The War of Dream & Dread

[Amos]

Quixano had come to the city of Fane from the mountains of Lambeia with the smell of rye grass in his hair, the innocent scent of a disillusioned shepherd which was soon debauched by the lusty stench of sophistication and decadence that filled the air of that sprawling zoo of humanity, and he knew it was not a good place to live, but continued to tell himself otherwise even after starving for a week in a frigid alleyway where previously he had lain full-bellied on carpets of thick, spongy grass, with the sun so close that he could have rolled over and used it as a pillow. His reason for leaving, the recollection of which he could no longer tolerate, had the effect of blinding him to the potential horrors of this unknown hell along with obscuring his motives from himself and preventing his having a realistic idea of his chances of survival there (little or none). The mountains of the past loomed too high – in a moment of weakness he reflected that the normal boundaries that divide men must not exist so close to heaven.

On the day that the barbarians arrived Quixano was busy formulating a natural philosophy that described the strange new world around him. He had noticed that apples did not grow on trees in the city. They appeared as if by magic in store windows, and could not be picked but had to be swapped for round tickets, whose origin was equally inscrutable. That they came from deep in the earth seemed obvious, since that was the source of all metals, but Quixano could not fathom the dark pathways they travelled in order to come to populate ladies' purses & gentlemens' coat pockets. Not only apples but all other food products were only obtainable with the mysterious currency, not to mention the legions of other necessities and fripperies that grew out of the void of the city. Even the void itself was for sale – one could sleep for free, as Quixano did, in the streets, but for the equivalence in comfort of a verdant field one was required to give alms to its overseer, not just once but on a regular basis. So much for territorial rights and the food chain then... but how was authority established? Public order, insofar as he could tell, was maintained by widespread complacency, although it was not absolute – disorganised crime apparently still occurred, though it was impeded by the presence of a robotic police force.

His mentations could not have ever led him to the truth. Fane, in fact – a city where chaos was the normal state of being - was governed in the most simple manner possible, which amounted to sheer trickery by sorcerous means, overseen by two brother magicians. By navigating time and space they had devised the perfect society in accordance with ancient wisdoms which were all but lost to more modern rulers, who had to adhere to the laws imposed on them by science. Once a week every citizen of Fane was given a bag of metal tokens, a kind of money which they did not have to work for, and which could be used in any of the various government stores that were ran by automata and supplied with goods by the wizards. The brothers, who went by the name of Horn, inherited the city in 1762 from a degenerate beggar-king: in five years it had been transformed into a haven of enlightened ease and peaceful moral decline, and at the end of a decade the barbarians of Ursa Major appeared seeking revenge for the magical theft of their natural and man-made resources that had been occurring off and on for the last nine years, the origins of which had been traced across the cosmos to the two impetuous rascals who ruled with gloved hands the circular metropolis of Fane.

The Fanian citizens - those who weren't trapped in Sector 7 - all flocked to the city walls to watch the barbarians arrive. They marvelled at the sleek vessels raining like stalactites of ice onto the long-deserted plains, and peered through telescopic devices at the outstanding figure of a tall, well-muscled, red-headed enigma who was the recipient of much deference, who rode a bird-like beast that was wingless but ran like the wind, and who was either their leader or their god. Directly below the Fanians, lined up in a row between the barbarians and the fifty-foot-high edifice of stone that delineated the city's circumference, were some few thousand machina, who until now had been little more than public servants, and were now the city's only apparent means of self-defence.

Bets were made, naturally – the savages from the stars had the numbers, but rumour had it that the robots, though seemingly apathetic and certainly shoddy of appearance, had initially been designed to function as indestructible killers. The odds reflected their faith in these soulless servants of the ruling class: it was 3-1 in favour of the city, and this prediction proved to be astute. The barb's broke their shiny axes on the heads of the invincible machines, suffered embarrassing and painful casualties, and made a hasty retreat to their camp.

In the days to come several factors were to complicate the invasion. First there was the treachery of the farmers living on the plains, who had always shunned the city and been shunned in turn by it, but were technically under its protection. Rather than join the fight, they had turned their cloaks and assisted the barbarians in order to save their lifestyles, offering food to the strangers and letting them share their houses. Secondly there was the appearance of an enormous Titan (the word Titan implies a certain degree of enormity, true, but such things should not remain understated) some few miles from the barbarian camp. No one could tell whose side it was on, or if it was on any side at all, since it remained completely immobile. Rumour had it that the Horn brothers had had it transported there, but if that was the case then why wasn't it moving? And then there was the group of liberal mercenaries who had been hired to replace the automata until the fighting was over... Of course only a small percentage of the population noticed these things anyway. Life was complicated enough as it was, what with the ban on comedy, the psychic earthquakes, the mutants in Sector 7, the emergence of a suburban lake in one sector, and the disappearance of the moon in another. The fluctuations of power in the centre of the city, caused by the huge amounts of magic that were required to stock the city with supplies, continued to distort reality, and the library was always closed too early. Every one of the ten million souls in Fane had diseases, some of them rare, some of them absurd, and every day there was a new and usually unreported case of someone being inflicted by somnolence, metempsychosis, transubstantiation, congenital enervation, self-parallelism, etc. etc.

For Quixano those 72 hours were occupied in discovering how to attain money and battling with the hallucinations caused by malnutrition and general senility. He finally accomplished the former by daring to ask somebody.

[dark fuschia]

Two weeks earlier:

Gorax, Great Sage and Master of the Universe was sunning himself in his effervescent garden of delight and combing his long red mane of hair. He was also thinking deeply about science, and in doing so, managing to cleverly combine these three of his favourite passtimes. Gorax fancied himself a learned and handsome barbarian, and most shared this estimation. In fact since he inherited the throne after brutally murdering his father over thirty years earlier, he had been called "The Learned King", by a people who loved his (comparitively) sensitive and thoughtful ways.

Clara was watching him, Clara, his 32nd concubine and mother to four of his children, all daughters, where-abouts unknown. She knew he was thinking about science by the way he scrunched his face. She knew him well for a 32nd concubine. She dared approach. "Gorax, my lord and master, I have been bidden to bring tidings from the Ministry of intelligence."

It was known by all in the Sun Palace that Gorax hated the Ministry of Intelligence with passions that often drove him to kill or maim their messengers. For this reason, it had long been a tradition to send his concubines as go-betweens, as he was unable to take a hand to these delicate and lovely creatures. "What do those fools and knaves have to say for themselves today?" he said gruffly, "I pour endless city funds into their ventures and even now after nine years they cannot give me an answer!"

Clara smiled, "My lord, they say that they DO have an answer now! They have found the theives!" she could not hide her excitement, even in the presence of her unpredictable master.

"Theives? You mean someone has been stealing the Urinium!? But how!?" Clara understood Gorax's amazement, he was a man of science, and yet for nine years, neither he nor any other soul in the land had been able to explain the mysterious dissapearance of Urinium on their otherwise prosperous and beautiful planet. Their sources of the vital resource were growing smaller and smaller; no store was safe, whether mined or unmined, whether in use in the great power stations, or inert under the earth; something was slowly eating away their most precious metal.

"It was magic my Lord!" Clara exclaimed triumphantly.

Gorax growled audibly, a dangerous rumble, "Magic? Are you telling me those buffoons at MI7 are calling it magic?"

Clara took a deep breath to calm herself, sensing the danger and reminded that Gorax did not believe in magic, "They have more of an answer than this my Lord, they know where it has all gone, and they have even put up a temporary stop to make sure no more is stolen."

Gorax, straightened his mouth into a dangerous line. "Alright. I will hear them." And he stood and walked off with Clara, his comb and a pocket book on cosmology forgotten upon the shimmering grass of his effervescent garden.

[Apoc]

For Quixano those 72 hours were occupied in discovering how to attain money and battling with the hallucinations caused by malnutrition and general senility. He finally accomplished the former by daring to ask somebody.

Huuuh? …“Get away from me you smelly little man.”…Oooo!…“Money? Begging is not tolerated here, get out of my way.”…Gotcha….“Excuse me?”… More?…“Piss off scum ball.”…Too many, eek, I’ll get you all, huzzah.

Sinn didn’t really notice Quixano as he sat down, somewhat defeated, next to her. She didn’t really care, it was a public bench afterall. She just continued her swaying, her head turning slowly back and fourth, side to side, eyes wandering, lost in her game.

Sighing heavily Quixano hoped to get her attention though, it didn’t work. Biting his lip he then coughed, hoping that would snap the girl out of her daze, that failed too. So he sat back, considering other options and looked out at the milling masses, all in such a rush. He’d learnt they didn’t like being stopped, turning he looked at the young girl sharing the bench again, she can’t be older than what? Nine? Ten maybe? he thought, but then, she probably knows how to get this money stuff and she doesn‘t look like she‘s in a rush. Maybe she’s a crazy though. He leant forward and was about to speak when he noticed the half demon skull sitting atop her head, worn like a crown.

He withdrew, biting his lip, maybe its just some horrofest thing and she forgot to take it off, maybe some type of hairkeeperinplacer thing, though it seemed that her short dark hair, pulled back as it was behind her ears didn’t really need it, he tried convince himself with many other things, she’s just a kid, dressed well though, he thought as he noticed her clothing appeared expensive, what looked to be a black silk gown hid beneath her hooded crimson cloak, the colours felt like a warning though. Shaking his head he leant toward her again, the words excuse me on his lips where halted as she turned her head toward him, her unfocused dark eyes met his for a moment and then her head swayed slowly away again, his question was changed without him even realizing, “What are you doing?”

Still moving her eyes and head about slowly, Sinn replied, “You know those tiny bubbles inside your eyes you sometimes catch? Yeah, I’m trackin’ them down as we speak.”

Dumbfounded Quixano replied slowly, “…I see, good luck with that.” he said nodding and retreating.

“Uh huh, uh…thank you…” came the distant, spaced out reply as she continued.

Quixano sat forward then and rubbed his hands to bring some warmth back to them, “eye dust…hmmm” he sat in contemplation, philosophising in his head over its being. It took him a moment to notice that Sinn had stopped and was now looking at him with a dumb look on her face. “Oh sorry, heh” he scratched his head, “I didn’t mean to disturb you from your…game, heh”

“I finished.” she replied simply, still looking at him funny with spaced out eyes.

“Umm, I was wondering if you could help me...you see…umm…do you know how to get that money coinage stuff everyone seems to have.”

“Why?”

“Well, because, you know, so I can get some food…”

“Do you like food too?” she stared wide eyed, amazed at this revelation.

“Well…yes, yes I do.”

“I had an ant farm once, but they didn’t grown nuthin’, not even celery! And I was like, come on ants! If I pull your legs off, you’d all look like snowmen. That threat didn’t work though.” She sighed. “So I went ahead and pulled all their legs off and guess what?”

With no answer forthcoming and the strange little girl staring at him, a dark sheen to her eyes, Quixano, feeling slightly uncomfortable under such intense expectation finally responded, “Uhhh, what?” to her question.

She giggled, “They did, they all looked like little snowmen. Hey…” her eyes blazed with excitement, “ I know where we can eat for free!” She proclaimed, thrusting her finger to the heavens. “Follow.” she ordered as she leapt up from the bench and made down the street.

“Hey.Wait a second.” Quixano stood and watched as Sinn ran off down the street, paused then waved for him to follow, the growl of his stomach got his feet moving. As he caught up to her, she grabbed his hand and led him, well dragged him actually, through the crowds. “Hey, what’s your name?” he questioned as she pulled him through the bustling crowd into a quieter side street, “My name is Qui…” he was cut off as they drew to a sudden halt and her hand shot up to try cover his mouth, though even on tiptoes as she was, she couldn‘t quite reach.

“Are you a crazy person?” she exclaimed, “wait a second, you’re not from Fane are you? You, though smelly, don’t look like your sick neither.”

“Well actuall…”

“hmmm, you’re not a warlock are you?”

“heh, no, why would you think…”

“My name is Sinn, pleased to meet you Quixano, you really shouldn‘t tell strangers your name though. They could be a number of things…”

“Wait, how did you know my na…”

“Witches, warlocks, espers, time travellers, aliens, wait, hmm where are we, oh yeah.” Grabbing his hand again Sinn dragged the confused Quixano after her toward the third sector, “So, I was in the seventh sector when I saw a duck…”

“A duck?”

“Yeah, y’know, k-waaaak, a duck! Anyway, I knew the duck was lost ,coz ducks aren’t supposed to be in the seventh, there is nothing for them there…”

“Wait, isn’t the seventh full of mutants and isn’t it really difficult to get in and out…”

Sinn paused and looked up at Quixano quizzically, then snapped out of it and returned to her story, “I find ducks opinion of me is very much influenced over whether or not I have bread . A duck loves bread but it doesn’t have the capability to buy a loaf, that’s the biggest joke on the duck ever! So I went to the Double Tree sandwich shop, the place we’re going to now. Anyway, I said let me have a bun, but the lady wouldn’t sell me just the bun, she said I had to have something on it. She told me its against regulation for Double Tree to sell me just the bun, I guess the two halves just ain’t supposed to touch…so I said alright, well put some lettuce on it, which they did, they said that’ll be three coppers, I said its for a duck, well they said alright then, its free…see I did not know that, ducks eat for free at Double Tree! Had I known that I would’ve ordered a much larger sandwich, I know it now though!”

Quixano didn’t quite know what to say as she stopped talking and brought him to a halt before the Double Tree Sandwich shop, finally releasing his hand.

“Say, do you like to drink too?” she queried. “I like Sprite, I was told the recipe for sprite was lemon and lime, but I tried to make it at home, there’s more to it than that. I was like, want some more home made sprite? And everyone would yell at me, not til i figured out what else was in it! Hmph, I killed a lot of people that day. They all yelled at me more coz apparently my addition of absynthe and sambuca didn’t go down too well, but they’d tell me off, you’ve had enough of that sprite to kill a small pony they said, I didn’t need to hear that, I hadn’t been able to speak a full sentence in days and they expected me to somehow defend myself. I don’t drink to kill animals you see, so it was a mean accusation, so I sent them all to a fiery domain.” she paused in thought, then grinned “hehe, that’s when I found out the drink was flammable and tasted much nicer, kinda hot, minty and liquorishy yum…umm so do you want a drink?”

Quixano, after coming to the conclusion that the girl was indeed crazy, smiled and made to pat her on the head but drew his hand back quickly before almost touching the hideous skull she wore, she didn’t notice but turned to look at him for answer to her question, “heh, water. Water would be great please.”

“Hmm, on second thought, I don’t think I can get a drink for free…maybe if I say its for a…”

“Sandwich will be fine thanks, don’t worry yourself.” He began to think her delusions would fail to actually get him some food and contemplated just leaving her when she was in the Double Tree. He looked down at her and she grinned a massive cheeky smile and ran into the shop leaving Quixano with the mystery of how her teeth where so white and clean.

-this is just the start of a two part split post, just want to get it in before i lose the amos reply.

[Apoc]

“Hello, what would you like young madam?”

Quixano watched through the Double Tree‘s open door. The smells wafting out from the sandwich shop made his stomach grumble, he decided he would wait and see if Sinn could get him something, maybe she had money, he thought idly, as backup incase. He did not notice the leper slowly approaching behind him.


“A red meat sandwich, please.”

“You.” came a rough sickly whisper from behind. Quixano turned and stepped back in fright at the gnarled rotting old leper that crept and swayed closer, “You with that?” he questioned hoarsely nodding his head in Sinn’s direction.


“What kind of bread would you like?”

Quixano noticed the leper had no arms and with that his initial fright subsided, he backed away further though and kept his voice low so Sinn wouldn‘t hear, seeing as he could hear her entire conversation with the shopkeeper behind, “the girl?” he replied in a whisper.


“Rye…nah scratch that, banana, you got banana bread?”

“Girl? Ha, that is no girl!” chuckled the leper. He then coughed grossly, not being able to cover his mouth, phlem went everywhere and Quixano noticed the rot all around the lepers throat, he would have vomited had he had anything to actually throw up, instead he kinda just gagged.


“Heh, umm yeah, what kind of cheese?”

“It is a demon, the spawn of two of the cruellest death gods known to Fane, that thing is the most masochistic, sadistic, psycho, deranged and evil thing you will ever come across in this already evil and foul city.”


“Cottage!”

“I think you’re mistaken, sir, she is getting me a sandwich.” he replied with a fake smile, hoping the leper would just leave. “Hardly evil and masochistic now is it.” Quixano lowered his voice again, “she does seem a little…deluded though, her stories so far have been, well lets just say, imaginative, but what child doesn’t sound a little insane? but evil? Spawn of death gods? I think you need to lay off the…huh” Quixano began to turn as the voice of the assistant sandwich maker, rose behind him.


“Get out of here you crazy girl! I’m not making a banana bread, red meat, cottage cheese sandwich. That will severely ruin my reputation.”

The leper cackled, drawing Quixano back to him from what was going on in the Double Tree.


“Grrr”

“It does not lie, doesn’t need to.” The leper broke out into another disgusting fit of coughs.


“Did you just growl at me?”

“She is insane though, you must have slightly noticed that. Was locked up for near three thousand years, all alone, just her own voice for company.” he paused and a sick smile came to his already sick face, “apparently she went mad before that though. She was once the patron goddess of lost children y‘see, killed all her followers though, seems all their cries for help drove her…”

“How do you know all this?” scoffed Quixano sceptically, “I think you have lost your min…” he was cut off as the leper turned and began to hobble away, from behind he could hear why.

Quixano turned to see Sinn making her way out of the store, “Don’t bother ringing it up, its for a duck!” she shouted as she exited, sandwich in hand and a big mischievous grin painted across her face, the shopkeeper behind looked dumbfounded. “We should go over there to eat this, don’t want them to see its not really for a duck.” she winked and then spotted the leper, “Hey Leper!” she called, that mischievous smile grew. As the leper turned, Sinn began waving at him, “look what I got fucker, this thing is useful. I’m gonna go pick something up.”

Quixano bit back laughing and looked apologetically toward the armless/handless leper. The leper stared back at him, ignoring Sinn completely, he hacked to clear his throat and four words rang into the sudden quiet, “Because I freed her.”

A shiver crawled up Quixano’s back as he turned and looked down at Sinn, who obliviously continued to wave, dance and smile as the leper crept away. She stopped when he was out of sight and grabbing Quixano’s hand again dragged him over to a short wall, beneath a tree, giggling all the way, where she sat down and proceeded to unwrap the sandwich, taking a half, she offered it to Quixano, “this is your half.”

“Uh, thank you, what is it?”

Sinn had already taken a huge bite out of her half and mumbled something amidst her chewing, finally she swallowed, “a banana bread, red meat, cottage cheese sandwich” she proclaimed with a nod.

Holding the sandwich, food so close, Quixano's question returned in his mind, he didn’t want to forget it and hoped that if answered he could probably say farewell and eat the sandwich elsewhere, “Sinn?”

“Uh huh?” she mumbled between bites, “Wha?”

“About getting money…how would I do that here?”

Paused in her eating, she looked up at him, her mouth open, close to taking a bite of the sandwich held inches away, her left hand slowly moved away from her sandwich and she pointed to a building down the road, “Bank.” A long pause followed and then she returned to her eating.

“Bank? But what…”

“Urghhh” chewing quickly she flailed her left hand, hoping to speed it up, eyes looking to the heavens, she chewed and chewed…it was a big bite, and finally she swallowed, “hmm could really use some sprite to wash this down with hmmm.”

Quixano contemplated this Bank business whilst waiting, he also contemplated whether any of this was real or just a delusion.

“Yeah, you just go in, go to the counters, pick the person behind the counter you want to play the game with, if they’re small and frail that’s easy, if they’re big and strong, that’s hard, you’ll find it harder to convince the bigger meaner looking ones. It’s all in how threatening you can say how much money you’re wanting without alerting anyone else, you just gotta go in, pick your counter target and try your best to scare them into giving you the money, hundred gold pieces is a good amount to request.” She looked up at him, a strange look came to her dark features, the demon half skull atop her head, its hollow eye socket joining her stare made Quixano very uncomfortable, she suddenly jumped up to stand on the small wall, now eye to eye with him, she poked him in the forehead, “I thought you said you liked food.” she scowled.

“Oh heh,, yeah.” Breathing a sigh of relief he looked down at his sandwich and smiled, raising it to his mouth, it actually smelt pretty delicious, taking a bite he saw in his periph Sinn smile darkly.

“I like you.“ she said mischievously, “Oh and by the way, I can kill you with my mind.”

-Sinn's ramblings in the past two posts have been heavily influenced by mitch hedberg (the duck sequence and the hand/leper bit are pretty much mitch, the sprite/deadpony bit is mitch and meagan mooney influenced) and various other comedic sketches i love (the dusteyes intro is ripped from AzuManga Daioh)

[Eyreplenh]

Stump looked at the leper, started against him and opened his mouth to say something before catching a glipse of a familiar figure a small distance away, waving menacingly. Disappearing back behind the wall of the alley he just came from he smiled, and for a moment contemplated following the weird child, but decided not to. Best not to risk a meet now, he said to himself as he trudged along the other way. Conversations, or even the vague dealings with that child-thing always left him exhausted and worn, even though, he mused, he'd never been able to figure out just why that was. No matter, more interesting things were at hand. Exiting the narrow alley, he headed for the wall.

The barbarians setting up a camp that was looking more and more permanent outside the city walls was one thing, the Titan appearing another. Especially the Titan interested Stump. He was a man of the faith, and for a man of the faith, or at least for a man of Stumps faith (there's a possibility this counts only him) the prospect of a new deity was might intriguing. Stump was a man of faith in general. A lot of people called him a priest and he never corrected them. But what he walked around believing in himself was a mystery to the very same people.

In short, he believed in himself, in another power, and in the power of faith itself. The Other power he believed in with conviction. The something that sometimes twharted him and other times helped him. Like when he occasionally got caught pilfering some food or smallthings from various stores, homes and such places, even though his pilfering skills where superior; it was clearly the working of the Other. Or when some pretty little serving thing or fair maiden or even lady refused his charms, even though his charms were considerable, it was always the work of the Other. Or occasionally a meddling boyfriend or husband. From the top of his head he could not come up with any exaple of when the Other had helped him, but then again a man with his skills and healthy measures seldom needed help. Happy with this little thesis, as it strenghtened his already towering faith in himself and added to the conviction of the Others evilness, he made his way to the top of the wall, as it still was a small crowd that gathered there every day to look towards the Barbarians. It was a rare thing in Fane, for a single phenomenom to hold any interest for any lenght of time, but these invaders still did. Maybe it had something to do with the ban on comedy.

Nodding to the people, he donned his slightly fanatic stare and walked about them, muttering and occasionally looking in the same direction they did. A massive camp, both familiar in that military way, and different, in the otherwordly way. And beyond that, the Titan. Noticing that he was getting a lot more annoyed and disgusted looks than awed ones, a lot more than what was usual, Stomp took a moment to discreetly take in his own person. What was that smell? It came from him, that was sure, and he also noticed the dried patches of things cluttering his clothes. Damn, sector 7 was getting messier by the day! Inspired by this discovery (they were disgusted by his filthy appearance, and not by him!) Stomp decided to refresh the fear of whatever thing these people chose to believe in (No lack of gods and deities in a place like Fane) in them, the same thing the great majority of them believed him to be a channel for. A leviationg trick, perhaps? He had on several occasions been able to leviate, not knowing how or alway why, but it was definitively worth a try. Gazing down the fifty foot drop that was the wall, he still ambled over to a place directly over one of the Outsider water tanks. If all went wrong he guessed a bath was long overdue in any case. True, it was a favourite pastime of many of the kids and even adults to throw unmentionable things, spit, take a piss or even a dump in the tank of the Outsiders, but there was no way it could make a negative difference to his shoddy appearance.

Facing the crowd, with his back to the drop, he jumped, shouting obscenities a he did so.

[Buck]

Meanwhile, in Section 7...


The moon that went missing in Section 4 was above head right next to the one belonging to Section 7. It was noon, and yet twilight ruled the barren streets. A single duck quacked once on a pond, tucking kinked feathers back into the fold of its wing as it floated aimlessly in the brook that flowed next to the road.

Ke'art lay sprawled on the cobble stone street, gazing up at where the other moons soon shall be. For now, not a soul in all of Fane was aware of the plot. One missing moon in Fane is nothing out of the ordinary for a Tuesday. Ke'art pressed his lips into a tight smile and chuckled silently.

The duck quacked in objection, as if it could read his mind. That too made Ke'art chuckle. He sat up, and pulled his cloak's hood over his head. Despite the twilight, the light was too intense. He longed for the dark hour to approach, so that he could abandon his cloak at last.

Ke'art chuckled again, but this time it was not inaudible. The duck flapped violently and took flight. The mirthful laugh grew slowly and gave chase after the duck, filling the empty streets with the echoes. If any soul were near, it would weep in the frigid embrace of Ke'art's joy.


Ke'art stopped abruptly and sprinted towards a dark alley, vanishing in the shadows.

[dark fuschia]

It is said that the rain in Fane stays mainly on the Plains, and this Gorax discovered on his first day at war with the Scientist thieves. He refused to call them magicians, and had anyone who called them that hung upside-down for half a day so that they might be reminded of the laws of physics.

"I am surrounded by idiots!" Gorax loved to exclaim periodically. Even when no one was around.

Now he sat in one of his bmajestic war pavillions on the plains, unable to do any of his favourite things; grey drizzly clouds blocked out the sun, he had forgotten his comb, and there was no time for cosmology. It had been three days since they had retreated from the metal monsters, and it had rained every single day. Yet the rain seemed to mostly avoid the city of Fane in the distance, almost as if it didn't like it very much. This was dissapointing because Gorax certainly didn't like the rain.

At least the farmers had given them a welcome befitting the great dignitaries they were. "Don't complain about the rain!" Said Farmer Bobby-Jo, a thickset middle-aged woman, who much to the Learned Kings' amusement - wore trousers. "The rain is our life-blood, it makes us people of the plains prosperous, we have never wanted for anything. And most of all, we never have need of that god-forsaken city" As if to make her point she took a hearty bite of the large turkey leg in her hand and followed it up with a greasily baked chunk of yam.

The King and the farmer sat at table together because they had become friends. The farming communities of the plains had no leader, but they all seemed to respect this woman, who managed to combine in her demenour a certain toughness and gentleness all at once.

On his own planet, Gorax would never speak as an equal to a woman, but Farmer Bobby-Jo and indeed all of the women on the plains were different, for by some freak occurence of nature, they had all turned out as smart and able as men. Gorax could tell by the confidence with which they held their heads, and the way they spoke as if they knew what they were talking about. After the inital day of confusion, he had been suprised to discovered that many of them really did know what they were talking about, and Bobby-Jo most of all. She even knew about gravity, which was more than half the men in his service could say. He thought of the last man he had hung upside down who had declared "I will use the power of my mind to stop the blood running to my head!" After half an hour he had given up and passed out instead.

Gorax took a hefty bite of his turkey leg too, while Clara sat demurely by his side and picked at a salad. She was the only one of his concubines who had accompanied him, as he did not like to endanger the sweet and delicate things by taking them vast instellar distances for what would no doubt be a bloody and gruesome war. Clara however had stowed away on one of the suppply ships, and Gorax, annoyed as he was, couldn't help be secretly happy she had managed it. After all a man has needs, even when at war. Some of the girls of the plains were very pretty, but Gorax wasn't sure he'd feel comfortable laying with a woman who was as smart as a man. It wouldn't be proper. No, he was glad Clara was with him, and he enjoyed punishing her for her disobedience every night.

"So tell me more about these scientists..." said Gorax.

OOC: Someone can put words in Bobby-Jos mouth if they like, to explain some of the history of the magician brothers, *looks hopeful* Also, I would like to say I think OOC comments should be allowed. *nods* It would make me happy in my heart if it were so. I don't think it disrupts things, and don't they look fine in italics? btw I will only read and consider your arguments against this if they are written as OOC comments... *sly grin*
-wendy

[sir archely]

Secondly there was the appearance of an enormous Titan (the word Titan implies a certain degree of enormity, true, but such things should not remain understated) some few miles from the barbarian camp. No one could tell whose side it was on, or if it was on any side at all, since it remained completely immobile. Rumour had it that the Horn brothers had had it transported there, but if that was the case then why wasn't it moving?

Vernao groans as he finally awakens, slumped over the various wheels, dials and glyphs that control the functioning of his Titan. A lever digs painfully into his side, and he can feel the imprint of one of the runes reflected in his cheek. That something had gone wrong with the transport was obvious; how maddeningly horribly twisted it had come off wasn't apparent until Vernao catches his partial reflection on one of the metal surfaces in the control room. Where he once would have seen a fit and healthy (Vernao believes in exercising the body as well as the mind, unlike many others of his cadre) middle-aged man with a short crop of black hair, he now sees a broken-down old man. His formerly strong jaw is covered with an immense white beard, his hair long and white. He lifts his hand to feel the new wrinkles in his face and sees his nails, now long, on hands wrinkled and spotted with age.

In frantic terror Vernao manipulates the controls of his Titan, and thousands on the plains and in Fane see it begin to glow a blue-white from the thousands of runes etched into the outer surface. Its head lifts, the arms pump, and the massive Titan runs with surprising speed and agility. Each step brings it closer to the barbarian camp and shakes the ground like an earthquake. Then, and suddenly as it started up, the Titan grows dark and shudders to a stop.

Inside, Vernao is slammed against the controls, having forgotten to buckle his safety harness. His forehead is cut, but the pain brings him out of his terror. "Blasted safety-air-bladders, don't they ever work? Hmm. The Titan must have been subject to the same aging forces as I was. Some repairs seem in order."

With a swirl of his metallic-looking silver and blue robes, Vernao descends into the depths of the Titan, looking over a strange marriage of machinery and magic, muttering both to himself and making repairs. So intent is he on the internal workings of the Titan that he fails to notice the increased attention the large figure is attracting out on the plains.

One thought tickles the back of Vernao's mind as he works, but never comes out of the shadows of his mind for full contemplation. Why was he transporting the Titan here at all?

[Apoc]

“I like rice. Rice is great when you're hungry and want two thousand of something.”

Quixano looked down on Sinn with a bemused look, in the short amount of time he had spent in her company, he had already become accustomed to her making random proclamations about things she liked and disliked. She looked up at him then and smiled that mischievous grin again.

“Y’know I was just pullin your leg with the whole bank thing yeah?” she beamed, “You know, funny haha?”

Quixano scratched his head, “So, how then do you get this strange currency?” he pondered and looked toward the bank.

“The tokens?”

Quixano looked down on Sinn again and nodded.

“Ummm, I think they hand them out, I’ve seen them doing it before.” she answered briefly and lazily before getting distracted by a fly buzzing between them.

“You don’t know?”

She gave him her squint thinking look and after a long pause of intense thinking finally replied,, “Nope, I forgot.”

Quixano sighed heavily and took another bite of his sandwich, he didn’t quite think the ingredients went too well but just as he thought that, Sinn snapped her head around and stared at him, a dark look coming to her, as if her aura became shadows, black as night. In what he presumed was merely a hallucination, the necklace she wore, that he hadn’t previously noticed, suddenly became prominent, catching his attention in the darkness that now surrounded her. Two words on the pendant seemed to blaze with crimson flame. “What does that say?” he whispered to himself . The hallucination dissipated instantly and Quixano shaking his head at the sudden return to normality, blinked to regain his sight from the blurryness. When it cleared Sinn was looking at the pendant, held now between her fingers.

“It says, don’t disturb.”

“Should it not be Do not?” replied Quixano instantly, his mind not quite understanding why Sinn seemed to have embraced the contraction so.

Still staring at the pendant she replied quietly, “Nah, that just psyches you out,” she answered, then seemed to ramble to herself, “do! great I get to disturb this guy, not! SHIT, ya need to read faster, grrrr.” she growled as she shook her head.

“ummm, why are you wearing a don’t disturb sign around your neck?” inquired Quixano after a long pause.

That smile reappeared as she tore her attention away from the pendant to look up at Quixano again, “so kids can’t tell me knock knock jokes.”

“knock knock?” he pondered aloud.

Sinn jumped and was suddenly in mid air before him, she lingered there for what seemed longer than gravity tended to allow, in that time though she scowled at him then flicked him on the forehead with her finger, before landing neatly and exclaiming, “gah, you just read the sign, dummy!”

Quixano stood stunned for a moment and the lepers words crawled back into his mind, “It is a demon, the spawn of two of the cruellest death gods known to Fane, that thing is the most masochistic, sadistic, psycho, deranged and evil thing you will ever come across in this already evil and foul city.” and then her own words, “I can kill you with my mind.” He looked down, she had that mischievous grin again, as if his thoughts where being shouted, she just seemed to know what he was thinking. Her smile grew and out of nowhere she suddenly hiccupped and with it two nearby plant pots cracked and a window shattered. A shudder ran down his spine, though Sinn looked as startled by it as him, a wide eyed look of amazement shone in her dark eyes.

“Wow, that was cool.” she turned to him, mouth agape in surprise.

“Did she do that?” he thought and a strange look came to her face, “She is reading my thoughts! Or am I actually talking aloud?” a girly giggle escaped Sinn that was suddenly cut off as a low rumble built beneath their feet, the walls shook and dust rose and fell from rooftops, some tiles fell. Quixano looked around, he noticed while doing so Sinn was doing the same, ”Earthquake?” he thought as he looked down the street toward the third sectors main square.

“No.” whispered Sinn in reply to his thought.

Quixano’s eyes widened and he slowly turned to look on the demon whom he’d just turned his back on, but where not a moment ago she had been standing, a faint black smoke now faded into the breeze. “Sinn?” he called nervously. A question entered his mind, was she merely a figment of my imagination? Caused by malnutrition, senility? he pondered this, standing alone in the centre of the street.

~

Smoke rose and with it a tearing sound ripped out into the breeze, the fabric of space and time torn briefly.

Grass, its touch cool beneath her bare feet, its scent fresh. Sinn stumbled. The shadow smoke lingering, wisps rising from her clothes, from the broken demon skull atop her head, from her dark eyes.

Dizzy and confused, she shook her head briefly, this however just made her more dizzy. Finally she steadied herself and after taking a deep recovering breath she eventually squinted at what loomed before her. The Titan.

A dark smile crept, she was about to say something but suddenly held back. Her dark eyes narrowed and she cocked her head sideways to peer at the Titan from a different view. Again she made to say something but paused, a confused look replaced her dark distrust.

Biting her lip she fell deep into thought, searching her memories. Behind her, others where making their approach, she didn’t really care though, the Titan had caught her interest...for she did not recognise it.

The smile returned, “Hey!” she called in a sweet childish tone. The Titan did not respond. “I like the way you are situated here.” she called, flailing her arms at the large beast that had fallen into a kneeling position upon its breakdown, “It seems like you were chasing me, closing in…” Motionless it slept still. Her dark maniacal smile crept higher, “…and then said, fck it, let’s sit down!”

OOC: Planned to do a post with the Brothers Horn...probably will later, folk obviously still free to do backgrounds for them etc as wendy mentioned ~nods and throws a duck at the dark fuschian delight~ and that's what you get for taking over a week to reply Jamesy bhoy! ~cackles~

-again Sinns ramblings are heavily HEAVILY influenced and pretty much taken from the comedy of mitch hedberg.

[Amos]

OOC: "Shit", said Amos, who had planned an elaborate post that Apoc made more difficult by having Sinn leave Quixano.



Abandonment

For some people clarity comes in moments of insight known as epiphanies. This is particularly true of people who take narcotics and are otherwise a lot more confused than the general lot of humanity. These epiphanies are completely useless, causing at best a state of idiotic calm, such as can be witnessed in certain retards and in monks, and quickly passing to leave behind yet another horror for the bewildered meat-puppet to deal with: this would be the horror of knowing, of really deeply feeling, just how impracticable you are.

For the wise and emotionally-stable, there are anti-epiphanies: moments of complete loss of understanding that leave the mind disordered, or totally done for. Unfortunately these also occur when one person leaves another person suddenly for no good reason, no matter how stolid or stupefied they are.

So Quixano was lost again. Now that the child who had abducted him had disappeared he felt as if he were a novelist with writer's block, unable to think of even a short plot, although now at least he hoped the mercenary law-enforcement team would stop covertly following him. In this he was wrong, and he had only a few minutes to himself in which to reflect on the nature of Sinn, which he thought was a terrible name, only redeemed by this excellent pun. Was Sinn original? No that was taking it too far - he abandoned the punning, and tried to think seriously, but it was then that he was accosted by Sergeants Chastitine (Miss.) & Morrissey (Mr.).



Interlude for Character Biographies

Sergeant Chastitine... was of drab appearance despite her leather outfit that tried too hard and the eclectic pseudo-religious paraphernalia that hung from her torso like dusty ornaments on a four-month old xmas tree. It was true that she had been neglected by society more for her prevailing lack of empathy than for her looks - it was not true that that her quest to slay vampires had been very successful or that her sadism grew more pronounced from bathing in the black auras of so many fiends (the other mercenaries, that is - her encounters with vampires were scarce, and usually brief). She joined the mercenaries after meeting Sergeant Morrissey on an adult website, first courting him with barely legible emails and blurry pictures, then silencing his concerns about her evil nature with her body when they finally met. It was convenient for her to take up his offer of war-buddy with benefits since being a merc was more profitable than her returns from the knitted sweaters that she almost never sold on eBay.

Sergeant Morrissey... was a stickler for hard work, always taking on overtime and making the other mercenaries feel deficient and spiteful because they didn't want to keep up with him, yet nor did they want such a tool to be making more money than they were. He was everything you could possibly despise in a partner/human being: he was always kind, helpful, precise, thorough, exemplary, slow to anger, etc. His normalcy was nauseating, his modus odious, and his merits all seemed meretricious. Sergeant Morrissey's only really interesting quality was his Invisible Robot Enemy, referred to by his fellow merc's as his Imaginary Robot Enemy, or the IRE of Morrissey (a subtle pun that Quixano found truly impressive). He hoped to find his IRE in the ranks of 'bots engaged by the Horn brothers, although as always his foes' Invisibility made him despair, and currently he was also distracted by the limits of his new love imposed by his new lover, the sheer baseness of metropolitan-marionettes in a chaotic tangle of mortar and thorns (his poetry was also pernicious), and a shifty old hobo following little girls around.


& Then

OOC: I never got that far!

[Eyreplenh]

Facing the crowd, with his back to the drop, he jumped, shouting obscenities a he did so.

A quarter of a second.

Half a second.

He hung in the air.

Exulted he increased his ranting and threw up his arms. Three quarters of a second. Thoughts started racing through his head. He could see the awe in some of the faces, and in the rest, raw fear. Automatically Stumps mind launched itself into a well-travelled lane. Some people need things to believe in. And then they add rituals, seremonies and even doctines for how to live their lives to that faith. The faith that they have chosen, well, to some extent anyway, and it's amazing to see how many of the believers fail to live according to this rules. And so live constanty with guilty consciences caused by their shortcomings and on some level in a state of fear of being punished for it. Why impose such a prison on oneself?

Three quarters of a second.

Feeling the gravitational pull making introductions, Stump blasted out a high-pitched scream likely to be the father of a couple of nightmares later that night, and plummeted towards the water-tank. His head was rational and clear, despite his recent display, and he noted with dismay that yes, the surface was broken on several places by turds. Bracing himself for the impact, he closed his eyes. And felt himself being pulled out of himself. It was a sensation like nothing he'd felt before. It was dim, in a way, neither painful nor pleasant, but somewhat discomforting. And extremely powerful. Unable to tell if he was falling sideways, or upwards, or if what he was doing was even falling anymore, Stump opened his eyes, a feeling of panic seeping into him. As the eyelids said their farewells, the awkward sensation disappeared, and his eyes opened to a vista mainly consisting of a vast plain, and an impossibly big Titan. And skipping to and fro in front of it, the familiar figure of a little girl shouting out questions to the giant lying there, motionless. Slowly getting to his feet, feeling a bit odd, if not injured or harmed in any way, he tried to come to grips with what happened. Then shuddered as a wave of weirdness not unlike a headrush swept over him, and then just as quickly was gone. The oddness was gone. Unsuccessfully scrubbing at a patch of fresh dirt from his knees, he took a look around.

People were approaching. He considered vocally assaulting them, but realized his timing would be wrong. They would need to really see this giant first. Shrugging off the thoughts of what it had been that brought him here, he turned to the Titan, pleased at the prospect of a new God, a new surge of faith, likely a strong one at that. Physical manifestations were something rare. He took in the Titan in it's entirity, and nodded as he saw the potensial near literally steaming from it. But something kept tugging at his focus; therewas more here than this moving mountain. A vortex of power of some sort, a potential for worship and... He couldn't put his thoughts together, but his gaze kept going back to the skull-hatted little girl.

He'd always kept away from the mad child roaming around the city, simply because he didn't know what she was, only that it was something that scared a lot of people. Including some of the mangled ones in the darker alleys. What was she? "Hey giant fellow, can I ride your back?"

A child, obviously. And... potensial. For some reason the thought made him shiver a bit. Taking a look back at the approaching mob, he started against the Titan. It always paid to be first.

[Buck]

One thought tickles the back of Vernao's mind as he works, but never comes out of the shadows of his mind for full contemplation. Why was he transporting the Titan here at all?



Ke'art sat perched on a ledge of a tall spire in Section 6. It was very late, and for a Section that never sleeps not much was going on down below. Many of the shops were closed, the lights were turned down and the only going ons were that of the late night sweepers cleaning up after the mess the merchants have left from a long day's worth of haggling.


He payed little mind as he reached into his cloak and looked out towards the plains. From his vantage he could clearly see both the Titan and the barbarian camp. Oddly, he wondered why the Titan had stopped suddenly yet again.


Looking down one last time, he peered very carefully. After making sure that noone was looking up, he let loose one end of his cloak and let it flap in the wind.

snap, whip, snap

The cloak grew as if stretched out by the wind. From the side of the tall spire, the grey lining of the Ke'art's cloak nearly resembled the other sparse clouds in the night sky.

With a grin, Ke'art peered yet again down below to make sure that no one noticed the odd about that was about to happen. He sat patiently, letting the wind to continue to snap and whip out his cloak to even more epic proportions.

From within the other end of his cloak, he withdrew a clenched fist and and opened his palm face down, dry washing his fingers while giggling to himself. It started to rain, the few sweepers only looked up for a moment, enough to notice what he wanted them to see. They sought shelter from the small storm passing through Section 6.

Ke'art let out another mirthless laugh as the end of his cloak covered more of the night sky over Section 6.




Within an hour, one of the sweeper's stuck his hand out from under one of the awnings with his palm turned up to feel for rain. It had finally let up, and he quickly returned to the trade plaza to continue sweeping. Squinting in the darkness he creased his brow in attempt to see better in the darkness. He would need a lamp to finish his work. The full moon that was out earlier must have set already and he had not noticed.

In the brook near the plaza a duck quacked once.

[Amos]

Quixano’s eyes widened and he slowly turned to look on the demon whom he’d just turned his back on, but where not a moment ago she had been standing, a faint black smoke now faded into the breeze. “Sinn?” he called nervously. A question entered his mind, was she merely a figment of my imagination? Caused by malnutrition, senility? he pondered this, standing alone in the centre of the street.

Pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts, Quixano immediately lapsed into the shepherd's habit of not thinking about anything at all and passively absorbing the scenery in what could easily have been mistaken for a Buddhistic trance, were it not for his elegant posture - the dignified tilt of his chin and the backwards arch of his spine that suggested he had once been a member of the sheep-herding aristocracy; only such a thing did not exist, of course. Standing in this way usually made him feel peaceful, but now it only served to make him edgier, since "the scenery" was a disfigured entity that 90% of the Fanian citizenry consciously chose to block out. From here, the center edge of Sector 4, he could almost see into the heart of the city: a black mist seemed to cover that unknown landscape, around which yet another wall circled (Fane had many things, it seemed, that needed to be walled in or out), amidst which dark forms hovered and colored lightnings flashed intermittently. In the very center, seen from a distance that seemed much too large, rose a palace of sorts: a glistening cerebrum of steel that twisted around itself and warped the mist into the shape of... a horn. How very vain, thought Quixano.

Lowering his eyes from the hypnotic abyss, Quixano felt somehow refreshed, if not wholly right in his mind. Everything he saw seemed to take on a sharper edge; one that, he sensed, wanted to find his throat. The vivid colors of the street and the buildings that looked as if they had been designed by a Surrealist were part of a living being. Yes, he decided, the limbs and sprouts and founts and crevices that comprised Fane were nothing short of it's organs, part of the intricate highway of its brain. This awareness passed after a minute or so, and it was then that he noticed The Store.

The Store was a nondescript, grey building, whose only striking features were the multiple doors that led inside and the fact that it seemed to protrude through the central wall, and also the large red sign that read "The Store". Quixano walked over and tried to peer in, but there were no windows. Odd, he thought, from the other side of the street I could have sworn that there were. He pushed open a door at random, and a few minutes later walked out looking slightly more dazed than usual, holding a small bag that was brimming with coins. He couldn't quite remember the details of that short visit. The storekeeper had been... not right... and The Store, he sensed, had not been the traditional kind that served customers. He, Quixano, had been the commodity, the commercial product, and the money he now held was payment for something he had given, only he wasn't sure what that was. Perhaps it was merely complicity; Quixano now understood completely the system that governed the city's economy, knew that it was based wholly on its citizens voluntary reliance on their leaders' ability to provide absolutely anything that was required. Quixano was OK with this. Self-reliance had lost its charm after a few hours of rummaging through trashcans and begging outside cafes. Ethics would simply have to wait until he had bought himself a hot meal and found a place to sleep for the rapidly approaching night.

[Apoc]

Finally she steadied herself and after taking a deep recovering breath she eventually squinted at what loomed before her. The Titan.[/SIZE]


For all that is real, she stood at its silent heart, oblivious. Caught between past memories, dreams and infinite knowledge, her madness making blind the present. Ever she sought the fading beat of lives fallen to dust, their whispers and cries still heard.

Waiting, she looked down upon the corpses that lay beneath her bare feet, the pieces of flesh and fragments of bone brought a sickly smile. The field of death that vanished into the surrounding mists birthed a dark excitement within her, "the last moans of the dying have dwindled into silence." she whispered with devilish delight. A flash lit up the mist momentarily, joined seconds later by a violent crack that shattered the silence. Drawing her eyes from the slaughtered corpses she looked off into the mists ahead.

A shadowed figure appeared beside her as she watched and waited, “The last has fallen.” he growled, “Come Sinn, my brother approaches.”

“Yes father.” she replied, “I see him.”

Ahead, a figure, clad in black, approached through the mists, a blade of lightning held in his left hand. As he drew closer she saw his dark armor was torn and burnt but he did not appear injured. He strode powerfully closer, walking on the fallen mortal dead that littered the plain. Though they where not their kind, they could not have stood idly by in this war.

“This is a cold place, brother,” said her father, “is it not time we return?”

And he made reply, “Colder places lie beyond.”

~

Who can say where divides truth and the host of desires that, together, give shape to memories. On the plains outside the city of Fane she stood before a Titan. Her eyes awakened, aflame with mischief, “He spoke of the last who had fallen, you are not one that I know, you are new!” she took a step toward the silent giant and slowly raised her hand, “I was there when the last of your kind was cast down.” another step, “I remember the names of the Thirteen,” another step, her smile growing, “I ask again,” her hand so close, outstretched before her, drew closer, a darkly maniacal excitement had taken hold, “what is your name?” she asked breathlessly.

~

Stump drew closer, he could see the child nearing the Titan, he could also see others approaching faster than him from the barbarian camp, though he knew he’d get their first for they where still some distance away. A fell shriek suddenly rent through the air from behind him, spinning, he turned to see the armless leper in the distance frantically trying to get his attention, he paused for a moment to try make sense of the shrieking, “Don’t let…what?” he questioned himself and shook his head to show he didn’t get the message, a silence lingered momentarily and the leper’s words rang across the plain.

“Don’t let it touch the Titan!”

[Amos]

With a swirl of his metallic-looking silver and blue robes, Vernao descends into the depths of the Titan, looking over a strange marriage of machinery and magic, muttering both to himself and making repairs. So intent is he on the internal workings of the Titan that he fails to notice the increased attention the large figure is attracting out on the plains.

After hours of toiling with the Titan's electrical circuits and redesigning a number of runes in its central core, Vernao had it returning slowly to its normal state. The magical fields were stabilising and the thousands of automatic processes that fueled and oiled its countless moving parts had all begun anew. Exhausted from his efforts, and still oblivious to all the activity occuring on the plains around him, Vernao climbed into the hammock in what he thought of as his "office", located in one of the cavities in the Titan's head, and drifted off to sleep. As he did so he saw or thought he saw that his hands were un-wrinkling, as if he was becoming younger again as his creation repaired itself.

In is dreams he found himself once again toiling with nuts and bolts and etching arcane runes, only now the machine on which he was working was infinitely more immense than the Titan, although the engineering and the design were infinitely more intricate, with parts so small that they couldn't even be seen and had to be thought into existence. The force that governed this being was not even in his control, and it was all he could do to prevent minor catastrophes by altering small areas of it in minute but significant ways. He was like one of the auto-cleaners in the Titan, wiping up moisture to prevent rust and polishing rods to prevent seizures of the toe.

When he finally awoke he was startled to discover that he was no longer inside the Titan, but remained a hundred feet from the ground, and was now also surrounded by flying saucers. It took him some time to realise that he was the Titan, but the ships that hovered around him remained a mystery until the leader of the barbarians appeared before him, resplendent in his silver armor and riding a somewhat beleaguered and nervous ostrich.

Tradition had demanded of course that Gorax challenge the Giant to mortal combat, and even if it hadn't he would have done so just to prove how truly fearless a leader he was: Tiffany, his mount, was not so plucky however and, as ostriches also do not feel bound by the strictures of custom, getting her to approach the Giant had taken a fair amount of cajoling. Meanwhile Gorax ordered the Giant to be surrounded by a few of their small fighter ships to prevent it from escaping, and did his best to ignore the little girl who was standing only a few feet from his foe and apparently trying to befriend it.

[Apoc]

It took him some time to realise that he was the Titan...

The leper had watched from afar as Sinn had laid her hand on the Titan. He had fallen to his knees as he saw what he had only presumed would happen, with her doing so.

It had been quite obvious for all those versed in such things that the Titan was not really alive, he had known also that Sinn would have thought it real. He knew that Sinn, seeing this thing would have brought back memories for her of when they really did exist way back in ancient times. He had also learnt to his horror, when he was studying her, that she had powers to make real what she thought real. The leper shook his head at the remembrance of seeing a dead body suddenly screaming and becoming re-animated after she had poked at it thinking it just asleep.

He was too late, his shouted warning wasn’t heard fast enough and even from this distance, he could see that the Titan now breathed. On his knees, the leper had begun to weep, he would have wept into his hands if he had any but instead just knelt, head drooped, chin to his chest, tears falling freely. He was in pain also from screaming his warning, he found it hard enough to talk, but to scream as he had done? His rotted throat bled with the pain.

Raising his head he looked out again, something was happening but his eyes where blurred from crying and he couldn’t wipe them seeing as he had no hands or arms, so he blinked furiously to clear his vision and when he did his breath caught at the sight.

Sinn had backed up a few steps from the Titan, it seemed to be coming too, as if it had just woken. Flying craft of the invaders circled above its head also, it was a mighty strange sight even for a man such as him, who had seen so much in his expeditions and studies. He continued to blink away tears as he watched from afar. With blurry sight he could still make out the child of all his woes and fears, she appeared to be pointing at the saucers now, as if she had just noticed them…no, she was giving them the finger! And even from this distance he could hear her shouting at the hovering craft, he couldn’t make out the words though but he could tell she was berating them in a rude childish fashion and then suddenly she stopped and even from this distance and his eyes still unclear he made out her head turning to look in his direction, his breath caught and a cold shiver ran down his spine.

Where not a moment before she had been standing, a faint black mist lingered. She had shadow jumped again. The leper’s eyes widened.

“I heard you, you know?” came an innocent whisper from behind the leper.

The leper turned slowly and beheld the child, the dark of death still lingering from what he called her ability to shadow jump…he knew that what coated her whilst she did so and lingered afterward like a wisp of dark smoke, was the black of death and the noise it made as she did it was the tearing sound of the fabric of space and time. She looked disorientated and her voice sounded like that of a child woken during a deep dream, still lingering in the mists of sleep, “why do you follow me?” she asked.

The leper did not know what to say, he just wanted to flee.

“I am tired of you.” she said simply, “I try make friends and don’t think I do not notice you…” an expression of great sadness crossed her young features, “you scare them away.”

His heart was racing as he watched her raise her thumb to her mouth and begin to chew on the nail, she looked to the leper like she where contemplating something. He had to say something…but what, his mind raced and finally a word escaped his raw throat, “sorry.” She raised her head, her expression blank as her dark eyes met his, “I am sorry Sinn” he wheezed. She stopped chewing her thumbnail and stood before him silently, her dark eyes betraying no emotion. She looks so innocent he thought. A strong wind gusted past them, it was icy cold and drew a gasp from the leper but nothing from Sinn, her crimson cloak and dark midnight hair blew in the gust but only slightly, the half demon skull worn like a crown kept her hair in order well he thought but still it frightened him that she was so unaffected by the strong gust. Her lips parted and she took a deep breath.

“I remember tearing your arms off.” she muttered, “but not why.” He could feel the tears welling in his eyes, the burning fear growing within him, “I suppose it is I who should be apologising.” she said sleepily, her eyes closing, “if next we meet, pray I have forgotten you.” and with that, she was gone, just a faint dark smoke lingering, then gone with the wind.

[sir archely]

When he finally awoke he was startled to discover that he was no longer inside the Titan, but remained a hundred feet from the ground, and was now also surrounded by flying saucers. It took him some time to realise that he was the Titan, but the ships that hovered around him remained a mystery until the leader of the barbarians appeared before him, resplendent in his silver armor and riding a somewhat beleaguered and nervous ostrich.


For the second time in as many days Vernao woke to find his own physical form completely transformed. The second time, he firmly resolved to remain calm, assess the situation, and only act when the proper course had been discerned. Unfortunately, while he was firmly resolving, his body, completely independently of his mind, had decided a nice quick panic was in order. Oh bother, thought Vernao, as he watched the Titan's, his, hand sweep down and buffet Gorax, just as Gorax began to open his mouth in what would have been a challenge to mortal combat.

Vernao wondered at the hand he saw, that seemed to belong to him. His skin was something not quite flesh, but not quite metal, and etched, or tattooed, with the runes that had previously covered the surface of the Titan. His body lacked... something. Detail and definition had faded, and he felt defective in some way. Where before the Titan had been a thing of grace, beauty, master craftsmanship, and countless hours of labor, Vernao the titan was more akin to a child's idea of art. Quickly scribbled on a whim, and just as quickly cast aside for other amusements.

All of this passed through Vernao's mind as he watched his new hand strike Gorax and send him flying. Curiously, the expression on Gorax's face was more one of annoyance than of pain or surprise. He quickly hurtled hundreds of miles distant, becoming no more than a speck against the mountainous backdrop. The flying ships turned and swept away as one unit, desperately pouring on speed as they chased their leader. One thing was certain, Vernao's new body, crude as a stick drawing, was also prodigiously strong.

Tiffany, Gorax's fearful mount, now stared up at the immensity of the Titan, her rider having been swept clean off. Without Gorax's control, she immediately squawked and turned in a full out sprint away from the Titan. Vernao, with foolish thoughts of comforting the terrified bird, takes a step and reaches down to arrest the headlong flight. In doing so, he clearly demonstrates that while his form contains amazing strength, it lacks the grace and efficiency of motion the previous Titan possessed. He trips, and watchers from both Fane and the plains hold their breath as Vernao falls. He seems to fall slowly, for something so large, and his shadow falls over Tiffany as she runs. He hits the earth, crushing the poor bird, and an instant later the sound of it and the shock of it reach the watchers. The city walls jump, twirl and rearrange themselves, joyous at being granted motion. Tents in the camp spring up and fly away from their stake and line restraints. Many find that the ground has curiously embraced them, though it seems the embrace is a bit too rough to be friendly. Shaking off the cobwebs, they look to the plain, and through a cloud of dust they can clearly make out the distinct lack of the form of the Titan.

Instead, between Fane and Gorax's war pavillions is a large gaping hole in the earth. There is another, smaller impact, and then all is quiet. After obliterating** Tiffany, Vernao smashed through the thin crust of plain, and continued down, crashing through many layers of an extensive cavern system. He sits up, regarding his surroundings at the bottom of a terribly large shaft. The entrance he made is far enough above him to be unreachable, even for his massive Titan body. Quickly, he moves his hands in an awkward incantation intended to transport himself back to the surface.

And nothing happens. Once again he tries, and fails. The realization that his art has been robbed of him because of his new, maladroit form hits Vernao, and the Titan begins to weep. Even his tears are a mockery of truth, for as they fall, they glisten, but when they hit the floor of the cavern, they explode into simple dust. And there Vernao sits, his shadowed face illuminated only by the faded blue seeping from the runes etched in his own skin.


=======

Miles away, Gorax flies and tumbles through the air. For one so travelling, he is remarkably calm. He slowly manages to catch the lower edges of his silver cape, and patiently hookes them into clasps on his lower back. He then changes position to orient his body towards the direction of his flight, and immediately his cape billows full and snaps. A large swath of fabric is instantly pulled out of the backplate of Gorax's armor, and his body is jerked abruptly. His flight arrested, he gently floats towards the ground. Just before landing, he strikes a chemical stick against a rough spot on his armor, and the stick ignites in flame. He holds this flame to one edge of his cape as his other hand unbuckles it. The treated parachute-cape instantly inflames, and magnesium strips in it burn with an intense white light; a beacon for Gorax's flying saucers. Gorax himself drops the last few feet to the ground and rolls away from the floating, flaming cape. Then he sits and waits the few moments it takes him to be picked up. Gorax is a man who believes in being prepared.


=======


** - Please note, no actual ostriches were harmed in the making of this event. Tiffany was, in fact, a shape-changing spy who was attempting to keep tabs on Gorax for a group or individual unknown. Tiffany actually escaped rather cleanly by shape-shifting, and counted herself rather lucky to have the benefit of a fake death. The ostrich form was rather tedious, and not privy to as many confidential secrets of Gorax's and she had originally though. Her escape enabled her to flee back to the war pavilions and take the much more insidious form of Gorax's shaving razor.

[dark fuschia]

a beacon for Gorax's flying saucers. Gorax himself drops the last few feet to the ground and rolls away from the floating, flaming cape. Then he sits and waits the few moments it takes him to be picked up. Gorax is a man who believes in being prepared.

It should be noted that these few moments, which totalled three in all, were not Imperial moments, that is, the length of time it takes a football player to down his beer when he realizes happy hour is almost over <"I'll go to the bar in a moment">, but were in fact, Standard moments, which is the time it takes for a girl to apply make-up <"I'll be out in a moment">. So basically it was about two hours. Gorax made himself comfortable where he sat and pondered his situation.

What Farmer Bobby-Jo had told him was very strange. It turned out that even though she understood about gravity she still believed some very odd things, because what she told him was impossible. She told him that when the Brothers Horn became the rulers of Fane, it had been a fairly normal city. “Of course there was terrible traffic you know, and some real bad areas where people dressed funny, but it was mostly normal. But then,” she explained, “the brothers introduced a new system of economics, which oddly, meant that no one ever goes without.”

“That sounds good.” Said Gorax. “They must all work very hard.”

Bobby-Jo shook her head, “But that’s just it, THEY DON’T WORK AT ALL. I am no academic type. But if you ask me, it’s just not sustainable.” Bobby-Jo had a firm idea of the natural order of things. People had to work and produce and consume to survive, and even though some missed out, and some had more than their share, it had always been so. “I just don’t understand why no one is starving… but that is of no consequence really, for they are all mad.”

She had gone on to describe many of the bizarre ailments of the inhabitants, mental and physical degradations that seemed to span every medical possibility, and yet, she explained further, not one of them really seemed to mind, because they could easily have anything they wanted, including drugs of any kind, many of which offered excellent remedies to their diseases.

Gorax thought about the Urinium, which was used as an excellent source of energy on his planet. Certainly it sounded as if the brothers had stolen it and were somehow utilizing it to produce this effect, but while he could see how Urinium would be an immense boon to any cities economy, and certainly boost the lifestyle of its citizens, it was in no way capable of what Bobby-Jo described. Nothing was, why every man of science knows the laws regarding the conservation of energy: a city of people who don’t work can’t go on producing a constant source of ipods, hamburgers and effective pharmaceuticals. These things cannot be created from nothing. Something very strange was going on indeed.

A saucer came at last, and Gorax gracefully leapt on top of it and slid into the bridge through a hatch. “Where too Great Sage?” Asked its pilot.

“Back to the Titan! I must find Tiffany!”

[Amos]

After several inconclusive engagements with the Titan, Gorax began to suspect that he wasn't being taken seriously, which was far worse than any unlikely defeat he might possibly suffer. His shame would be immense if anybody found out that an impervious magic-mechanical giant had not deigned to do battle with him. Did his opponent have no inkling of the mythic potentiality of their squabble? He, Gorax, had come from the stars, a prodigious polymath with multiple wives and hair like a crimson jellyfish, to put an end to the Titan's inert reign of potential terror... No, the various ironies of the situation did not escape him. In a glance he saw the absurdity of his challenge. he remembered what his masters had taught him when they trained him in the fighting arts as a boy - size doesn't matter. Of course there weren't any large carnivores native to his homeland, so size doesn't matter had only meant that they didn't know of anything bigger and therefore more dangerous than another human, save of course the ostrich. Which brings us to Tiffany.
She was a gift from the ruler of a neighbouring kingdom. The custom of insulting other emperors by giving them temperamental, unwieldy and burdensome animals stretched back to the foundations of civilisation itself, and was largely done out of nostalgia for the days when things were much more difficult and relations between groups of people a lot less amicable. Gorax had loved her from about the third or fourth standard moment after he'd set eyes on her, being somewhat slow when it came to forming attachments to creatures with excessively long necks, sharp beaks, talons that gouged the floor tiles in the imperial suites, and hideous big black eyes. He loved her not for her lack of positive physical traits but for her indifference to everybody except Gorax, whom she hated passionately, and would pursue him to the point of indecency in order to mete out her retribution with stabs of her beak and rakes of her claws. Because he was so athletic Gorax managed to escape the majority of attacks, and even rather philosophically elevated her to the rank of teacher, for there was much she taught him about stealth, tactics, and unprovoked violence. He learned from her to tell when somebody wanted him dead just by looking into their eyes and and sensing their inner malice.
Eventually Tiffany, who he had named after the legendary queen of ostriches, had learned to see a side of him that didn't warrant the death penalty for obscure bird-reasons. The first few times she'd let him sit atop her back had been like in the story where the fox lets the gingerbread man ride on her back across the river, but she was too indolent at heart to pursue such a single-minded vendetta for more than a few years, and over time even began to rely on Gorax for emotional stability. When parted unexpectedly from him she froze up and would not move from wherever she happened to be standing until he returned to her, although not to the point of death - she was attached, not suicidal.
The long trip from their planet had upset her circadian rhythms a little, and their futile assaults on the Titan were taking a heavy toll. Gorax noticed how exhausted she was and declared that he could no longer fight the puny god for fear of losing his oldest friend and mentor. He fed and watered her himself and put her to bed in his own quarters: it was time to resume the war.

[QuirkyTemplate]

OOC: I shall now enter this story late and with a bunch of nonsense, as is my custom.

"So apparently those barbarians have slain that monstrous monstrosity."

"A Titan, sir."

"Eh?"

"I do believe the locals in sector seven are calling it the Titan ..."

"Well I don't see any --"

" ... on account of its impressive size."

"Yes, oh, yes, I can see that now. So they've slain it, I note."

"Perhaps. At any rate, it appears as though the Titan is no longer on the field of battle."

"I say, if those barbarians could slay a monstrosity such as that, then perhaps they will make quick work of our defense-bots."

"Robotic Police Force, sir, the RPF."

"Bah! So say the do-nothing Horn brothers, but I objected to that name outright! Outright I say! OUTRI--!"

"Sir, your temper!"

"... ah ha! Ahem ... yes ... sorry, yes then ... you're right Hendrickson. As I was saying, perhaps the defense-bots would fair no better?"

"An astute observation sir, however I do believe that the RP--ah, the defense-bots have already claimed a victory over the hoard during the first rather brief encounter. A route, it was if I recall correctly. The locals in sector seven are speaking of it with a mixture of hilarity and pride."

"Hmm ... so you say, so you say. Perhaps I should get my monocle and top hat and have a look anyway, what do you think?"

"NO!! I mean, no, ah, no sir! That would be entirely unnecessary considering the repercussions. You do recall what happened last time you were forced to use those two items in tandem?"

"Eh? Sector zero was obliterated, sure, but who needs a sector zero anyway, it just confuses people. Proper gentlemen count starting from one, NOT ZERO! NEVER ZEEROO--!"

"Sir! Your temper agian, sir!"

"--Aaah! aah ... yes, ah .... zero ... yes then."

"Perhaps if you'd like you could observe from a closer vantage atop the city walls?"

"Hmmm ... I suppose I had better bring my umbrella and coat in the very least, don't you agree?"

"Perhaps your walking cane rather than the umbrella, sir? The coat would offer ample protection from the rain, and the cane would afford you balance while atop the city wall."

"Capital!"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The man known as Duke Gregory Knolls of Chesterton (which was south of Ebbenshireton and north of Yorkston, and many other cities that ended in "ton") exited his extravagant lodging perched atop the cities second highest spire.

Many thought that his lodging belonged to the lesser of the two Horn brothers, but that was an absurd notion. He would have had the highest building, perhaps even the ownership of the city proper, but the Horn brothers were damn clever and by some semantic trick managed to get him to agree to relinquish almost all of his inventions, half of his intelligence (which they then split among themselves), and any claim to the ownership that he may have once possessed. They did give him a nifty pair of extendability-legs, so it wasn't a complete loss.

As he exited his exceedingly elevated dwelling, his legs extended seven hundred feet down like two thick ropes and he began to walk through the city, each leg ribboning out and planting itself somewhere in the depths of the city below before propelling his body forward. In a few strides he was standing atop the city wall, legs retracted to their normal size.

Oddly enough no one seemed to notice.

OOC: Hey, so, feel free to include this chap in anything else, do whatever, um, hopefully you dont kill him off :quirk:

[Apoc]

“You are looking well, Sinnalythien.”

Her answering smile was wry. “Do not think I have forgotten you. I have been watching.”

“And what, pray tell, have you seen?”

“All that you and your brother have wished not to be seen.” she smiled mischievously, “and of course what you plan.”

The Horn brother studied her, “Have you now?”

“Do not worry, I will be leaving soon.” She paused and looked over at the hooded figure, “I do however have but one question.”

“Now now Sinn…”

“Have you decided what day next month? The fifth, eleventh or twenty second?” There was a long pause of silence. Knowing she was going to get no reply Sinn hopped off the rock she was sitting on and stretched, “ooooh, do not worry. You’ve fooled them all many times already. You have your robot soldiers that’ll obey. You have your sheep population, diseased by your money, that believe all you say and are almost prime for the culling already." Her mischievous smile vanished for a moment and she stood bemused, "Don’t worry, all your meticulous planning will work.” she sighed then pouted and then after a long moment that mischievous grin returned, “unless.”

The Horn brother turned to leave, “I will not play your games.”

Sinn watched as the Horn brother shadow jumped away and left her alone on the hilltop. Turning and looking over the city once more, she grinned.

[Amos]

Quixano now understood completely the system that governed the city's economy, knew that it was based wholly on its citizens voluntary reliance on their leaders' ability to provide absolutely anything that was required. Quixano was OK with this. Self-reliance had lost its charm after a few hours of rummaging through trashcans and begging outside cafes. Ethics would simply have to wait until he had bought himself a hot meal and found a place to sleep for the rapidly approaching night.

He had dined eagerly on a variety of pastries and cold meats in a small diner that was maintained by a small number of robots who claimed to have avoided the draft by disguising themselves as bears. They still wore these unlikely costumes. A taxidermist had provided the heavy brown and black coats of fur that they wore, still fitted with the original heads and paws, and the city folk had provided for their safety with complicit silence. It seemed that, in spite of all the Horn brothers had done for them, there was a strong undercurrent of rebellion alive in the citizens of Fane. Either they did not trust the Horn brothers, or they were simply ungrateful. As for the robots, it seemed they were endowed with minds that could not be explained by a mere summation of their parts. Given their indestructibility, Quixano thought it obvious that they had not escaped the war out of fear for their lives, as they claimed, but had used it as an excuse to fulfill some dream of theirs that they had been fostering for some time. The costumes were probably unnecessary - the chances of the Horn brothers appearing in one of the lower sectors of the city were slim, he thought, and all the other robots had surely been summoned by means of of some device, not in person. He wondered how they had managed to ignore that summons - whether it was a consequence of their free will or a technological gimmick - but did not ask in case they became angry at him. They certainly looked angry in those bear suits, shuffling awkwardly about and growling orders at the cook.
The food was excellent and there had been some music playing of a kind which Quixano had never heard before. He had looked around for the source of it, but there had been no musicians that he could see. His ears told him that it was coming from some small, black metal boxes, which must have been inventions of the robot's. Perhaps they had even composed the music themselves? He sat listening for quite a while, sipping cups of rich, dark coffee, catching snippets of conversation from the busy crowds of people dining around him. Most of the talk had been about the barbarians and a giant of some kind that had apparently been giving them some extra trouble. A lot of the talk was about the diner as well, though, most all of it positive. Many people passed on their opinions and gratitude to the robot staff, and offered suggestions about what it should be called, for the robots had not come up with a name yet and were running a small competition to determine what it should be. It was a wondrous strange place and Quixano had not wanted to leave, all the more for having his first full and content belly in weeks. But there was a 10 o'clock curfew set in place ever since the invasion and he only had a few hours left in which to find somewhere to stay the night.
The air was cool and the light slowly fading when he finally left. A few of the magical yellow lamps that overhung the streets had turned on and the face of the city which was rigid and nasty by day took on a soft, beatific appearance. It was no longer the inhuman drone which Quixano had come to know, speaking in tongues and revealing nothing of its inner nature. It was almost saintlike, if a city could be a saint. He felt safe walking her streets, knowing that no malign forces could penetrate her walls, and that the milk she provided was endless and that she would keep him clothed and dry for the rest of his life, safe from the fickle temperament of nature which he had endured for so long in the fields. He asked a friendly group of citizens about accommodation, and they cheerfully directed him to a motel that housed the frequent newcomers to the city, and once there he decided that on the morrow he would begin a proper tour of his new home. He was especially curious about the mutants in Sector 7. The little he had heard about them suggested that they had voluntarily segregated themselves from the rest of the city, and had even rejected the money and comfort that the Horn brothers had offered them, opting instead to tear up their roads to build farms and practicing some dark, mysterious religion centered around the lake that transversed a number of the city sectors, including their own. He fell asleep at around midnight, only to be awoken a few hours later by voices coming from, of all places, beneath the floorboards. This was mysterious: he was, after all on the ground floor. But he was too tired to investigate, and promptly fell asleep again.

[Amos]

Gorax noticed how exhausted she was and declared that he could no longer fight the puny god for fear of losing his oldest friend and mentor. He fed and watered her himself and put her to bed in his own quarters: it was time to resume the war.

Gorax stood listening to the reports of his war council, who he was beginning to suspect were all sycophantic idiots. He ran a hand through his thick red hair and gave it a quick tug to wake himself up. He looked to his main general, and interrupted whoever was speaking to ask, "And the tunnels I suggested? Have we made any progress there?"
The general winced. "No, my lord. it would appear that the city wall, and possibly its entire foundation, was carved from a single rocky mass that extends deeper than we could determine. With enough explosives we could probably blast through some of it, but we don't really have that kind of ammunition, unless we were to use the fuel required for our journey home."
"We'll call that plan B then," said Gorax after a moment. A number of things about their situation were just beginning to occur to him. There was little chance of their defeating the robotic army - the bastards were, after all, invincible, and he doubted also that the Horn brothers would allow them to leave should they admit defeat. Something else had been bugging him as well, which also concerned their journey here. Scientists from other cities on their home world had openly mocked their plans, saying that it would take thousands of years to reach this planet, if not millions. But they had made the journey in a matter of months, far sooner than the estimates of his most boastful engineers. He knew little of astronomy and space travel himself: most of his scientific prowess was limited to earthly matters such as agriculture, things that helped him to manage his realm. But he had improvised some calculations in his spare time after their arrival, using such primitive devices as were available on the ship, and he had been astonished at the sheer size of the numbers that his estimates had produced. Had they really travelled that far in such a tiny amount of time? It seemed preposterous, and yet, even if he had miscalculated by as much as 90%, it still should have taken them several centuries to get here. Their ships were advanced, to be sure, based on the latest models available on their planet, but nothing in their design had been tailored to interstellar travel..
It was getting late, and he dismissed the council, saying he would meditate on what they had told him and formulate a plan for attack tomorrow. The truth was that nothing they had told him would prove to be the least bit useful. For the most part they had complained about the luxuries that were no longer available to them and congratulated him on his magnificent battle with the Titan. They hadn't quite mocked him...
Back in his quarters, Tiffany was sleeping peacefully on a divan. Clara and Bobby-Jo were nowhere to be found: he was too exhausted for erotic adventures, but they could both keep up a better conversation than most Barbarians and offered him wise counsel. Barbarians... He snorted. They hadn't been Barbarians for a long time, his people. They had all grown soft and indolent under the peaceful reign of his ancestors, and even softer under his own rule. He had no idea where to go from here, and with a troubled heart he lay down next to Tiffany and tried to sleep, but he could not so much as close his eyes. He brooded over his humiliating fight with the giant. It was a symbol for the entire war, he thought. Their little army might as well be fighting a mountain.
The night grew dark, and darker still. The camp had fallen quiet some time ago, otherwise he might never have heard the intruder. Wearily Gorax reached for his sword, but his heart was not in it. So what if it was an assassin? Better a knife in the dark and his honour intact than to face what would come tomorrow.
"What is it?" he grumbled. "Here to kill me? Hurry up then, but spare my mount if you would. She is innocent."
A light flashed from the shadowy figure in the corner of his tent. A bright, green light, followed by a flash of neon pink. It was a robot.
"I bring a message from my masters..." it began, in a surprisingly good imitation of a human voice. After considering the terms, Gorax agreed to them, on the condition that he alone, along with Tiffany, would be allowed to leave. The next morning he informed his people that they were to enter the city to become Fanian citizens. He was no longer their leader, the war was over, and they were not returning home. Very few raised objections; apparently they had understood the hopelessness for their situation at least as well as he. Perhaps they had right from the beginning, and had only followed him because of his charismatic style of leadership. So much effort for the loss of a little Urinium, a substance whose worth only a few of them comprehended. The camp packed up and marched off to the city gates which, as promised, swung open, and closed behind them like a gigantic, protective arm.
Gorax sat atop Tiffany, a lone figure in the miles of plains surrounding them. The Titan had disappeared, and even the farmers who had rebelled to join them had seen reason and gone to Fane. He wondered about his two favourite women, who had not even appeared to say goodbye to him. Perhaps they had not been so close as he imagined. Gorax turned Tiffany away from the city, and in the cold light of the dawn they ventured off.

[Amos]

No that was taking it too far - he (Quixano) abandoned the punning, and tried to think seriously, but it was then that he was accosted by Sergeants Chastitine (Miss.) & Morrissey (Mr.).


For now, not a soul in all of Fane was aware of the plot. One missing moon in Fane is nothing out of the ordinary for a Tuesday.

Quixano was brushing his teeth when there was a knock on his door. He was surprised and not pleased to find standing there the two mercenary-police who had accosted him yesterday, and only let him off after concluding that he was not right in the head but otherwise harmless.
"What do you want?" he asked, as coldly as possible. He had slept well and was feeling much more collected, much more like his old, arrogant self.
"Oh it's you," said Sgt. Morrissey, evidently surprised.
"The senile paedophile" said Sgt. Chastitine with a scowl. She seemed to be wearing twice as many occult accoutrements as the day before, much of it carved out of garlic judging by her thick soupy smell. "Get out of our way. We have official business to conduct."
Morrissey smiled apologetically. "We've heard reports from several tenants about noises coming from under their floorboards. The owner asked us to investigate. We chose this room at random."
"I never complained," objected Quixano. "So there's no point in snooping around here."
"Well, your room has the clearest view of the sky on this floor" replied Morrissey. That was puzzling. What did the sky have to do with anything?
At that Sgt. Chastitine grabbed him by the arm and hauled him out. "You just stay out of our way until we're done, creep." She entered the room. Morrissey smiled again. "Get some breakfast," he suggested. "I don't think we'll be too long. He followed his partner and shut the door behind him. Quixano had little choice but to do a he suggested.
He returned to the diner with the robots dressed as bears. Even this early on in the day it was very busy, and Quix had to eat standing up at the counter. The curious music boxes were again playing the eerie, electric rhythms of the day before that he and apparently the other diners found so entrancing. At one point one of the robots had taken off his bear suit, complaining that it was stifling his movement, but all of the customers had complained loudly until he put it back on again. Quix sipped on a fruit smoothie and wondered how long he should wait. He vaguely remembered hearing noises the night before, now that he thought of it, and was admittedly curious. He decided to leave soon so that he could interrogate Morrissey about what they'd found. Probably nothing. They were extremely unprofessional, he doubted in fact that as mercenaries they'd ever done any detective work more complicated than trying to find their own boots.
Somebody bumped into him as he mused. He shifted away from them a little. Then they did it again. He turned and was surprised to recognise the woman standing there.
"Quixano!' she exclaimed. "I knew right away it was you. Who else dresses like that?"
He barely managed a smile. "Milandra. I didn't know you live in Fane."
"Oh I'm just passing through. I'm here with some friends of mine. Say, we have a table, wont you join us?"
He reluctantly accepted. She was his sister, after all.
She led him to a small bench near the front window of the diner, through which he noticed that there were people queuing in the street. The Fanians must be starved for entertainment, he thought. Milandra introduced her "friends". There was a lanky, long-haired fellow fingering a harp in time to with the robot's music. Beside him sat a stocky, dark man, with small black eyes and a neutral expression which conveyed just a hint of pathological hostility. Probably a wizard, thought Quix. And a third... woman, he thought, after a long stare, wearing a ridiculous suit of armour and a sword strapped to her back. Milandra introduced them and he promptly and deliberately forgot their names.
"So Quix," said his sister, sitting next to the harpist, who nonchalantly put an arm around her waist. "What are you doing here? The last I heard you were up in the highlands, rustling sheep or some such thing. Did you run out of inspiration for your poems in such a nauseous climate?"
"Actually I was forced to leave. By an angry group of shepherds wielding staves, no less."
"What, did they catch you finagling one of their daughters in a stable?"
"One of their sons, actually. We were bumming in the hay when we were interrupted by a storm that blew the whole shed from around us."
Milandra laughed loudly. "What a story! That's a lie, if I ever heard one." It was not.
"And you, my dear sister? What are you and your friends doing in this civilised part of the jungle? Why aren't you at home with Mother and Father?" Their parents were dead of course, both siblings were past their fifties: he meant at home with their graves.
"Didn't you hear? Practically our whole homeland has been absorbed into Fane. The same is true of every city, town and village for hundreds of miles around. The Horn brothers have managed to suck in virtually half the population of the planet, and who can blame people for wanting to be sucked? So a few of us got together to go and loot all the places they'd left behind. there wasn't much to be had though, so we decided to come here and see what it was all about. Maybe figure out what those Horn brothers are up to and put things right again. We're adventurers, do you know, Quix?"
"You're a band of morons if I ever saw one," replied Quixano. This was very quickly getting tiresome. Her three companions had been staring at him scornfully, and the women with the sword had gone so far as to crack her hairy knuckles. He wondered what Milandra had told them about him, and guessed that it had something to do with their parents, who had died so mysteriously all those years ago. "The Horn brothers will make short work of the likes of you."
"What, met them have you? said the woman with the sword, and she sniffed. "As if somebody wearing rags like yours would even be allowed within a mile's radius of them." The dark little man produced a dagger, and Milandra stood up, glaring. "Well, really, Quix, I see you're still just as much of a snob as always. I think you should probably leave."
"And be sure not to let us see you again," murmured the harpist in a barely audible whisper. Quixano pretended to ignore him, and stood up and left without another word. He had to push his way to the door, the place was so crowded by now. What had she been thinking, inviting him to sit down with them like that? Did she want to start their old feud again? And why had he been so foolish as to accept?
He returned to the hotel right away. When he opened the door to his room he almost stepped into a giant hole that had materialised where most of the floor had been. He peered down into it: it appeared to be part of a tunnel of some sort, carved through the clay and rock and disappearing shortly into utter darkness. A faint glowing trail ran lengthways up and down the passage: he wondered if the Sergeants had gone down there and left that to mark their way. He knelt down to get a better look, and saw something that he positively had not expected or wanted to see. Shaking, he stood up again, very quickly and quietly gathered his few possessions, then left the room and locked the door behind him. He went right away to the main counter and requested that he be given a new room on the second floor.

[Amos]

Gorax turned Tiffany away from the city, and in the cold light of the dawn they ventured off.

Many days did Gorax and Tiffany spend in crossing the plains below Fane, and no adventures occurred to them except they unknowingly passed into another dimension of time. This new dimension lay side by side with the one which they had left and in it time passed much slower, which was very convenient narratively speaking. A year might pass in this new land whilst only a few hours would have ticked by on a wristwatch back in Fane.
Eventually the plains of Fane did come to an end and Gorax and Tiffany did reach the shore of a vast ocean. Gorax hungrily dined on divers shellfish growing on the rocks, for there had been little to eat on the plains besides grasses and small mammals, while Tiffany ate such things as Ostriches are wont to eat. It pleased Gorax in his heart to see the ocean for it was the same as all oceans and was thus familiar to him. He had seen little on this planet so far that was familiar to him apart from the suffering and bickering of men. After a hearty meal and a swim (which Tiffany declined to partake of, Ostriches being aquaphobic), Gorax did lead them to some sand dunes where they spent the night in peaceful slumber and shared in the ocean's dreams. In the morning they were woken by a loud snapping noise like the breaking of branches, which was in fact the sound of some giant crabs who had surrounded them and were snapping their claws. Gorax was not afeared of them, although they were as large as Tiffany herself, and he spoke to their leader who wore a crown of driftwood.
"As one king to another," he spake, "I declare this to be a most rude and hostile sort of welcome to your kingdom."
"You a king?" replied the crab in a hissing voice like the sound of empty seashells. "Where you subjects? I see no but mawkish big bird." The other crabs laughed, which was painful to hear, and they snapped their claws louder and danced menacingly.
"I suppose I am a king no longer," said Gorax wistfully, "for I have left my people behind to make this journey. Still I am a king in spirit, and ask that you would give me passage through your lands."
"We will have to dock you," said the crab king.
"Dock me? What does that mean?"
"If you wants passage we must dock you of your hands and other appendages." The other crabs scuttled nearer, whereafter there was a struggle in which Gorax was victorious over the crabs on account of his being a cunning fighter. Also he was assisted by some passing monks who beat off some of the crabs with their rods, but he did boast later to Tiffany that he did most of the work. Tiffany was there and saw the whole thing and was unable to give credit to this claim. She kept silent however so as not to provoke tensions between them.
The monks exchanged greetings with Gorax and advised that they were headed to the great citadel of Fane which had been acclaimed a paradise by many wise men. Gorax scoffed at this and said that they would be better off to live in the ocean, which at least was close and founded on sound scientific principles of distribution. He gave a name to this principle, which he called entropy, and recited to them a discourse on its workings and its merits. The monks were not best pleased by this talk of science, and they beat him with their rods and stripped off his clothes, while he swore vengeance on their duplicitous hearts and begged of Tiffany for assistance, which she did not give on account of there being so many adversaries.
Afterwards the monks left, congratulating themselves on their second fine victory of the day, and Gorax lay weeping for a while in the sand, for he was a king and not used to being beaten except by giants, and Tiffany did come to him then and give him comfort by lightly pecking his ribs. She was hungry and there was naught around for an Ostrich to eat unless she was hard-up for anything else and lame besides. So Gorax did struggle to his feet and mount upon her back and presently she brought them to a watering hole around which grew many things which an Ostrich is wont to eat. This was somewhat inland from the ocean although it could still be hear roaring in the distance.
Gorax drank from the pool, which was very large and on the edge of a great wood. In the pool he did spy divers wildlife, including an Alleygator who was wrestling with a Genie. The Alleygator was old and scaly and covered in weeds and lichens and once he had been a Dragon until time had reduced him to an Alleygator. The Genie was weak from other endeavors and they were closely matched, but eventually the Genie won out, slaying the Alleygator with a mighty blow to the stomach. The Alleygator coughed once sadly, rolled over, and sank to the bottom of the lake before the Genie could retrieve its eyes as a trophy. The Genie came then to Gorax and asked him if he would go down and fetch them for him, for the Genie himself was destroyed from all day fighting Alleygators. Gorax reluctantly agreed to so long as the genie did some favor for him in return some day. This settled, Gorax dove down into the waters and with his dagger extracted the eyes from the Alleygator, and also took its heart for himself, which was still after all the heart of a Dragon and good eating.
The Genie took his eyes and bade him farewell, wherein Gorax complained to him that he had not yet granted a return favour. The Genie shrugged in nonchalance and turning himself into a fish did dive into the water. Gorax gave chase. The Genie then changed himself into a monkey and began climbing through the trees beside the watering hole. Gorax followed nimbly, being skilful at climbing himself, and almost caught up until the Genie changed himself into a Gazelle, and then Gorax did give up the chase for gazelle are especially good runners.
He had wasted the afternoon with all this gallavanting, whilst Tiffany had rested under a tree. Gorax cursed his luck and all creatures associated with magicks and religion. He waited patiently for Tiffany to wake whereon they resumed their journey.

[dark fuschia]

Clara, 32nd concubine of the Beautious and Mighty Gorax, forced by the treachery of her leader to join the ranks of the citizenship of Fane, was in a grip of despair so mighty that she was nailed to the ground in a clutch of aching misery. Her master had left her, quite forgotten her, and signed her over to the dreadful city. She lay on the floor of the robot sandwich shop. She had convinced herself a sandwich would make her feel better (eating usually did), but while waiting in line behind an overweight resident with a nasty perm and two screaming children hanging from each arm, she had been filled with inexplicable horror when she heard her utter the following words, "What do you mean you are out of Happy Meal Toys?!!" Something of the panic in the woman's voice jumped into reality, traversed the greasy smelling air and slithered into Clara's soul. There it settled like a contented wolf that had at last found its lair. Clara collapsed to the floor immediately, convinced she would never be able to move again, and there she lay, her only thought: "It is over. My life is over."

[Amos]

Gorax only slept lightly, and it was early in the evening when he awoke. The air was very cool, and the many birds in the jungle were singing their final songs before the sun set. Gorax gave an immense groan upon opening his eyes. His stomach was in turmoil and he was shivering all over. When he finally managed to sit up he noticed that Tiffany was in a similar condition, her eyes watering from bearing some internal agony. The watering hole, he realized. It must have been poisoned, either deliberately by the genie in his crusade against Alleygators, or just by the presence of the Alleygators themselves. At this he reconsidered eating the heart he had cut out from the dead reptile and threw it into the jungle, where it struck the head of a goblin.
The goblin emerged from the dense foliage with an angry expression on his little green face. He was carrying one of the longest javelins that Gorax had ever seen, so long that, though he was nearly twenty metres away, the goblin only had to swing it around a little so that he could hold it to Gorax's throat. However when he saw that Gorax was sick he withdrew the point, and gave a shrill whistle to signal his comrades. About thirty of them came out of the bushes whence they had been invisible, they being green and only a few feet high. They all carried absurdly long spears like the first, and a few of them also had long coils of rope with hooks affixed to the ends.
Gorax thought he must be having some kind of nightmare. The cramps in his belly were worsening, and then, without so much as asking, the goblins picked him up and carried him off into the jungle. He looked back just as everything was going dark, saw Tiffany struggling to her feet, and he hoped she would be able to follow them.

[dark fuschia]

Gorax and Tiffany were caught in a stereotypical adventure story nightmare. Encircled by savages, poked by spears, and dangling by their hands from vine entwined tree. Well, Tiffany was dangling by her claws, which made her situation doubly unfortunate because she was upside down. Gorax struggled to stay conscious, determined to make the best of the situation. After recieving an incredibly cruel poke from one of the goblins he vomited green slime, which instantly made him feel a little better, and simultaneously disgusted the goblins, making them back off for a moment. Gorax sighed, hoping that he had exturpated the last of the food poisoning, and declared "Take me to your leader!" As though he was not tied up at all.

The Goblins, who could not speak a word of english, quivered in excitement and awe, for it just so happened that "Take me to your leader!" was an exact translation of "Lolly biscuit cake" in Goblinese. This was of great significance, which will soon become clear.

The largest goblin (two feet tall) stepped forward and said in goblinese: "It has been foretold, amongst my kind, that a great bird-like creature will one day come and bring with her lolly biscuit cake, and that we would never again, be without lolly biscuit cake." the goblin trembled a little as he said this, because there had been no lolly biscuit cake in millenia, so no one knew what it actually tasted like, but he was sure it would be pretty good.

Gorax of course did not understand a word, but luckily Tiffany could make out the general gist, as it turned out that the goblins spoke a dialect roughly similar to her own bird-kind way back on her own home planet. The story of how this came to be pertains to a distant bird-like ancester from Tiffany's' and Gorax's home planet, who, having stolen a large store of lolly biscuit cake from a barbarian baker, had become a fugitive on her own planent after the baker became enraged (in a very barbaric manner). In fear of her life and yet unwilling to give up the delicious lolly biscuit cake, the fantastic ostrich creature had made her way across the stars (possibly as a stow-away on some forgotten pirate ship) to the Goblin jungle. Here, in no small part due to the very same delicious lolly biscuit cake, she had made her mark upon the Goblins for all that millenia.

Tiffany had no way of knowing this, but being of bird-like nature, she accepted that she could understand what the Goblins were saying and translated for Gorax. She then also proceeded to vomit and felt much better.

[Amos]

The moon was nowhere to be seen, so the goblins slept unwarily beside their gangly moon-hunting weapons. Gorax brooded beside the campfire, legs crossed, muscles tense, blood-sugar levels above normal. His thoughts were of his home world - not the homely people who he had abandoned that they might be saved, but the place he had left behind in order to protect. He remembered her clear, dark nights, and felt that they were altogether more beautiful than the nights on this alien world. Even more beautiful were her stars and the lamentations of her ghostly Ligon. Gorax missed his home terribly, and missing it he feared that he might never return. Another piece of Tiffany's lolly cake found its way into his mouth.
Morning came and he was still awake. The Goblins had melted away around him, the puritanical daylight nullifying all perverse forms as a matter of course, and the fire, though now only ashes, had burned a hole in his mind that the night had surreptitiously filled. A jubilant Tiffany, having fulfilled a singular and improbable destiny, added her eerie ululations to the morning chorus of yawning tigers, bellowing bears, treeloads of bird-ballads, groaning badgers, and the ladylike cries of fretful deer. Gorax might have been enraged by this pre-coffee cacophony, but he merely toyed with the laces on his boots until it had subsided, or until Tiffany had at least. Then he stood up. He stared into an abyss. The abyss stared back for a while, then turned away, as if it wasn't really interested. And so he walked on. An Ostrich would soon follow.

[dark fuschia]

Gorax and Tiffany walked for so long that the war they left behind seemed hardly real. However they were reminded of it every so often when orange flashes of light would brighten the sky, whether dawn, noon or night. Gorax knew that with each one of those flashes, many thousands of souls would have been released from bodies cracked open by a terrible force. The "star cracker" was a weapon forbidden to his people and one that he had sworn never to use, but clearly, in his absence, his army had decided that the time honoured rules of their home world did not apply on this planet which had been so bizarrely infected with impossibilities. Gorax wondered if he was mad. He didn't know he had wandered into a dreaming place when he and Tiffany had rached the swamps; an inexplicable place which had evolved after the brothers Fane had created their city. It was where all the waste of the city had been accumulating for many years. Even the waste from that city diusguised itself... it looked like marshy swampy earth, and didn't even smell bad, but it affected the mind, and Gorax had no idea he was walking in circles.

[Apoc]

"I lie, your tears mean nothing to me. The love you never gave, i give to you. You really don't deserve it, but now theres nothing you can do. So sleep in your only memory of me." Sinn paused briefly and sighed... "Are you hiding away? I would have never felt sad at all, you're so insignificant. You know, it was always you that i despised, i don't even feel enough for you to cry. So, goodbye! Wait...ummm...do you have any last words?"

The duck peered up at Sinn, "Quack?"

"Very well..." Sinn knelt down, and with a blood soaked finger, placed a crimson line that ran down between the ducks eyes to its beak, breaking the seal, "farewell Eodin, dark god of the Jin'ra, you will be free of your prison to reap your revenge on them brothers by nightfall." the duck looked with its beady pitch black eyes into Sinn's, "no, you will not see me again...well at least pray to your master that you don't." she rose and gazed out across the plains, "farewell Eodin."

The duck watched with unblinking dark eyes as Sinn shadow jumped into the mists of the ronin dreamer...and was gone.