Post by EmperorMyric on Dec 16, 2017 18:47:41 GMT
I didn’t feel well after Nagaetros. In a sense, I’m still not feeling well now. It was two weeks after I left those tribals who’d taken care of me after our battle, yet even though I could walk and move without too much difficulty by that point, I was not so much better as simply good. There were aches and pains in my bones, and in my heart I could feel it too. The weight of memories is a heavy thing, and I carried a great many with me now.
I came to this place looking for a quiet spot to rest while I thought. I had many painful memories to sift through, and while I found myself staring hungrily out into the scrubland surrounding the boarding house I was calling home now, there were things to learn. Nagaetros had deposited much of his past into my memory, and as I gradually came to understand a few of them, I realized I wasn’t the only soul following Shaw Haust through so many dark times. Nagaetros called him Chassovo, and at that moment, I realized the name was familiar to me. He was a Chaw, a great traveler, who fought alongside the Khamood-Urr at the Great Confrontation.
The universe is a strange place, full of many coincidences. To realize that Chassovo pursued my man in black long after our gods had vanished into obscurity left me with a sense of skeptical awe; our gods had turned out to be men, in the end, though few of this time accepted it. I had a name, and a place, and I could find him, I suppose, if it was warranted. But I hesitated from the thought of aligning myself with anyone, let alone a legend. Legends tend to have trouble living up to their reputation, and it had been many, many lifetimes since that Great Confrontation had occurred. As it was, Chassovo was a known, a point of understanding for Shaw; if I were to go to him, in all likelihood Shaw would finally get a proper look at me.
I will not name the place I first found occupancy in; Shaw had issued his message the day before I arrived there, and he called out to me in particular. He knew what books I was reading, apparently, and as far as I can tell the only way that might have happened was through this record. If this is true, I shall avoid naming too many places or people. No need to make things simple for him to track me. Perhaps I will throw some fiction into this account too. Most people appreciate such things.
Where I was was a tiny strip of land on the border between the unknown and the places you would’t want to be. It was too poor to be of any interest to raiders; the mines had panned out long ago, leaving a dwindling ghost town with a runway knee high in weeds. The settlement was built almost twenty feet up on stilts to protect it during the floodtimes, and aside from that peculiar characteristic it wasn’t much to look at. It was an over glorified collection of huts that called itself a town but beyond that it wasn’t much of anything.
It’s a pleasant enough place, really. If matters hadn’t forced my hand, I might have doubled back there on a few occasions. It’s not a quiet place, despite its remoteness; during the dry seasons the pilings and the huts are swarming with moaning squid. They’re a hardy species that dry out and cement themselves to solid objects during the dry season like barnacles; six inches long and practically impossible to kill without damaging the surface they’re attached to. But they constantly moan during the drytimes; a soft and sad sound like a nostalgic sigh that never ends. They were like cicadas or crickets in that sense, and they wished for rain day in and day out.
I spent my time either thinking or gambling. I took care never to win too much to rouse suspicion, and I took care to lose to those that needed it. Gambling is a hard concept for me, much as I suspect how I see time is a hard concept for those who don’t. The idea that the players don’t know where the ball will stop, or who will have what cards…it’s a strange one. I suppose I could have made a very fine gambler, if I had the inclination to be one, but I kept my winnings at a level just enough for food and board.
They thought me strange, I think; a hairless woman arriving in town three days after the weekly transport departed. Quiet type. Doesn’t say much, doesn’t do much, just gambles and stands on the catwalks and listens to the moaning squids. One of them thought they heard me crying once, I think. It seems logical that they’d think I was on the run, though I find it highly improbably that they had any idea just who and what I was running from. But they would not bother with questions, and they even gave up on my name. They just called me “lady” and “she” and that was that.
I didn’t know quite where I’d go from there, and as I starred out into the drylands, I could hear Naga’s whispers in my head. They weren’t getting strong, thankfully, but they wouldn’t be silenced entirely. Silent suggestions were made that I cut the throats of the men I played games with; that I burn the boarding house down. Little things, chaotic, irrational things; but nowhere near as strong as the hate that had permeated me when I was in the Naga’s mind. But the wind would blow and the hanging lights would drift on their cables, and the squid would moan, and I would stand there thinking.
Nagaetros would become, for a spell at least, known as the weeping god. If Shaw’s power came through that sliver of a stone he gave to that Chaw, I reckoned he must be feeling it to. Still, more would have to be done; more needed to be known, and at that point the only lead I had on where to travel next was not a place I was prepared to go. Then again, my case was one the galaxy shared.
--oOo—
“We don’t have a choice now,” the third warned ominously. And with that, it was over. The Silent Bastion’s were the Ascendancy’s fallback position, and the Ascendancy was retreating into them. They were cosmic fallout shelters, five independent pocket universes accessible from five distinctly hidden locales in Ancerious. For overnight, the Ascendancy’s planets had begun retracting, all retreating into the cosmic womb that the Silent Bastions were in essence for them.
This was in response to many things; Shaw’s warning taunt, the impending dissolution of the neutrality agreement with the Union of Worlds, and the sudden appearance on the timeline of the fact that there was now a greater than 50% chance of the Ascendancy being discovered. The Quiet Wars, it seemed, were about to be abruptly ended.
The call went out across the Ascendancy’s distant outposts as if it had been Gabriel’s trumpet signaling the end of times; abruptly, planets vanished from their orbits of distant suns, ships altered courses, and emissaries were recalled. Most emissaries, anyway, and most ships too. But some remained.
Emissary Dalyth to the Immortal Empire was retained, in the distant hope that discovery would not occur. Prime Admiral Dorin and her fleets abruptly received new standing orders. For Dorin, it had been a day long in coming, but not one she had hoped for.
“After conference by the council of five,” the ghost announced, “authorization for the deployment and operation of the Great Weapons has been unanimously granted to you, Prime Admiral.” Words that would have been of greatest joy to her now came with ashy flavor. “I…” the Prime Admiral replied hesitantly, “I humbly accept this responsibility.” There was no joy in it now, for the purpose had changed. She had wanted the Great Weapons for one purpose only: curbing the danger posed by the Dark City Imperium. If the Ascendancy was discovered, her orders declared, she was to usher in an end to everything. All sentient life.
“We do not give this authority easily, Prime Admiral,” the ghost continued, “but as of now you are the sole commander of all Ascendancy forces outside the Silent Bastions. If possible, preserve some semblance of peace. Preserve secrecy. Preserve our mission. But if that fails, preserve nothing.”
The message ended, and she sat alone in her quarters in stunned silence. She was still Prime Admiral Dorin, leader of the fleets of the Flux Ascendancy, but now…she was almost god. The fate of all those races…
She sat there silently, face pale. It was not the authority she had wanted. Those races were like their children; the Ascendancy had watched them grow from stone age tools to metal to starships, and then in many cases from starships back down to stone age tools. If they were discovered, if her people were discovered, Dorin thought with coldly restrained apprehension, she would have to end their lives too.
Starships to stone tools…to nothing.
The Ascendancy’s forty some planets were all quietly vanishing into darkness. Most of the Ascendancy was following them, too; war fleets being the exception. The Ascendancy’s fleets were dwarfed by those that rivaled them, and with the knowledge that the Union of Worlds would in all likelihood soon be joining the fight, she cringed at the thought of what this galaxy was about to have taken from it.
Beyond her perception, things were being lost. The Unnatural Domain never received its recall orders, and proceeded into the black well before the rest did. The galaxy would pay no real heed immediately to its passing.
She prayed a silent prayer then to a god she held contempt for. She prayed that she had wisdom now, and that the abyss would not fall upon them, or any others. She loved this galaxy, but if she had to she would wipe it dark.
I came to this place looking for a quiet spot to rest while I thought. I had many painful memories to sift through, and while I found myself staring hungrily out into the scrubland surrounding the boarding house I was calling home now, there were things to learn. Nagaetros had deposited much of his past into my memory, and as I gradually came to understand a few of them, I realized I wasn’t the only soul following Shaw Haust through so many dark times. Nagaetros called him Chassovo, and at that moment, I realized the name was familiar to me. He was a Chaw, a great traveler, who fought alongside the Khamood-Urr at the Great Confrontation.
The universe is a strange place, full of many coincidences. To realize that Chassovo pursued my man in black long after our gods had vanished into obscurity left me with a sense of skeptical awe; our gods had turned out to be men, in the end, though few of this time accepted it. I had a name, and a place, and I could find him, I suppose, if it was warranted. But I hesitated from the thought of aligning myself with anyone, let alone a legend. Legends tend to have trouble living up to their reputation, and it had been many, many lifetimes since that Great Confrontation had occurred. As it was, Chassovo was a known, a point of understanding for Shaw; if I were to go to him, in all likelihood Shaw would finally get a proper look at me.
I will not name the place I first found occupancy in; Shaw had issued his message the day before I arrived there, and he called out to me in particular. He knew what books I was reading, apparently, and as far as I can tell the only way that might have happened was through this record. If this is true, I shall avoid naming too many places or people. No need to make things simple for him to track me. Perhaps I will throw some fiction into this account too. Most people appreciate such things.
Where I was was a tiny strip of land on the border between the unknown and the places you would’t want to be. It was too poor to be of any interest to raiders; the mines had panned out long ago, leaving a dwindling ghost town with a runway knee high in weeds. The settlement was built almost twenty feet up on stilts to protect it during the floodtimes, and aside from that peculiar characteristic it wasn’t much to look at. It was an over glorified collection of huts that called itself a town but beyond that it wasn’t much of anything.
It’s a pleasant enough place, really. If matters hadn’t forced my hand, I might have doubled back there on a few occasions. It’s not a quiet place, despite its remoteness; during the dry seasons the pilings and the huts are swarming with moaning squid. They’re a hardy species that dry out and cement themselves to solid objects during the dry season like barnacles; six inches long and practically impossible to kill without damaging the surface they’re attached to. But they constantly moan during the drytimes; a soft and sad sound like a nostalgic sigh that never ends. They were like cicadas or crickets in that sense, and they wished for rain day in and day out.
I spent my time either thinking or gambling. I took care never to win too much to rouse suspicion, and I took care to lose to those that needed it. Gambling is a hard concept for me, much as I suspect how I see time is a hard concept for those who don’t. The idea that the players don’t know where the ball will stop, or who will have what cards…it’s a strange one. I suppose I could have made a very fine gambler, if I had the inclination to be one, but I kept my winnings at a level just enough for food and board.
They thought me strange, I think; a hairless woman arriving in town three days after the weekly transport departed. Quiet type. Doesn’t say much, doesn’t do much, just gambles and stands on the catwalks and listens to the moaning squids. One of them thought they heard me crying once, I think. It seems logical that they’d think I was on the run, though I find it highly improbably that they had any idea just who and what I was running from. But they would not bother with questions, and they even gave up on my name. They just called me “lady” and “she” and that was that.
I didn’t know quite where I’d go from there, and as I starred out into the drylands, I could hear Naga’s whispers in my head. They weren’t getting strong, thankfully, but they wouldn’t be silenced entirely. Silent suggestions were made that I cut the throats of the men I played games with; that I burn the boarding house down. Little things, chaotic, irrational things; but nowhere near as strong as the hate that had permeated me when I was in the Naga’s mind. But the wind would blow and the hanging lights would drift on their cables, and the squid would moan, and I would stand there thinking.
Nagaetros would become, for a spell at least, known as the weeping god. If Shaw’s power came through that sliver of a stone he gave to that Chaw, I reckoned he must be feeling it to. Still, more would have to be done; more needed to be known, and at that point the only lead I had on where to travel next was not a place I was prepared to go. Then again, my case was one the galaxy shared.
--oOo—
“We don’t have a choice now,” the third warned ominously. And with that, it was over. The Silent Bastion’s were the Ascendancy’s fallback position, and the Ascendancy was retreating into them. They were cosmic fallout shelters, five independent pocket universes accessible from five distinctly hidden locales in Ancerious. For overnight, the Ascendancy’s planets had begun retracting, all retreating into the cosmic womb that the Silent Bastions were in essence for them.
This was in response to many things; Shaw’s warning taunt, the impending dissolution of the neutrality agreement with the Union of Worlds, and the sudden appearance on the timeline of the fact that there was now a greater than 50% chance of the Ascendancy being discovered. The Quiet Wars, it seemed, were about to be abruptly ended.
The call went out across the Ascendancy’s distant outposts as if it had been Gabriel’s trumpet signaling the end of times; abruptly, planets vanished from their orbits of distant suns, ships altered courses, and emissaries were recalled. Most emissaries, anyway, and most ships too. But some remained.
Emissary Dalyth to the Immortal Empire was retained, in the distant hope that discovery would not occur. Prime Admiral Dorin and her fleets abruptly received new standing orders. For Dorin, it had been a day long in coming, but not one she had hoped for.
“After conference by the council of five,” the ghost announced, “authorization for the deployment and operation of the Great Weapons has been unanimously granted to you, Prime Admiral.” Words that would have been of greatest joy to her now came with ashy flavor. “I…” the Prime Admiral replied hesitantly, “I humbly accept this responsibility.” There was no joy in it now, for the purpose had changed. She had wanted the Great Weapons for one purpose only: curbing the danger posed by the Dark City Imperium. If the Ascendancy was discovered, her orders declared, she was to usher in an end to everything. All sentient life.
“We do not give this authority easily, Prime Admiral,” the ghost continued, “but as of now you are the sole commander of all Ascendancy forces outside the Silent Bastions. If possible, preserve some semblance of peace. Preserve secrecy. Preserve our mission. But if that fails, preserve nothing.”
The message ended, and she sat alone in her quarters in stunned silence. She was still Prime Admiral Dorin, leader of the fleets of the Flux Ascendancy, but now…she was almost god. The fate of all those races…
She sat there silently, face pale. It was not the authority she had wanted. Those races were like their children; the Ascendancy had watched them grow from stone age tools to metal to starships, and then in many cases from starships back down to stone age tools. If they were discovered, if her people were discovered, Dorin thought with coldly restrained apprehension, she would have to end their lives too.
Starships to stone tools…to nothing.
The Ascendancy’s forty some planets were all quietly vanishing into darkness. Most of the Ascendancy was following them, too; war fleets being the exception. The Ascendancy’s fleets were dwarfed by those that rivaled them, and with the knowledge that the Union of Worlds would in all likelihood soon be joining the fight, she cringed at the thought of what this galaxy was about to have taken from it.
Beyond her perception, things were being lost. The Unnatural Domain never received its recall orders, and proceeded into the black well before the rest did. The galaxy would pay no real heed immediately to its passing.
She prayed a silent prayer then to a god she held contempt for. She prayed that she had wisdom now, and that the abyss would not fall upon them, or any others. She loved this galaxy, but if she had to she would wipe it dark.