Citadel
The Nexus Wave
20140111
20140110
Taking the Stand
Serisia
listened as the voices in the Council Chamber began to rise, to
overlap, then to shout and clash. The fear over the Batteries, the
concerns over Lt. Stryker, ongoing complaints from the greedy
Merchant houses, word of increased crime within the fortress, and now
the reports of Chtakan forces mustering on at least seven worlds. They hadn't even addressed the issue of the Prophecy yet. And
all the while the cries of her daughter echoed in her mind; the
poor child was sick this morning.
She
rose from her seat. Her white-feathered wings snapped open. The
debate ceased.
"Our
first response to these growing troubles," she said, her voice
both stern and soothing, "will be to reform The Guard."
Encounter at Turncoat
Chem
clenched his teeth. He maintained his breathing. He was in a lot of
pain but years of battle had taught him not to cry out. Even though the
pain felt white hot, he did not dare let any sound escape through his
lips. There would be time to curse and swear later, but now wasn't
the time nor the place to be doing so. Sweat poured down from his
forehead and he wiped his brow with his left arm. His right arm was
useless at the moment until he found a cleric.
His
ears picked up the sound of a crunching leaf. So they weren't as
stealthy as everyone thought they were.
He
blended in the shrubs and lay there trying to become one with the
woods. Like an elf hiding in plain sight as the Chtaka predatory
party passed. He knew his chances were pretty slim, but he figured
he would try and blend with the surroundings before going out in a
blaze of glory. It might work.
20140109
Barroom Encounter
Rand
dropped down from the stage. The crowd had gone silent and all
eyes turned to him as he made his way through the throng of patrons
in the bar, over to the corner where the barbarian sat.
"You
care to repeat that?" Rand asked of the burly fellow.
You
could hear a coin drop on the counter, it was that silent.
The
barbarian turned to face the thin fellow walking towards him. He just
shrugged his shoulder and turned back to his tankard.
"Get
back to your job, little man," the barbarian said. "Someone
is going to get hurt."
"You're
damn right someone is going to get hurt," the bard said. "You
take back what you said and I just might forget about it."
Tales of Yore
Chem
stood with his hands clasped behind his back staring out the bay
window, watching the ships come in and out of the harbours. He was
dressed in formal grays, his hands in white gloves. He would give
anything to be on one of those ship heading out to who-knows-where
and exploring the other dimensional settings that the ribbons had to
offer. But at the moment some other matters were more pressing.
The
door chimed as it opened; he didn't turn around to see who had
entered the quarters.
"Commander
Finder," a young ensign said. "You ready, Milord?"
Chem
looked at his reflection in the window. He saw a reflection of a man
who had seen so many friends come and go.
"Commander?"
the ensign said after a several long seconds.
Chem
snapped around and picked up his cap on the edge of a chair. "Sorry.
I was just remembering a time when matters like these were rare."
"I
gather he was a close personal friend," the ensign inquired.
"He
was like family," Chem replied and followed the young ensign out
into the hallway.
20140108
For What of a Better Term
Dakk
chomped on the cigar butt, while adjusting the bolt on the Golem.
"Hold
still, Bekki," he muttered to the big bucket of bolts. "Just
a few more turns and you'll be ready for action."
His
hands strained against the wrench, he heard the rust of the screw
grind with the metal. This baby had been motionless in the water for
several decades.
"Dakk,
you still working on the piece of crap?" August asked as he
walked into the workshop. "With all the gold that you got you
could buy yourself five or six armour suits; why are you
sticking with that crap!"
"You
don't know the whole story, Auggie," Dakk said. "This girl
is just getting warmed up."
"Looks
like she's waaaaaaaaaaaaaay past her prime," August said with a
chuckle. "Just scrap that rusty eyesore before you get ill."
Before
August knew it a huge wrench zinged past his head and clanged
against the wall.
"What?"
August stammered.
"You
watch what you say about a lady now," Dakk told him in a stern
voice. "She may be old and rusted but still it doesn't make her
useless!"
Barbarian
As
the innkeeper finished his tale an eerie silence fell upon the
ramshackle inn. The lone stranger at the corner table smiled beneath
the shadow of his hooded cloak and took a long pull from his tankard
of ale.
The
tale was good, though well embellished. The battle of that evening so
long ago had not been so heroic or romantic as the innkeeper's
telling made it out to be, but such was always the case with battle
tales told by those who had played no role in the fray. He couldn't
blame the man for taking liberties with the facts; the old fellow had
an inn to run after all, and a good tale was good for business.
The serving girl came his way but the stranger waved her off; he'd
had his fill of ale and of his own past for one night.
Rising,
he collected his sword from where it leaned against the wall next to
the table. Its unnaturally perfect metal disguised with dirty
leather strips and a worn scabbard so as not to attract unwanted
attention. He was here to remember his past, not to relive it.
As
the barbarian reached the door he turned back for a last look on the
place where his adventures had begun. What a foolish boy he had been
to think that life was so simple. Back then he would have been
satisfied to make a place such as this his home, but no longer. Not
after all he had seen. His home was among the stars, and to the stars
he must go. He felt them calling him.
The
door swung shut and the lone figure was gone, swallowed whole by the
darkness of the night outside.
In
the blackness far above a single star streaked across the sky.
The Honor of One
Chem
stayed in the darkness of shadow, watching the three hooded assassins
jump from building to building. He had received a tip from one of his
informants that there was a 5,000 gold contract on the new owner of
The Hag's Head Tavern.
"It's
to be done at midnight. The witching hour," his informant had said
in a raspy voice. "They are to make her bleed slowly and cut her
open with a thousand little cuts."
"Do
you know why?" Chem inquired. He had just paid the informant a
small gem.
"Tis
because the owner is a witch," the informant said in a low
voice. "She had put a hex on a merchant's son. The son died a
horrible, disfiguring death and the merchant wants his revenge."
Chem
now waited for the three to strike. He watched as they moved about,
fast and silent like shadows over a field. His nose picked up the
scent of two men approaching from behind. He was set up!
20140107
The Prisoner
He
sat in the cell, twiddling his thumbs. He had nothing else to do. In
the cubicle he had called home for the past three days he had done a
lot of thinking and a hell of lot of soul searching. He heard
footsteps coming down the hallway and other prisoners calling out to
the orc guard. Either complaining or pleading. To him it was just the
same. The rough orc stopped in front of his bars.
"You,"
the gruff being said. "It's your turn to die."
"Well
now," Drake said. "We all eventually die."
"It's
your turn today," the guard told him as he unlocked the
cell door.
"That's
what you think," Drake mumbled under his breath. He could
have gotten out of this place days ago but decided to stay and rest
and enjoy the days of maggot-infested gruel to eat and a lumpy bed to
lay on. It was heaven compared to the last place he had been.
A Certain Perspective
The
inside of the large helmet contained four gems. The first projected
the sounds and images surrounding the Golem armour into the mind of
its pilot. The second whispered the voices of the pilots of the
Golems to each other. The third warned of incoming attacks. No one
knew what the fourth gem did - the makers of the large battle suits
had disappeared from Citadel centuries ago.
Letting
the pulses and flashes of the gemstones ebb and flow in his mind was
a skill Stryker had honed over years. The stream of sensations
syncing with the movements in his muscles, commanding the huge steel
suit to fly and hover, twist and roll through the shining space
surrounding the fortress. Today he was repelling a small raiding
ship.
As
he crashed into its hull, a highspeed shoulder-tackle, buckling beams
and popping rivets, the gems briefly flickered. Their signals
stuttered, faltered. For a brief, dizzying moment he was only aware
of himself encased in the armour, staring at the four stones. The
world beyond, the fury of battle, became suddenly distant. He felt
trapped, or adrift, floating or drowning, somehow both and all of
them at once.
This
was the sixth time it had happened to him this past year. The Golem
had been checked and rechecked by the station's Arcane Smiths. They
couldn't find a problem.
Which
meant...
Tunnels & Wolves
Arch
glanced down the alleyway. He saw several beggars camped out in
makeshift lean-tos but no sign of the black wolf-like object. There
was no screaming or munching sounds so he presumed the creature was
in hiding. Arch closed his eyes and scoped out the scenery in his
mind, trying to locate something misplaced. Thunder of metal upon
metal echoing through the area, like shunting freight cars on a
track.
"Anything,
Arch?" Kitty asked beside him. She was trying to catch her
breath.
"It's
in there somewhere," Arch replied. His eyes going over the
manhole cover pictured in his mind. "It's gone tunneling."
"Crap!"
Kitty mumbled.
Arch
went into the alleyway and towards the sewer grating. "Indeed."
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