarters on th' main prop, wi' two an' a half on th' secondary."
"Ya want me to shift th' Folkorian down in flight?" Grakyl asked, his voice expressing surprise.
"Ya can shift 'er down by twistin' th' angle bracket on th' steerin' assembly. Twis' ta th' left."
"...I guess I dunno what's wrong." Came a confused and desperate reply. "If ya could tell me, I could get workin' on a solution..."
"Main gear in th' blood box is goin' too fast, by 'bout two rotes a minit." Thranos replied. "Angular torque on th' props is too high."
"But if we lower the torque, th' LeyBrossian's gonna shift up!" The gremlin exclaimed.
"How th' hell did ya rig th' damn thing?" Thranos bellowed. "Ya li'l bastard, did ya rig th' LeyBrossian ta th' angle brackets, or ta th' Folkorian?"
"Both!"
Thranos paused, amazed. ("How th' hell did 'e manage that?" He thought to himself.) "I'd ask ya why ya did tha', but we'll leave 'er be. Steerin' seems ta be fine, so long as we don't havta do anythin' too risky. But when we get th' chance, ye're fixin' this."
A sigh came from the other side of the box. "Fine, fine, whatever ya say, Thran..."
Thranos narrowed his eyes. He was not terribly concerned with how the gremlin performed maintenance on the ship, but if his rigged repairs were extending across the entire ship, that could cause problems if they were in a situation in which they needed to maximize the ship's performance. While he understood that the gremlin did what he could, they needed some hard coin to buy more supplies.
-----
Three hours later, the port city of Cara'nor was visible in the horizon. One of the few seaports of Kahasal, it had a bustling economy, a major center of trade and commerce for the psionic peoples that inhabited the continent of Lotharien. Crytalline buildings bit into the sky near the center of town, amongst which a shoddily-built airdock rested.
The dwarf began to speak the human's name, but Tetra was already on-deck. "I know, Thranos Bluebeard. We will be arriving shortly."
Thranos nodded grimly. "We'll be droppin' ya off 'ere in Cara'nor. We'd take ya ta where ya need ta go, but ye haven't said, an' we've got other plans ta deal wi'."
Tetra nodded. "I'm aware, and I understand. Cara'nor will be sufficient."
"Well, ye best be gittin' down, then. Landin's a bit rough." The dwarf grimaced.
Tetra nodded once more, and headed belowdecks.
"Grakyl!" Thranos yelled into the box. "Git 'er ready fer th' landin'!"
"Um... alright. You think she can take it?" Grakyl's voice was uncertain.
Thranos mused for a bit. The landing pad on the airdock was visible now; the ship was fortunately capable of vertical landing, so the short runway wasn't an issue. ("But if our steerin' goes, we won't be able tae make a good landin'..." The dwarf thought.)
The dwarf sighed. "If th' LeyBrossian starts strippin', jus' let 'er go."
"What!" The gremlin exclaimed. "Ya want me ta le-"
"Jus' do it!" The dwarf roared back. "Ya're not tae blame fer it, since I told ya tae do it. But we gotta make this landin' nice an' neat, an' nice an' neat this dwarf ain't, so we may havta shif' th' steerin' column..." ("Th' steerin' column! A course!") "Th' sixteen-gauge is what's causin' th' problems!"
"Mebbe?" The gremlin's response came slowly.
"Nae, lad, it's got tae be. We kin do this, but ye got ta git ready. Ye're goin' ta havta be quick on yer feet." He paused. "We clear fer landin'?"
The box suddenly erupted in static. "Intrepid, we hear and see you loud and clear. Landing pad two is open. Sending landing parameters now..." The device erupted into a sequence of chirps. ("Damn engine-men, always thinkin' everybody's runnin' wi' their machines...")
"We ain't got a box, so quit yer yappin'!" Thranos bellowed.
The chirping continued, unabated.
"Grakyl!" The dwarf bellowed into the box. "Change th' channel!"
There was a response of some sort, though the dwarf couldn't make it out, and the chirping stopped.
"Arrival time?" The gremlin's voice asked, sounding slightly more distant.
Thranos took a quick glance at the landing pad ahead. They were just about over the shore, now; the sun shone brightly off of the water, and reflected brilliantly off of the crystalline towers in the distance. "I'd say 'bout five minutes, give er take. Takin' 'er slow."
"Righ'." The gremlin replied. "So... how do ya wan' me ta do this?"
The dwarf thought for a long moment, as the ground beneath them continued to pass them by. "We're not usin' th' eighteen-gauge in the LeyBrossian, aye?"
"Yep." The gremlin responded. "We can't go inta fourth gear, so it's not bein' used."
"I want ya ta rip it ou', an' replace th' steerin' column wi' it." Thranos said slowly, to ensure he was understood.
"You want me to what?" The gremlin answered, his voice incredulous.
"Ya heard me." Thranos said. "Replace th' steerin' column."
"Th' LeyBrossian's shakin' already, an' ya want me ta replace th' steerin' column in flight?" Grakyl asked, his pitch raising higher and higher.
The dwarf drew in a deep breath. "If I don' touch th' wheel, she should be good tae go."
"No, no!" The gremlin yelled. "If I take out th' steerin' column, the wheel's gonna fall! Ya gotta hold it in place, perfect-like!"
Thranos smiled. "But ya kin do it, if we were tae do th' repair like that?" His heart began pumping faster.
"Takin' th' eighteen-gauge outta th' LeyBrossian... I dunno, mebbe?" Grakyl replied cautiously. "It might be an angle bracket, an' then we're out a LeyBrossian - cause it's gonna shake itself apart, if we do this - an' then th' blood box'll go, 'cause it's geared ta th' LeyBrossian, an' we ain't got a steerin' column that'll fit... not ta mention th' Folkorian's gonna go..."
"Kin. Ya. Do it." Thranos asked, giving firm voice to each syllable.
There was a high-pitched sigh on the other side of the speaker. "...aye, we kin do it."
Thranos smiled. "Then do it. On th' count a three, I'm gonna grip th' wheel an' hold 'er perfec'ly steady, an' yer gonna take th' eighteen-gauge outta th' LeyBrossian, an' replace th' steerin' column wi' it."
"She's gonna be rough." Grakyl replied, somewhat more calm than before.
"Oh, aye, I ken." Thranos answered, still smiling widely. "This is th' sorta thing I live for. Ready?"
"Aye, ready."
"One."
Pause.
"Two."
Pause.
"Three."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
