All is not right in Bethmoora; good High King Balor of Silver Lance was assassinated for unprovoked reasons not one year ago. All of Bethmoora mourned his grizzly passing; wishing for the high king back or a suitable replacement quickly, before another Faerie War broke out. An erlkin with a small fief in Quiet-Post presented herself to the Parliament of East Tolori as the new candidate. Her name was Nyneve and she seized the crown that very day. She cast down the usurper Oberon as her first act as high queen; her second was to place all members of the Parliament under "indeterminate leave of absence". About six months ago, the folk hero Robin Goodfellow spoke out against her seizure of the crown and turning of Bethmoora into an empire. Nyneve, or by now the Eldritch Queen, arrested good Puck and placed him in Darknettle Prison, at the end of Traveller's Road in the Snow Mountains. The Eldritch Queen enslaved the boggarts and dark elves to make her an army: an army of golden men to control her empire. To help protect this secret project, she set up a spy network and secret police order, called in fearful whispers, the Dark Ones. The Eldritch Queen was, about four weeks ago, about to unveil her construct army when Nuada, bastard son of Titania the Seeress and the enigmatic earl, Lugh, came to Lyonesse, her new capital, and having rescued some of the members of the disbanded Parliament, Announced himself the true high king and declared war on the Eldritch Queen. Nuada, with the funding of a merchant named Stiltskin, formed his rebellion around Eiru Lake. It has been called the Eiru Alliance ever since. The Eldritch Queen, as seen recently, became quite desperate as the Alliance won a series of victories over mercenary armies of trolls and dark elves and her golem army was not yet ready. She did the most dangerous thing done in this century; she went herself deep into the Tristram Woods and spoke to the vile sorcerer Merlin; who agreed to help the Queen only is she would marry him. All political really, Merlin's demand, though Nyneve isn't half-bad looking. Merlin, as agreed on, strode onto the field at the Battle of Lupin Bridge amidst the chaos and blood. No one is sure how or what happened, but not one elf, dwarf, pixie, or troll survived the battle; all seemed to be laid to waste by that loathsome sorcerer. Nuada, and I'm sure the Eldritch Queen both reeled from the destruction wrought at the battle, I dare say the Queen didn't realize what she had awoken and brought on Bethmoora. In desperation, Nuada looked for Oberon, finding the petty pretender huddled in some village near my own home-stead; Avalon was the town. It was just a thick mire of shattered rooftops, muck-filled alleyways, thieves, rapists, and victims. Nuada apparently urged the coward Oberon to join the Alliance. Old Merlin and the Queen seemed to have had an argument, because the battle fought yesterday, you know, the Battle for Tir na Nog, pathetic Oberon shuffled onto the field unhindered and in one piece; and then a miracle happened. Something must have awoken in Oberon, for the skies opened at his command and fire destroyed the Queen's ogres. Nuada, eager to take the throne, pushed on to East Tolori, the old and rightful capital and home of the Lia Fall; but their was suddenly an unexpected twist in the story. Only this morning, Merlin, disgusting as ever with his patched robes and grimy beard, announced to all of Bethmoora that he supported the real claimant to the throne, Arthur, true son of Balor, and took him to take the Sword from the Stone this morning. But did you hear what happened? As little Arthur reached out his hand, he was assassinated! By whom, I'm not sure, no one is. My suspicion is that it was that Uther fellow, the new changeling from across the Wall. Well, I think he did us a service, though Herne and that immortal Genevieve may undue what Pendragon did. Anyways, I wonder, stranger, where you have been these past few months, to not know who the Queen or Nuada are? But 'tis not my business. Well I am off to Nimue, seeing as she is the only sane one in this realm. Would you care to join me? She offers protection to any Danann who comes to her. No? Suit yourself. Pleasure metting you; oh, and stay away from Lyonesse or East Tolori, I hear a great battle is about to take place since Her Majesty's gilded army is ready. Farewell!
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Spaceman
He was found on the seventh day of the month Maius during the reign of Antonius Augustus Pius; half dead and wandering out of the Pictish wilds. Soldiers from the Sixth Legion stationed at The Wall of Hadrian found him and he fell into a deep faint. They took him to their garrison along the Wall, nursing him back to health enough to carry him to Eboracum for more extensive care. The stranger spoke incoherently in a barbarian tongue and his dress was alien and unlike the thick plaid or furs of the Picts. He was also clean-shaven, though a beard was growing in due to his time in the wilderness and his skin lacked the blue war-paintings of the northern Celts. The legionnaires were confounded by the stranger and started to tell stories to each other as they returned to the mighty Wall that divided the civilized world from barbarian wilds. What, they said, could be in the crags and valleys of the Picts? Where did this stranger, barbarian he must be, come from? They now stared out into Scotland with more curiosity and wonder than before. The stranger, every now and then stirring and looking about wildly and stammering in that barbarous tongue, was cared for by the physicians in Eboracum. He silenced rested in the city; no search party was sent out to look for his village or find out from where he came. A message was sent to the governor of Britannia, who decided to visit the stranger. The man was moved to the governor's palace and cared for by his own personal physician. Local experts have examined the man's clothes, and have decided that he must com from the far north of the Pictish lands, as his clothes are of an odd design and texture; neither wool or leather. A report was sent to Rome that included the strange men that is now the talk of the province: no reply has yet come.
Monday, October 31, 2011
The Last: The Beginnings
Hi, my name is Adam Williams. I was born in March 1992 in Lowell, Massachusetts, though I'm not sure that's important, but talking makes me feel comfortable, so I'll continue for just a bit longer. I was going to Boston, studying hard, being a good student, and all that stuff. Well, I was your average college student–er, no I take that back; I was your not-going-to-every-single-party-and-getting-drunk-and-laid college student. I have morales. It was how I was raised. So the other thing that makes me not your average college student is that I broke all the standing speed records in track. I like running, helps me think. Ever since 4th grade I was a good runner. It served me well, having good cardio.
It all began some months ago, I was sitting at my desk trying to study for the upcoming electronics test, but Jeremy, my roommate who is a motivated and esteemed individual who will go on to do great things for the world (... just kidding), was thumping around upstairs in his girlfriend Kitty's room (yep, that's right). I sighed in exasperation, scooched back my soon-to-die office chair, leaving my tome of computer circuitry on my little desk by the bunk bed I shared with ladies' man. I walked to the kitchenette which was filled with restaurant leftovers and Hungry Man meals. I was just about to have a beer Jeremy smuggled into our room when there was a thunderous banging on the door, like Sam down the hall with his shovel. I stuffed the Bud Light back into the contraband drawer in the fridge, and walked over to the door. I opened it to find my godfather, Victor Jonson himself standing before me; unshaven, wearing his staple brown turtle neck and Marines jacket... and wielding a pump-action shotgun. When I was growing up in South Lowell, Victor, my previously stated godfather and retired Vietnam War veteran, lived down the road. My dad was a hard working, white-color type a' guy, so, as you can imagine, rather busy. But because of his hard work, we lived in a sizable house and lived comfortably. Anyway, Victor taught me all kinds of things; I learned to shoot a variety of guns, we went camping and hiking, and all kinds of other related activities. Then at the end of the day he'd tell war stories (like the time he traveled the length of Vietnam on foot with only a fish and a machete, to deliver a package, only to be double-crossed by his employers. He killed a man with the fish.); he then put on either a flick from the 60s or a psychological thriller; grabbed a beer, and promptly fell a sleep on the couch. Those were good days.
"Victor, uh... hi! What's going on? With the gun?" I asked, rather confused and awkward.
"Take this machete, boy, and get inside." Victor shoved a machete (I wonder if it was the machete from the stories) into my uncertain hands, then pushed me inside the dorm, came in himself, closing the door quickly and locking it.
"It's happening, Adam, the pandemic to end everyone." he said, slowly turning to face me; his scars and wrinkles on his tanned skin sitting sharply on his face in the light of my desk lamp.
"Uhhh, what?" I stood, totally lost, the machete hanging loosely in my hands.
"Zombies, boy! Zombies! You can turn on the TV if ya' want, but they won't say anything important." he then walked over to the fridge, rummaging around until he found the beer stash. While he did this I took the remote, turning on the crappy, little TV on the dresser. I flipped through the channels 'til I found Fox News. A Barbie doll was the evening news anchor.
"... The CDC is telling people to stay indoors and to wash their hands and shower frequently. They say a virus might be coming through, they say, passed on from Chinese of Mexican emigrants or illegal aliens. The National Guard has already secured the Mexican border to prevent the further spread of this disease. If you think you have the listed symptoms, it is advised you check in with your local doctor. Thanks, Dave, now back to you for the weather."
"Told ya'." Victor said behind me, beer in hand. I sat on the sofa, lost in the swirling, confused tangle of my thoughts. I jump up, heart in my throat.
"I need to go back to Lowell to get my family!" Grabbing the keys to my Chevy, I ran for the door as Dave chatted calmly about the weather. Victor intercepted me, put an iron hand on my shoulder.
"Adam, your family is safe! You know that little vacation they were going on?" I nodded, trying to calm down, "I used up all my favors and pulled all the strings I could. Instead of goin' to Bermuda, the plane they got on is goin' to Russia. They'll be safe there: your father n' mother, and your sister too." I relaxed, slowly. "It's you I'm worried about, son." I looked up. Turning my head to get one last look at the TV, I saw that a special report was interrupting the normal broadcast. It was saying something about no more intercontinental flights, just for a few days, and New York was being secured and cleansed, seeing how it got hit hard by the virus.
"The hell-!?" I started to say when Victor grabbed my arm firmly, leading me out the door. I protested weakly.
"Leave your stuff, son, I've got enough packed up, just follow me will you!"
I complied, hurring down the hall after my godfather. Heads poked out of dorm rooms as we ran by; it appears others were watching the news. We ran out of the dorm building, across the green campus, to Victor's waiting hummer. He pushed me into the passenger seat, running over into the driver's. Squealing onto the highway, Victor, braking many traffic laws, was working is way out of Boston when he swore, breaking many laws of etiquette. A CDC health checkpoint was already erected in the highway; a horde of cars, the evening traffic, crammed around it. When did that get there? Victor swore again, turning sharply around, hitting several cars with his barricades, speeding off in the opposite direction, soldiers shouting at the people in the cars.
"Where the hell did the soldiers come from?"
"Oh, they've been preparing this for some time now."
"They've known about this?"
"They surmised." Victor shrugged as he ferociously turned the wheel, cursing the civil engineers of Boston for crappy roads.
I slumped into the dark leather of the passenger seat, my world collapsing around me. Looking back on it, that was the hardest part, those first few days. My comfortable college lifestyle, my world view crumbled like those buildings in demolition videos; with dust, debris, and violence. It's not a comfortable thing, paradigms being abruptly destroyed. My mouth hung open as I watched the city I loved so much slowly, a block at a time, become more and more disordered; small changes became evident to me, such as running people, heaps of garbage and debris, spun-out cars, and the noise. Screams and crashes filled the air, coming through the glass of the hummer to me.
"It's happening already, damn it!" Victor swore as he took us steadily south.
"Erm, so what's the plan?" I asked, quite timid, like my sister's rabbit, Bugs.
"We get the hell outta this city, go south to Plymouth. Extraction point there."
I poked my head up just enough to peak out of the window on my side. The western skyline; a bar graph of glass and steel, was engulfed in flames. Thick, black smoke soared above the skyscrapers as the dust of a million feet and a million cars swirled around their bases. In just twenty minutes, my whole freakin' world had fallen into chaos. I blubbered. Then I saw one. It was a man, or actually, used to be a man, clothed in torn reflective work vest, the yellow-white bones of his knees visible through the holes in his filthy pants, his skin a gray-green pallor; dark red gore, like cherry jam, filled his mouth, slopping onto his lacerated chest as his dead, white eyes focused distantly on us and his mouth dropped wider. Victor set his jaw, stepping down on the gas harder than he was. We hit the man-monster, it's ribcage splitting open on the barricade on the front of the car; it's legs were eaten up under the hungry rubber of the tires. A bump and jostle later and we left the thing behind. I had almost ruined my underpants. I expressed my need to relieve myself.
"Ergh, ok here's a gas station. Make it quick."
I hopped contentedly from the massive hummer, skipping the step and jumping right to the ground. I had just started to dash to the bathrooms, which were on the outside of the building, when Victor called out to me.
"Adam!" he barked. I turned, "don't forget the machete!" he tossed the machete out after me.
I caught it by the handle, my hand inches from the finely sharpened steel blade. I winced, glad my catching skills were what they were. I resumed my dash for the bathroom. I debated wether to go inside the store and get the key, or to just kick in the bathroom door, you know what with the collapse of society n' all, who needs keys? I kicked down the door, unleashing my confusion and... well, confusion on the lightweight door. I jarred my knee and ankle, but it was worth it for that satisfying burst of the door and bam as it hit the wall. I was fairly stupid back then. I happily strode in, discarded the blade on the maltreated sink, and proceeded to take care of my business. If I hadn't glanced up at the smudged mirror as I was finishing, the zombie would've had a free breakfast. As it went, I just happened to look as some 500 pound woman crept up on me. I whirled around, screaming like a girl I am embarrassed to say. The zombie stood in between me and my machete. I backed up against the tiled wall my hands slick with sweat, heart pounding in my chest. That red gory stuff slopped out of her mouth as she lumbered toward me, closing the distance in a hungry stride. I did the only thing that I could think of. Victor's lessons flooding back to me, I ducked the zombies' clawed hand and delivered a swift blow to her blubber-protected solar plexus. A sound like when you snap a wet stick after a heavy rain made me freeze. I had broken her plexus in one blow, and yet she didn't even flinch. That was just messed up. I dove under her outstretched arms, rolled across the floor, and jumped up by the sink counter. I almost had my fingers wrapped around the black rubber of the machete handle, when a hand, cold like ice water, clamped onto my upper arm, pulling me back. I cried out, sure that she would sink her broken teeth into my neck, and flailed my arms and fists about in the hope that I would stop this... thing. My fist met her face; I felt her nose shatter under my knuckle and I'm pretty sure I broke her jaw. A yellow tooth fell past my shoulder. I punched again and again; my knuckles aching as I heard wet snapping and cracking, red goo slopping to the ground. The door, which had swung back to cover the doorway, exploded off it's hinges, flying into the stalls with a crashing of twisting metal and cracking door. Victor stood, wreathed in the thin light from the cloudy sky in the doorway, his pump-action shotgun in his gnarled hands.
"Boy!" he roared, "get down!" his face was red, quite red.
I threw myself away from the hungry, dead woman; her face now resembling red Play-doh from my childhood. She took a shuffling step toward Victor, who cooly raised his gun. I covered my ears with my hands, but was to slow; with a crack, the shotgun fired; my ears ringing, leaving me deaf. The woman's head disappeared in a gooey red cloud, splattering the walls with the bright sticky stuff. A piece of pale, gray matter landed on my shoulder. I scrambled away from the corpse as quickly as possible, sweat pouring down my face, matting my hair; chest heaving, eyes on the monster that used to be human. She could have been anybody; a mother, a teacher, a nurse, anyone! I shove these thoughts to the back of my mind, grab my blade, and hurry after Victor back into the hummer. Screams and smoke filled the Boston skyline as we roared down the freeway. I swallow hard.
It all began some months ago, I was sitting at my desk trying to study for the upcoming electronics test, but Jeremy, my roommate who is a motivated and esteemed individual who will go on to do great things for the world (... just kidding), was thumping around upstairs in his girlfriend Kitty's room (yep, that's right). I sighed in exasperation, scooched back my soon-to-die office chair, leaving my tome of computer circuitry on my little desk by the bunk bed I shared with ladies' man. I walked to the kitchenette which was filled with restaurant leftovers and Hungry Man meals. I was just about to have a beer Jeremy smuggled into our room when there was a thunderous banging on the door, like Sam down the hall with his shovel. I stuffed the Bud Light back into the contraband drawer in the fridge, and walked over to the door. I opened it to find my godfather, Victor Jonson himself standing before me; unshaven, wearing his staple brown turtle neck and Marines jacket... and wielding a pump-action shotgun. When I was growing up in South Lowell, Victor, my previously stated godfather and retired Vietnam War veteran, lived down the road. My dad was a hard working, white-color type a' guy, so, as you can imagine, rather busy. But because of his hard work, we lived in a sizable house and lived comfortably. Anyway, Victor taught me all kinds of things; I learned to shoot a variety of guns, we went camping and hiking, and all kinds of other related activities. Then at the end of the day he'd tell war stories (like the time he traveled the length of Vietnam on foot with only a fish and a machete, to deliver a package, only to be double-crossed by his employers. He killed a man with the fish.); he then put on either a flick from the 60s or a psychological thriller; grabbed a beer, and promptly fell a sleep on the couch. Those were good days.
"Victor, uh... hi! What's going on? With the gun?" I asked, rather confused and awkward.
"Take this machete, boy, and get inside." Victor shoved a machete (I wonder if it was the machete from the stories) into my uncertain hands, then pushed me inside the dorm, came in himself, closing the door quickly and locking it.
"It's happening, Adam, the pandemic to end everyone." he said, slowly turning to face me; his scars and wrinkles on his tanned skin sitting sharply on his face in the light of my desk lamp.
"Uhhh, what?" I stood, totally lost, the machete hanging loosely in my hands.
"Zombies, boy! Zombies! You can turn on the TV if ya' want, but they won't say anything important." he then walked over to the fridge, rummaging around until he found the beer stash. While he did this I took the remote, turning on the crappy, little TV on the dresser. I flipped through the channels 'til I found Fox News. A Barbie doll was the evening news anchor.
"... The CDC is telling people to stay indoors and to wash their hands and shower frequently. They say a virus might be coming through, they say, passed on from Chinese of Mexican emigrants or illegal aliens. The National Guard has already secured the Mexican border to prevent the further spread of this disease. If you think you have the listed symptoms, it is advised you check in with your local doctor. Thanks, Dave, now back to you for the weather."
"Told ya'." Victor said behind me, beer in hand. I sat on the sofa, lost in the swirling, confused tangle of my thoughts. I jump up, heart in my throat.
"I need to go back to Lowell to get my family!" Grabbing the keys to my Chevy, I ran for the door as Dave chatted calmly about the weather. Victor intercepted me, put an iron hand on my shoulder.
"Adam, your family is safe! You know that little vacation they were going on?" I nodded, trying to calm down, "I used up all my favors and pulled all the strings I could. Instead of goin' to Bermuda, the plane they got on is goin' to Russia. They'll be safe there: your father n' mother, and your sister too." I relaxed, slowly. "It's you I'm worried about, son." I looked up. Turning my head to get one last look at the TV, I saw that a special report was interrupting the normal broadcast. It was saying something about no more intercontinental flights, just for a few days, and New York was being secured and cleansed, seeing how it got hit hard by the virus.
"The hell-!?" I started to say when Victor grabbed my arm firmly, leading me out the door. I protested weakly.
"Leave your stuff, son, I've got enough packed up, just follow me will you!"
I complied, hurring down the hall after my godfather. Heads poked out of dorm rooms as we ran by; it appears others were watching the news. We ran out of the dorm building, across the green campus, to Victor's waiting hummer. He pushed me into the passenger seat, running over into the driver's. Squealing onto the highway, Victor, braking many traffic laws, was working is way out of Boston when he swore, breaking many laws of etiquette. A CDC health checkpoint was already erected in the highway; a horde of cars, the evening traffic, crammed around it. When did that get there? Victor swore again, turning sharply around, hitting several cars with his barricades, speeding off in the opposite direction, soldiers shouting at the people in the cars.
"Where the hell did the soldiers come from?"
"Oh, they've been preparing this for some time now."
"They've known about this?"
"They surmised." Victor shrugged as he ferociously turned the wheel, cursing the civil engineers of Boston for crappy roads.
I slumped into the dark leather of the passenger seat, my world collapsing around me. Looking back on it, that was the hardest part, those first few days. My comfortable college lifestyle, my world view crumbled like those buildings in demolition videos; with dust, debris, and violence. It's not a comfortable thing, paradigms being abruptly destroyed. My mouth hung open as I watched the city I loved so much slowly, a block at a time, become more and more disordered; small changes became evident to me, such as running people, heaps of garbage and debris, spun-out cars, and the noise. Screams and crashes filled the air, coming through the glass of the hummer to me.
"It's happening already, damn it!" Victor swore as he took us steadily south.
"Erm, so what's the plan?" I asked, quite timid, like my sister's rabbit, Bugs.
"We get the hell outta this city, go south to Plymouth. Extraction point there."
I poked my head up just enough to peak out of the window on my side. The western skyline; a bar graph of glass and steel, was engulfed in flames. Thick, black smoke soared above the skyscrapers as the dust of a million feet and a million cars swirled around their bases. In just twenty minutes, my whole freakin' world had fallen into chaos. I blubbered. Then I saw one. It was a man, or actually, used to be a man, clothed in torn reflective work vest, the yellow-white bones of his knees visible through the holes in his filthy pants, his skin a gray-green pallor; dark red gore, like cherry jam, filled his mouth, slopping onto his lacerated chest as his dead, white eyes focused distantly on us and his mouth dropped wider. Victor set his jaw, stepping down on the gas harder than he was. We hit the man-monster, it's ribcage splitting open on the barricade on the front of the car; it's legs were eaten up under the hungry rubber of the tires. A bump and jostle later and we left the thing behind. I had almost ruined my underpants. I expressed my need to relieve myself.
"Ergh, ok here's a gas station. Make it quick."
I hopped contentedly from the massive hummer, skipping the step and jumping right to the ground. I had just started to dash to the bathrooms, which were on the outside of the building, when Victor called out to me.
"Adam!" he barked. I turned, "don't forget the machete!" he tossed the machete out after me.
I caught it by the handle, my hand inches from the finely sharpened steel blade. I winced, glad my catching skills were what they were. I resumed my dash for the bathroom. I debated wether to go inside the store and get the key, or to just kick in the bathroom door, you know what with the collapse of society n' all, who needs keys? I kicked down the door, unleashing my confusion and... well, confusion on the lightweight door. I jarred my knee and ankle, but it was worth it for that satisfying burst of the door and bam as it hit the wall. I was fairly stupid back then. I happily strode in, discarded the blade on the maltreated sink, and proceeded to take care of my business. If I hadn't glanced up at the smudged mirror as I was finishing, the zombie would've had a free breakfast. As it went, I just happened to look as some 500 pound woman crept up on me. I whirled around, screaming like a girl I am embarrassed to say. The zombie stood in between me and my machete. I backed up against the tiled wall my hands slick with sweat, heart pounding in my chest. That red gory stuff slopped out of her mouth as she lumbered toward me, closing the distance in a hungry stride. I did the only thing that I could think of. Victor's lessons flooding back to me, I ducked the zombies' clawed hand and delivered a swift blow to her blubber-protected solar plexus. A sound like when you snap a wet stick after a heavy rain made me freeze. I had broken her plexus in one blow, and yet she didn't even flinch. That was just messed up. I dove under her outstretched arms, rolled across the floor, and jumped up by the sink counter. I almost had my fingers wrapped around the black rubber of the machete handle, when a hand, cold like ice water, clamped onto my upper arm, pulling me back. I cried out, sure that she would sink her broken teeth into my neck, and flailed my arms and fists about in the hope that I would stop this... thing. My fist met her face; I felt her nose shatter under my knuckle and I'm pretty sure I broke her jaw. A yellow tooth fell past my shoulder. I punched again and again; my knuckles aching as I heard wet snapping and cracking, red goo slopping to the ground. The door, which had swung back to cover the doorway, exploded off it's hinges, flying into the stalls with a crashing of twisting metal and cracking door. Victor stood, wreathed in the thin light from the cloudy sky in the doorway, his pump-action shotgun in his gnarled hands.
"Boy!" he roared, "get down!" his face was red, quite red.
I threw myself away from the hungry, dead woman; her face now resembling red Play-doh from my childhood. She took a shuffling step toward Victor, who cooly raised his gun. I covered my ears with my hands, but was to slow; with a crack, the shotgun fired; my ears ringing, leaving me deaf. The woman's head disappeared in a gooey red cloud, splattering the walls with the bright sticky stuff. A piece of pale, gray matter landed on my shoulder. I scrambled away from the corpse as quickly as possible, sweat pouring down my face, matting my hair; chest heaving, eyes on the monster that used to be human. She could have been anybody; a mother, a teacher, a nurse, anyone! I shove these thoughts to the back of my mind, grab my blade, and hurry after Victor back into the hummer. Screams and smoke filled the Boston skyline as we roared down the freeway. I swallow hard.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
The Steam-Power of Byzantium
"Michael, what do the scouts' report?" Cosmas shouted up at the watchman on the outcropping of rock. The arid landscape spread around Cosmas, veils of sand wreathing the gentle waves of hills, like disturbed fabric. The sun shone down on the Byzantine troops, the dry wind carrying the faintest hint of the ocean.
"Three Arab battalions, cavalry by the looks of it. Coming fast in a pincer formation!" Michael called, he then raised his telescope back up to his eye.
Cosmas turned, helmet under his arm, to his small troop of Cataphracts and Effigies, signaling Ioannis to start the the engines of the great war machines. Pillars of smoke shot up into the air as the near a dozen Cataphracts, heavily armored battle walkers, came to life, steam engines rumbling, shaking the stony ground beneath Cosmas's feet; the sun shining of their golden plating. The Effigies, mechanical, steam-powered animals; lions and bulls mostly, prowled and huffed at the ground, while the infantry men, clad in their cuirass and spathions at their sides. A dark smudge appeared on the horizon, a great plume of dust behind them, racing steadily toward them. Ioannis's called from the view port of his Cataphract.
"When shall we fire, Captain?"
Cosmas looked at the advancing army and the closing distance between them; "Once they reach those rocks, unleash a volley." he gestured with his free hand at the pile stones, Ioannis nodded and spread the word among the men.
Cosmas placed his steel cap on his head, shouldered his ballista, and descended the hillock, down to take his position in the back with the infantry; a wall of golden steel protecting them from any arrows from the Muslims. Cosmas was joined by Ignatios, his second in command, who was shoving the second bit of cork in his ears. Cosmas did the the same, the pieces of cork protecting the soldiers' ears from the initial bombard of the Cataphracts' cannons. The Arabs could be seen by the naked eye now; rushing towards them, scimitars flashing, wearing their robes and turbans, their war cries carrying across the desert waste. The first camel archers reached the pile of rock, a few arrows pinging off the flanks of the Byzantine war machines. Ioannis looked back at Cosmas, who nodded. The columns of smoke burst from the smokestacks as the engines revved harder, the guns of the Cataphracts raised up with the hiss of steam and hydraulic pistons; the barrels of steel leveling out, aimed at the enemy cavalry. There was a few seconds of stillness; the wind blew, the Arabs charged forward. Then the guns fired. With a thunder that shook the earth, Cosmas and his soldiers had to steady themselves; the very air destroyed by the explosions of the cannons, great fiery clouds erupting from the cannons. The legs of the walkers trembled, the array of pistons absorbing the shock of the blasts. The three thousand Arabs disappeared in bursts of sand and fire as the great metal shells hit the loose earth; men and camels hurled into the air or simply destroyed by it's power. The initial bombard ceased; the crews reloading the guns, Cosmas signaled the Toxotai to ready their ballistas, so as to pick off any Arab who escaped the firing range of the machines. Another volley of explosions rippled down the line of Cataphracts; more Arabs fell to the crimson sand, the very earth blown out from under them. Cosmas turned his eyes away from the slaughter, these bombards always bothered him and the great destruction they caused, even when they killed followers of Mohammed. Toxotai's ballistas cracked, smoke spewing from their barrels, small, sharpened pieces of metal flying from them, into camel warriors who had avoided the shells. At last Cosmas raised his hand, signaling an end to the carnage. The guns stopped, gray wisps drifting from the barrels. The soldiers removed their corks, ears ringing in the silence after the battle. A couple dozen Arabs retreated, fleeing as far from the guns as they could, leaving their wounded and dying comrades in the sand. Cosmas strode forward, Ignatios following behind, and stood in front of the Cataphracts.
"Warriors of Arabia, do you surrender to us?" Cosmas hailed them.
A voice shouted something in Arabic, Cosmas turned to Michael, who had joined him from the hill.
"They so indeed surrender and only wish to take their dead and wounded in peace." Michael said to his captain.
"Certainly, they may take their men and depart in peace."
Michael shouted across the wastes at the Arabs, translating what Cosmas had said. The Arabs dismounted, moving hesitantly forward over the sands, fearful of the guns. The Cataphracts didn't move, the smoke rising idly into the summer sky as the Muslims gathered their fallen, which were many, as the Byzantines looked on. Cosmas turned to his men.
"Louke, fetch me a courier bird, I want to tell Strategos Isaac the border is safe as soon as possible. Then start back to Constantinople."
The men cheered at the sound of home, life in the in Syria was rough, even with the Byzantine technologies. A bath, real food, and a bed sounded quite right now. Loukos ran to where the pigeons were kept, the smart birds waited patiently for their next task. Cosmas soon had one perched eagerly on his greave; he slipped the message in the bird's holster.
"Bring this to Strategos Isaac in Antioch. Fly fast." he ordered the bird. The pigeon cocked it's head, then shot up into the air, and away. Cosmas climbed inside his own Cataphract, a faster, lighter variety used more for transport than front-line combat, Ignatios already at the controls, hands working the levers and valves.
"Head for Damascus, we'll resupply there, then onto Antioch and home." Cosmas said to his friend as he took of his helmet. Ignatios nodded, pulling levers and turning crancks.
With a swoosh of air and steam, the whole company of war machines turned, and marched with metal legs, to Damascus.
"Three Arab battalions, cavalry by the looks of it. Coming fast in a pincer formation!" Michael called, he then raised his telescope back up to his eye.
Cosmas turned, helmet under his arm, to his small troop of Cataphracts and Effigies, signaling Ioannis to start the the engines of the great war machines. Pillars of smoke shot up into the air as the near a dozen Cataphracts, heavily armored battle walkers, came to life, steam engines rumbling, shaking the stony ground beneath Cosmas's feet; the sun shining of their golden plating. The Effigies, mechanical, steam-powered animals; lions and bulls mostly, prowled and huffed at the ground, while the infantry men, clad in their cuirass and spathions at their sides. A dark smudge appeared on the horizon, a great plume of dust behind them, racing steadily toward them. Ioannis's called from the view port of his Cataphract.
"When shall we fire, Captain?"
Cosmas looked at the advancing army and the closing distance between them; "Once they reach those rocks, unleash a volley." he gestured with his free hand at the pile stones, Ioannis nodded and spread the word among the men.
Cosmas placed his steel cap on his head, shouldered his ballista, and descended the hillock, down to take his position in the back with the infantry; a wall of golden steel protecting them from any arrows from the Muslims. Cosmas was joined by Ignatios, his second in command, who was shoving the second bit of cork in his ears. Cosmas did the the same, the pieces of cork protecting the soldiers' ears from the initial bombard of the Cataphracts' cannons. The Arabs could be seen by the naked eye now; rushing towards them, scimitars flashing, wearing their robes and turbans, their war cries carrying across the desert waste. The first camel archers reached the pile of rock, a few arrows pinging off the flanks of the Byzantine war machines. Ioannis looked back at Cosmas, who nodded. The columns of smoke burst from the smokestacks as the engines revved harder, the guns of the Cataphracts raised up with the hiss of steam and hydraulic pistons; the barrels of steel leveling out, aimed at the enemy cavalry. There was a few seconds of stillness; the wind blew, the Arabs charged forward. Then the guns fired. With a thunder that shook the earth, Cosmas and his soldiers had to steady themselves; the very air destroyed by the explosions of the cannons, great fiery clouds erupting from the cannons. The legs of the walkers trembled, the array of pistons absorbing the shock of the blasts. The three thousand Arabs disappeared in bursts of sand and fire as the great metal shells hit the loose earth; men and camels hurled into the air or simply destroyed by it's power. The initial bombard ceased; the crews reloading the guns, Cosmas signaled the Toxotai to ready their ballistas, so as to pick off any Arab who escaped the firing range of the machines. Another volley of explosions rippled down the line of Cataphracts; more Arabs fell to the crimson sand, the very earth blown out from under them. Cosmas turned his eyes away from the slaughter, these bombards always bothered him and the great destruction they caused, even when they killed followers of Mohammed. Toxotai's ballistas cracked, smoke spewing from their barrels, small, sharpened pieces of metal flying from them, into camel warriors who had avoided the shells. At last Cosmas raised his hand, signaling an end to the carnage. The guns stopped, gray wisps drifting from the barrels. The soldiers removed their corks, ears ringing in the silence after the battle. A couple dozen Arabs retreated, fleeing as far from the guns as they could, leaving their wounded and dying comrades in the sand. Cosmas strode forward, Ignatios following behind, and stood in front of the Cataphracts.
"Warriors of Arabia, do you surrender to us?" Cosmas hailed them.
A voice shouted something in Arabic, Cosmas turned to Michael, who had joined him from the hill.
"They so indeed surrender and only wish to take their dead and wounded in peace." Michael said to his captain.
"Certainly, they may take their men and depart in peace."
Michael shouted across the wastes at the Arabs, translating what Cosmas had said. The Arabs dismounted, moving hesitantly forward over the sands, fearful of the guns. The Cataphracts didn't move, the smoke rising idly into the summer sky as the Muslims gathered their fallen, which were many, as the Byzantines looked on. Cosmas turned to his men.
"Louke, fetch me a courier bird, I want to tell Strategos Isaac the border is safe as soon as possible. Then start back to Constantinople."
The men cheered at the sound of home, life in the in Syria was rough, even with the Byzantine technologies. A bath, real food, and a bed sounded quite right now. Loukos ran to where the pigeons were kept, the smart birds waited patiently for their next task. Cosmas soon had one perched eagerly on his greave; he slipped the message in the bird's holster.
"Bring this to Strategos Isaac in Antioch. Fly fast." he ordered the bird. The pigeon cocked it's head, then shot up into the air, and away. Cosmas climbed inside his own Cataphract, a faster, lighter variety used more for transport than front-line combat, Ignatios already at the controls, hands working the levers and valves.
"Head for Damascus, we'll resupply there, then onto Antioch and home." Cosmas said to his friend as he took of his helmet. Ignatios nodded, pulling levers and turning crancks.
With a swoosh of air and steam, the whole company of war machines turned, and marched with metal legs, to Damascus.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Philadelphia, 2032 AD
Philadelphia, 2032 AD
Aiden Rumerez walked down the little alley, rain pattering on his hat and coat, the golden lights from the skytowers of the upper city making them look like drops of gold. Taking another bite of his pastry grateful for the food after the long meeting, he was taking a shortcut he often took which led in between two apartments, when he herd the softest noise, like a cat skulking, trying not to be noticed. A car speeded by on the street behind him. The hover lamps flickered.
"What corrupts, Aiden? Is it money?" Aiden jumped, dropping his pastry on the slick pavement. A man appeared out of the shadows lying against the apartments. He wore a duster as dark as the gloom he stood by; fingerless gloves were wrapped around his hands, and dull boots on his feet. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses even though it was night; a cigarette stuck out of his mouth. He looked like any common retro-styled street urchin, probably a gang fighter. Aiden's heart pounded in his chest as he stood there unsure of what to do.
"Money doesn't corrupt; it's an object. It is neutral. But objects can be abused by people, the wrong people." the urchin spoke again in his quiet, husky voice.
"L-look if you want money... " Aiden said this as he reached for the TX1 handgun he had in the back of his belt.
"I don't want your money, Aiden, and you'll stop reaching for that gun. You know what corrupts? Power. Power corrupts. You are filled with it. But if I kill you, does that make me corrupt? Am I doing a good and just thing; maybe. Am I no better than you for doing so? I'll probably never know the answer, but I must do what's been put in front of me. What were you promised?"
"W-what?" Aiden stammered.
"The executives of PharmaTech promised you money and something else. What did they promise you!"
"I-i th-they... !" sweat rolled down Aiden's forehead. The stranger lifted a finger to his lips.
"I already know: a promotion and you were to be relocated to a safe location. Is that why you took the bribe? Let those companies kill all those people. You are corrupt, Aiden, and it was time you were weeded out." the urchin lifted his hand; Aiden's handgun lifted out of his back pocket seemingly of it's own volition, floating to rest pointed at his temple. Aiden's hand then raised up, grasping the gun. Aiden was frozen, wide eyed and urine streaming down his suit pants.
"Then I'll go and plant neurionite in your house."
"What are you! Why are you doing this!"
"I'm a gardener, Aiden, and you are a weed."
Aiden's finger pulled the trigger.
Aiden Rumerez walked down the little alley, rain pattering on his hat and coat, the golden lights from the skytowers of the upper city making them look like drops of gold. Taking another bite of his pastry grateful for the food after the long meeting, he was taking a shortcut he often took which led in between two apartments, when he herd the softest noise, like a cat skulking, trying not to be noticed. A car speeded by on the street behind him. The hover lamps flickered.
"What corrupts, Aiden? Is it money?" Aiden jumped, dropping his pastry on the slick pavement. A man appeared out of the shadows lying against the apartments. He wore a duster as dark as the gloom he stood by; fingerless gloves were wrapped around his hands, and dull boots on his feet. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses even though it was night; a cigarette stuck out of his mouth. He looked like any common retro-styled street urchin, probably a gang fighter. Aiden's heart pounded in his chest as he stood there unsure of what to do.
"Money doesn't corrupt; it's an object. It is neutral. But objects can be abused by people, the wrong people." the urchin spoke again in his quiet, husky voice.
"L-look if you want money... " Aiden said this as he reached for the TX1 handgun he had in the back of his belt.
"I don't want your money, Aiden, and you'll stop reaching for that gun. You know what corrupts? Power. Power corrupts. You are filled with it. But if I kill you, does that make me corrupt? Am I doing a good and just thing; maybe. Am I no better than you for doing so? I'll probably never know the answer, but I must do what's been put in front of me. What were you promised?"
"W-what?" Aiden stammered.
"The executives of PharmaTech promised you money and something else. What did they promise you!"
"I-i th-they... !" sweat rolled down Aiden's forehead. The stranger lifted a finger to his lips.
"I already know: a promotion and you were to be relocated to a safe location. Is that why you took the bribe? Let those companies kill all those people. You are corrupt, Aiden, and it was time you were weeded out." the urchin lifted his hand; Aiden's handgun lifted out of his back pocket seemingly of it's own volition, floating to rest pointed at his temple. Aiden's hand then raised up, grasping the gun. Aiden was frozen, wide eyed and urine streaming down his suit pants.
"Then I'll go and plant neurionite in your house."
"What are you! Why are you doing this!"
"I'm a gardener, Aiden, and you are a weed."
Aiden's finger pulled the trigger.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Jaalin Tal
Jaalin hauled the bucket of water from the well, cold, spring water sloshing onto his feet and the soft, bright grass. He carried the bucket along the little dirt path, past fields of young wheat and delicious smelling corn. A great mastiff came bounding up from a farmer's cottage, his tail wagging and tongue hanging out of his head. The dog bounded up, nearly knocking Jaalin over, who just laughed and scratched the dog behind his ear. Jaalin continued on his way, passing under the wall that encircled the town where he lived; the trading town of Kingsford. He looked up as his leather boots plodded on the cobblestone street, he saw the King's city of Anverd, the great city and capital of Anveria, sitting on the hill some miles across the plains from the town. He sighed, that was where he was going in just two days to become a page in the King's Army, later to become a warrior, a great swordsman perhaps. Horsemen clattered past on errands for the King; merchants were setting up there stalls with colorful wares from all over the Eastern Continent and even from far away Keir; a cohort marched past, going to the Ethleden Marches no doubt; children an about in the street as men and women did business together and the elderly strode about or sat on the steps to houses. Jaalin kept walking, out of the town and to a farmhouse on the other side. It was a comfortable place with a wooden fence and a gate, a heavy oak door led into the house and a gravel path led up to it, there was an aged barn and a small yard in front of the house. The villa itself was made of good lumber and had two glass windows watching the paved road to Anverd. Jaalin's mother was by the fire, feeding the hungry flames logs from behind the house. Jaalin walked past his baby sister, who sat on the floorboards playing with wooden people. His father must be in the barn tending to the cows, chicken and pigs. His grandmother must be upstairs sewing. Jaalin thumped the bucket on the wood of the floor as he lowered it down. His mother looked up from the growing fire and smiled at him.
"Thank you, Jaalin. Once this dry spell is over you shall be able to draw water from the well down the road. Ail and Faranagan are helping Father in the barn, so I think you can rest this evening."
"Excellent! The other boys are going to practice with their swords in the town green!"
Jaalin dashed up stairs to get his practice sword. He stopped in front of the mirror hanging just inside his parent's open bedroom, it was a marriage gift from his father to his city-born mother. Jaalin saw a lean young man with tidy dark brown hair, even darker brows, blue eyes like the sky at noon, a strong nose, a pointed jaw, and wearing a fine tunic and trousers tucked into leather boots. Jaalin was pleased also with the progress of his whispery beard; he would have a full one hopefully in a year for his sixteenth birthday. Many of the girls in town seemed to hope for a proposal from him in a year too. Jaalin stepped into his room, floorboards creaking, and went past his simple bed to the shelf holding his most valued possessions: the straw blob-man his sister had made for him; the rock he was sure had sapphires in it; the arrowhead he had found in the woods, which he was convinced was Archaic Sakaedian; the knife his father had given him when he was ten, though right now it was on his hip; and his practice sword, he didn't have a real sword yet. Jaalin took it, strapped it to his belt and ran down stairs and out the door. He jogged along the stone road to the green, he could see the other boys already gathering there. He ran faster and had just reached them and was about to greet his friends when a klaxon filled the air. His heart sank, he knew what this meant. He and the boys and all the farmers walked along the road to town, meeting everyone else at the town square. Jaalin looked up at the statue of Lord Theith, founder of the fortress of Kingsford. A distant humming filled the air and after a minute Jaalin could see a number of black shapes speeding down the road to town. The humming grew louder and the shapes larger until Jaalin could make out a company of men riding those flying carts. They stopped in front of the gathered town, the company of armor-suit wearing soldiers dismounted their hover-bikes, faces hidden behind metal helmets and glowing blue eye-slits. The insignia of the United System Governance was emblazoned on the bikes. Captain James retracted his visor, the different parts sliding back into his suit, to reveal his clean shaven face. Lord Dryan Laa pushed forward through the crowd, accompanied by foot soldiers.
"What is it, Captain? As you probably already know, we are going through a drought, Durandian troops are gathering in Ethleden Pass, and we've lost several mines due to floods in our silver mines. Captain James snorted.
"Don't worry, We have our eye on Duranda."
Jaalin doubted that they really cared though.
"The Interplanetary Congress has issued a order for more recruits for the Navy. The recruits shall be from all worlds of the USG, including Ceres."
Jaalin and everyone native to this world called it Belfas, but the invaders called it Ceres. Jaalin thought it was one of their gods or something.
"The Navy Recruitment Office has compiled a list of young men from the Anverian sector of Ceres. Please step forward if your name is called." a blue image sprang up in front of his face from a light on his suit's forearm. It was a list.
He barked out names of men Jaalin knew, he stood there as he saw Suril the blacksmith, Horst, and Thene the warrior. And suddenly,
"Tal, Jaalin."
A visible wave rippled through the crowd, eyes were turned toward Jaalin. He took a stumbling step forward when his father pushed his way through the crowd.
"Wait, Captain, he just a boy, not yet sixteen! You can't expect him to be useful... up there." Aar, Jaalin's father glanced up to the sky as he said the last part.
"Mr... Aar, the USG Navy has need of able-bodied young men. It's nothing, just someone to change the plasma fission cells in a battlecruiser's engines and to sling arc-torches to repair ships. He'll be learning valuable skills and serving his nation. Besides it says here he is to become a warrior to your 'king'. Heres his chance."
So without a chance to say goodbye, Jaalin was taken by the soldiers away from everyone he had ever known; his family, his friends, his chance to be a swordsman, and the town of Kingsford. A great transport ship descended from the clouds, it's silvery metal hull gleaming the sun, the United System Governance crest visible. It hovered above the rooftops of the town square, the townsfolk watching in silent anxiety. A circular hatch opened on the bottom of the craft and an eerie blue light shot from it. Captain James motioned for the other soldiers to follow him as he walked into it, and disappeared. The faceless, black greatcoat wearing, soldiers formed a line, each guiding a victim into the blue light. Jaalin was last, as he was pushed nearer, his reluctant feet dragging on the stones. He shut his eyes as the tunnel of blue was just a foot away. He clenched his teeth expecting some horrible, strange sensation. But when he opened his eyes he was standing in a sizable metal room with metal seats lining the walls. Men from all over Anveria filled these seats; simple men wearing tunics or robes or blacksmith aprons. They were all snatched from their homes and families by the USG troops just like Jaalin. Jaalin was shoved into a seat by a soldier, who then walked past, through a metal door, which closed behind him. The men were left alone as they heard the thrum of the rockets as they flew up through the sky. Jaalin felt queasy at the thought of all that empty void beneath the thin layer of metal.
These metal-wearing strangers had come to Belfas some decades ago, appearing in the sky with their great metal boats and longships. People from across the Western Continent worshiped them as gods, but the magus at Anverd told the citizens of Anveria they were a race of men from a land in the Far North. The kingdom of Felfeiran welcomed the newcomers with their advanced technology and worshiped them. But there was a coup in Felfeiran, the new king demanded the invaders leave his kingdom. He then prepared for war when they did not. It was terrible, Jaalin had heard first hand accounts of it, a little ship flew over Felfeiran's capital with the royal army inside and cannons arrayed on it's walls. The little ship opened it's hull and a great, brilliant red column of fire shot down from the opening, destroying the city in one hit. Even after that the USG only came again, to every kingdom and empire except possibly the Three Great Powers, to tell them their world, Ceres as they called it, was now a USG world. The common folk weren't impressed. But the USG had never come and taken young men away. Jaalin wondered what was going to happen to him as he sat there in lonely misery; the ship jumping into a wormhole as it cleared the atmosphere. James voiced came from a speaker on the ceiling.
"We'll be arriving at Parvati at 0745 hours."
"Thank you, Jaalin. Once this dry spell is over you shall be able to draw water from the well down the road. Ail and Faranagan are helping Father in the barn, so I think you can rest this evening."
"Excellent! The other boys are going to practice with their swords in the town green!"
Jaalin dashed up stairs to get his practice sword. He stopped in front of the mirror hanging just inside his parent's open bedroom, it was a marriage gift from his father to his city-born mother. Jaalin saw a lean young man with tidy dark brown hair, even darker brows, blue eyes like the sky at noon, a strong nose, a pointed jaw, and wearing a fine tunic and trousers tucked into leather boots. Jaalin was pleased also with the progress of his whispery beard; he would have a full one hopefully in a year for his sixteenth birthday. Many of the girls in town seemed to hope for a proposal from him in a year too. Jaalin stepped into his room, floorboards creaking, and went past his simple bed to the shelf holding his most valued possessions: the straw blob-man his sister had made for him; the rock he was sure had sapphires in it; the arrowhead he had found in the woods, which he was convinced was Archaic Sakaedian; the knife his father had given him when he was ten, though right now it was on his hip; and his practice sword, he didn't have a real sword yet. Jaalin took it, strapped it to his belt and ran down stairs and out the door. He jogged along the stone road to the green, he could see the other boys already gathering there. He ran faster and had just reached them and was about to greet his friends when a klaxon filled the air. His heart sank, he knew what this meant. He and the boys and all the farmers walked along the road to town, meeting everyone else at the town square. Jaalin looked up at the statue of Lord Theith, founder of the fortress of Kingsford. A distant humming filled the air and after a minute Jaalin could see a number of black shapes speeding down the road to town. The humming grew louder and the shapes larger until Jaalin could make out a company of men riding those flying carts. They stopped in front of the gathered town, the company of armor-suit wearing soldiers dismounted their hover-bikes, faces hidden behind metal helmets and glowing blue eye-slits. The insignia of the United System Governance was emblazoned on the bikes. Captain James retracted his visor, the different parts sliding back into his suit, to reveal his clean shaven face. Lord Dryan Laa pushed forward through the crowd, accompanied by foot soldiers.
"What is it, Captain? As you probably already know, we are going through a drought, Durandian troops are gathering in Ethleden Pass, and we've lost several mines due to floods in our silver mines. Captain James snorted.
"Don't worry, We have our eye on Duranda."
Jaalin doubted that they really cared though.
"The Interplanetary Congress has issued a order for more recruits for the Navy. The recruits shall be from all worlds of the USG, including Ceres."
Jaalin and everyone native to this world called it Belfas, but the invaders called it Ceres. Jaalin thought it was one of their gods or something.
"The Navy Recruitment Office has compiled a list of young men from the Anverian sector of Ceres. Please step forward if your name is called." a blue image sprang up in front of his face from a light on his suit's forearm. It was a list.
He barked out names of men Jaalin knew, he stood there as he saw Suril the blacksmith, Horst, and Thene the warrior. And suddenly,
"Tal, Jaalin."
A visible wave rippled through the crowd, eyes were turned toward Jaalin. He took a stumbling step forward when his father pushed his way through the crowd.
"Wait, Captain, he just a boy, not yet sixteen! You can't expect him to be useful... up there." Aar, Jaalin's father glanced up to the sky as he said the last part.
"Mr... Aar, the USG Navy has need of able-bodied young men. It's nothing, just someone to change the plasma fission cells in a battlecruiser's engines and to sling arc-torches to repair ships. He'll be learning valuable skills and serving his nation. Besides it says here he is to become a warrior to your 'king'. Heres his chance."
So without a chance to say goodbye, Jaalin was taken by the soldiers away from everyone he had ever known; his family, his friends, his chance to be a swordsman, and the town of Kingsford. A great transport ship descended from the clouds, it's silvery metal hull gleaming the sun, the United System Governance crest visible. It hovered above the rooftops of the town square, the townsfolk watching in silent anxiety. A circular hatch opened on the bottom of the craft and an eerie blue light shot from it. Captain James motioned for the other soldiers to follow him as he walked into it, and disappeared. The faceless, black greatcoat wearing, soldiers formed a line, each guiding a victim into the blue light. Jaalin was last, as he was pushed nearer, his reluctant feet dragging on the stones. He shut his eyes as the tunnel of blue was just a foot away. He clenched his teeth expecting some horrible, strange sensation. But when he opened his eyes he was standing in a sizable metal room with metal seats lining the walls. Men from all over Anveria filled these seats; simple men wearing tunics or robes or blacksmith aprons. They were all snatched from their homes and families by the USG troops just like Jaalin. Jaalin was shoved into a seat by a soldier, who then walked past, through a metal door, which closed behind him. The men were left alone as they heard the thrum of the rockets as they flew up through the sky. Jaalin felt queasy at the thought of all that empty void beneath the thin layer of metal.
These metal-wearing strangers had come to Belfas some decades ago, appearing in the sky with their great metal boats and longships. People from across the Western Continent worshiped them as gods, but the magus at Anverd told the citizens of Anveria they were a race of men from a land in the Far North. The kingdom of Felfeiran welcomed the newcomers with their advanced technology and worshiped them. But there was a coup in Felfeiran, the new king demanded the invaders leave his kingdom. He then prepared for war when they did not. It was terrible, Jaalin had heard first hand accounts of it, a little ship flew over Felfeiran's capital with the royal army inside and cannons arrayed on it's walls. The little ship opened it's hull and a great, brilliant red column of fire shot down from the opening, destroying the city in one hit. Even after that the USG only came again, to every kingdom and empire except possibly the Three Great Powers, to tell them their world, Ceres as they called it, was now a USG world. The common folk weren't impressed. But the USG had never come and taken young men away. Jaalin wondered what was going to happen to him as he sat there in lonely misery; the ship jumping into a wormhole as it cleared the atmosphere. James voiced came from a speaker on the ceiling.
"We'll be arriving at Parvati at 0745 hours."
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Arung Iilum Archives: The Eagle of the Imperium
Iarius looked at himself in the mirror, the hologram highlighting the areas of his uniform or hair that needed adjusting. He nodded, satisfied with his appearance. Their was a knock and the metal doors, opened to show Nessith standing in a Curian robe and headdress; as was the custom of his species.
"After that day from hell, with us wondering if we would ever see Eridu again; here we are in the palace of the Emperor himself, and you about to be made captain." he said as he strode into the lavishly furnished room. Nessith's black eyes, accustomed to the spartan lifestyle of the Imperium Army and his homeworld of Curgu, scanned the room in distaste.
"My, it's a wonder you Terrans don't go blind due to all this color and grow fat with this rich indulgence.
"It's good to see you again, old friend." Iarius said, smiling at his friend and comrade. They clapsed each other's hands.
"It's true; I thought we wouldn't get off Arsinon alive. But we did, Nessith, both of us. And here we are, honored by the Emperor himself!"
A servant entered the room, announcing,
"His Imperial Majesty, Octavian Regulus Vallerun will recieve you now in his throne room."
Iarius looked at Nessith.
"Alright, here we go."
The Fringe Wars nearly brought the opulent Galactic Imperium to it knees. The Fringe Rebellion and Sinn destroyed Arsinon, the second greatest planet in the Imperium, and ravaged the Fringe and Fronteer Regions. But the War was abruptly ended by the emergence of the "Swarm" on Arsinon and reappearance of the Prothen.
The fifty-foot tall, golden doors slid back, soundlessly into the wall; the Galactic Emperor's throne room appeared before Iarius. A red carpet flowed past zycite columns to the foot of the golden stairs of the throne; the ceiling, hundreds of feet above, was a holographic image of the galaxy, a great wheel of silver dust and auric dots. Some twenty thousand people of all species of the Imperium were seated in the hover-booths lined against both walls. The entire Senate seemed to be gathered here. Iarius swallowed, exhaled, and walked down the red carpet. He noticed fellow marines from Arsinon and General Reynolds standing at the foot of the throne. Iarius and Nessith reached the stairs, bowed, and took their place next to the other marines. All the whispered conversations and chattering stopped abruptly as the Emperor rose, the Herculean Guard, clad in modified marine armor and scarlet capes, stood ever-present behind their Emperor.
"A week ago a great tragedy struck the Imperium: Arsinon was violently destroyed. Many more would have died, if not for Legate Marov and his men. Unfortunately, the honored Legate passed away early this morning." Iarius and the other marines bowed their heads sadly, silently honoring the Legate. "General Reynolds, step forward." the Emperor of the Galaxy, crimson and gold cape trailing after him, descended the metal steps to stand before Reynolds.
"You are now Legate Reynolds of the Imperium Army." Emperor Octavian took a medal from a velvet-lined metal case a courtier held at the Galactic Emperor's side. The cathedral-sized chamber was filled with thunderous applause, Nessith shook his head irritably as Iarius clapped with everyone else. Next the Emperor turned to Iarius.
"Lieutenant Iarius, Colonel Erzza tells me you have wanted to join the Navy for some time, is that still your wish? But first, Legate."
Reynolds nodded,
"Form rank!" he commanded the marine officers, "Attention!" the marines formed a line, all in their maroon uniforms, and saluted the Emperor.
More courtiers came up beside the Emperor, who took the medals out of the cases. "I award all the surviving marines from the Battle of Arsinon the Iron Star for their courage and great service to the people of Arsinon and the Imperium."
More applause. Iarius smiled ruefully at Nessith, the horrors of that day flashing before his eyes as the Emperor himself pinned the Iron Star to his chest.
"And to Captain Iarius I give command of The Eagle of the Imperium."
Iarius's eyes widened as the courtiers, fellow soldiers, and the Emperor himself applauded his promotion. Nessith clapped him on the back.
"And, because you work so well together, 2nd Lieutenant Nessith will be your Lieutenant Commander. Tomorrow, report to Admiral Corbett."
The Eagle of the Imperium was a Secutor-class battleship once commanded by the famous Captain Eugenios in the Second Imperium Civil War. And though the ship was more than a thousand years old, it ran well and still had a lot of surprises. To captain such a ship was an obvious sign of the Emperor's favor. Iarius and Nessith were presented with the navy blue uniforms of their stations. And after a memorial service for Marov and the other casualties of Arsinon and a celebratory ball. Iarius collapsed in his guest room in the palace, exhausted but eager for the coming day. Thoughts of his home on Alsara and a fleet of battleships swam through his head as he fell asleep. Nessith, in his room striped of all luxuries by the palace servants, lay on the wood frame that served as his bed, covered by a simple blanket. He lay, staring at the whitewashed ceiling, thinking of how proud his clan will be when they here he is second-in-command of a Secutor-class battleship.
"After that day from hell, with us wondering if we would ever see Eridu again; here we are in the palace of the Emperor himself, and you about to be made captain." he said as he strode into the lavishly furnished room. Nessith's black eyes, accustomed to the spartan lifestyle of the Imperium Army and his homeworld of Curgu, scanned the room in distaste.
"My, it's a wonder you Terrans don't go blind due to all this color and grow fat with this rich indulgence.
"It's good to see you again, old friend." Iarius said, smiling at his friend and comrade. They clapsed each other's hands.
"It's true; I thought we wouldn't get off Arsinon alive. But we did, Nessith, both of us. And here we are, honored by the Emperor himself!"
A servant entered the room, announcing,
"His Imperial Majesty, Octavian Regulus Vallerun will recieve you now in his throne room."
Iarius looked at Nessith.
"Alright, here we go."
The Fringe Wars nearly brought the opulent Galactic Imperium to it knees. The Fringe Rebellion and Sinn destroyed Arsinon, the second greatest planet in the Imperium, and ravaged the Fringe and Fronteer Regions. But the War was abruptly ended by the emergence of the "Swarm" on Arsinon and reappearance of the Prothen.
The fifty-foot tall, golden doors slid back, soundlessly into the wall; the Galactic Emperor's throne room appeared before Iarius. A red carpet flowed past zycite columns to the foot of the golden stairs of the throne; the ceiling, hundreds of feet above, was a holographic image of the galaxy, a great wheel of silver dust and auric dots. Some twenty thousand people of all species of the Imperium were seated in the hover-booths lined against both walls. The entire Senate seemed to be gathered here. Iarius swallowed, exhaled, and walked down the red carpet. He noticed fellow marines from Arsinon and General Reynolds standing at the foot of the throne. Iarius and Nessith reached the stairs, bowed, and took their place next to the other marines. All the whispered conversations and chattering stopped abruptly as the Emperor rose, the Herculean Guard, clad in modified marine armor and scarlet capes, stood ever-present behind their Emperor.
"A week ago a great tragedy struck the Imperium: Arsinon was violently destroyed. Many more would have died, if not for Legate Marov and his men. Unfortunately, the honored Legate passed away early this morning." Iarius and the other marines bowed their heads sadly, silently honoring the Legate. "General Reynolds, step forward." the Emperor of the Galaxy, crimson and gold cape trailing after him, descended the metal steps to stand before Reynolds.
"You are now Legate Reynolds of the Imperium Army." Emperor Octavian took a medal from a velvet-lined metal case a courtier held at the Galactic Emperor's side. The cathedral-sized chamber was filled with thunderous applause, Nessith shook his head irritably as Iarius clapped with everyone else. Next the Emperor turned to Iarius.
"Lieutenant Iarius, Colonel Erzza tells me you have wanted to join the Navy for some time, is that still your wish? But first, Legate."
Reynolds nodded,
"Form rank!" he commanded the marine officers, "Attention!" the marines formed a line, all in their maroon uniforms, and saluted the Emperor.
More courtiers came up beside the Emperor, who took the medals out of the cases. "I award all the surviving marines from the Battle of Arsinon the Iron Star for their courage and great service to the people of Arsinon and the Imperium."
More applause. Iarius smiled ruefully at Nessith, the horrors of that day flashing before his eyes as the Emperor himself pinned the Iron Star to his chest.
"And to Captain Iarius I give command of The Eagle of the Imperium."
Iarius's eyes widened as the courtiers, fellow soldiers, and the Emperor himself applauded his promotion. Nessith clapped him on the back.
"And, because you work so well together, 2nd Lieutenant Nessith will be your Lieutenant Commander. Tomorrow, report to Admiral Corbett."
The Eagle of the Imperium was a Secutor-class battleship once commanded by the famous Captain Eugenios in the Second Imperium Civil War. And though the ship was more than a thousand years old, it ran well and still had a lot of surprises. To captain such a ship was an obvious sign of the Emperor's favor. Iarius and Nessith were presented with the navy blue uniforms of their stations. And after a memorial service for Marov and the other casualties of Arsinon and a celebratory ball. Iarius collapsed in his guest room in the palace, exhausted but eager for the coming day. Thoughts of his home on Alsara and a fleet of battleships swam through his head as he fell asleep. Nessith, in his room striped of all luxuries by the palace servants, lay on the wood frame that served as his bed, covered by a simple blanket. He lay, staring at the whitewashed ceiling, thinking of how proud his clan will be when they here he is second-in-command of a Secutor-class battleship.
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