RE: QUIETUS [S!5] [Round 1: Godsworn Valley]
10-27-2013, 07:03 AM
The impossible machinery churned the earth. Legs, wheels, and worse things, all working together to mock sense. But they fit the setting more than any normal human army. The field was mud and craters and barbed wire, fallow earth seeded with mines and corpses.
In this scene, the strangest thing was the birdsong.
Barbary was angry. Or perhaps panicky. Dozens of birds weren’t the easiest to parse the subtle emotions of. But despite this fluttery form, he was succinct.
“This was not what we agreed upon, Robin Pearson.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Do not give me that coy--“ the sentence devolved into an angry twitter “--Your plan of destroying both armies utterly is the problem, Pearson. I knew you weren’t a tactician, but I expected you’d at least understand the folly of this.”
Robin did her best to look suitably sympathetic. “I thought you held little attachment to Inderigo, what with your whole conversion deal, and wanted Visindi gone. I’ll admit it won’t be the…prettiest, but it’s the best I can do on such short notice.”
The birds were snakes, hissing threateningly. Robin distantly noted them as one of the more poisonous varieties.
“Goddamit Pearson have you ever even seen a real battle. You academics. I should have known your type when I first met you. Always seeing war as numbers and outcomes and games. No regard for practicality or life.”
Barbary changed again. Reprobation circled on vulture wings.
Robin sighed inwardly, a pretty natural action considering the circumstances. The only guilt she felt was her continued occupation of Florica. She wanted Visindi offed, or whatever happened to gods (note: research this), but that didn’t mean she had an attachment to another side’s forces. They were both participants in a war, why should destroying them all at once be any more morally wrong than their usual commanders thinning their numbers by more subtle maneuvers? For all Barbary’s practiced aloofness, when it came down to it he was as jingoistic as anyone. She sighed again, melancholy feeling right in her current body. She had thought he was someone who had a proper view of death, wasn’t wrapped up in the whole idea of tragedy and finality. Oh well, not like she’d have to live with the decision for very long, if the promise of being whisked away to another world once someone else died held true. Ordering a massacre and then running off without paying the bill.
Not that another one on history’s long list mattered much in the grand scheme of things. More like running out on a bill and leaving a gigantic I.O.U., really.
---
Through the tears although she was feeling better already Clara watched as the figure in front of her slowly lifted off her visor. The expression that she wore was not the one Clara expected, nor was the calm tone of voice nor anything about what followed.
“What can I do to help you?”
Amaranth chose her words carefully. This crying young girl—not so much younger than herself, but clearly less prepared—was not the type to be threatened. She watched as the expected emotions of confusion flitted across the young soldier’s face, before continuing.
“What do you need me to do?”
Gentle questions were better than harsh demands for information.
Clara was calmer now and shakily began “W-well…you need to come back with us…to our temple.”
[color=#cba9cf]“Why?”
“Because, you have our things and we tracked you down and, and that’s what you’re supposed to do…” Clara trailed off, expecting disagreement, but the robed woman merely nodded as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
She paused. “Us?”
“Ah…yes…”
Amaranth nodded to herself. Others, then. Another set of pursuers.“You said ‘temple’…is this conflict faith-based, then?” Amaranth felt it best not to take for granted what a possibly-mad being had told her and the others.
“Yes?”
Who could not know of the Godsworn Valley? Clara felt…oddly unconcerned with what should be a deeply concerning fact. She took a closer look at the woman—no such clothes were on file as belonging to any sect—mentally cataloguing both the flowers, mask, and the bitterness with which she seemed to consider Clara’s last answer.
(Off to the side, Chaete fussed, running her metal hands obsessively over chitin and making small noises of discomfort.)
All this destruction, for false gods…in her own world, Amaranth had never expected to see such horrors. Even the most backwards country no longer fought for the imagined favor of a petty idol. Only the true faith continued a real conquest of the soul, and they would not touch these brutal methods. At least when she first glimpsed the bomb-craters, she had imagined this was for something less…pointless. Perhaps her hesitation to believe the Outsider had been one of denial rather than caution.
The sensation of being looked at broke her rumination. The girl looked bewildered, yet much calmed from her earlier distress. Well, it had been long enough. The air seemed tangible where the sunlight from the hole in space tilted in to the caverns. It had certainly been long enough.
Amaranth smiled apologetically.
“I never asked your name”
“Oh…I’m Clara.”
“My name is Amaranth Benedicta. And I’d like to go with you, but I have to ask…do you really want to take me there?”
Clara didn’t know. Of course, the answer was clear. However oddly warm she felt towards this stranger, she still had an unclouded view of what she was supposed to do. But…she couldn’t help the pangs of concern. Could she really put Amaranth—no longer a dot on a screen, but a person with a face and a name—in one of those awful cells, for who knows how long until they figured out what to do with her? She could do what she came to do, retrieve the stolen items…surely the resources of the temple of Res Rex were better spent elsewhere, somewhere that didn’t involve Interrogation Procedures E through H and an innocent woman. She could say Amaranth bested her and escaped. That was true enough when she stumbled into the cave, and who would doubt that she had failed this? She could just-
“Why are we standing around talking? He’s dangerous! And I neeeed to wash off properly.” Chaete had finished her intense grooming for now, yet the ordeal had left her stressed and increasingly petulant.
Clara’s train of thought was broken, her focus on Amaranth immediately snapping to the exceedingly strange—too many eyes—creature. She had avoided looking. It was like nothing she had heard of, and for a cleric of data that was a rare thing.
Amaranth sighed. Whatever state she had managed to work Clara into was clearly shattered by the visceral oddness of the alien wyrm.
How could she have thought to turn a blind eye? This thing—“Stop looking at me like that- Amaranth, let’s go-”—cowering, or whatever approximation its odd form allowed…it had to be catalogued. And for that matter, how truly anomalous was an unaligned soldier in a battlefield they did not even know the reason for...natural curiosity swelled, and next to it an even greater one of duty. However merciful she might feel towards her quarry, and however uneasy she felt about combat, she was still a follower of Res Rex. Scrupulosity had been ingrained in her, and she felt an uneasy guilt settle into her stomach. How could she have thought to turn a blind eye.
The set of Clara’s shoulders changed, and changed again as Amaranth made a small mechanical noise with the gun. Only to remind her of its existence, really. She watched as the combination of pollen-calm and natural fear lulled the girl into a fragile state of inaction.
“Chaete, please try and consider the…effect you have on most humans.”
Chaete started to say something, probably a hypocritical complaint about species bias, but was silenced by a look that pierced through all barriers of alien body language.
“Well, regardless, we cannot stay here. These tunnels seem the best chance we have of finally kicking those pursuers that have dogged—“ the smallest hesitation “—us.
Unfortunately, I do not know which items of this equipment are bugged, which means I cannot bring the gun. However, Clara, I do not believe I must make a demonstration to show that I am still quite capable without it. I also believe it goes without saying that you are coming with us. We can neither let you go nor simply knock you out in the midst of a warzone.” Gratefulness fluttered across Clara's face. Perhaps she wasn't a lost cause after all.
Amaranth gestured for Clara to begin moving forward. She uneasily shuffled past the wyrm. If she chose to examine Chaete further, and then if she chose to ascribe emotions to something she currently classified as somewhere between “monster “ and “impossible,” she would see that Chaete wore an expression of the barest childish frustration and disbelief. Likely the girl was working herself up into a long speech, having realized that her normal whining wouldn’t work and she’d have to choose her words more carefully. Amaranth, who was managing to view her as somewhere between “monster” and “innocent,” saw the impending diatribe but merely hoped they could make enough progress into the tunnels before Chaete informed everyone within a large radius of her feelings.
---
Robin closed her eyes. The throne was atop a device which was atop a bluff which overlooked the battle from a distance. From here, the sounds of real battle and the sounds of the other world bore an equal sense of urgency, both fading into the noise of the forest life that continued around her. She didn’t know where Barbary was, briefly imagined he was this or that forest creature before realizing she was anthropomorphizing their wary gazes into emotions of anger. Forced herself to look at the battle again.
The spyglass was the same ridiculously macabre technology as everything else, yet the view it offered was unparalleled. In both the sense of clarity and of subject matter.
Robin’s sense of responsibility battled with her fascination in a way that frankly embarrassed her. While her current face managed to project an air of icy rulership, inwardly she couldn’t help the childish thrills. The sheer variety of monsters, each more horrible than the last, and all fighting—it was like a b-movie with an inexplicably massive budget. The main thing keeping that distancing thought process in check was the view afforded by Florica’s unique gift. Whenever a monster died, the soul was expunged as well…and it was always human, and it was always suffering.
If Robin had been the type for guilt, she had enough here to last her a lifetime. But she watched out of a sense that it was a necessary decency, not to mention her robust curiosity. After all, the main purpose of the mission—the destruction of a god—would be like nothing she had ever seen, or could have ever seen. Not on her old world.
---
The followers of Ceraceros stepped through another impossible aperture, following the distinctive trail of their quarry. The clerics of Res Rex had long since backed off, some unseen timer or calculation of weaponry providing them with an excuse to clear off.
The air inside the caverns was damp and thick with the strange cloying scent the armored woman had about her. No doubt this was the right track, though they couldn’t explain why the pile of weapons or the presence of two pairs of footprints alongside the dragging mark of the beast’s snakelike body.
"I used to be a fisherman, on the icy crests we'd ride"
The unnervingly stable land of the battlefield did little for the mariners, but now they would take it back in a second in exchange for this claustrophobic nightmare of oppressive darkness and strange echoes.
"Like a banshee on the wind, we'd sail the ocean wide."
Their only solace was that their prey clearly had as little knowledge of the tunnels as they, as evidenced by the places where the footsteps went down one corridor and then came back out, signifying a dead end.
"From the shoals of Yarmouth bay to Newfoundland we'd go..."
Dead ends that the pursuers needed waste no time pursuing. Slowly but surely they would gain.
"And we'd shout! Shout! Shout! Shout at the Devil down below!"
In this scene, the strangest thing was the birdsong.
Barbary was angry. Or perhaps panicky. Dozens of birds weren’t the easiest to parse the subtle emotions of. But despite this fluttery form, he was succinct.
“This was not what we agreed upon, Robin Pearson.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Do not give me that coy--“ the sentence devolved into an angry twitter “--Your plan of destroying both armies utterly is the problem, Pearson. I knew you weren’t a tactician, but I expected you’d at least understand the folly of this.”
Robin did her best to look suitably sympathetic. “I thought you held little attachment to Inderigo, what with your whole conversion deal, and wanted Visindi gone. I’ll admit it won’t be the…prettiest, but it’s the best I can do on such short notice.”
The birds were snakes, hissing threateningly. Robin distantly noted them as one of the more poisonous varieties.
“Goddamit Pearson have you ever even seen a real battle. You academics. I should have known your type when I first met you. Always seeing war as numbers and outcomes and games. No regard for practicality or life.”
Barbary changed again. Reprobation circled on vulture wings.
Robin sighed inwardly, a pretty natural action considering the circumstances. The only guilt she felt was her continued occupation of Florica. She wanted Visindi offed, or whatever happened to gods (note: research this), but that didn’t mean she had an attachment to another side’s forces. They were both participants in a war, why should destroying them all at once be any more morally wrong than their usual commanders thinning their numbers by more subtle maneuvers? For all Barbary’s practiced aloofness, when it came down to it he was as jingoistic as anyone. She sighed again, melancholy feeling right in her current body. She had thought he was someone who had a proper view of death, wasn’t wrapped up in the whole idea of tragedy and finality. Oh well, not like she’d have to live with the decision for very long, if the promise of being whisked away to another world once someone else died held true. Ordering a massacre and then running off without paying the bill.
Not that another one on history’s long list mattered much in the grand scheme of things. More like running out on a bill and leaving a gigantic I.O.U., really.
---
Through the tears although she was feeling better already Clara watched as the figure in front of her slowly lifted off her visor. The expression that she wore was not the one Clara expected, nor was the calm tone of voice nor anything about what followed.
“What can I do to help you?”
Amaranth chose her words carefully. This crying young girl—not so much younger than herself, but clearly less prepared—was not the type to be threatened. She watched as the expected emotions of confusion flitted across the young soldier’s face, before continuing.
“What do you need me to do?”
Gentle questions were better than harsh demands for information.
Clara was calmer now and shakily began “W-well…you need to come back with us…to our temple.”
[color=#cba9cf]“Why?”
“Because, you have our things and we tracked you down and, and that’s what you’re supposed to do…” Clara trailed off, expecting disagreement, but the robed woman merely nodded as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
She paused. “Us?”
“Ah…yes…”
Amaranth nodded to herself. Others, then. Another set of pursuers.“You said ‘temple’…is this conflict faith-based, then?” Amaranth felt it best not to take for granted what a possibly-mad being had told her and the others.
“Yes?”
Who could not know of the Godsworn Valley? Clara felt…oddly unconcerned with what should be a deeply concerning fact. She took a closer look at the woman—no such clothes were on file as belonging to any sect—mentally cataloguing both the flowers, mask, and the bitterness with which she seemed to consider Clara’s last answer.
(Off to the side, Chaete fussed, running her metal hands obsessively over chitin and making small noises of discomfort.)
All this destruction, for false gods…in her own world, Amaranth had never expected to see such horrors. Even the most backwards country no longer fought for the imagined favor of a petty idol. Only the true faith continued a real conquest of the soul, and they would not touch these brutal methods. At least when she first glimpsed the bomb-craters, she had imagined this was for something less…pointless. Perhaps her hesitation to believe the Outsider had been one of denial rather than caution.
The sensation of being looked at broke her rumination. The girl looked bewildered, yet much calmed from her earlier distress. Well, it had been long enough. The air seemed tangible where the sunlight from the hole in space tilted in to the caverns. It had certainly been long enough.
Amaranth smiled apologetically.
“I never asked your name”
“Oh…I’m Clara.”
“My name is Amaranth Benedicta. And I’d like to go with you, but I have to ask…do you really want to take me there?”
Clara didn’t know. Of course, the answer was clear. However oddly warm she felt towards this stranger, she still had an unclouded view of what she was supposed to do. But…she couldn’t help the pangs of concern. Could she really put Amaranth—no longer a dot on a screen, but a person with a face and a name—in one of those awful cells, for who knows how long until they figured out what to do with her? She could do what she came to do, retrieve the stolen items…surely the resources of the temple of Res Rex were better spent elsewhere, somewhere that didn’t involve Interrogation Procedures E through H and an innocent woman. She could say Amaranth bested her and escaped. That was true enough when she stumbled into the cave, and who would doubt that she had failed this? She could just-
“Why are we standing around talking? He’s dangerous! And I neeeed to wash off properly.” Chaete had finished her intense grooming for now, yet the ordeal had left her stressed and increasingly petulant.
Clara’s train of thought was broken, her focus on Amaranth immediately snapping to the exceedingly strange—too many eyes—creature. She had avoided looking. It was like nothing she had heard of, and for a cleric of data that was a rare thing.
Amaranth sighed. Whatever state she had managed to work Clara into was clearly shattered by the visceral oddness of the alien wyrm.
How could she have thought to turn a blind eye? This thing—“Stop looking at me like that- Amaranth, let’s go-”—cowering, or whatever approximation its odd form allowed…it had to be catalogued. And for that matter, how truly anomalous was an unaligned soldier in a battlefield they did not even know the reason for...natural curiosity swelled, and next to it an even greater one of duty. However merciful she might feel towards her quarry, and however uneasy she felt about combat, she was still a follower of Res Rex. Scrupulosity had been ingrained in her, and she felt an uneasy guilt settle into her stomach. How could she have thought to turn a blind eye.
The set of Clara’s shoulders changed, and changed again as Amaranth made a small mechanical noise with the gun. Only to remind her of its existence, really. She watched as the combination of pollen-calm and natural fear lulled the girl into a fragile state of inaction.
“Chaete, please try and consider the…effect you have on most humans.”
Chaete started to say something, probably a hypocritical complaint about species bias, but was silenced by a look that pierced through all barriers of alien body language.
“Well, regardless, we cannot stay here. These tunnels seem the best chance we have of finally kicking those pursuers that have dogged—“ the smallest hesitation “—us.
Unfortunately, I do not know which items of this equipment are bugged, which means I cannot bring the gun. However, Clara, I do not believe I must make a demonstration to show that I am still quite capable without it. I also believe it goes without saying that you are coming with us. We can neither let you go nor simply knock you out in the midst of a warzone.” Gratefulness fluttered across Clara's face. Perhaps she wasn't a lost cause after all.
Amaranth gestured for Clara to begin moving forward. She uneasily shuffled past the wyrm. If she chose to examine Chaete further, and then if she chose to ascribe emotions to something she currently classified as somewhere between “monster “ and “impossible,” she would see that Chaete wore an expression of the barest childish frustration and disbelief. Likely the girl was working herself up into a long speech, having realized that her normal whining wouldn’t work and she’d have to choose her words more carefully. Amaranth, who was managing to view her as somewhere between “monster” and “innocent,” saw the impending diatribe but merely hoped they could make enough progress into the tunnels before Chaete informed everyone within a large radius of her feelings.
---
Robin closed her eyes. The throne was atop a device which was atop a bluff which overlooked the battle from a distance. From here, the sounds of real battle and the sounds of the other world bore an equal sense of urgency, both fading into the noise of the forest life that continued around her. She didn’t know where Barbary was, briefly imagined he was this or that forest creature before realizing she was anthropomorphizing their wary gazes into emotions of anger. Forced herself to look at the battle again.
The spyglass was the same ridiculously macabre technology as everything else, yet the view it offered was unparalleled. In both the sense of clarity and of subject matter.
Robin’s sense of responsibility battled with her fascination in a way that frankly embarrassed her. While her current face managed to project an air of icy rulership, inwardly she couldn’t help the childish thrills. The sheer variety of monsters, each more horrible than the last, and all fighting—it was like a b-movie with an inexplicably massive budget. The main thing keeping that distancing thought process in check was the view afforded by Florica’s unique gift. Whenever a monster died, the soul was expunged as well…and it was always human, and it was always suffering.
If Robin had been the type for guilt, she had enough here to last her a lifetime. But she watched out of a sense that it was a necessary decency, not to mention her robust curiosity. After all, the main purpose of the mission—the destruction of a god—would be like nothing she had ever seen, or could have ever seen. Not on her old world.
---
The followers of Ceraceros stepped through another impossible aperture, following the distinctive trail of their quarry. The clerics of Res Rex had long since backed off, some unseen timer or calculation of weaponry providing them with an excuse to clear off.
The air inside the caverns was damp and thick with the strange cloying scent the armored woman had about her. No doubt this was the right track, though they couldn’t explain why the pile of weapons or the presence of two pairs of footprints alongside the dragging mark of the beast’s snakelike body.
"I used to be a fisherman, on the icy crests we'd ride"
The unnervingly stable land of the battlefield did little for the mariners, but now they would take it back in a second in exchange for this claustrophobic nightmare of oppressive darkness and strange echoes.
"Like a banshee on the wind, we'd sail the ocean wide."
Their only solace was that their prey clearly had as little knowledge of the tunnels as they, as evidenced by the places where the footsteps went down one corridor and then came back out, signifying a dead end.
"From the shoals of Yarmouth bay to Newfoundland we'd go..."
Dead ends that the pursuers needed waste no time pursuing. Slowly but surely they would gain.
"And we'd shout! Shout! Shout! Shout at the Devil down below!"