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.