|
Post by T on Aug 1, 2018 23:34:21 GMT -5
For centuries, humans have been placed at the very bottom of the general power scale both genetic levels and sometimes even at their very peaks. Frost Demons aim to be megalomaniacs with their unrivalled potential for Energy Control, Saiyans brutishly bash one another up on the basis that their genes demand it, and all sorts of other Xeno mix into the lot. Yet simply had to be humans who strived on to improve various worlds their influence manage to reach unlike many other species.
It has been stated numerous times before in the textbooks he read, in the many speeches by the king, by the very people who then go on to challenge humans themselves, that the level of strength that the other sentient species possess is easily achievable by humans themselves. So why then did they have to be saved by others? Why did they die so easily?
"Yo!" ???? [ Age 1350 ]
Strange. T found the whole situation strange that he; a teenage runaway from a broken home; could be shaped up enough to join one of the Earth’s most prestigious military divisions. He was only a new recruit for the time being, but that was nothing to fret about. If the man worked hard and abided by the rules, there was no telling how high he could rise in the ranks. Perhaps Ki energy would even be achieved by him. He was no stranger to fighting on the streets, and formal training certainly did help that, yet it was never enough in an age of emerging powers.
“Worried about something, rookie?” A calm, yet concerned voice called from his . It sounded as if the speaker had seen worser days and better days flicker about like fireflies in the night.
Perking his head up and lifting his gaze from the floor, he could see a figure clad in a collared camo jacket and pants of similar colours. T immediately stood up, saluting the hazel-haired woman up in front of himself. “Nothing, ma’am.”
“At ease, private.” The Colonel raised her right hand to her forehead in a half-hearted salute. “At ease. You’ve been sitting on the benches for a while now- planning on joining us for the parade or should I file a report for our newest deserter?”
“But the parade isn’t for four hours,” T lowered his hand down to his side. He continued to stand upright with his back straight. “Ma’am.” He added quickly after realising he had missed it the first time.
She snorted lightly, covering her mouth as she did so. “Alright, alright, cut that out.” As she adjusted the bright red beret on her head, her previously stern expression was replaced now with a light smile. “What’s bothering you, T?” Asked the lady with utmost sincerity behind her tone. “And no lying about it this time, or I’ll have you run laps around the border of the city.”
“Psh-” “Nothing gets past you, does it, Colonel?”
“Not a knife, a bullet, or even a falling boulder if I try hard enough.” She winked, lifting up her right index finger into the air before manifesting a sphere of light at it’s very tip. Said sphere flickered out almost as soon as it came as she clenched a hand over it. “Now speak up and stop calling me ‘Colonel’ when we’re talking casually.”
S.S. Blow Shit Up - Throne Room
Strange. T found the whole situation strange that he; a being who bested eldritch entities, and had the ability of limited omnipresence; would find himself reminiscing about such trivial topics. Lamenting is for those with too much time on their hands, he deemed. Perhaps a touch too hypocritical, he realised a moment later as he was sitting down doing absolutely nothing.
“Is something the matter, my lord?” Bones spoke to shatter the silence in the hall.
“No.” T’s left eyebrow furrowed. “Why do you ask?”
Standing ever vigilant by his master’s side with spine in perfect posture, the butler decided to risk his life by reporting one of his many observations. “You rarely ever visit the throne room- much less sit on the aforementioned throne.” The skeleton’s visage was unchanging, save for his jaw falling and ascending repeatedly while he spoke.
“I am merely sitting on the throne built for me, Jones.” He tapped the left temple of his own head twice with the tips of his index and middle finger. “Please refrain from reading too much into my actions, and for the thousandth time stop using ‘my lord’ as a title.”
“My apologies, Lord Breaker.” A bow was made to a forty-five degree angle from his waistline. After standing straight once more, the butler took a single step back. “Shall we begin the Kinetic Orbital Strikes to the respective Arcosian power grids followed by deployment of plague-bearing undead into their ranks?”
“Change of plans- cancel the attack.” T stood up- pacing down the first flight of stairs. “They have done nothing recently to Earth, and presumably, there are innocents among them.”
“Very well, Lord Breaker.” If the skeleton had sufficient facial features, it would have been smiling at that point.
This kind of behaviour from his master was not exactly rare, but simply reserved for more special occasions. Most often, his anger was of a hotter variant. He may be annoyed at some of the silly activities his servants carry out, but mostly nothing would come of it if they had good intentions at heard and they did not act as a detriment to his cause. This sort of rage seemed restrained to some extent. It was a moment of maturity from T. No doubt it would be short lived. Nevertheless, he would see it through to it’s full extent.
“Don’t mistake this cancellation for weakness, Jones.” The Lord Breaker raised his right palm into the air. As said motion took place, a bubble raised up from the very centre of the platform despite it’s entirely solid surface. “Should any lizards coax them into aiding any attack, hostility, or expansion on otherwise peaceful planets-” The bubble expanded until it was five metres in radius all around. A translucent image of Arcose floated right in it’s centre. “They will know.”
“Then for their sakes, I pray that day never arrive.” Bones followed after with hands behind his own back. “Is there anything else you wish to do while we are close to their atmosphere?”
“I do have a little activity in mind, but it will have to wait- we are about to have guests.”
Quite a sight for sore eyes and travel-weary bodies.
Frieza #17 - ???
Once the favoured homeworld of the Frieza Force, Frieza #17 now stands as a shadow if it’s already barren, former self. An icy wasteland that no warm-blooded race could hope to survive in- much less prosper on. Sub-zero temperatures with no fauna as far as the eyes could see would do just about that to any species which has not developed any adaptations to live in such an climate. Yet, the most peculiar sight might be graced to the eyes all nearby and even from a reasonable distance.
Spanning thirty acres of land were the castle grounds while lush vegetation upon the land itself took thousands. Puffy white clouds in a majestic sky, healthy trees, and even surprisingly-well trimmed grass could be seen for kilometres upon end. A clear line was formed by said grass along the perimeter of this area. As snow trailed in, they seemed to melt and disperse as soon as they had crossed said line. In fact, the entire area within was oddly warm for the weather of the region. Rather temperate in spite of the planet itself for some reason or another. One could only wonder why that may be the case.
Alluring beyond any other.
The building that stood erected in the middle of the field was somewhat of a cross between a mansion and a castle. Five stories tall, silver-charm walls ,and capped by a greyed, Yale-blue roof was how it looked from the outside. An expensive estate for expensive tastes. Golden gleams of light scintillated from it’s windows to the outside world- a beacon of sorts perhaps, or merely an overpriced source of illumination.
Outside of the building, many a man, woman, and child paced along the paths leading to the palace. Some rode in horse-drawn carts, some came in cars. Others apparently drove in hover vehicles or star ships. Formal or ball wear appeared to be the appropriate choice of clothing for the situation at hand, though the odd figure or so wearing battle armour could be seen. One of them even sported multicoloured robes of sorts- a traditional garb from a distant xeno race. It was a spectacle, through and through for those that gathered. However, the purpose of said conglomeration was yet unknown to the many visitors of said meeting. If asked, the gatekeepers and valets may provide an equally clueless response.
( Word Count : 1502 )
𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆
|
|
|
|
Post by 𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆 on Aug 2, 2018 4:24:41 GMT -5
1203 words "A fellow orphan... huh." Eternal war. That was what these vessels were built to fight. Ancient patterns dating back many millennia, designed to subjugate an entire universe. The Sovereign only truly cared for the long term. This showed in their construction. Impressive, monolithic architecture to leave a lasting impression on any world that bore witness to their presence. Size and scale that would strike fear into the heart of any would-be rebel. As such this flight of these centuries-old warbirds soared through the inky blackness, their battle-scarred hulls glinting in the rare light of a nearby sun. Many in this universe would be surprised to learn that they were in fact, a little ship and her escorts, rather than a truly mobilized war fleet... Slowing down to a near crawl did these palatial machines place themselves in orbit above a cold frozen urbworld. Elunium blast shields folded into hiding, unveiling a viewing dais separated from the vacuum by transparisteel plating that served as deceptively fragile-looking window panes. So did stand, looking down upon this world, a Suzerain in contemplation. Crown, mane, and cape the only things visible if one were to approach her from behind. The Western Kai's records spoke of this planet. It once served as the Throneworld of this universe's Sovereign. A warlord of such frightening power that the only time he ever truly began training was a few years before the Tournament of Power. As the Sovereign, it was only understandable that he was chosen to represent his realm. And yet, based on the Rangers' assessment, his inevitable passing away had left his empire wanting, crumbling. Indeed, the Rangers unanimously concluded that it was all but dead by the time they arrived. For he too was only mortal. Countless flashes of light entered and left existence on the surface of the planet. A telltale sign of internal conflict and anarchy. With the dissolution of this empire, warlords without a sovereign to swear fealty to would attempt to carve out their own fiefdoms. Her eyes narrowed as she reached out to sense the chaos that was unfolding. Truly depressing. In a way, an awkward companionship connected the Suzerain to this world. Both were orphans left alone by fathers who died ahead of their time. It was only natural that she would come here to pay her respects to one of such power. For this Lord Frieza's name was forever inscribed on the list of the victorious team, Universe 7, which crushed the emissaries of seven other universes in an all out tournament. "The Eildon is holding a stationary orbit above Arcose, Your Majesty." so said the Knight in Black. Tall, dark, and languid, he approached from behind with a no-nonsense demeanor, stopping just two steps from aligning himself to her side. "Your escort detail is prepared to debark at your command.""I wonder, Sir Grayvian," the Suzerain turned her head slightly to her adjutant, deep green eyes always thinking. Always considering. "Is this what Agartha looks like today?"Grayvian took these words into consideration and pondered for himself. This was Universe 7's equivalent to Agartha. An orphaned Throneworld run by committee. "Surely, the Sovereign would have put more thought into his planning the Throneworld's security. From what I understand, this Lord Frieza was rather careless at times. And the Rangers' reports indicate chaos on a level that no form of government could exist, let alone pass a legislative order like the Succession Act.""So your confidence in the Sovereign's foresight is absolute." 'Father' was never a word she could refer to him by. He had gone and left his children alone in order to expand the Sovereignty, only to die and thus leave it to crumble. Mynia understood his reasons, but surely there were better ways to go about it... more rational ways. "Perhaps there is merit in those words."She turned back to watch the flashes of war, thoughts always moving. "I sense a place of respite," she raised a hand and pointed at a strange patch on the surface, one covered neither by cityscape nor frozen tundra. A strangely circular patch of land... "Down there. Have them take me down there. It may yet be hallowed ground where Lord Frieza is venerated."Sir Grayvian followed the direction of her hand, and upon spotting the location for himself, only raised an eyebrow. What an odd sort of place indeed. Still, as it was the Suzerain's desire to investigate this place personally, he was in no position to question her interest. As soon as the orders left her mouth, he dutifully took a bow. "As you wish, my liege. The detail shall be informed accordingly."--- The descent was not comfortable. For a machine built for war, it understandably never was. The greater concern for the designers of such a gunship, after all, was the safety of its occupants. Troops descending to the battlefield had to be in the best condition. And the wounded being taken back to better medical facilities waiting in orbit had to be secured. The pilots had their orders. The Suzerain was to be brought down to the centre of that anomalous sphere. That was all they had to know. They were, after all, some of the best in the fleet, handpicked by the Suzerain to get the job done, to entrust her life to them. And so did these pilots dutifully execute their orders, ignoring the strangeness of the affair. They had seen more bizarre oddities during their careers. Though this one was abnormal in a different sort of way. An island of peace in a planet-wide war zone. --- When she stepped down the lowered boarding ramp, Mynia had changed into something less confrontational. Where a crown, armor, and cape would be sure to intimidate or infuriate, she had instead placed something more in vogue with local customs, at least according to the Rangers' reports. The uniform still projected her authority, but in a way that was less likely to rouse suspicion. An elegant effigy stood before her, not unlike those in the vicinity of Albarica, country homes allowed for jousting and other military sports. The Suzerain traversed the walkway, passing parking horses, cars, aircraft of varying sorts. Whatever this place was, people were flocking to it. Why, though? It was useless to ask about it when all that was available was feeble speculation. Even the guards apparently had no idea what was going on. That didn't make them any less accommodating, however. Which was fine. Their purpose was to protect guests, not oppress them. Mynia passed into the main hall, a grand assembly, elaborately decorated. For a moment, she thought to ask if 'Lord Frieza's' memorial was somewhere in a prospective central courtyard. The gunship didn't have windows for her to be able to peer out and ascertain the layout of the property. At the very least, however, she should be able to try to sense it, now that she was here. Stepping into the center of the hall, the Suzerain closed her eyes and focused, reaching out with her energy. Where were the most people gathering? Where were the strongest auras? Who was the Master of the House? Was it someone far away, or someone hiding in plain sight...?
|
|
|
|
Post by T on Aug 2, 2018 10:01:44 GMT -5
Castle Entrance
Sensing either Ki or for different entities of any sort painted an uncanny picture within one’s mind. A large majority of the Ki signatures belonging to the residents and visitors of this palace felt stunted- hollow even. They could be compared to still silhouettes that moved only when one blinked, or a drawn out animation repeating itself over and over again in an endless loop. Frame by frame. Line by line. Despite that very fact, there were quite a number of them whose energies felt natural. Or at least as natural as they could be for someone from a different universe.
Although the aforementioned loop was in place, none of the guests’ actions seemed to repeat themselves save for the occasional bathroom break or two between rounds of drinks.
A few of said signatures did stand relatively out in the sea of jumbled energies however.
Wizened with age, yet not without a wholesome smile. The man worked like a well oiled machine.
In almost every major area one were to wander in, the butler would be present, dutiful, and somewhat quaint. He too paced about the area while occasionally serving drinks, offering to guide newer arrivals to their destinations, or simply even handing out orders to servants alike. Possessed by him was the grace of a bygone era. Said quality was quite useful in handling even the most ridiculous request from an ungrateful guest.
The largest power level was possessed by this man out of all the figures sensed. As it stood, he was comparable to an elite warrior in spite of how frail and elderly he appeared. All the more puzzling as he seemed to be the most well-mannered of the bunch.
Places that he would seem to frequent the most would be the entrance hall, the dining hall, and the kitchen.
A curious pair of figures- both of similar attitudes and equally loud enthusiasm for the event.
“ Heads heads heads!” The man called out.
“Tails tails tails!” The lady exclaimed.
Just as the gambler in front of them was about to speak, the gentleman raised his right hand up in front of his significant other with a swoosh. “But wait, honey cake, what if-…” He paused dramatically, furrowing his eyebrows as he focused his gaze on the table below with utmost certainty to his actions.
“Yeah?” She tilted her upper body lightly to the side, staring at him in curiosity.
“Heils…” Predicted the most esteemed gentleman.
“Whoah…” Starstruck and wide-eyed, she looked at him as if he delivered a revelation.
“I am flipping the coin now,” the gambler stated flatly.
A coin flip, one of the universe’s easiest methods of deciding between two choices. In this situation, it would seem as though two parties had come to a draw in a betting match. Perhaps it was not the best choice to bet on an amazingly improbably outcome.
Flip. Flip flip flip flip.
Up into the air and down onto the ground. The coin stood directly up on it’s edge.
“Oh that is some absolute bullshi-”
“We won!” The couple chanted in unison.
Compared to the old butler, their respective energies were a fifth or so each. Much stronger than the average guest or staff member, yet they did not appear to be fighters in any regard. Both were clumsy, both had about as much poise as an new-born flamingo, and both were carrying out what appeared to be a surprisingly fast rendition of a swing dance with one another while other couples looked over in mild shock.
They resided within the confines of the ballroom, having the time of their lives.
Silver-tongued and seemingly fresh, he carried with him a sense of carefully maintained composure.
Gambling did not exactly pan out in his favour. The two he just wagered against had luck of extraordinary proportion. That was just about it for him this evening. He figured it was time to cut his losses by taking the money he won from other matches and scrambling. So for the time being, he did not want to hear the words ‘card game’ in the slightest. Still he stayed. There might have been more to do while he was around here, after all.
Free food, a large gathering of people, and no work to accomplish. What more could he ask for?
The least powerful among them or so he would seem.
He appears not to be one to stay put or be satisfied with boring conversation. Hence, he rotates from lounge to lounge, ballroom to dining hall, and even the library on every so often.
? Overall, the estate was unusual in it’s make. A keen eye would be able to notice that the rooms within seemed larger than how they appeared outside. Some of their placements were atypical at times. Most of the doors which lead various area were either sealed off or locked, and from the corner of one’s eye, one might catch a glimpse of an object resembling plain white door no matter where they appear to be every so often. Yet, it was one that would never be present when looked at.
It could have simply been an overactive imagination. At least, that is what some guests believe.
Time for merrymaking did not seem to be running out in the near future. Quite a few people were invested in whatever conversation or activity they were carrying out. Myrnia attracted a few odd glimpses here and there from her attire, still, no one bothered her other than that. They were there for people they knew. No one with a grand level of power was present save for the three, and some mid-range guards scattered about all four quadrants of the premises.
A bizarre gathering of unfamiliar people in the midst of a sub-zero climate, to sum matters up. It is inexplicable as to why they are still there, yet they are. They are there, and they appear to be enjoying the company of one another.
( Word Count : 1002 )
𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆
|
|
|
|
Post by 𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆 on Aug 3, 2018 4:04:39 GMT -5
680 words "A fellow orphan... huh." Certain candidates were scattered about. At the very least, they seemed more real than many of these ghostly power signatures. They had their own personalities, minded their own business with consistency... Was this some sort of intricate illusion? Were there only a few handfuls of real people at this venue? For what purpose?
Was Lord Frieza's memorial not enough to attract attention? Or perhaps, they were doing this to keep up the pretense that things were going as normal, despite the planetary war going on outside. It was around this time, slowly approaching the butler - a simple and rational choice, given the highest power level and the position of host - that she started to notice that door.
It would never be there when she looked at it. But it always lurked along the periphery of her field of view. Just an ordinary, plain white door. Sometimes, it would almost seem to be unreal, a phantom scribble sketched onto paper. And yet, it ironically might have been the most real thing here, if she could just reach it.
After all, it was starting to dawn on the Suzerain that many of the doors in this manor were... locked. With the foreboding feeling that they didn't really lead anywhere. Then, perhaps the establishment wasn't just Lord Frieza's memorial, putting on an illusory show to make the guests thing that everything is going on like normal. Perhaps, the establishment itself was the mirage. For who? If Mynia had to hazard a self-centered guess, the answer would be for her. But it was self-centered and arrogant. Who would put on such a show for someone who had just arrived?
At the moment, the initial assumption should be that this recipient was somewhere here, or at least, on their way here. With that in mind, she could then proceed with the investigation on the premise that she was an outsider who happened to be caught in this strange web, but with entertaining the possibility that the web might in fact have been spun for her. For now, though, she would play along. Maybe put up a ruse that she had not gained such insight.
In which case, the simplest thing to do would be to follow her original presumption, that this was some sort of establishment that honored Lord Frieza with some sort of memorial or another. That also meant, proceeding with the simple, if rational plan of approaching the butler.
There was no point in causing a delay. Suddenly changing her demeanor would only create suspicion for the Master of the house, whoever that may have been. Another potential speculation was that the Master was on the other side of that phantom white door. But how could one reach it, if it only ever skulked in the dim recesses of her peripheral vision?
Approach it from an awkward angle? Of course not. Perhaps she could instead just carry on, and gain more information with this sight interrogation. Odds were, if the host was involved, she would be fed some sort of misinformation, words she wanted to hear. Or something else that would cause misdirection. Depending on that, then, she might be able to glean more about the way the Master of the House thought.
And if she understood his thought processes, perhaps she would be one step closer to reaching him. Taking a brief detour to the buffet table, Mynia took some appetizers and placed them on a little saucer. A tempting little number of biscuits with cheese-encrusted tomato halves on top, sprinkled with basil crumbs. A humble delight.
With her package loaded, the Suzerain started with the first piece, as she walked her way up to the host, in her typical refined manner, and inquired. "Pardon me, Sir. I couldn't help but notice you seem to be the steward of this establishment. Pray tell, what is this place? I am a tourist, you see, and it is my first time on Arcose. Does it house a memorial dedicated to Lord Frieza? Or is it the property of some other member of the peerage?"
|
|
|
|
Post by T on Aug 3, 2018 9:56:20 GMT -5
Dining Hall
Within the confines of this building, each and every single room arrivals managed to enter would appear to have a purpose for the guests to uncover. Drinking, dancing, conversing, and more. Some carried conversation pieces that bought more than a few glimpses, while others allowed for much needed space for the loner or two to reside casually in. Eerie to some extent, for one could mistake it to be tailored appropriately for the needs of tens upon hundreds of people who visited. Then again, none of them seemed to so much as bat an eyelid at that.
Catching him at a free moment might have taken a little more effort than one could expect due to mild crowding in the area. He appeared to be standing by a pair of large, double doors leading out of the hall and into another. Both arms were kept behind his back as he watched the other servants proceed. He seemed much less like a hawk stalking it's prey, and more akin to an attentive teacher keeping an eye out for students who might have required assistance during a self-study period.
The evening was progressing slowly from his perspective at that moment. Not much to do as his coworkers adapted to the influx of a new crowd.
Once Myrnia succeeded in catching his attention, he noded in acknowledgement of her presence.
“Ah, a sightseer.” And a rather inquisitive one at that. The questions she asked could have warranted separate conversations on their own. Regardless, the butler decided to reply to her queries as accurately and aptly as he could without any hesitation on his own part. It was ultimately his duty to do so and as such, he ave it his all in the attempt to see it through to the very end of time. Or until one of them expired at the very least.
“I am happy to answer your questions- in order to the best of my abilities, that is.” He replied, bringing his right hand up in front of his chest briefly.
First and foremost was what purpose the place actually had in the grand scheme of matters. “This is Castle Benvenuto,” the butler’s tone stayed equally as consistent as his mannerisms and temper. Though asked with a tinge too much abruptness for his liking, he did as his duty demanded- to serve the guests’ requests within reason. “Many a member among my staff refer to it as ‘Welcome Manor’.”
“It was build exactly five hours, thirty-five minutes, and fifty seconds at the instant I have finished this sentence.” All the above said without so much as a glimpse of the watch on his left wrist.
Next came a topic of a little more sensitive area. Politics was not something that he was exactly fond of speaking about- much less with a stranger. The butler had a fondness for teaching history to the masses, but for a complete newcomer to arrive at this estate and refer to one of the greatest evils of the previous millennia with so much as a title to their name was a little off-putting.
“My apologies, you would be hard pressed to find memorials of that intergalactic tyrant on any planet you visit.” Bowing forward lightly, he closed his eyes. The motion was short-lived however, as he continued on with his expository dialogue. “I am afraid that the general subjugation of sentient life across the stars, wanton destruction of planets, and apparent wrath which reduced the galaxy’s population to an even smaller number of races is frowned upon.”
“Between commuting from job to job, managing the estate, and serving guests, the true purpose of this gathering has evaded me.” Odd enough that the managing butler had no clue as to how or why the estate was constructed in the first place. Perhaps it was due to short notice of his duties. Perhaps it was something else. Whatever the reason may be, he did give off an air of genuine sincerity behind his voice. “However, I have been informed by my colleagues that the master of the land has made it in order to; as it’s name suggests; welcome someone or another.”
“Will that be all?” He asked at last.
( Word Count : 710 ) 𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆
|
|
|
|
Post by 𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆 on Aug 4, 2018 11:54:25 GMT -5
1025 words "How welcoming is Welcome Manor?" Welcome Manor? What an intriguing name for an estate. Its purpose was to welcome guests. That sounded so plain, though... so... obvious. More importantly, it was a very recently constructed one, if the Host's overly precise sense of time was to be believed. A recent construction implied anticipation of a recent or upcoming guest. Either the result of magic, which explains the shallow power levels somewhat - these ghosts are all part of the game - or some advanced technology... One or the other.
Mynia crossed her arms as she listened further. A 'tyrant' was a subjective term. Perhaps in some other place or time, some of her methods would be considered extreme. But she did all these things for the sake of Albarica's prosperity. To ensure victory in the Ringless Tournament, and restore order to the Sovereignty...
If that meant sacrificing a planet to buy time for a retreat, or using one as bait to lure in an overwhelmingly vast enemy force, only to destroy them with an Annihilatus operation. To be sure, they evacuated civilians when possible. But that was an ideal set of circumstances, and the opportunity to evacuate was not always available.
When they could, though, they would try to use unpopulated worlds that had some other reason for attraction. A wealth of natural resources, perhaps. A strategic location along the hyperlanes, despite being unpopulated... But even so, a true sacrifice of a planet could not always be avoided.
She had long told herself that these were necessary. After all, if the invading fleets got past their worlds, the greater realm would be put to risk. How many more trillions of lives would be lost? Some on her war council dissented, claiming that every soul was priceless. What they failed to grasp was the reality of the situation.
An ideal world, where every last soul could be spared the terrors of war, was a fantasy. What about the quadrillions in the Albarican Armed Services who could never be sure if they would live to the next day? Or those poor souls caught by surprise raids? In the real world, total evacuation was a luxury. And more often than not, it was one that they could not afford to purchase. In the real world, while each soul was priceless, none of them had any insurance that they would survive.
Rather than cling on to some unreal ideal, it was best to observe the facts and plan accordingly. People were going to die. If it were possible, help those who could be helped. Spare from the fire those who could be spared. But if it were to lead to the protection of a greater number of Albarican souls... If rescuing them would jeopardize a such a mission... sacrifices would have to be made.
These were not decisions that were made without much thought. They were sacrifices, not disposable pawns.
Of course, the people didn't see the decision making process behind these choices. Perhaps, this was why someone on her war council once declared that she wasn't [human]. By going against the beats of her heart and siding with the cold reasoning of her mind, all for the sake of bringing prosperity, the Suzerain did not understand the hearts of the people.
How could she? It was certain that none of those civilians who died on a planet that was strategically destroyed wanted to die. Who would? The same could be said of those who lived on all the other worlds that that strategic destruction saved. When it came down to it, then, she operated on the principle of the numbers.
Everyday, she would approve plans, or issue orders, that sent countless billions, trillions, of soldiers, thousands of Knights, to their deaths, on an uncertain chance that their sacrifice would lead to some future point of peace.
In a way, she too was a tyrant.
So how was Lord Frieza any different? She too subjugated sentient worlds. Worlds that strayed from the Sovereignty after its collapse began. Worlds that did not always welcome the arrival of Albarican forces announcing that they were now under the protection of the White Suzerain.
She too had destroyed planets, perhaps in ways people would consider wanton. Sacrificed many worlds, both to stem the tide of the other Horsemen's armies and fleets, and to create openings for strategic offensive pushes. Her heart would bleed for those lives. Those lives, though she most likely never met them, were no less Albarican. Those were her people. And for the greater good of her people, some of her people would have to suffer. Necessarily. Unavoidably.
That was why she despised her heart. It was prone to impulse, and took many years to get under control. Once in a while, it would still go off. But she had become an expert at putting it down.
Wrath... yes, perhaps the enemy would see it as wrath when she unleashed the full power of her Lance to annihilate their armies in one fell swoop. But it was never anything personal for her. And surely, this wrath had led to depopulation more than once. Mynia had already lost count of the worlds and species that had been lost to this conflict.
So truly, the only way to learn the difference between herself and Lord Frieza, was to learn about his circumstances. He certainly sounded knowledgeable about this history... however, Mynia would certainly prefer to discover more about Lord Frieza on her own terms.
"I thank you for your patience and service, Good Sir. Your knowledge of Lo- of Frieza's history, has been most enlightening." She would have to watch how she referred to him from now on. Right now, however, there were more important things to discuss. Mynia reached down to her saucer and picked up the last little hors d'oeuvre, finishing it up with a certain upper crust panache. "That being said, would it be too much of an inconvenience if I were to request an audience with the master of the land? The idea of establishing an entire property just to service a mystery impending guest sounds rather intriguing, and I wish to see how it unfolds."
|
|
|
|
Post by T on Aug 5, 2018 6:47:01 GMT -5
"An audience with the master," he parroted after she had finished speaking. He hesitated for a moment. A short pause was held between sentences. Whether or not he required it simply to consider her request or out of astonishment came unclear. The elderly man narrowed his eyes as his gaze shifted to the floor momentarily. When he next looked back to Myrnia, he spoke frankly to her. Then and there, uncertainly was present in his voice for the very first time in their conversation. "I am afraid that I c̨͇̙̲͐ͅa̤̞̖͔͑͛̒̋ͩͬn̛̠̱͂̋͢ ̥̬̗͖̹͉͔͓̼̑͆ͫ̒̆d̒̕҉̠͎̫̣̦͉o̩̭̲͕̿́ͯͦͭͤ̈̅͘͡ ̭͔͔͖̮̲̃͠n̝̟̟͍̜̋͛̇ͧ͛̓͆́o̷̦̖͒ ̴͙̥̖ͣ̾s̢̝̼̩̙̳͖̊̄̊ͮ̓̏̍ͤ̂̕u̹̖̘͔̲̩̱̞͋̈̑͘c̼͈̳̗͉͉͍̖͖͛͆ͩ͞͝͝h̷̩͂̄̕ ̗͓̦͉̠̺̩̣̅̎ͩ̋̏̐̉̈́ͅṯ̺̳̉̓͌̃͗̂ͩ̈́͂̕͟h͆͜͏҉͍̻̲̲̞̲̬̱̞i̱̤̥̞̙͒̇͛͟-̼́ͣ̀̋̔ͬͪ̀"
Sound became muffled. Movements started to blur.
The butler continues to speak, yet all noise arriving to one's eardrums from every direction sounded cut up, pieced differently, and as if tinnitus was more of a natural occurrence what with the ringing in one's ears. All in spite of his lips still moving at a normal pace.
Too did the warrior's surroundings waver and muddle. Every wall, every person, everything in sight blurred- save for one object which now was immediately apparent as if it had been there all along.
It was the door.
The door was located on a wall directly behind the butler.
"Come in."
Blink.
Bearing the burdens of one's past, how can one hope to move on to the future? Perhaps with more precaution behind their actions and a fear of failure, they might very well succeed at whatever task of similar caliber is thrown at them. Perhaps it may bring oneself to excel within their particular field. Then again, the weight of consequence bears heavily on the shoulders of aspiration- constricting it's movements from ever gaining more. Perhaps. Perhaps. Still, this door would beg to differ.
Ruined by neglect and the elements, it would seem as though the door was worn out. It stood on the brink of collapse; so much so that the lightest of breezes may threaten to reduce it to splinters. Yet it stood.
It stood firm and stalwart as if ignoring moss, flood, and drought- taunting gravity itself to bring hail or snow. Pride might have driven it to stand longer. It’s make was superior, elevated upon a short flight of stairs, and maybe even better than that of any other door. With stone pillars as a frame; egging it on to continue with it’s miserable existence; it might have even been durable enough to withstand time itself. But to to what end? For what purpose?
What is the point of a door when nobody will go through it in the first place?
Nothing.
This entrance had no purpose to it other than as a gateway to a past forgotten by everyone except those who used it, those who abused it, and those who neglected to fix it when people were still around.
While that door was there, the voices of all guests around sounded as if they were being funnelled through a hole the size of a cork. None of the people present in the hall seemed to move for the split second it was there, save for different parts of each staff members’ bodies appearing to twitch ever so slightly. One could have even missed it if they did not pay attention due to the warped light or unfocused gaze. The butler who Mynia was talking to however, appeared to keep his composure throughout the entire event.
"Please come in."
Blink.
Brown, white and sepia were the colours this door adopted. Long gone were the grim shading and stone-brick platform of the past. The trend was discarded in favour of a more simple style in both lighting and line-work. Though, that is not to say that all detail had been dropped for an easier make.
In fact, perception itself bent with the coming of this anomality. One moment it looked as if the section wall protruded outward by an inch to present said oddity closer to Myrnia, and the next, it caved inwards. Someone might have dug a perfectly cuboid sized hole in the wall just to place a door at it’s very end. This shifting of cognisance only took place when looking at the object from a straight line of sight.
If one were to attempt to look at it from any other angle, the target would simply remain stuck in it’s warped position; either in, or out of the wall; until seen from directly ahead again.
“Oh won’t you come in?”
Blink.
Shrouded in darkness. None save for the door stood within vision. Their Ki signatures, the land, all forms of life and stimulus detectable via the five senses were now gone. All that remained was sight- sight of the aforementioned object ahead.
This time, it stood as somewhat of a fusion between the first and the last.
Discarding the second’s brownish hue left it with a pencil-sketch shading. Discarding the grim nature of the first left it with a simpler design- albeit it’s details were impeccably depicted. A plain wooden frame anchored it to a small section of still-visible wall among the black nothingness of it’s surroundings.
It was as real as real could possibly be.
Blink.
Sound, light, and colour returned to the hall once more. Music continued as if the band had never stopped, the guests conversed with one another in a sea of murmurs and chuckles, and a much younger man stood right in front of her for some reason or another.
"-ng.” Directly in the place of the elderly butler was a slightly taller, raven-haired man. A patch was draped over his right eye while a single amber iris peered over at Myrna inquisitively. He brought his gloved left hand from behind his back to brush away a few stray locks of hair from his face. “That is to say, I am unable to lead you to hͦ҉̬̮̩į͓͕͖̣̩͙̅̐̃͆ͩ̌m͚̆ͩ̿̏̎̎ͬ.”
Adjusting his tie, the man appeared to boast some sort of ancient military officer uniform. “Nevertheless, I can give you directions to him.” So he said in a confident manner.
He nodded his head. “It is a short walk. However, I do have to state a few bits of advice you should follow-”
Inhaling through his nostrils deeply, he lifted his right hand clenched up in front of his chest. A finger was raised every time he listed a sentence.“Do not talk or listen to anyone or anything you come across in there until you reach the master.” One- his thumb. “Do not touch anything at all- not even doorknobs.” Two- his index finger. “If you wish to leave the manor now, you can do so.” Three- his middle. “If you wish to stay and treat yourself to a dish or so, I highly recommend the Filet mignon.” Four, oddly enough.
“As a third option, if you still desire to meet the master of this manor-” Pivoting his body to the right, he would take a step back and allow the door to come into full view for her. Nobody acknowledged it’s existence or sudden appearance. “I believe that would be your best bet.”
“Should you require any assistance, simply call for Jeeves.”
( Word Count : 1205 )
𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆
|
|
|
|
Post by 𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆 on Aug 7, 2018 10:58:39 GMT -5
1008 words "How welcoming is Welcome Manor?" Strange eons, strange moments. The length of time was not particularly important. If anything, it seemed to be one of those instances were time was not a factor, some meta-temporal realm, or a skewing of temporal perception. But there it was. All the voices, washed out into the dull thrum of that high pitched ringing in your ears when no other sounds were present.
All the sights, blurred out into faded smudges on some astral plaster that didn't seem to exist. For what might have been the longest time, or the shortest, there was only one center of attention. That door. That door that changed with each blinking of the eye. Ancient and worn before. Plain and wooden after. Plain and wooden before... some combination of the former two after.
This door that had always hidden in the periphery had now become the center of attention, like a shy wallflower finally emerging to attempt reaching out to that person she'd always admired. It beckoned. Just as soon as she took a step, though, it left. The wallflower had lost her confidence and gone back to hiding in the shadows, the corners of the eye.
The ringing ceased, buried underneath the resuming murmurs of distant conversation. Just within earshot, but outside the area of comprehension. Vague splotches on astral plaster reformed into detail, true images superimposed in three dimensions. She was now back in Welcome Manor.
The old steward had vanished, in his place standing a young man with a peculiar piece of eyewear. And yet, the words that left his mouth were exactly what she would have expected the butler to say. The entertained possibility would be that this was his true form all along. With Mynia's request to see the Master of the house, perhaps the illusion had begun to shatter? At least this part of it, at any rate.
Continuing from where they left off, he explained how it was beyond his ability to lead her to the Master. However, he could give her directions... and so, he began to give a set of instructions. They made sense, from their respective perspectives.
The first two were warnings. And usually, warnings were given for good reason. Mynia never understood the allure of forbidden fruit, or as some would call it, schmuck bait. She never pursued something that was said to be dangerous, unless she saw merit in doing so. Those dangerous things Suzerain did go for, she was able to handle with efficiency. Whether she succeeded or failed, the results were never catastrophic.
These were calculated risks, necessary ones. Something made out of intent, rather than mere animalistic, impulsive curiosity.
She didn't need to touch anything or listen to anyone. All she needed to do was get to the Master. Though the challenge was getting into the door without touching the knob. She waited for the butler to finish his instructions.
The next one was an ultimatum. A delineation of the line in the sand. This was the point of no return. If she crossed it, there was no going back. But until she began this journey, there was always the opportunity to turn around. This was the time to choose. Would she push forward, or go home? No. Not after getting this far. She would see who the Master had prepared this mansion for, and why.
The last was a courtesy. This was a place of welcoming. Mynia couldn't deny that the food was well-prepared. And a specific recommendation from the steward himself was always a good one. He would be familiar with the best preparations, after all.
And that was when he presented the door. There it was... standing right in the centre of her field of view. For a moment, she recalled that strange time. Strange moments or strange eons. Nothing else was here. Just that door. Changing with each blink. An old, simple door.
So those were her choices. Leave. Eat. Or proceed. The answer was obvious. But something about what was said was a little problematic.
Fortunately, he was still open to providing assistance, and had even gone so far as to provide her with his name. Jeeves. A simple name. Easy to remember. And yet, in its own charming way, elegant. While she was not one to enjoy using her instincts outside of combat, something in the back of her mind, gnawing like the little niggle that it was, told her that it was the perfect name for a steward.
"Your assistance is much appreciated, Jeeves," the Suzerain nodded in response. "I shall be on my way to meet with the Master." The path was clear. The door was there, just waiting. And yet, that little detail that he'd mentioned earlier bothered her. She took the appropriate steps forward, stopping just short of the door. Examining the knob.
Mynia turned around and posed her question. "I just have one little concern. You said earlier to not touch anything, including the doorknobs. Does that include the knob on this door?" It sounded rather stupid to ask, if most people were to see this exchange. But leaving in such a specific detail implied its importance.
Again, the door called. This mansion was a construct of magic or some advanced technology. Its people were false. The only real thing was the door. Perhaps the butler as well. Presumably, you did not want to touch anything 'including door knobs' because it would lead to some... assimilation into the illusion.
But would that include the door knob on the only real door here? The very first door that would lead you into the trials? That was the puzzle. Even before the test had begun, it seemed as though she was already facing the true first test. Did the very first door, the one that called out to her from the corner of her vision, count as something that should not be touched until she reached the master? More importantly, could the steward's answer be trusted?
Well... she was going to find out, one way or another.
|
|
|
|
Post by T on Aug 8, 2018 5:23:19 GMT -5
“I thank you for attending this event, Miss.” At best, the butler’s response would leave one uncertain. All he did was crack half a smile upon Myrnia having asked the question. “If you do meet with Lord Breaker, I trust that you will find the master to be a most memorable figure.” Then, just when he was about to open his mouth to answer her last question, the door shut- sealing off the sight of both him and the dining hall.
Acknowledgement of emptiness. Anticipation of nothing. Abandonment of sound.
Noises that one could be heard flooding into one’s eardrums had now been cut off with the closing of the door. There was no music, no talking, and certainly no lively mood to her surroundings. One may wonder how they came to be within the confines of these walls despite not taking so much as a step past the previous door’s frame. Then again, that thought alone could very well be countered by the notion that such a place even existed to begin with.
To where the ends meet, and the meet ends, the meet and ends, ends the meet and, meet the ends and-
A world where null has a value. A plane where physics fail. A dimension which looked as each frame of movement had been recreated in monochrome. Oneself would appear to still bear colour in this ocularly uncanny existence, yet looking quickly between an object lacking the aforementioned quality and something which possesses it may have very well been a disorientating experience. That is to say, if the hundreds upon thousands of other nauseatingly fourth-dimensional qualities was not enough to put forth the mere term ‘perplexing’ upon a golden throne before chucking both it and the throne out of a window.
Speaking of windows, this place appeared to be absolutely teeming with them. Windows which led to windows, windows which led to nothing, and windows for the sake of windows. So many windows laid, stood, floated, and even walked all about on their little window-sticks. In spite of the assumption that the mass population of windows would give, those were not the only objects; or things for that matter; that could be seen from the platform one first arrived at through the door.
Loose pages of newspapers seemed to be a frequent denizen of this bewildering void. While there was a path leading ahead, burnt fragments of paper danced around in the air by the side of questionably solid land. The further one looked off the trail, the more intact the newsletters. Broken slabs of brick and metal hovered without purpose in the air- some curled into spirals, others simply remained firm in place. A lone, unscathed lightbulb laid smack dab in the middle of the path. It seemed to be just waiting for someone to step on it.
There even appeared to be a computer hanging out of one of the realm’s many corners.
Though upon closer inspection, one might just realise realise that it was another window.
Proceeding along the pavement without touching anything but the ground would bring one closer to an interesting view- or at least a tinge more interesting than the conglomerate of physics defying objects could get. The road appeared to split in two, albeit not in a conventional sense. While the track did split off on it’s left into a staggered, curving flight of stairs which guided one elsewhere, it’s right appeared to be on a wall.
More specifically, the right road looked as if it were painted perfectly on a wall to the side of the path. Looking directly at it would give one the notion that one might just be able to walk upon it. Attempting to do so would yield the result that one could.
Door in a room
Taking the way on the left ensured entry to of a dimly lit room. Nothing but pale light from the entrance aided in illuminating the area. Though for some odd reason or another, not even the presence of exhibited Ki managed to bring more light into sight. Hairy, black follicles or cracks seemed to lay still in sprawled patters in the bottom corners of the room. It may have been hard to tell with the level of light available to one’s eyes.
Another door stood exactly five metres away from the middle of each wall if measured against it’s centre. This one did not seem too unlike the one that she saw behind Jeeves. A recurring pattern in this world of randomness perhaps, yet the surface of this object came across as mildly cleaner.
If one looked behind the door, they would see nothing but air and a wall further away.
It was shut, and in all likelihood, locked.
???
Meaningless movement. Repetition without pause.
The painting on the wall showed the outsider to a rather bustling building. Yes, indeed. A building teeming with life from floor to ceiling, from wall to wall, step by step, and inside out. There seemed to be ‘people’; for lack of better word; within the structure that one would reside in. Then again, ‘people’ might have been a stretch for ‘humanoid figures with no descendable features except flesh and a body’. They took no heed of Mynia’s presence if she was there- only making sure that they get to their destination.
Their destination, but where?
Much like the rest of the plane, logic did not follow. The bottom of stairs acted as more stairs for the fleshy beings that walked below. Or was it up? Balcony railings hung vertically off the side of walls, stairs resided upon the ceiling, balconies were built horizontally on walls, and hallways leading to absolutely nowhere were commonplace among this residence.
Perhaps the most obtuse aspect of it all were the whispers in the air. Hisses, snaps, and muttering alike floated about in utter stagnation that was the air. It was hard to tell which being or direction they came from.
“I should to go soon.”
“I should to find them.”
“I need to eat something.”
An endless sea of murmurs from voices of all sorts. Child, woman, man, or otherwise. It did not matter how many sounded as familiar as a close relative, or as distant as a stranger over the phone. All of them would leave sooner than they came.
“I need to leave.”
“I need to escape.”
“I want my mommy.” Danger, the foreboding sense of danger. Louder, louder still they became. Not quite a shouts, yet not quite casual statements. They longed for something else. They commanded to be given something else than this miserable existence of theirs. A metronome without pause. A pendulum without friction or air resistance.
What were they waiting for? What were they possibly hope to achieve in this never-ending cycle?
“I want to live.”
“I want to breathe.”
“I have to go outside.” Then, all at once, they ceased to speak. Every single figure still moved themselves to their port of call. Although the sudden change of behaviour was abrupt enough as it is, one may have very well been able to find this silence comparably better than the constant chatter invade one’s sense of hearing. None of them so much as made a noise while they walked. Perhaps it was for the better that they stayed this way.
Beckoning voices of the faceless masses made more than enough of a distraction while attempting to make sense of this ‘building’. A short walk was what the butler told, but it would seem that she was in for a longer one than she might have expected.
If Mynia were to glance around, she would notice three entrances appeared the most promising out of the bunch. Not that the warrior had much of a say in that matter. All the other balconies and entrance routes were filled with those things passing through one by one with little to no space for a person taller than a beagle to weave in-between them.
A horizontal door on the leftmost wall of the room, another door of similar positioning which could be easily accessed by the first flight of stairs, and finally, a darn, empty balcony on the rightmost wall of the room. Choices, choices, choices of all choices. She could visit one of them, she could visit two of them, she could visit none of them, or she could visit all three of them!
“But which one will she choose?” A multitude of voices sprang out from the wall behind her. It sounded as if it were a collection of four specific voices heard before when the whispers still came: a harsh throat of a grizzled veteran, a melancholic tone from a grieving widow, a giggling girl excitable as ever, and a young boy speaking without any emotion. “Maybe the one on the left, maybe the one on the right- maybe, just maybe…”
“She’s too much of an idiot to make her own choices in life.” They added on with a chuckle.
On the condition that one were to look behind them, the source of said voices became apparent as ever. it was a silhouette pressed against a wall- dancing, skipping, and trotting about the flat surface as if performing an act for a crowd of excited onlookers.
“Come then, there’s no need to be shy- You can ask for my help if you need to!” With a hop, a bounce, and a dive, it landed onto it’s palms before raising the rest of it’s body in a shadowy handstand. “Don’t you trust me?” ( Word Count : 1611 )
𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆
|
|
|
|
Post by 𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆 on Aug 20, 2018 4:28:41 GMT -5
1217 words "How welcoming is Welcome Manor?" Disjointed. Fragmented. Nonsensical. This realm was more suited to the ramblings of a mind trapped inside a fever dream than an actual living space. Windows to somewhere, windows to nowhere, windows to windows... Ports. Paper. Paths. Places and "people".
Everything happened all at once, yet at the same time, nothing was really happening. She gazed everywhere, yet even as she did so, the idea began to mount that she was in fact, gazing straight into the middle of nowhere.
There was a certain alienation here, with only one true descriptor that could appropriately apply to her surroundings: irrational. Her mouth curled downward and one side twisted and parted just small enough to expose a small hint of teeth bared in hostility. Corollary to irrational, was another thought that found its way into her mind.
Disgusting.
Not so much that it made her physically want to retch, or boggled her head such that it would begin to spin. No, it was from the violation of common sense that this journey had thrust upon her. Ah, but if only it were so easy. The scholars had once written about such realms, ideas of hypothetical worlds within the unbounded set of worlds.
Planes above the ordinary three dimensions that were visible today, and the fourth dimension experienced over time. It was past the veil of this ordinary realm, they wrote, that the reality of the underlying fabric, the higher laws governing local laws, they said, would be exposed.
To those unseasoned in such affairs, they would indeed appear to be the mouth of madness itself. But if only one could look past the apparent chaos and attempt to spot the order lurking beneath, to decrypt the ciphers that had been placed over the laws of the worlds beyond, then perhaps those of limited perception could learn more.
There existed behind this region, an intelligence. After all, was this not still part of the estate, Welcome Manor, which was made to greet a guest? And even if not, was this not under the domain of the Master of the Manor?
Brief fleeting thoughts arose of performing a simple scientific experiment, to release the power of her Lance and see if it were possible to obliterate this realm. Would this part the curtain and reveal the Wizard in his Emerald Fortress? Would this burst do no harm to potentially higher dimensional objects, and thus accomplish nothing but waste energy? Would it merely annihilate the items and leave her trapped within this strange space?
Truly, there were many ways to go about it. But these were instinctive thoughts, brought about by her base revulsion to the chaotic appearance of the realm. A saner mind would surely prevail, as it would convince its hasty contemporaries that just because it appeared to be mad, did not necessarily mean that it was mad.
A cloud, the appearance of a tree, a bolt of lightning. All of these appeared chaotic, with no immediately discernible order. And yet underlying these, were highly complex, elegant mathematical equations that dictated a fractal pattern to which they would adhere. While no two bolts of lightning were exactly the same, their distinctive crackling patterns were iconic. Each race of tree was distinct, as each leaf had a given shape. Each canopy intertwined and stretched in a certain way. Each leaf had their own patterns of ribbing.
This was of course a completely different matter from trees, or clouds, or lightning, but it was not inappropriate to apply a similar principle to the situation at hand. The idea of a rational mind was to first assume that a universal principle of rationality existed first. Only if this was disproven would they move on to more... unsettling... ideas.
There was also that one other concern. The end of this realm would lead to the Master of the Manor. This 'Lord Breaker', as the peculiar steward Jeeves had called him. It would be bad form, then, to unsheathe one's blade in the house of a host who had been kind enough to allow the opportunity to meet him.
Perhaps above all, that was the primary cause for why the Suzerain did not merely unleash the fury of her Holy Lance to perform a 'scientific' experiment involving the interaction of one set of energy with what might not even be a case of 'matter'.
So then, which way? The stairs to the left, or the 'painted' path to the right? This world was chaotic. Rules of common sense, even in choosing between two roads, need not apply. Once, two would diverge in a yellow wood. One more well trodden than the other. This would suggest that the former was 'safer', or at least more highly trafficked.
This diversion, on the other hand, was between what appeared 'real' and what appeared 'imagined'. While the latter was 'painted' into the wall, it did give of just the right sense of perceptual blurriness so as to be almost convincing.
Would this stranger path lead to the Master of the Manor? It might not. But anything went here. Perhaps if she were to grasp at straws of even the smallest form of rational justification, it would be "This seems to be a game. It would be poor form not to play it."
And with this conclusion did the Suzerain nod to herself with a stubborn certainty and pursue the path to the right, one leading to a mockery of daily life. These 'people' and their endless, meaningless travels. Their concerns and worries. As if they took notice of the new arrival, they grew silent, allowing her to more carefully examine any particular choices...
Voices returned, albeit from a different direction. Voices behind her, addressing and commentating as if an outide observer. Turning about would reveal a nighted jester. A shadow on a wall. This was, as somebody once put it, a case that took on the current circumstances and pushed them even further beyond, as 'curiouser and curiouser'. "Ah. The Fool. How appropriate." It wasn't so much a direct response as it was a comment to the self.
The symbol of common sense and frank observation. One might even call it a minute anchor of familiarity in this strange land. And yet, even this was not entirely so. It was no ordinary fool. It spoke with many voices, and existed within a faceless shadow. This reminded her of how it was no doubt also deeply involved here. More importantly, the steward had warned her not to speak or listen to anyone or anything within the confines of the realm. The 'people' and now this 'fool' were distractions.
She turned back to see her three choices. The balcony seemed to be the most straightforward. Furthest from any of the 'people'. The second warning rang in her head. Touch nothing. And so the 'climb' would be more of a flight, as she blinked. Such a minute gesture to send ki flowing, and she was on her way, levitating up to the level of the balcony, over the railing, and down onto the balcony floor.
What was there to find? A pathway? A distraction? Something that would bring her closer to the Master, or something that would extend this journey beyond necessary? There was only one way to find out... Mynia stepped into the emptiness.
|
|
|
|
Post by T on Aug 21, 2018 4:56:57 GMT -5
“Foo-” The shadow nearly repeated after her. The choir of voices huffed as it crossed silhouetted arms in a mixture of disappointment and annoyance. Whether these emotions were sincere in any measure was hard to tell. “Well I never!— My, my, aren’t you the most adorable little thing?” It brought a pitch black hand to the front of a flat face as a chuckle, giggle, cackled, and sniggered in a violent fit fit.
“I’m going to have a grand old time with yo-” Voices ceased to speak for a moment upon noticing where Mynia was headed towards. “Oh no no no no no, you don’t want to go there.” Trailing up the wall alongside the Suzerian in flight, it adopted a seating pose. “In fact, you don’t want to go in any of these rooms- no telling what’s inside of them.”
“There could be monsters, or traps, or— FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DO NOT GO IN—”
Nothing. No voices seeped past the frame of the entrance on the balcony. The existence of the aforementioned voices were questionable in the first place. A figment of one’s imagination maybe. Maybe not. Maybe truly there in the first place. Whatever the reason may be, they could no longer be heard in the slightest.
Calm. For the difference in every single aspect of this plane could not be fretted over.
Intrigue. Knowing that the lessons learnt from illogical experiences would make a story to tell.
Fatigue. At the end of the day, one could always do with a rest to prepare them for the next day.
Rest. Yes, rest. A fleeting respite was bestowed to the warrior’s ears among the cacophony of warped sounds from before. Rare as they come, the hallway which she travelled through only spanned for ten meters or so. Perception of depth was all too commonly regarded as normal in daily life- it simply posed as a complete; and possibly welcome; contrast from the outside ‘world’. Ten meters. How comforting to have one’s judgement of distance restored just like that.
Hopefully, any discomfort would not be brought alongside the abrupt change.
Four white walls composed the usual dreary sight. This time however, a single, round wooden table propped up by one leg from it’s very centre stood at the opposite end of the hall. A bottle of wine along with an appropriate glass for drinking stood atop the piece of furniture. All equally strange in their own right. All possessing the quality of colour.
Red wine, as it would seem, remained bottled atop a sky-blue tablecloth protecting the vibrant cinnamon surface beneath. A luxury in of itself- both the tone of the objects and the items themselves. Right above the table hung a portrait upon the wall.
The skeleton of a human in a suit. It’s gaze appeared to be slightly to the side of oneself- ajar like an open door. Open to interpretation if it was staring at the onlooker, or past them. Picture perfect mortality captured in the frame of a painting. Though with how photogenic the model looked, this very well might have been a taste of immortality.
Click.
From out of the hallway, a loud click echoed out. A thought was available for those that would allow their minds to be open for a moment or so.
The lock has been undone.
Clean surroundings would be the first sight one views upon returning to the balcony. Moreover, the inhabitants of this building were nowhere to be found. Gone. Absent. Rendered to a state which infantilised their already meaningless, infinitesimal existences- zero. They had apparently gathered the dust and gloom from the area surfaces with their departure. Rays of scintillating light descended from another section of the building above.
Yet if one were to look at it’s source, a white void was all that greeted one’s gaze. A scene not too unlike watching streaks of sunshine peek over a hill in the dawn. How heavenly it’s glow seemed when combined with the absolute solitude of this once bustling place. Utter calmness as if standing in the middle of an empty cathedral.
Time was afforded to bask in this grandeur. Then again, the fourth dimension may very well have been absent in this scenario while an outsider possesses it on their own accord.
The two most significant entrances remained- as did the rest of the empty, winding halls and the exit from whence she came. All options were viable for the outsider to take. All options could be taken by the outsider. Whether one wishes to commit to the actions is entirely up to them.
( Word Count : 789 ) [ 6819 Words thus far ]
𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆
|
|
|
|
Post by 𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆 on Aug 23, 2018 9:37:53 GMT -5
1215 words "How welcoming is Welcome Manor?" The first thing that she noticed upon stepping into the empty door past the balcony was silence. A hallowed silence that allowed her to think with less distraction. Granted, someone of her experience, who had to have a clear tactical mind even in the middle of world-shattering combat, was not really so much bothered by such irritating noise. To have a time of silence, however, was such an enjoyable luxury, one that she rarely had.
The next thing she noticed was how everything in sight had returned to the realm of three dimensions. Height, width, depth. It was a comfort. Not that she had not found her exposure to 'higher' dimensions early on to be enlightening, but being 'back' was restful to the mind as well as the eyes. To be sure, Mynia had to prepare to face foes from Outside. After all, if this beating heart in her chest was any indication, they were somewhere out there. And they were a great threat.
The last thing she noticed, were of course, the contents of the room.... the presence of colour. Walking down the brief ten metres of the whitewashed hallway, one could say this entire scene waiting for her at the end would be right home in a gallery on a Garden World. The metafictional element of having a painting containing a table supporting an unopened bottle of red wine, a glass, and on the back wall, a painting, spoke volumes about such topics.
The Suzerain wrapped her chin with her left forefinger and began to contemplate. Scribes and Scholars, critics of art, could say so much about this scene, what it conveyed.... Throw in a title, and it could very well have been something for future display. While she did not possess any cameras with which to take this scene's photograph, her own memory would suffice. And indeed, if she desired, it would be entirely possible to paint a replica of this exact scene.
The portrait itself was definitely worthy of a gallery. The most finely dressed set of skeletal remains she had seen in a while, gazing out into the world. Was it a reminder of the finite nature of man? Or perhaps an abstract message claiming that man could embrace eternity in his own unusual way? Yes, the artist of this portrait could last only for a flicker. But with the right means and focus on preservation, his work itself could last for many more lifetimes.
This was the painter's statement of immortality, if perhaps ironically drawn into a picture to express the opposite.
Quiet contemplation. That was what she faced in this room. And in this state, she was able to sense, perhaps in the nethermost recesses of her mind... An imaginary click, not unlike the sound of a key undoing a door. Is that what this game was about, then? Visit all the places, interpret what messages they held, and work one's way to meet with the Master?
While she was apprehensive, skeptical, that it was so simple, it did at least serve as a framework for a hypothetical thought experiment. A sense of direction. If, at the very least, this was how it seemed to be, then it was necessary to go to the other two on this path. But what if it wasn't? Then, either these were distractions, a tour of the 'real' Welcome Manor, or traps.
The latter? While the risk was always there, she reminded herself that she had abound by the rules. Listen to nothing and no one. Speak to the same. Touch the same. She should at least be very careful of that Fool. Ignore it entirely, for even paying any heed to it past acknowledging its existence, visually, could count against her.
Listen not. Speak not. That was her precaution. For now, she would go back to the courtyard, and see if the unlocking of the door changed anything. With a brisk pivot on the balls of her feet, she was on her way back out to the balcony.
It certainly had changed. Silence, order, cleanliness... and now, light from above. Light that seemed just coy, almost as if the dawn had just broken and the sun still hid behind the horizon. This radiance serving as its herald. Perhaps it would be a good idea then, to see what lay within the other doors.
To the far left. Horizontal, but those 'people' could walk about just fine. Yes, after a thorough examination of this courtyard, things were beginning to come together. It was not a defiance of gravity. Rather, at least based on appearance, it seemed to be that there were multiple gravity sources active at once, intersecting with each other, and yet at the same time not interfering with each other.
This of course was not possible ordinarily. Did there exist in this higher place, some metalaw that allowed interlocking gravity wells? Or was this too much thinking on her part. The Suzerain wasn't even sure if any of this was real, let alone controlled by any laws other than that of the imagination.
Nevertheless, it was part of her. That tendency to hypothesize, to rationalize, everything she had seen. Whether sensible or, in this particular case, surely nonsensical. Something only a surrealist artist could possibly conceive. What would come next after this section? A landscape filled with melting clocks, where time and space bent to the powers of relativity and gravity?
Such a fanciful and yet appropriate idea, which would fit rather well into this world of the surreal. Was the Master sending her a message? That he was a thoughtful man - or woman - who spent much time to contemplate the tougher questions? Or was she merely projecting her idea of what a proper nobleman should be like? After all, she herself contemplated. Reasoning was one of Albarica's greatest treasures, even before she ascended to the Ivory Throne. The agorae beneath the skies of Albarican worlds would be filled with people exchanging ideas as well as currency.
Perhaps it was this bias that led her to think in such a direction. Well... judging from what she could see for now, it appeared that the Master wasn't going to be a merely short walk away. Perhaps, she could explore this place... So then, left, or centre? Both were horizontal, requiring her to float through them so as to touch nothing, if the hypothetical 'multigravity' fields didn't kick in.
If they did begin to work, however, she would just have to walk 'up the wall'. Best to just fly. If the hypothesis was correct, she was used to reorienting herself in mid flight. This would be no problem.
So left, or centre? It didn't really matter which. But the one on the left was the first to catch her eye. That was the simplest, and most pathetic reason she had given thus far. But in a world without reason, reasoned ideas could only give you so much. Perhaps if she better understood the laws, if any, and the purpose, if any, behind this most unusual trial. Then maybe, just maybe, she could reason out more.
But as it stood, one way did not seem better than the other. And so did she float her way over to the door on the left...
|
|
|
|
Post by T on Aug 24, 2018 11:26:37 GMT -5
True to expectations, gravity did seem to shift with abnormal naturalness as one attempted to walk up to the horizontal door. Accommodating as ever while possessing no form of nauseousness whatsoever. Only a different perspective of the room one resided in was the only noticeable change.
One need not force their way through every door they come across. Simply waiting for it to open was a valid, yet extremely underrated method of entry. An opportunity granted by an invisible, incorporeal attendant perhaps. A force in of itself possibly- established within the confines of this boundless body. Or maybe the door just opened because it was a door, and doors happen to do just that. Open.
As the aforementioned door opens, a gentle hymn pours on out to greet the ears of whoever stood in front of it. Alongside this sedate, monotonous rise and fall of piano keys came crashing waves from outside of the realm.
Once the outsider had entered the room, the source of each sound was made abundantly clear. Right by the side of the door rested a piano. Despite the lack of a player, the melody continued on. Unseen fingers from an equally seen force pressed, released, released and pressed. Neither a signature of life could be felt, nor a person touched. So much as a tap on any of the keys would result in the piece being disrupted- never to play again.
Comfortable, as small as the vicinity may be. A room with four walls once more. In spite of this, it held a grand level of relief that many of the former ones lacked. From top to bottom, every aspect of this area gave a small peek into life of an ordinary human with a story of their own.
Quaint. An electrical, brick fireplace remained in place facing of the door. Above it hung a crude sketch of what appeared to be either a forest of dead trees or a luscious field of grain. In the absence of colour, it was hard to tell which was which- especially when taking into account the skill of the artist. A low, glass coffee table stood a meter away from it. To the left laid a couch with end tables on both sides.
The earlier mentioned crashing of waves emanated from the half open window. In spite of this, beyond the glass nothing. Complete and perfect nothing.
Whatever function laid the room possessed was unclear at best. Comforting as it felt, the sense of loneliness loomed ever closer overhead. The doll sitting upon the couch only spoke volumes more of it being as such. It waited and waited for someone to come, and it’s prayer had finally been answered by a visitor in the form of a Suzerian.
Fulfilment at last. Pity it could not talk, or move, or think at all.
Chirp.
Chirrup.
Chitter.
Cheep.
Songs from feathered life flowed from green gardens; above and out; into the coloured world greeting her.
It was a distinct alteration from the celestial cleanliness of the previous look by every extent. The paint layered on walls looked worn out in some places while shadows laid cast out in odd directions: up, down, left, right, and even by the sides of structures. Shades of sandstone hues adorned every surface, giving the illusion of a desert given structure.
Evening at first glance, early morning at second thought. Then again and once more, time had little grounds to be significant in this setting at all. Such a sight may have very well been due to multiple hidden light sources.
Riveting as this plain place was, it appeared as if Mynia had explored all the available doors except one.
And what luck that the very last so happened to be less than desirable.
Harsh barking reverberated into the hall. A loud bang shook the last door, threatening to knock it well off it’s hinges. Whatever remained behind it seemed furious- so much so that it repeatedly slammed against the wooden structure restricting it’s exit.
Bang.
Tension filled the air. A curious thing to be wafting about after her accomplishments. It reeked of putrid inevitability and uncertainty of the future. Preparation was moot when in the face of the unknown. However one tries to steel themselves against what they simply cannot hope to comprehend, pending factors lay in wait for one to be unaware, off guard, weak.
Bang.
Primitive civilisations make weapons for the hunt: spears, hatchets, clubs, and more. When the moment arrives for them to strike, none stand more potent at the task than them. Stronger beings within the timeframe do just the same- if not with a tinge more ease. Yet at the end of the day, the sun will set. The land will be shrouded in a blanket of blackness while those who have not adapted are left deprived of sight.
What should they then do?
Do they build their fires in the hope of warding off the night-time predators? Hole themselves in with walls, fences, and borders? Eliminate the creatures which slink so lowly in the bushes, high in the trees, or even in their closets? Impossible to say the least, but potentially avoidable. For where there are closets, one would be wiser to check for a skeleton or two which just to happened to wait for you to go to sleep.
CRASH.
The door flew open as it’s lock broke. What metal pieces held the wooden bolt shut had been thrown violently onto the ground before vaporising entirely into a thin, wafting fume diffusing itself slowly. Mist lingered around the bottom of said door- neither spilling out to the coloured world, nor rising into the air inside. A low growling could be heard, though it’s source were enclosed by the clouds.
When they finally cleared, the head of a hound was apparent. Simply a head. The rest of it’s neck trailed off into the same smokey substance seeping onto the floor like a pool of gaseous blood. Said hound easily spanned the height of four feet tall in head alone. Then, it charged. Then, it vanished.
As soon as it passed the frame of the aforementioned door, it disappeared into thin air while leaving only a final, echoing bark as a last trace of it’s existence. Checking it’s previous enclosure would yield the knowledge that the place it slumbered in appeared to be misty, plain, plainly misty, and mistily plain.
Silence at last. Even the birds seemed displeased by the sound of trouble. Only the exit remained in store for her.
A familiar plane warped beyond recognition. There stood the same two paths travelled before, and the one which she saw split into the pair. The painted road was no more- as were the wall, the windows, and debris. In it’s place was a craggy passage- twisting and turning up to the plateau upon where the building perched atop. The exterior of the building now appeared to be a small keep of sorts. A castle fit for a minor nobleman.
Not too unlike before, the rush of the tide filled one’s eardrums. Though unlike before, they came from far below the one’s position. With water brushing up against rocky cliffside came updrafts of wind accompanied by rolling breezes from northern regions.
This mildly temperate climates made for more a comfortable area of exploration, however short lived the experience may be.
Eventually, the path divulged into two once more: one leading to the door from which she entered this realm, and another which lead on to the side of a small hill with a door leading into it.
Choices once more- two in fact. One leading to the mansion in all of it’s well constructed comfort, and the other which; in all likelihood; carried the potential to bring one even further into the depths of imagination, non imagination, and windows.. All hinged on her decision in this scenario. A fact too painfully true in the reality which she lived in day after day after gruelling day.
Best to detail the ‘if’s of the ‘at’s.
Earlier a room containing a door, now simply a door which gave some form of entry into this meek little hill.
Approaching it with acknowledgement of it’s presence would cause it to creep open. A warm welcome for a guest of the highest prestige was necessary to retain honour. After all, a forest of trees beyond the doorframe did not quite show signs of being the most inviting sort of sight. Densely packed within the hill was another place altogether or so it came across.
Perchance another world in it’s entirety.
Taking a closer look would likely not hurt.
The place beyond the door displayed an aspect it’s own brand of environment in the form of somewhat chilling gales coursing out into the green hills surrounding it. Consistency of air itself felt noticeably more thick as it passed through the wooded frame. Pressure exerted by the invading mixture of gasses upon the plains twisted blades of grass around. They danced almost as if manoeuvred around by the indiscernible puppeteer that is the draught.
While the gusts rolled on through, nothing more followed it’s lead. When all is said and done, it would be most impolite to use the door before the intended guest. Twice as important was the previous fact while considering that she was the only one to make it thus far.
All return to ashes. Ashes return to life. A twisted tree-line awaited the arrival of an outside on the other side of the doorframe. Moonlight barely escaped the clawing grasp of overgrown branches reaching up to the sky above. It was as if the very vegetation tried their luck at escaping the woods below. Attempts made to no avail. They were all in vain when taking into account their rooted stances.
Rubble rested around the grass- stone segments of ancient structures with cryptic engravings. Marks of Father Time’s effect on a civilisation long past. Then again, as shadows darted from behind tree to tree, the idea one being all on their own felt less and less believable by the millisecond.
That and the fact that a person stood by the right side of the doorway, holding the door open.
Well-maintained locks of sienna-chocolate hair flowed down from the skeleton’s scalp, or lack thereof. Most of them were tied back in a neat little ponytail as a few ran down her forehead in separated segments of a fringe. All of this was topped by tiny frilly headpiece. Below her neck, the skeleton boasted a black dressed with rounded shoulders and a white front which doubled as an apron.
Taking a moment to adjust the candy-coloured bowtie around her neck, she then directed her scarlet irises in Mynia’s direction.“Hello there!” She greeted in an energised, warm voice while waving an arm overhead.
Looking the figure up and down, she rubbed the front of her jaw using a boney finger. Or a bone finger. Either description worked in this case. “You must be the guest Jeeves told me about,” the lady nodded lightly while returning her arms back to her sides. “It’s nice to meet you, my name’s Ca-”
She paused, bringing her upper body to a slant as she leaned left to look out through the door.
“…Huh.” Returning to her normal, proper posture, the skeleton stood at attention once more. “That’s- uh. That’s new.” If she still had the capability to gulp, one could be sure that she would have done so then and there out of sheer surprise. Nevertheless, composure quickly returned to this servant’s tone. “Anyhow, it’s an honour to meet you Ma’am. My name is Calcy Bones.”
“Oh, also it’s fine to talk now- you’re not in the Walkway anymore.” Calcy added on shortly after.
( Word Count : 2,003 ) [ 8,822 Words thus far ]
𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆
|
|
|
|
Post by 𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆 on Aug 27, 2018 11:32:26 GMT -5
1181 words "How welcoming is Welcome Manor?" A pathway of unreality... or perhaps, a higher form of reality. That was what this place was, was it not? A poet might once have called these 'Strange Eons', for the things they brought about. Unusual times, and places, perhaps neither really one or the other.
There appeared to be some sense of order, at least. When she completed that first incursion. Now, upon entering the second door, she found, beyond mere silence, sound. Sounds of nature, emanating from whence she could not see. Sounds of music on a ghostly piano that played its piece either all by itself, or by the whim of some unseen musician.
The details of an actual room, in an actual home. A home in the middle of nowhere, if that window was any indication.
There, the silent lone occupant, sat comfortably on the couch. It was odd that this work of artifice brought more life and character to this colorless setting, when compared to the animated chaos that was at work just outside. Perhaps it was because that doll was made with far more personality, displaying the handiwork of what could conceivably have been a person, rather than an endless parade of faceless 'people' and their featureless, mass produced voices.
Indeed, this colorless character seemed to leak back out into the 'hallway', painting it into something far more real. If the first time she'd seen it was primordial chaos, then the second time she happened upon it was a transition into a canvas waiting for a painter. Now this time, the painting was complete.
All that was left was to investigate the third, central door... although it appeared to have already begun opening of its own accord. This was perhaps the most menacing of the three, for even before it flew open, already one could hear threatening cues from within.
Was it always this way, or was it a result of being the last door? Would it have happened to the one on the left if she'd gone there last? Or the balcony? These were uncertainties that could no longer be answered. Scholars ascribed fanciful ideas to the proposition of other realities where one could have made a different choice. These so called 'many worlds'. Perhaps only in a position to examine all known many worlds, a position of omniscience, would she be able to see the answers to the questions of what could have been.
Even the abnormal, ghostly visage of the phantom hound did not really bother her. Insofar as the Suzerain was caught up in her own musings, perhaps already dulled to all the 'strange' occurrences taking place in this unworld. A glimpse into that third door... completed the painting, so to speak. There was mist. There was a plain. Most importantly, it all appeared... real.
Was this another trick played on her senses? Mist as real as it could be. Waves crashing underneath. She stood not at some hackneyed facsimile of a courtyard, but at the door of a small keep. Perhaps it would be a good idea to keep this in mind for later... but for now, she proceeded down what appeared to be the road not taken.
From earlier on. Two roads diverged in a strange space. She'd taken the one that appeared to be more whimsical, and that had made all the difference. Now, it seemed that the only reasonable way was to go back, and see what awaited her on the next path. The path that once led up the staircase, now ascended to a hill, which was perhaps suitable, when one left the confines of that space and entered a real plain.
What would await her past that other door? As it turned out, another curiosity. Rather than the taunting faceless shadow of the fool, she instead happened upon... What was a good way to put it... She reminded the Suzerain of the portrait she'd seen in the first room. Skeletal. Finely dressed. Highly photogenic.
Mortal yet immortal? If that made any modicum of sense at all...
She spoke of familiarity with Jeeves, which was something to her credit. And even provided a useful explanation of the Suzerain's prior experience, if encapsulated into a simple word. The Walkway. Indeed, one might even see her as the gatekeeper of sorts, seeing as, like any good attendant, she held the door open, and allowed one to peer directly into it.
It all seemed perfectly appropriate and convenient. One might say almost... too convenient. Had she really, truly, already passed out of this 'Walkway', or was this a more elaborate form of the earlier ruse? Was she one of the Lord Breaker's servants, or was she a more cleverly dolled up version of the shadowy Fool?
All observable signs indicated she was one such as Jeeves... and considering the Steward himself changed appearances, who was to say that he did not actually look something like this as well?
Still, as she gazed upon the most... unusual... servant, Mynia could not help but continue to contemplate the possibilities. Was this an actual servant, or an upgraded version of the trickster in the so-called Walkway?
"Everything appears to be real, it seems," she mused aloud, gazing through the door, and then at the skeletal maidservant. This door that seemed to have been unique, in that it did not open by some invisible force, but an actual gatekeeper. The reality of it all. Talking to one's self not so much as to get around technicalities of Jeeves' warning, but out of habit. "But how does one ascertain what is real, and what is part of the alleged short trip? Would the Lord Breaker perhaps, provide his servants with a seal of confirmation..."
She spoke with authority. Acknowledging the existence of the steward from earlier. Speaking as an outsider to this strange realm, and not so much as part of the illusion. She was reassuring, rather than provocative. Everything seemed to be so... uncertain, now. Was this real, or was this still part of the strange dream...
"But how is one assured that this truly is reality?" She looked back at the servant. It was a potential risk. But the only way to be absolutely sure was to act or not. If she played it too safely, perhaps the Lord Breaker would be insulted, especially after having already given notice that the 'short walk' was over.
To speak directly, or not to speak... that was the big question of the day. This appeared so straightforward, and yet too convenient. It seemed to boil down to a matter of his character. Was the Lord Breaker a complex man who enjoyed 'entertaining' his guests with riddles, or a straightforward one who simply wanted them to pass through a brief trial? That was the question.
Decisions, decisions. She looked up to the sky. Perhaps it was time to address the Master directly. "If it is not to be taken as overstepping my place as a guest, I would wish for the Lord Breaker to provide me with indisputable reassurance of my having completed the 'short walk'."
|
|
|
|
Post by T on Aug 29, 2018 1:28:26 GMT -5
Mynia’s reflections worried the skeletal servant for a moment. Those that spend too much time in the Walkway in the state that it was in may very well have found their minds torn asunder. They too may very well assimilate into the madness that is the unstable, artificial subspace. Without her level of power or being warned to follow a specific set of rules, an otherwise weaker being would have been split on an atomic level. That is, if they were lucky to suffer a much quicker fate.
“Is… Is this lady talking to herself or me?” Calcy asked herself mentally. Her head tilted slightly slightly to her right as the top of her eyeholes came to a slant. Concern was apparently expressed to some extent. The thought even the amount of relative ‘time’ she spent within the Walkway may have warped her perspective within the already distorted plane.
Next came a quite valid question. How could the girl prove that she was ‘real’?
Perhaps the knowledge Calcy could provide concerning the Walkway would do the trick.
“Oh, that’s an easy one!” Standing up while resuming a proper posture, she curved an index finger and thumb together to give a signal that everything was ‘ok’. “Did you notice how you and your belongings were still in colour even though everything else was not?” Calcy raised the question while nodding along. “That’s a good indicator for things that are supposed to be ‘real’.”
All the more reason why she was surprised at the sight of everything outside of the door being coloured. This gave her another idea which she executed upon by walking through the still-open doorframe.
“And Outlines can’t go through doorframes!” Upon entering once more, she would close the door if the outsider had passed through. “And if I may add, I do not know what you did in there, ma’am.” She admitted with a hint of unease. “Though from the looks of it, you might have just…” Pausing briefly, a bony finger was brought to her chin. “What’s the word?” Muttering to herself, the rather animated figure paced around the stone structures.
“Ah, ‘Stabilised’! ‘Stabilised’ works in this context.” A conclusion reached after a solid minute of pondering to herself. “I was informed that the preparations for your arrival were a tad bit ‘rushed’ per say.” Though she did not go into it, one could only wonder what the complex process for creating such a intricate logic-defying structure would be.
T himself knew, of course.
Frieza #17 - Five Hours Ago
Atop the peak of an icy mountain sat a lone figure upon a grand throne. The ends of the coat resting on his shoulders billowed in the harsh, unforgiving gales of this frigid wasteland. Howling winds dragged flakes of ice, hail, and snow alike in spiralling patterns all across the land. Yet they blew past him, avoiding the being to the best of their abilities. It was as if the world he resided on feared him to the very quark of it’s protons.
“Flashback flashback flashback flashback flashback-” T uttered over and over again as he watched the construction of the manor take place. It was not everyday that he got to channel his power into something useful. So even as he acted as a catalyst for the materialisers to complete their task, the man enjoyed sitting there and letting magic do the work.
From his right, a snowman in a suit began to talk. “My liege, preparations for the arrival of our most esteemed guests are almost complete.” He announced with a bow.
Rubbing his left temple using one of his index finger, the Lord Breaker shook his head. “Don’t call me ‘my liege’.” It was a simple command, albeit one that had to be repeated time and time again. “Other than that, excellent.” It was not long before he returned to his original seating position- arms resting on both sides while spine leans back into comfortable cushions. “What else is there that needs to be done?”
“Well… My Lord…” The snow servant struggled to formulate his words.
“Just- Stop referring to me by any honourifics.” He almost snapped at a staff member. A brief pause was taken for him to inhale, and exhale. The retraction of his planned attack on Arcose was already getting on his nerves. Nevertheless if the being arriving to this universe was interesting, he would at least find the introduction worthwhile. “Also your tone of voice worries me.”
To that, an assurance was made. “Worry not, master!”
T’s uncovered eye twitched slightly upon him hearing the use of yet another title.
“I-I-I mean, there is a slight problem.” Corrections were made. Shivers went down the showman. “There does not seem to be sufficient time to connect the… Graveyard Domain… Realm… Thing… To-” Mumbles filled the air as he hesitated to continue his sentence.
“Get to the point.” Ordered the man.
“At least a month or so would be needed to build another Range linking the Domains together, let alone to this universe.” They were attempting to tear apart the fabric of reality to knit a tiny sleeve without creating a black hole. Suffice it to say that the process would take some time. It reasonable statement if anything. “In fact, we require much more time to complete the manor as well.”
“And how much time do we have left?” Palming his own face, T tapped repeatedly on the surface of his forehead.
“About five minutes.” Was perhaps one of the worst answers that could be given. It was told to him either way. No point in lying when his master could simply reach out via sensing to locate the outsiders by himself.
The Lord Breaker let out a long sigh.
“I’ll do it myself.” He said flatly while standing up.
Only the winds blowing past the two filled their sense of hearing. To break this silence in the conversation, the snowman spoke up. “Pardon me, Grand Overlord?”
Another use of a title.
“I SAID I’LL DO IT MYSELF.”
“WAIT HOW-”
Meanwhile, in subspace. Back in ‘reality’
The mention of her boss’s boss made her stagger back by a single step. Bones rattled to create a chitter chatter in a spirited shiver. While she did nod along slowly after having now listened to the guest’s request, sincere fear could be seen. Fear of a higher power was common enough among underlings, or it could have even been admiration of a sort.
Still shivering, Calcy spoke in an equally jittery tone. “I-I-I-I-I-I-I-” Again and again, she stuttered and shook. In an attempt to remedy this, her hands lifted up to the bottom of her jaw for a tight hold around her mandible. A moment passed prior to the chatters wearing off. “Sorry about that,” apologised Calcy at last. “I’ve never spoken to him before- only ever seen him once!”
“Not many of us down the ladder get to be in his presence.” Or at all for that matter. She was a sentient undead being, but apparently that and that alone. “Only Mr. Jeeves and Mr. Bones Senior usually get to have any form of conversation with him.” Saying that gave her an idea. “Oh that’s right, I’m supposed to bring you to the party- father-in-law is there and he might know how you could get to him.”
( Word Count : 1243 ) [ 10,065 Words Total ]
𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆
|
|
|
|
Post by 𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆 on Sept 7, 2018 4:34:22 GMT -5
1233 words "How welcoming is Welcome Manor?" Colour. Colour was one of a few difference makers, then. She was correct on that count, that everything inside appeared to be, how did you say that... colourless in a picturesque way. The whole time, at least until near the end, it felt like an abnormal painting befitting a surrealist's gallery.
But when Mynia 'solved' the puzzles at the end, did that result in making it any more real? Was this an extension of that?
The skeletal maidservant passed through the door and demonstrated a little more about the nature of he place. Her senses were already telling her earlier that this place was real. It did, however, simply pay better to be cautious, at least until the reality of this particular world could be established beyond reasonable doubt.
More explanation on the end of the servant. A Welcome Manor that was established a mere five hours ago. A harrowing construction utilizing the strange hyperdimensional plane as a means? And that her trip through had somehow allowed her to stabilize it. Well... that wasn't wrong either. After she finished her explorations, the whole realm seemed to be far more calm.
Did she then just unwittingly help complete the construction of this place? Was that chaotic morass from earlier merely the skeletal scaffolding behind this more complete picture? Yes, theoretically speaking, it made sense. There existed some resemblance between then and now, but things now were more, how would one put it... concrete.
Strange, how apparently exploring in search of reason could cause such a development in an unreasonable realm.
With that statement, the maidservant did however bring up another concern. Did she just imply that Welcome Manor was indeed constructed for her arrival? But five hours... Could it have really taken all that time to descend from orbit, down to the surface of Arcose? Did some unseen force interfere with that descent?
For a moment, she thought of reaching for her communications suite to contact the Eildon, but decided against it. Her men were competent enough to be able to ascertain how long she had been gone for. Time might have been a relative matter, but at least in the orbit of that war-torn planet, it was at least stable, with a degree of certainty.
Clock counting could be done later.
Determining what planet she was on could be done later. If some bizarre spacetime phenomenon had swallowed up her gunship upon its descent to the planet, and spit them out elsewhere, she wold find out soon enough.
So one of the Suzerain's first guesses, something she had set on the backburner, in case it was the result of some unmentioned ego, appeared to be the correct one. She was the esteemed guest that Welcome Manor had been built for. A whole five real-time hours tinkering around with higher physics in order to assemble a facility post haste.
It was endearing, in a way, but before she could let her guard down, she would first have to meet with the Lord Breaker.
A name which appeared to inspire terror in this seemingly rank and file maidservant. This was unsurprisingly, a normal occurrence. But being a child of privileged birth, Mynia had always been challenged to see things from the commoner's perspective. Wherever she went, from her earliest days, she was treated as a sovereign.
She would often wonder about what it was like. On a few occasions, she had snuck out and mingled with those people, hooded and covered, completely concealing her clean-washed appearance, and disguising her pomp with less formal etiquette.
Of course, depending on the culture of the realm, there were key differences. On Caerleon itself, servants and stewards were the untitled children of vassals, sent to serve as tribute to their parents' lords. And those of commoners and merchants served in the households of other commoners and servants. Most would do so for a time, until learning their lessons. Some, who would take a shine to the life of servitude, would carry on through their adolescent years, and become more professional retainers as they came of age. From butlers unto stewards, from squires unto knights.
A little servitude was healthy for the soul, as a scholar once said.
Indentured servitude, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. Not everything was about teaching respect for one's peers and superiors, after all. Aside from the worst criminal offenders being transformed into lobotomized automatons slaving away within the Armed Services as punishment, they were also made personal slaves. People who defaulted on debts? They could work these off, certainly. The Law made provisions for humane treatment and formal service contracts, but given the sheer scope of the White Empire and its bureaucracy, it would not be surprising if many debt servants fell through the cracks. A major concern that the Administratio Albaricarum had to deal with was the enforcement of these key laws.
Prisoners of war? Another touchy subject. If their only offense was to war against another star nation, they could be released at the war's end. But it was only rational that rather than allow that potential manpower to rot in a cell, that they be put through labour as a means to put them to use. Compliance Collars ensured that they would not cause any trouble while serving as prison labour.
"Mr. Jeeves is one of his chief stewards, then?" This time, a direct address to the maidservant. "Yes, he certainly looked and acted the part."
It seemed, from her description of herself and her interactions with the Lord Breaker, that she was far closer to the bottom of the ladder. Yes, this explained much about that fear. This tended to be more a result of understanding one's authority, rather than any cruelty on the master's part. Even the kindest lord would seem a distant little god to the lowest of his servants, one with the power to end their wage on a whim.
The maidservant spoke of a 'party' that she was to be escorted to. Where her father in law might know of the Lord Breaker's whereabouts. Well, this certainly seemed much like what would typically happen on visits to others. "Very well then. Let us attend this party that I have been invited to."
The Suzerain gestured for the maidservant to lead the way. "Calcy, was it? I wish to apologize for my earlier activity, however. I was given strict instructions to follow, and I had not yet ascertained whether this was past that surreal realm... this... 'Walkway', you speak of. I was merely being cautious."
This strange tendency to muse out loud also tended to alienate some people. As if their existence was not acknowledged. More than once, it had led to misunderstandings with one lord or another. Not always with a pleasant outcome.
Now the question was this. What else was in store for her visit here? Would she be able to meet the Lord Breaker? Why did he set up such upper crust presentation? Was he aware that she was of this sort of blue blooded upbringing, or did he merely hazard a guess? After all, the Scribes reported that not everyone on this team who participated in the Tournament of Power was some sort of noble.
If the records were accurate, one was a radish farmer. Perhaps she would be able to find the answer once she met him face to face...
|
|
|
|
Post by T on Sept 9, 2018 6:49:32 GMT -5
So she would lead, and so she would leap. Up and over a tiny creek which; upon closer inspection; was flowing uphill. “Everything is A-ok!” Calcy pulled out a signboard with a large, red ‘O’ on it from behind her back. Thereafter, the skeleton threw it over her shoulder. Said signboard proceeded to spin rapidly until it reached the apex of it’s flight path. Upon doing so, it paused in mid air for five seconds, and then started to float up into the atmosphere.
Up and up, and further up.
Then it exploded
It exploded in a brilliant purple light which filled the sky. Late to the party as well was the shockwave after- rustling grass, shaking trees, and absolutely terrifying avian lifeforms nearby. Loud chirps, caws, and all sorts of other birdcall could be heard as the lifeforms flew high above the tree line.
“Don’t worry about a thing. When I first discovered the Walkway, I found it reeeeeeally weird as well.” She added nonchalantly after the spectacle performed. Hopping over a log, Calcy nodded lightly as she gestured onward to another clearing in the forest. “Still do, actually.”
“I’m not really an expert on all of this pseudo-physical mumbo-jumbo myself.” Admitted the servant without the nervousness of her earlier actions. Fear only came about when the mention of a much more dangerous entity took place, apparently. It was not often that she even discussed the person in her day to day un-life. “All I know is that I like my work, and I get to stay with my husband too!” If a skeleton could blush, this one would most certainly be as red as a tomato.
Rather talkative was the lady now that she carried onward. A social butterfly floating about from flower to flower. “Also I’m not a mindless thrall- so that’s a plus.” Tapping upon her cranium twice with an index finger, she proceeded forward into another section of the forest entirely. “It’s kind of fun really.”
There is nothing here.
Stop trying to continue.
I mean it.
Persistence.
That is a nice trait.
An annoying one, albeit an admirable quality nonetheless.
Find me then.
Not here.
Definitely not here. What did I tell you? I see you.
You are here. ̵.̵s̴-̷ ̸+̵a̴t̵^̷o̷n̸ By !̶
I rant to the sky about my earthly troubles.
I cry to the seas about my deserted self.
I sleep. I sit. I tear and consume.
Wholly destroyed, yet still I resume.
Melancholy can be such a futile feeling. Centuries pass while millennia are born. Throughout my life, I have lived as a marauder, a conqueror, a thief- a monster. Throughout my death, I sit alone in this questionable existence. ‘A punishment rightly deserved’ they call it. I beg to disagree with that statement. I deserve everything except this.
I deserve the seas, the skies, the very stars itself.
I deserve worlds to fall at my feet- to worship me as their sole god.
I deserve all the souls of the living, all the power of this realm, all dominion over existence.
Am I then deserving of having to repent?
Me? Repent? Never in any reality. The saiyans, the androids, the frost demons, and regular demons may seek power over others- some may even develop their own philosophy around the ideals. To be strong is to be everything. To be weak is to be nothing. Might makes right, and the meek shall fall. Fiddle around as they may with primitive thoughts as they wish, I am neither restrained by this muscle-bound stupor, nor do I believe in anything of the sort.
Be that as I may, I can still admit that humanity is weak. Humanity is unnecessary.
I do all the horrible things I do because I want to see the looks on your faces.
The look of complete and utter hopelessness when you are wallowing in desperation, distress, anguish, agony, misery, and my favourite- despair. It is as if you were to bast a pig before eating it. I am sure you would understand how the process makes a dish all the more flavoursome.
Then I ask-
What point is it to look back at a life full of troubles when the end encroaches ever closer?
An unseen puppet-master guides a rigid doll through hazardous lands while I scream, stand, and wait. Can you hear me? Can you see me? Can you gaze past the pale veil to reach where I am?
Time evades one in the Walkway, and while the man who killed me, revived me, and imprisoned me rests easy, I see all. You will always be ‘on time’.
Thinking Ahead -Calcy
Turn left. Turn right.
Look up. Look down.
Look straight ahead without a frown.
I wonder what task awaits me today.
Cooking, cleaning, shooting rays?
Bicker, bicker, while daylight flickers Forest Clearing
As one travels further into the woods, the woods themselves seemed to grow thicker and thicker. Trees reached higher up into the sky while their trunks spanned wider. Whatever rays of light that brought illumination to the forest floor below started to come in sparser, sporadic gaps wherever the branches failed to grasp. The time appeared relatively difficult to discern. One moment it seemed as pale as moonlight, and the next- as golden as a springtime shine.
In spite of this, the skeletal servant had no troubles in finding her way through the realm. A hop, a skip, and a spirited pace demonstrated ever graceful agility. Every so often, she would pause to look around or point at an odd creature among the thicket. Sometimes a three-eyed toad, a five legged snake, or maybe even a glowing, azure orb which darted away upon being spotted could be found. Critters and oddities of all sorts.
Upon the arrival where the trees seemed to achieve their tallest height, she stopped to peek out from behind a tree, and over into another clearing. “Oh dear, they’re going at it again.” It was an announcement made with a mild level of disappointment. Nothing to be overly worried about from her perspective, apparently.
Out and in the very middle of the area stood a tall swordsman cloaked in a ragged, white cloak which trailed off onto the forest floor. Wielding a longsword emitting a faint sheen in his right hand, he poised his blade in opposition to an inhuman behemoth sprawling from the trees.
The aforementioned creature appeared humanoid in first glance- faceless, pale, and on all fours, but humanoid nonetheless. Though either closer inspection or a keen would yield one to see that the rest of it’s body lagged far behind the tree line. Off into the dark of the woods and unseen for the better, perhaps.
“Huh, I could’ve sworn they were having tea five minutes ago.” Calcy tilted her skull to the right in confusion prior to stepping into the vicinity. “Eh, I guess the word ‘minute’ is useless where we are anyway.”
( Word Count : 1,320 ) [ Total Word Count : 11,385 ) 𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆
|
|
|
|
Post by 𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆 on Sept 13, 2018 10:19:42 GMT -5
1421/10183 words "How welcoming is Welcome Manor?" As soon as Mynia spoke directly to the maidservant, the latter's countenance changed entirely. Likely because first, there was some acknowledgement of her existence. And of course, more likely, because the Lord Breaker was off the list of things to discuss. It was only natural for a servant to fear a guest calling upon their Lord.
It usually meant that their service was unsatisfactory, and that one might be filing a complaint with the higher authority. The skeleton drew a signboard with a symbol on it... a red... circle? Apparently, that was this Universe's way of saying 'okay', since it was in tandem with her having said so.
This signboard also apparently doubled as a set of fireworks, as it detonated upon reaching a sufficient height. How quaint. It seemed that this Lord's servants were quirky to some degree or another. A reflection of his own person, or something he put up to obscure his own personality? It was usually one or the other.
The question still remained of which of these two the Lord Breaker was. Whimsical as those who worked for him, or one who intentionally selected those who were unlike him to operate in his service.
Yes, it seemed as though she was a very cheery sort. The Suzerain followed quietly and allowed Calcy to do all of the talking as they went. A key principle in the study of other people was allowing them to talk about themselves. The more they spoke of themselves, the more one learned about them. Their strengths, their weaknesses, their hopes, their fears.
And once one listened to enough of this person's sharing of themselves, one would be able to better judge their character. This improved understanding of the person would allow them to dispense better advice, for example. Or in the case of one's opponents, read them better and have superior odds of predicting their next moves.
As the maidservant stated, it was clear that she possessed great enthusiasm for her service, listing down several benefits that understandably sounded fantastic. Not just for someone of her station, but for most people, perhaps. Occasional brush with the strange realm called the 'Walkway' aside, it seemed there was nothing of want in this occupation.
She could spend time with her husband - note to self, she was married. She was possessed of her own free will. Which was much better than could be said for certain individuals in certain services in certain places that were not here. At the very least, the Lord Breaker seemed to have the compassion to allow his unusual servants to retain their own personal faculties.
This all boiled down to some sort of... generalized enjoyment. Enjoyment that made itself all too known in the enthusiasm with which Calcy performed her duty. Even if that meant leading the Suzerain through a forest that seemed to defy the natural laws in its own way. Did it really, though, or was it just the way things looked?
Treading carefully through the brush, they happened across various... the only way to put it would be 'time zones'. Though it probably did not depend on anything, that was for sure. Sometimes, the lighting would indicate dawn. Other times, high noon, the orange glow of the afternoon, or complete darkness of night, broken by ghostly pale moonlight.
Had they really left the Walkway? Did this just so happen to be another place that happened to make fun of the laws of physics? To be sure, it was part of the Lord Breaker's realm. As the maidservant explained, she had stabilized the Walkway. Allowed it to complete its task, as it was a rush job to begin with.
So perhaps this was the end result of that job. A realm limited only by its creator's imagination. Where the rules were subject to him as much as this skeletal maidservant. As if hanging, drawing, and quartering the laws of time weren't enough, biology was also taken to the dungeon and thrown into the iron maiden.
Evolution operates in ways that maximize survival. If something is impractical, it dies out. This was the law of natural selection. Or perhaps, more appropriately, natural rejection. Those that died were far more numerous than those that survived.
So if a toad had a third eye that only interfered with its vision in some way, it should not exist. Five feet on a serpent would drive it off balance, as most things tended to operate in pairs. Perhaps there were some odd cases of odd things, with odd numbers of organs, but the rule of thumb, as far as she had learned, was for evens. For pairs. Five-footed snakes made no sense at all.
Never mind the glowing orb that looked like it got lost from an exhibit featuring the denizens of some crystalline planet or another. Foxes with two tails. Blue hedgehogs. Fat red anthropomorphic echidnas that badgered her about whether or not she knew 'the way' and whether or not she was 'the queen'.
That last group was the worst of the lot, as they continued on after her for the longest time. To be fair, it wasn't their fault that she happened to dress in a particularly regal manner. She was not a queen, however, no more than she could be their queen specifically.
They eventually left, though, as the Suzerain did not cooperate in the slightest. As they approached the 'centre' of the place, where the trees stood tallest, she could have sworn that out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a red echidna in a pink dress with lipstick and a crown. Maybe she should turn back and throw the queen in the direction of this most bizarre herd of echidnas...
Though it all, Mynia could not help but think of a book. Not any particular book, per se. More of... an idea of a book. And as she opened it, mentally, she found it empty. What an odd thing to picture at the moment. If anything, it seemed to be more of... an intrusion into her mind, than something she would consciously conjure into conception.
External input related to this realm? Hard to say. It was, after all, a blank book. Still, if this vision planted in her brain were to remain for a while, then perhaps it would serve some sort of purpose. Best to keep it in check...
The eventual scene that they happened upon was something more familiar, in a sense. A ragged knightly sort facing off against some sort of giant entity. Oh, that this was such a common occurrence for her Knights that they had to be filed into the Order's bureaucratic records. This was a Type A-18: "Singular Knight with Singular Gargantuan Opponent".
The difference, aside from the appearance of the aforementioned gargantuan opponent, was that Calcy seemed to be familiar with them, and that they were apparently on less hostile terms earlier. As much as anything in this realm did not seem to be of the ordinary, it paid dividends to think carefully about what decisions one were to make before acting.
Even in the 'real' world, it was important to understand the nature of the so-called Gargantuan Opponent that was 'terrorizing' said town, before engaging it in combat. Contrary to most of the legends that had propagated in the millennia since the Sovereign introduced the idea of Chivalry, the Titan was not always evil, and the Knight was not always looking out for the interests of the village.
As such, it was standard procedure to properly investigate the situation prior to engaging. And only descending into combat if such a thing was an absolute necessity. From the maidservant's words, there seemed to be an implication that there was prior conflict where both parties survived, and that there was prior peace in between these periods of conflict. Specifically, a period where they were having tea together. Now that wasn't the first time she'd heard of such a thing in a report, and it wasn't the most common result of such encounters. But it happened often enough that Knights were required to properly investigate everything before taking action.
Therefore, it was best to find out from the native herself. Turning her attention to the maidservant, she asked. "If I may be so bold, where are we anyway? You said this was no longer the Walkway. Then is this realm part of your Master's construction? Another section of 'Welcome Manor', as it were? Secondly, who might these two be?"
|
|
|
|
Post by T on Sept 16, 2018 2:04:00 GMT -5
Distant clashes of Katchin against iron-hard flesh could be heard. Sparks flew off each stroke the swordsman made upon the faceless creature’s body. With movements as smooth as silk and flowing like water, the lone, armed knight traced around the creature’s arms as they flailed, reached, and grasped at thin air. This bout appeared to be somewhat on the softer side of conflicts.
Pointing over at the cloaked figure, Calcy nodded her head. “That is the Ashen Knight Lup. He’s from the planet Konats.”
Then said finger would be redirected at the ivory behemoth.
“And the colossus over there would be the...” She paused for a moment, crossing her arms while pondering upon what to call it. It was not often that the skeletal servant had to introduce any monsters within her lord’s arsenal. “I keep forgetting the title, but I think it’s ‘the face stealer’ or something like that.” A small tilt of her skull took place right before she turned around to face the . “It’s an aberration escaped from somewhere.”
“The story of why they are here goes a little something like this-”
By My Blade
Long ago on a distant planet whose name was forgotten to time, there lived a fighter. His skill with the blade stood unbeaten by no man, creature, or being ever before. The trust he carried in his arm surpassed that of any other. It was his craft, his expertise- his very livelihood.
Throughout his youth, he fell many a foes who so much as posed a challenge to his strength. Kings, dukes, and all men alike came to desire the warrior at their side. Such was the case, and such was how he further made his name known in every corner of the land. Steel in hand and on enemy land, any who stood in his way simply came to fall.
As easily as the warrior’s sword in combat cut, he was deprived of it when the provoked the ire of an old sorcerer. Conquest took it’s toll on the planet. What once was a beautiful, flora-filled land had been reduced to ash filled plains. Seeing this, the aforementioned mage raised a staff against this unerring, unmatched master of the blade.
The match was decided in a single stroke.
Yet as the magi laid; dying and distraught; they cursed this opponent. A swear to the heavens, a damnation upon the soul. An evocation uttered, a mouth shut whole. Nothing more to do with the world would the form of this combatant take.
At first, he laughed. Then, he stumbled back. Nausea rushed into every crack in his mind. His body felt as if a fire ate away at flesh and bone alike. Sight blurred and warped, shaking all the while the mercenary fell to the ground. Hands covered in plated metal gauntlets scratched at dirt as if their owner attempted to maintain his hold on reality. Far too late for that.
Slowly but surely, his features melted away- leaving only a pale, humanoid being in place. All without a face.
Insanity now guided this creature’s actions. Nevertheless, the warrior would not yield so easily to this. Fighting was all he knew. Fighting it with his all, he would do. He wandered the land, now scorned by the very same people it protected- unable to speak to them, unable to receive the chance either way.
Madness set in evermore swiftly. On one particular winter, he came to a realisation. Never before had the master been truly alone. With every very adventure, a party accompanied him. With every conquest, loyal knights fought alongside him. Only when the curse took action did he ever stand on his lonesome. Nobody stood at his side to praise, reprimand, or even encourage him.
Not anymore.
And so, he let go. Any semblance of the person he was had been discarded. Locked away. Forgotten. It now took hold.
Another effect of the curse took centre stage. It made the body seek out death. With each death, the enchantment only grew stronger. With every life it took, the body spanned longer. At first, a village fell victim to this. Given a year, cities- kingdoms even. With the passing of time, three quarters of the known planet.
Perhaps it was righteous judgement done upon them from cosmic forces. Maybe this was simply a cosmic turn of events. A play guided by the cruel hand of fate to twist and squash out as and when it wished.
Even so, the inhabitants of that world failed to surrender their hope in the face of inevitable despair. To give up their will is to give up existence itself. Therefore, a single knight arose to the challenge.
He received every blessing, every enchantment, every form of training under the blade that the residents of that desolate world could spare. As a final; and perhaps all too ironic; boon, this swordsman found the original sword which the monster previously wielded. It laid in was in the midst of a flaming field- as keen and sturdy as the day it was dropped. Said blade almost seemed like it was waiting to be found and used once more.
On the very eve of a midsummer’s night, the two met in combat. This fight resulted in two things. The first being a standstill- neither being able to overpower the other.
Another more macabre consequence was the destruction of the entire planet.
Both sides were left drifting amidst the asteroid field.
A thousand years of dreamless slumber.
Out of Story Time
“-and then the master stumbled upon them, and did a thing.” At last, the servant concluded. A story told in it’s entirety with little to spare in terms of the fight. She combed lightly through her own hair using her left hand. “It is a bit difficult to use a single term to describe what he did.” Admitted the skeleton. “The Lord Breaker might have... Put them in a time loop or something.”
That was the best way to describe it. Both of the combatants were transported to a pocket realm where time dilated to a crawl. Events which transpired during the first century they were stuck in were doomed to occur during the next. After two centuries had elapsed, a new period of ‘time’ came around where the fighters were allowed to carry out actions on their own accord with new information in mind.
“Neither of them can die, and every second in real space time used to last for about a year for them. Every other century repeats itself with the both of them retaining their memories.” On and on with the explanation of how the time loop worked. “Master found them a year ago, then stopped looping after about six months?” More of a question directed at herself than the two that were tussling in the background.
“When he next checked on them, they were catatonic.” She looked blankly past Mynia after speaking that part.
Thereafter, bones rattled as she shook herself once more. “Sorry, sorry. It’s kind of scary to think about being with someone I don’t like,” she spoke with an air of nervousness on that note. “For that long, no less.” How long? She did not really know. Doing the math in her head would bring it up to about a million over, but the accurate answer was not wanted either way. “Lord Breaker is a scary person, but I’m told that almost everything he does, he does for a reason.”
Reasons of which were unclear at best.
“As to where we are, I believe we’re in what is called a ‘Domain’.” Calcy pulled out another signboard out of thin air to display. This one had another red circle upon it. “It’s another dimension completely, of which was created by the master.” Pointing at the middle of the circle, she then tapped on its very centre twice. “Each Domain is hard to get to, and usually has something important inside of them. No idea what’s in this one though.”
( Word Count : 1,404 ) [ Total Word Count : 12,789 ]
𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆
|
|
|
|
Post by 𝕸𝖞𝖓𝖎𝖆 on Oct 1, 2018 11:09:44 GMT -5
1047/11230 words "How welcoming is Welcome Manor?" As Rhomynia listened quietly to the tale of this Ashen Knight of Konats and this face stealing monster from elsewhere, she could not help but think of the grand irony. Its theme of becoming the very foe to something once treasured was not one lost to her. To many worlds along the peripheries, there was no doubt that she was some distant faceless tyrant, rather than some mighty warlord.
A tyrant who decided whether they lived or died, whether they were evacuated, or left to a horrifying fate. This was the perspective of the small individual, who only saw the immediate effects of her choices. In this case, the destruction of their homeworld, and the callous inaction, or worse, abandonment by its self-proclaimed wardens.
Along the periphery, particularly where the garrisons weren't more imposing, rebellions occurred. But of course, the garrisons would be more than meets the eye. One secret to Albarican power was its tempered nature. They did not unnecessarily flaunt their capabilities unless absolutely necessary.
That was why their most powerful ships remained in nebulous areas of pseudo-concentration, rather than spread about along the periphery. If they played their hands prematurely, after all, then rebels could plot against them. More importantly, the enemies without would be able to strike.
A wise general once said that the pinnacle of military deployment approached the formless. In this state, then even the deepest spy could not discern it, nor the wise make plans against it. This was one of the keys that had kept the star nation afloat for the better part of five centuries now... and hopefully, until the very end.
Unfortunately, this also meant that worlds had to be sacrificed on a daily basis. Each death leading to a longer body.
She shook her head. No. This was no reflection of her. No. This wasn't her story at all. They were actual entities with their own tales, faced with their own problems. Any similarities were superficial. For one, that knight was not representative of the countless rebellions that were attempted along the Periphery. He was too powerful.
It was useful to see relevant lessons in the story of someone else. How one might relate them to one's self, but to use everything as a metaphor to represent one's own troubles was foolishness. No matter how one might see any similarities. Taking these similarities to heart was one thing. Projecting yourself onto the whole picture was something else entirely.
Instead, one should stop looking at the allegories that this tale and these individuals 'represented'. Stop looking for a higher spiritual value. Instead, observe the world literally. Or rather, in its plain meaning. A tragic history of two opponents, equally opposed, forever locked into endless combat by the Lord Breaker, who for some reason, thought it appropriate to do such a thing, instead of ending their suffering personally.
What that reason was, perhaps she would only find the answer upon meeting him. After all, that was the whole point of this journey, was it not?
Rhomynia continued to watch as the two battled each other, this time with a newfound understanding of the context of this conflict. An eternal Sisyphean struggle of two warriors caught in a stalemate. Was this the biggest reflection she could see? Not of herself, but of the star nation as a whole.
Eternal War.
The Sovereign had written of it in the context of uniting the entire universe under his reign. For this, he forged a war machine of unparalleled craftsmanship. From his Chosen Legionaries to his Grand Battlefleets, all of their knowledge was pushed to the limit to make this possible. Sweeping across the universe like a golden tide, he had managed to conquer over a hundred galaxies before his untimely demise. A Golden Sovereignty centred on the Throneworld Agartha and its galaxy. And now, these galaxies fought each other for domination, with no end in sight.
Agartha itself continued to remain silent. The Synod had made its declaration. The Ringless tournament would carry on.
That was where she found herself now. Was it as the Ashen Knight from Konats? Or the faceless parody of a Knight from long ago? Did it really matter which one she was? At the end of the day... the war was eternal.
The Suzerain turned to face her guide. "I don't think I can fathom an eternity of conflict just yet," she started, eyes narrowing. "But I have tasted battle for what some might consider an extensive period of time."
The better part of five centuries.
"It is, without question, tiring."
While Spathrax bragged about never growing weary of war, Rhomynia only clenched her teeth as she decided to rise to yet another day. This was why she was here, right now. With full access to the Power of Destruction, she could end this war quickly. And to earn that power, she would have to learn everything that this Universe had to offer.
She first came here in search of Lord Frieza.
But it seemed that fate had other plans in mind for her. For one, she found herself in line to meet this Lord Breaker instead. Was he a Lord who Broke things? Or one who Broke Lords? Perhaps both. The name - the title - was unique, to say the least.
Calcy continued on by explaining the nature of Domains. Another result of his power over higher dimensional rules. Perhaps she might learn of this power one day as well. One could easily imagine how useful this would be in battle, to tamper with the rules of reality itself.
But to what extent that the gods did not chastise him? Such a thing to wonder about. And these were questions that only the Lord Breaker himself could answer. She nodded.
"Your Master certainly has an impressive mastery of the laws that underpin reality." The Suzerain took one last look at the two eternally fated warriors, before motioning for her guide to resume walking. "I believe I've seen enough for now. Let us carry on."
A book... what was it about that book... the idea of a blank book... Perhaps one might use it as a diary, to fill with per personal thoughts about the matters she saw in this realm? Now there was a novel idea...
|
|
|