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| Missing Persons: Found.; Personal Saga | |
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| Topic Started: Dec 11 2013, 07:36 PM (189 Views) | |
| Osiris | Dec 11 2013, 07:36 PM Post #1 |
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Pallor Lord
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Noise, the hum of people’s voices mashing together with the hurried footsteps of a large crowd . . . the whooshing wind of vehicles passing by along the ground and air, and the heavy thud and crunches of construction, all of it slowly grew in volume and intensity. Osiris suddenly clutched at his ears and squeezed his eyes against the piercing lights assaulting his senses. For what felt like an eternity compressed down into mere seconds, the Pallor Lord’s brain was overloaded by a sudden bombardment of external data. His senses reaching out of their apparent dormancy with wild abandon in an attempt to revitalize themselves and make up for lost time. “Where am I?” he mumbled the words so softly he could barely even hear himself. Very gradually his eyes opened, and the artificially increased volume died back down to a just barely tolerable level. Buildings, great metal and stone structures rose up from the smooth and seemingly polished streets. The sound of commerce buzzed, and a certain vibrancy echoed in everyone’s voice as though they had recaptured something recently lost. Damaskia. Of course he was on Damaskia. He had come here to . . . why had he come here? Visions of blood and violence splashed across his mind with a sudden surge of adrenaline that spiked his blood pressure so the young lord’s heartbeat pounded at the back of his eyes. An invasion . . . right. He had come to give aid to the Damaskian government to beat back, another choppy memory of a briefing room gave just enough glimpses of images and voices to work with, an insectoid species invading from outside the galaxy. “Why can’t I remember what happened though?” another small conversation starter with no one around to hear it. Fingers tipped with black barbs softly ran across Osiris’ forehead as though he were trying to wipe away something that might be blocking his thoughts. The sensation sent a massive shiver down his spine and a tidal wave of tingles across his body. For a brief moment, flesh grown thick and tough through years of training and torture (often becoming indistinguishable from one another) quived with a sensitivity greater than anything it had experienced before. The sense of touch overloaded, and then slowly fading back down just as his other faculties had done. “Something is wrong . . . ” Osiris whispered to himself words that he would have once simply thought. Gears churned in his mind as he kept analyzing the construction going on around him. All the buildings in his surroundings pieced together in a frenzy of sparks and roaring engines. He wanted to find some kind of clue, but all he got was the taste of artificialness running over him like a stream. Nature seemed to have completely vacated the Central City of Damaskia, or rather its order driven people had evicted her so that they may create their “perfect” governmental war machine. A certain level of admiration was held inside the Pallor Lord for the ideals these dark haired peoples strived for, but the end result was indeed lacking. He had been here before though . . . he had seen the massive towers of industry and war being erected. So, why was did the artificialness suddenly seem so profound? Was it the city or something - - - Osiris staggered forward as blunt force impacted, and then blew past his left shoulder. Dark violet eyes swung around just in time to see a blurring image of a spiky headed saiyan rushing away, a thin streak of deep red clutched in his hand. A deep growl of annoyance vibrated the youth’s vocal cords . . . he went silent, a soft second of only faint white noise. “RHAAAA!” the demonic figure surged forward shaking the street and sending a spider weapon of cracks running across the polished pavement. HE TOOK IT! HE TOOK IT! HE TOOK IT! The phrase repeated over and over in his head as the realization of what the red streak had been: the Inferno Rod. Pressing hard to try to catch up to the already accelerated thief, the Pallor Lord’s thighs pumped so hard his bones ached from the constant tension his massively hard tendons exerted. Weaving in and out of alley ways and down long stretches of roadway the pair of warriors were going a mile a second, their combined backdraft blowing out windows and sweeping pedestrians off their feet. “I am going to fucking kill you!” the words were not exactly spoken, but the message was just as clear. The escape route opened up for a moment as they swept through another construction zone. A dark violet bolt of Ki surged forward from Osiris’ hand like a bolt of corrupt lightning. Whether by design or by chance, the nameless saiyan dipper right between two half finished buildings just in time to avoid the murderous projectile. Destruction incarnate smashed into a pile of steel beams set aside by a construction crew. In a moment building materials were transformed into a violent rain of metal shrapnel and plume of dust. Not able to even consider if he had hurt, or possibly killed some poor workman, Osiris blasted into the air for an bird’s eye view of his prey. Amethyst orbs flickered with the intensity of a man possessed as they searched the landscape. At every intersection the streaking figure passed through, another jolt of rage made manifest ripped from those baleful eyes. The screams below began to collect as the explosions almost began to look as though someone were simply attacking the city itself . . . in fact, to everyone but the thief and Osiris, that was exactly what it looked like! “STOP BEFORE WE OPEN FIRE!” the hard consonant sounds of the Damaskian language were screeched over a microphone. The Pallor Lord’s gaze shot up to identify the interference and was immediately greeted by the sight of twin plasma cannons charging. The small fighter ships of the Central City Air Guard hovered several meters away with every indication it was about to open fire. “I am just trying to catch a thief,” the words vibrated through the air in hushed tones of wrath. He knew every minute he wasted dealing with the Damaskian military was another minute the thief had to escape. “YOU WILL LAND AND TURN YOURSELF OVER TO THE SOLDIERS BELOW, OR YOU WILL BE FIRED UPON!” the pilot simply shouted back through the microphone. Reasoning with anyone after blowing up sections of their home city is fairly difficult, doing so on Damaskia was pointless. A delmia had been thrusted upon Osiris. He could simply leave and take chase after the thief. Out running most airships was simply a matter of energy output and creating enough distance that one can dip out of sight. Damaskians had a tendency to be relentless on the hunt though, a by-product of their zealousness. So, even if he caught up to the thief . . . there would be a swarm of soldiers rushing to greet them. Any chance he had of not becoming a fugitive would come at the price of surrendering the Inferno Rod . . . for a time. “Fine,” with slitted eyes he watched the direction he thought the saiyan would still be travelling in as he sunk back towards the earth. Reluctantly, he shook his head free of the chase and simply dropped the last two hundred feet onto the paved walkway beneath. Two soldiers covered in fully body armor, and wearing black visors across their face rushed towards their target. One came from behind with a type of restraint the Pallor Lord had not seen before. The other soldier was apparently intent on shocking any criminal into passivity as to aid his comrade. Electricity hummed from the stunner attachment hanging under his energy rifle’s barrels like a bayonet. “No.” The clatter of body armor striking body armor striking ground broke the monotony of boot falls. In less than a second, both soldiers were piled atop one another, and the rifle was in Osiris’ clawed hand. “Bring me an officer before I become more impatient than I already am.” “Stand back! Perimeter 200 feet!” A strong confident voice called out without any quiver of fear or excitement. Dressed in formal military garments, an older man walked out from the back of a small squadron. This dark black hair was streaked with a few grey strands, but the marks made him look more distinguished than old. With both hands clasped between his back, the officer walked casually until he was just outside of arm’s length from Osiris. Silently, his dark grey eyes swept over the brooding figure before him. Then, for a period of time that seemed rather inappropriate for the situation, he simply stared into the Pallor Lord’s face as though looking for some small detail. Nearly a minute and a half went by like this, “What?” The youth growled at the man when his patience finally gave out. “What is your name,” the officer asked calmly and without any hint of the Damaskian accent. “Osiris,” as he said the word, he could have sworn some emotion flashed in the commander’s eyes for just a second. “Where do you hail from?” “Cauldron.” “Do you work for the Keliouxians?” “They have a certain degree of my loyalty.” “Why are you on Damaskia?” “I came to assist in the invasion repulsion.” “Do you know that was over a month ago?” “No.” “Where have you been the last numerous weeks?” Osiris considered lying for half a second, but could see no point in it, “I don’t know.” “Why don’t you know?” “I don’t know that either.” “Do you remember a woman named Nellic?” Again, Osiris thought he saw a flash of emotion just beneath the professional visage, “Yes.” “Do you know who I am?” “That would require you to introduce yourself,” the question suddenly spiked the Pallor Lord’s feeling that the man was trying to drive towards something specific. “My name is Lieutenant Tellic, we met over a month ago at a war briefing just before the bugs landed. You don’t remember any of that? We had an extensive discussion on defensive strategy for the defense of the north-east hemisphere. You and my traitorous little daughter were entrusted with an entire battalion to co-command with Lieutenant Crawford. Do you still insist on not remembering these events?” Pain, like electricity running through his skull, it stabbed at the back of his eyes. As Tellic continued to speak, the Pallor Lord staggered backwards a step . . . fragments of unfocused memory suddenly burning their way across his neurons. The words were obviously sparking some kind of chain reaction, but the result was so chaotic it showed nothing of the truth. “No, something must have happened to my memory,” the raven hair warrior growled as he clutched his head. “So be it,” one of the Lieutenant’s hands came up from behind his lower back and gestured with three fingers, “you will be taken into quarantine and examined until the source of your amnesia is discovered.” Three dozen men suddenly swarmed out from the regiments standing around the two men. They wore equipment which looked more suited to space combat than ground warfare. In an instant Osiris recognized the Damaskian military signets for their medical and experimental divisions. Several of them carried strange weapons hooked u to back mounted tanks while the others were deployed with polearms that were tipped by shackles rather than blades. It only took a second before the lieutenant had fallen back to a safe distance and the specialty troops had the Pallor Lord surronded. The Storm of disfigured memories still scorched his brain leaving him struggling to register how many soldiers were attempting to encircle him let alone fend them off. “You are getting a little over excited there Tellic. Taking a Keliouxian Citezen into custody like that without even notifying the embassy . . . well that just doesn’t look good, and our Empires already have such a strained relationship.” A familiar voice called out over the sound of the synchronized capture team. “He doesn’t look like any Keliouxian I have ever seen,” a hard note of displeasure suddenly filled the lieutenant’s voice with the custom Damaskian prejudice. “Indeed, it’s a good thing our citizenship applies to all those working for the betterment of the Keliouxian Empire . . . unlike more discriminating organizations,” the rich and smooth voice mocked the military officer with a practiced subtlety that was at once not apparent and yet still in one’s face. The team circled around Osiris hesitated before moving forward with their assigned mission. Everyone was focused on the two older men, their voices the only noise in the area. “This man was an acting mercenary for the Damaskian goverement during a time of war. He sustained some form of ailment from the battles we intended to pay him for, and no feel the obligation to ensure his health before relieving him of his services provided to us,” Tellic might have been a military man, but he was no stranger to politics. A blue haired figure suddenly appeared within Osiris’ limited view. The towering man had well cut features, or rather he did at one time before age softened their strength with hard earned wisdom. Such a familiar face, yet the Pallor Lord couldn’t seem to get his brain pointed in a single direction. “What a noble gesture Tellic. I am glad you treat your soldiers and mercenaries so well! Surely, under normal circumstances, the Keliouxian Empire wouldn’t want to interfere with such admirable practices. Regretably though, Osiris is needed for grave matters of state back at home. He will have to be treated and make his recover in transit back home. I do sincerly apologize,” his head bobbed in the smallest of bows towards his verbal sparring partner. “No, this is not acceptable! This man was abducted by an alien force that from without our galaxy! There is no telling what was done to him, or what kind of threat he may now posse to Damaskia and to Kelioux for that matter! He must be quarantined and analyzed until we are absolutely sure nothing abnormal is at play,” Tellic’s xenophobic zeal was beginning to show through his professional demeanor. “As true as that may be Lieutenant, it does not give you the right to withhold another Empire’s citizen nor does it allow you conduct what ever practices you please upon him. Kelioux, and I personally will take charge of Osiris and any threat he may pose. I have a medical team on standby in my personal craft. Every precaution will be taken to see the young man is restored to health, and we will immediately remove him from your world to minimize any potential risk for the Damaskian people. That should quell any worries you may have, yes?” “No,” Tellic was another step further from his original professional calm, “This is a blatant attempt to undermine Damaskian authority. Diplomatic immunity does not exist here . . . I could have you thrown in jail this instant just for having interfered with a military operation. You tread on a path more precarious than you know, Juku.” The Keliouxian’s name suddenly brought on another sweeping tide of memories, this time they were older and better refined. Days spent in the academy, traveling through space, and the green hills of Namek backdropped each cut scene of history. “Wisdom has always been a sorely lacking commodity for your people, but I know you are no fool, Tellic. The only thing that waits upon the horizon of my arrest is war . . . war your people are not ready for . . . war that we both know is already approaching too quickly for your comfort. Do not rush your demise simply to satisfy your paranoia. Release Osiris into my custody, and I will see to it you are reimbursed for the damages he caused,” the Keliouxian Master’s voice took on a hard tone. “Are you threatening us Kelioxian?” Tellic took a step closer towards Juku to stare into the taller alien’s deep amber eyes with a scornful glare. “I am warning you not to burn bridges over petty disputes. Even if I gave up, how much damage do you think Osiris would do to your planet before you managed to wrangle him to your custody and keep him sedated? He doesn’t take well to captivity regardless of anything that your “bugs” might have done,” a slight smile curved the old Keliouxian’s lips as his last statement slipped past them. “If this was such a petty dispute, they wouldn’t have sent one of their precious Masters to interefere. Don’t try to lie your way out of this, outsider.” A tense silence settled over the streets for several seconds. “Osiris, what do you want to do?” Juku spoke without turning his head from Tellic’s stare. “He is in no condition to - -” Osiris suddenly cut him off. With a shaky voice whispered with an unnatural multitude of voices,”I just want to see my friends again . . . . friends, I had friends . . . I want my friends, I want my friends . . . I WANT MY FRIENDS!” With every word the youth’s voices rose and rose until he was screaming at the masked soldiers standing around them. “I WANT MY FRIENDS! GIVE THEM BACK TO ME! GIVE ME MY FRIENDS!” Wildness born of utter confusion shown from violet eyes like a feral beast. The air snapped and suffered under undulating tendrils of amethyst power. With slow steps, the capture team began to pull back in a unspoken, but unified sense of fear. “I WANT MY FRIENDS! WHY DID YOU TAKE MY FRIENDS FROM ME!?” the tone of insanity radiated from his words. Somewhere between processing the countless memories of loose throughout his life, and the world around him . . . Osiris’ brain started projecting all of his ills onto the people he saw around him. His body began to shake as an overwhelming amount of energy flooded through his bloodstream, “Give them back to me,” a sudden calm swept through the multitude of voices as his intentions focused in on the soldier standing right in front of him. The Pallor Lord took a strange heaving step forward, and hunched his shoulders in a strange stance. Brilliant colors, like an aurora borealis, formed phantom gauntlets over both claw like hands. “Get back! Get away from him!” Juku’s calm voice was suddenly filled with distress as he sprung towards Osiris, “Calm down boy! I promise I will take you to your friends . . . just try to relax.” “Don’t lie to me old fool! You were there, you were there when they all died! You stopped me from saving them!” The ground shuddered as the weight of the loaded attacks tortured the world around it. “I know, and I am so sorry, Osiris! But they aren’t all dead! I have been trying to find you this whole time to tell you that! Some of your friends are still alive, and I WILL take you to them!” He plead to his former student with his arms held outward in a non-threatening position. “ I . . . alive . . . but . . .” the images of Cauldron exploding into planetary shards scorched the youth’s already storming mind, “But my home, my wretched home, it’s gone! No, no, those who are responsible will perish . . . all of them!” Images of blood and strange creatures swarming over him, pulling him away from . . . a black haired woman screaming his name . . . Nellic, where was Nellic? “They did this! Where is Nellic!? Where is my crew? These Damaskian did it, didn’ they?! They were weak, and now their stupid war cost me my crew! They will perish, they will all perish,” the cumlitive voices started to die back down into a menacing growl. “He has gone insane, Juku. We need to put him down before he does more damage . . . Ready Arms!” At Tellic’s orders every blaster around the street intersection was raised and began to charge to full output. “Are you insane, Tellic? Don’t make yourselves look like enemies even more!” The old Master turned his attention back to Osiris, “Look at me, look at me Osiris. They don’t know what they are doing. Nellic is fine, she is on her way right now, just calm down, please!” “Can’t bargain with the reaper,” the Pallor Lord whispered as a psychological hunger seemed to drive him towards inflicting as much death as possible. The crimson cloak draped over his shoulders snapped like a flag in gale force winds as his hand flew skyward, energy surging into the open air. A second, that’s all it took for the massive amount of stored Ki to cumulate into the air as a giant blood red orb. “Open Fi-” “STOP!” a female voice rang out breaking the stream of male speakers, “[/color=blue]Captain, stop, it’s okay. Everything is okay, you don’t have to fight right now.[/color]” Streaking past the aerial guard, Nellic slammed into the Pallor Lord’s shoulder and wrapped her arms around his torso. Her voice was calm and soothing if not tinged with both sadness and relief. “It’s okay, you still have friends . . . I am still here for you, Captain. The crew has been looking for since you went missing. We tried to organize some kind of rescue mission, but we never knew which ship the bugs had dragged you into, if any.” “I . . . they took me? Why?” Osiris’ mind was suddenly shifting gears unable to hold onto the sense of destruction with Nellic clinging to his frame. Nellic looked up into her captain’s eyes watching as the cloudy expression of a seizure faded away, “We don’t know, but I need you to come with me so we can run some tests and make sure you are okay.” “I wasn’t lying Osiris, and she is right. You need to come with us now.” Juku gestured slowly for the Pallor Lord to relax the massive attack floating above. The Ki quickly began to dissipate back into the Last Son of Cauldron’s body as his raised arms dropped down to hang limply at his sides, a firm realization finally sinking into his mind, “I have been gone for over a month?” His voice had returned to a singular normalness. “Come on, let’s get you back to the ship. Everyone will be excited to see you back,” Nellic began to guide him from the intersection and in the general direction where docking port where the ship would be. “Do you have a problem with that, Lieutenant?” Juku turned back to the brooding Damaskian officer. “Just get that wretched creature off my planet, and take the brat with you too. She obviously doesn’t care for her home world anymore. And before this day is out, I will make sure the Emperor reconsiders allowing a Keliouxian Embassy on our soil . . . ” Tellic turned towards two squadrons of his men, “Make sure these foriengers leave, immediately!” Elsewhere outside the known universe. The lands burned . . . or rather the lands were evaporating. Acres upon acres of precious farm land still ripe with tall stalked crops were set ablaze with fires of nameless colors. It was not just the crops burning though, the formless chaos was obliterating everything it came into contact with. Where the fire spread, the smokey haze of nothing pooled until the void pushed against the still defiant ground. It was like watching the hollow of a chasm devour the cliff which formed it. Naamah looked away as she began to feel the madness grope her eyes. "How much more territory have we lost today?" silken robes fluttered slightly as she turned to the older demon standing behind her. Baquie sighed deeply, "Another fifty-two miles including the flare ups from other sites. The rate is expected to slow significantly after the Engineers get the other tower online tonight." With long strides that pulled her robe apart to an un-modest height, the carmon skinned demoness left the open air of the balcony, "Slow it down . . . we are bleeding the coffers dry and all we are buying is time. How are the emergency evacuation plans coming along? "It's not. We do not have enough manpower to set up that many portals. With so manny of our Engineers working on the towers, we simply cannot do it alone. We need the other clans' support. At this rate, we won't even have enough power to leave ourselves, if it comes down to that much." The old Cleric's white and grey attire was pulled tight to her shoulders but descended into a loose skirt bellow the waist. The only skin visible was the aged wrinkled face that peered out form under the traditional servant's hood. "You know what they will ask of me before any of them risk losing their power . . . " Naamah tilted her head back looking up at the large tapestry hanging dow the stone walls of her quarters. It was weave work nearly as old as the Akenna themselves, and a personal possession of the first ruling family. "You really do enjoy carting that thing where ever we go," Baquie chided motherly as she walked to the opposite wall. There, mounted into the masonry was an armor rack burdened with great plates of crimson and black. Naamah stepped up onto a small pedestal and shrugged her shoulders backwards,"I need to be reminded of my duty. Its the only thing that makes me feel like I am more than a well fed slave." The silken robe slipped off her back and fell to the chamber's floor. Her rich hued skin was given a pleasant sheen under the soft yellow lamps set around the room. Elegant runes of black markings ran along her body accenting the strong musculature lying just beneath. In almost every dimension, the demoness' body was lean with gently sweeping curves that radiated an image of health. With hands made strong by a thousand years of work, the Cleric pulled the chest plate off its mount, "Well, you could always declare martial law. Some of the clans do actually support you, ya know? You could even capitalize on tonight's meeting. Arms out, milady." The heavy breastplate pushed Naamah's breasts up and held them to her torso. It always felt uncomfortable at first, but battle demanded security both in protection and in proper movement. She just wished there was a political equivalent, "I am not going to start a civil war just to make myself feel better. Even if I removed the clan heads today . . . that would just mean dealing with a hundred more less organized factions later. In all the chaos, I would be lucky to collect enough Engineers to make enough bridges for the exodus. I am not ready to sacrifice this realms inhabitability just yet." The old Cleric yanked on the armor's straps as she chuckled a little, "Haha, this is why the Queen choose you! Even when you are so moody you can't stop glowering, you still no right from wrong." "Easy, easy! I am not actually going into battle today, Baquie. I don't need my breasts to be completely flat," he carmon demoness whined jokingly. She knew her caretaker was trying to easer her mood before the conclave met, and after so many decades of dealing with the same kind of stress Naamah knew better than to resist. "Oh, is someone getting a little vain, or are you just worried about what the Prince will think?" The Cleric joked as she returned from the rack with bracers held in either hand. As she took to strapping them on though, her voice grew more solemn, "Just because we can joke about such maters, doesn't mean others haven't consider that option in all seriousness. We cannot assume there will be no violence tonight." "So, just another day . . . " Naamah sighed the words as she stepped into her war boots hesitantly. It was the last piece of her ceremonial armor. The armor which signified her royal authority. Shoes of the lonely. She stood there, one foot protected by a vault of steel and the other nude . . . vulnerable. Her heart started pounding. She wanted to stay like that, to be able to trust people, to make friends, to be vulnerable. Why did she always have to be locked away? If it wasn't a private chamber, then it was a metal shell . . . always keeping people away. Within her heart, she had come to know the word royalty and isolation to be synonyms. A memory flashed within her mind: A young pale faced boy staring dumbfounded with eyes of the most brilliant amethyst. The first day she had met him, the young prince Osiris. It was burned into her mind with an almost unnatural intensity. She clung to those four simple words, "what do you want". Naamah pressed a hand to her face as the pauldrons began to shake ever so slightly, and her breathing become short and shuddering. The elderly attendant looked up from her kneeling position, "Princess, what's wrong!?" Concern filled her muscles with vigor as the Cleric shot up to brace her mistress' shoulders. "He hates me," as she whispered the words it was like she could not deny the truth anymore. Hot streams of tears trickled down her carmon cheeks. The only man, no the only other person than Baquie which she felt had been truly sincere with her . . . Naamah knew he utterly despised her. "Who, who hates you, dear?" a small sense of panic began to build in the pit of the motherly demon's stomach. She had seen the Princess moody, grumpy, scared, panicked, even utterly depressed - but never crying. "HE hates me," she emphasized the royal he of the Akenna language. Her shoulders heaved as she clenched her hand, nails digging into her forehead and cheeks. It had been so long since she had a friend, since childhood. The possibility didn't even seem to exist anymore. Only when power shifted to the King would she have enough time to sort through the political bullshit and find someone earnestly interested in companionship. If she at least had that, if she at least had friends . . . maybe she could deal with the thought of never having a lover, but she had neither. "Shhhh," the much shorter Cleric pulled the fully armored demoness down into her shoulder, "He doesn't hate you. The Prince is just angry . . . very, very ungodly angry. But, he is young and ignorant of our ways. Once he feels like he has avenged his losses, and learned more of us - he will calm and you will be able to hold him to your bossom," the old she-devil always had a way of instilling some kind of humor into the situation. It was a characteristic which kept her secured as an honored staff for several generations. Heat exuded from Naamah's cheeks as equal amounts of embarrassment, and self aimed anger began to battle with the overwhelming sense of loneliness. Royalty was suppose to be strong, and what kind of self respecting demon cried? The combination struck the Princess in her pride with a hard haymaker. Instinctively she tried to right her posture, and reclaim composure . . . but Bequie would not release her hold. "Just relax first. I'm not going to let you go until you let it out. You cannot keep holding these things in, milady." "What am I suppose to do?" she whispered as she thought to the last time she had seen the young Prince. After working several months to create a few days to get away from the throne, it seemed to be a nearly fruitless effort. Osiris had refused to acknowledge her as little more than a distraction at best, and a criminal at worst. The hope and chance she had built of a loving relationship on Cauldron . . . had died with Cauldron. "You will send a trusted envoy, and you will try again. I know you didn't chose, or make this life for yourself. That fact alone gives you more right to rule than the overly ambitious. It also means that you must continue to hold together this kingdom so that when our Prince returns to his senses he can regain what he lost on Cauldron: a home and people to watch over." Trickles of blood ran down the carmon demoness' face and mingled with the tears upon her cheeks and chin. It felt so unnatural to grieve a thing she never truly had in the first place . . . a hundred fold over for a demon no less. She hadn't even wept when word came her mother had fallen in battle. That simply wasn't their way. "You haven't seen it in his eyes. He won't just stop. The grief, I don't know how, but it fuels him. The Prince won't stop his hunt for the android . . . and along the way he will sweep people into his wake until a nation marches behind him. Can't you see that? Can't you see that HE doesn't need US? We are the ones who need him . . . and we haven't given him anything." Baquie took out a small towel from a pocket along her nun like attire and began to gently wipe away the tears and blood upon her mistress' face, "Then you already know what to do, my Princess." Slamming sounded upon the door to the chamber just before a winded and excited voice shouted in the hallway beyond, “M’lady, our surveillance team has finally picked up the Prince’s location again. They don’t think he was hiding purposefully, but rather abducted by someone or something that knew how to hide him from our scryers.” Naamah stepped into the armored boot without further hesitation, and nearly ran to the door. Responding to her will, the great oaken barriers swung open with a resounding slam, “What do you mean abducted!? Hiding from a scryer is one thing, concealing something unwillingly is another! How did we not know about this!?” The messenger, despite his formidable spiked appearance, dropped down in a bowing position before his mistress’ anger, “Scrying has never been a perfect system, and many of our men have been forced to pull double duties, Mi’lady. Our information stream from the mortal realm has been severely cut back with many of our best magi being relocated to newly built towers. The younger men left in charge made a mistake because they were also blinded to the happenings on Damaskia as a whole.” Naamah’s eyes widened in surprise, “What can cloud an entire planet from our eyes?” Falling down onto his knees into an even deeper bow, the messenger's voice shook more even as he caught his breath, “After sending in an agent, we found that Damaskia had been attacked by a large insectoid race.” “Bugs? You are trying to tell me that some base level insects somehow blinded us? Speak the full truth!” the carmon hued demoness could tell the man before her was holding something back. “The loremasters . . . th-they looked back into our records for any hint of why they might have blocked magical sight from the world. The only thing they could find that matched, were, ummm, agents of, ummm-” “Stop stammering like a child and spit it out!” The messenger jolted at the command and simply blurted out the name, “Kel’Thane!” Confusion splashed across Naamah’s face, but before she could say anything Baquie jumped in, “Surely the loremasters are grasping at fantasy!” “They made me wait to inform the Princess until they could double check. All the signs are there, though they remain weak . . . the old one of hunger has returned.” “Surely Kel’Thane would not stop at a single planet if he once more wakes!” the old handmaiden waved her hand as if trying to dismiss the messenger’s words. “They believe that his bindings were not fully removed, and that his objective may have been the Prince himself.” Naamah interjected feeling as though she were listening to conversation not meant for her, “What is Kel’Thane?” Baquie slowly turned to her mistress, “A primordial god, Mi’lady. Born before the ordering of the realms . . .” The carmon demoness still did not understand, “What would it want with Osiris?” Dropping her head as though in deep thought, the old servant walked over at sat down into a finely carved chair, “If its bindings were not fully released, it may be looking for an avatar . . . someone it can use to manifest in the mortal and elemental realms. A conduit so that it might begin devouring.” “Devouring what?” Finally, it seemed the messenger found some amount of courage and spoke on his own accord, “Everything.” Several hours later aboard the mining freighter 129085. “I don’t really get it,” Nellic sat at a table next to Juku and the Vagril, Thorsh. “[color=light blue]What don’t you get? That they just dropped him back off in the middle of Central City completely healthy?[/color]” Juku sat there taking small pieces of fried mushroom from a bowl. “Well that too, but . . . Thorsh, didn’t you notice anything rather odd yourself?” The computer began to translate the crustacean like alien’s words, “Yes, I think I know what you mean. There was nothing strange about his examination when we consider how little we know of his particular species.” Juku swallowed the last bite of the mushroom snack, “[color=light blue]Why is it strange that there isn’t anything strange?[/color]” “I don’t know just how long you knew Osiris, but . . . I have seen him do things.” Nellic looked back down at the chart and tightened her grip as if trying to ring the truth out of the digital reader. “[color=light blue]What kinds of things are we talking about?[/color]” Juku’s voice became increasingly concerned. The former Star Wolf hesitated as if uncertain how to say what she meant, “I don’t really know how to explain it, but . . . weird shit . . . things that that body in there just couldn’t do.” “[color=light blue]Ki can manipulate the body in many strange and fantastic ways, Nellic.[/color]” “I agree with Nellic’s assertion. Ki does not account for some of the things the Captain is capable of,” the digitized voice translated through the ship’s speaker system. “[color=light blue]So, you don’t think that is Osiris in there?[/color]” Juku gestured to the examination room’s door. “No, it’s not exactly like that. It’s just . . . I don’t know . . . It’s like I can feel that it’s really Osiris, but . . . I don’t think that is his real body,” Nellic looked up into the Keliouxian’s eyes trying to find some level of understanding. “[color=light blue]Those creatures that took him, what were they exactly?[/color]” “A predatory race from a different galaxy, or that is what everyone is saying.” “[color=light blue]I am starting to have my doubts,[/color]” Juku picked up the empty bowl and looked disappointedly at it. “[color=light blue]To a Keliouxian, the soul is a rather tricky phenomenon to discuss. You see, we understand it to be a different thing from the body, but we also understand the body has some effect upon it. So, imagine then if a soul was ripped from its body and shoved into another host. It would definitely be a rather traumatic event . . . of course, this is mostly speculation.[/color]” Nellic looked over to the monitor that displayed the examination room’s interior, “It seems Osiris has some of his own doubts too . . . ” There, sitting on a barely cushioned bed, the Pallor Lord stared into the palm of his hand. His dark violet eyes traced every line like he was reading an unfamiliar map. “Maybe we are simply worrying too much. After all, we have very little data to compare his current condition to since we never did a full examination before.” “Maybe . . . ” Nellic sighed deeply, “We will just have to figure things out as we go. Are you sure you want to take him back to what is left of Cauldron, Juku?” “[color=light blue]I wasn’t bluffing when I said there are grave matters the Keliouxian Empire needs Osiris to handle. Trust me when I say you are not the first people to fall into this boys wake.[/color]” WC: 7,090 |
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8:58 PM Jul 10