#Advanced thin wall casting solutions | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zrtranscripts · 4 years ago

Text

Home Front, Mission 28: Battle at Rackthorn

All that Glitters

JANINE DE LUCA: Hello, listeners. Colonel De Luca here, and I must warn you, today's fitness session may differ from your expectations. Do begin warming up. Stretch out, or commence jogging on the spot. Before I begin this workout, I will repeat my briefing for runners in the field who are concerned for Runner Five's well-being: Runner Five is safe and well. Repeat, Five is safe and well.

We do not know how Artemus Thurman found his way to the top of the lift shaft before Five got there. We can only presume he knows the secrets of Spectrum Mall better than any of us. However, for reasons we also do not understand, he simply looked at Runner Five for a few moments and then walked away. Five is now back in the camping shop in the Spectrum Mall. I have personally instructed Five on how to board up and secure the entrance to the underground village. If you are listening, Five, we will rescue you.

And for that purpose, we all need to be fitter than ever, which brings us to this so-called workout. Of late, Mr. Yao has been littering Abel's comm facilities with notes from his [paper rustles] Demons and Darkness campaign, a type of fantastical war game, I believe. Normally I am not one to engage with Mr. Yao's absurdities, but certain notes have caught my eye: a scenario entitled Battle at Rackthorn, in which a castle is besieged, a situation not dissimilar to our own, trapped in our shelters, surrounded by zombies.

The siege is described as unwinnable, something I have never countenanced in tactical exercises. Indeed, examining the particulars, it seems to me there is an obvious way to win, provided my solution is within the bounds of physical endurance. So in the coming break, you may continue warming up or rest, and when we return, you will test my solution.

You will adopt the motions required of Mr. Yao’s fantasy hero to prove his war game can be resolved, but I must emphasize, this will not be one of Mr. Yao's cleaning romps. It is an exercise in tactical theory intended to test my thinking and keep your minds and bodies sharp. When the break ends, be assured, I will be pushing you to your very limits, and this absolutely most certainly will not be any fun.

JANINE DE LUCA: Now, during my tactical training days, I often undertook simulated exercises. For such sessions, it is vital to fully invest in the scenario. So direct your mind to accept the following field conditions: you are a bold adventurer. Having bested the mighty Abhorroghast, you have been summoned to Castle Rackthorn, a hilltop fortress. The castle's feasting hall surrounds you, a vast stone chamber lit by flaming torches. [flames crackle]

The hall is packed with frightened, wide-eyed peasants. [crowd chatters] Pushing past them to the back of the hall, you find a staircase. The man who summoned you is at the top. The staircase is a spiral of unevenly-sized stone blocks rising through a turret. You must ascend quickly.

For the next minute, run on the spot, lifting your knees as high as you can and swinging your arms. High knee running will keep your strides large enough to avoid tripping on the irregular steps. Begin. [rapid echoing footsteps] As you ascend, you pass a window. Outside, knights crowd the battlements, armor shining in the moonlight. Beyond them, a horde of gigantic spiders claw at the castle walls.

The castle was besieged shortly after your arrival. Nobody knows where the spiders hail from, though rumors say they were bred by dark magics in nearby caves. [swords clash] Maintain your pace. According to Mr. Yao's story notes, you were to join with the knights to battle the spiders while the castle evacuates before it inevitably falls, though Mr. Yao has overlooked better uses for your sword, I think.

You are nearing the top. That is one minute passed. Unfortunately, Mr. Yao has spilled tea over the notes describing the dimensions of the castle. I judge one minute to be a sound minimum for reaching the top of the stairs, but if you would like to keep running in the break, by all means consider it a reasonable addition to Mr. Yao's campaign.

JANINE DE LUCA: Atop the spiral staircase, there is a wooden door slightly ajar. Entering, you find a bedchamber, its walls covered by oak bookshelves. Slumped over a desk, there is a bearded man wearing thick gold chains and red velvet robes, snoring. The man is King Sigmund, the castle's cowardly ruler who has given in to despair at the spider horde, retreating into his cups. Near the king, you notice a bookcase drawn away from the wall, revealing a stone tunnel beyond, a secret passage.

You must snatch a gold chain from the king's neck. I believe the rules of the game mandate a dice roll to judge your success. [dice clatter] Ah. You successfully snatch a gold chain, but the king is woken from his drunken doze. As you dart into the secret passage, he rants - Mr. Yao specifies a Scottish accent for the king. Odd, in a world with no Scotland. Very well, for the sake of the simulation -

“Stop, blaggard! Doref, is that you? You'll never take this castle as long as I'm alive!” While you plunge through the secret tunnel, the king pulls a lever by his desk. Arrows shoot from hidden mechanisms in the ceiling above you. Listeners, balance on one foot with your knees and arms bent. Now hop to one side, landing on the ball of your opposite foot, then hop back again. One minute of side-to-side hopping will simulate you dodging your way through the tunnel. Go!

Racing down the passage, you hear the king's distant ranting descend into pitiful sobs. You continue dodging as arrows strike the floor around you. Halfway there. Mr. Yao has described the king as a vicious, petty oaf who exiled even his most trusted advisor in a fit of paranoia. The passage is lit by torches which grow fewer and fewer as you advance. Continue your evasive action. You are nearing the end.

You feel fresh air on your face. The darkness ahead must conceal an exit. The arrows have stopped. You've likely cleared the traps. You can stop dodging, though if you'd rather continue during the break, that would be a reasonable abundance of caution, given your current position.

JANINE DE LUCA: You emerge from the secret passage into a woodland glade far from the castle. Behind you is a scarp of stone. Before you is a group of enormous spiders, each the width of a wagon, far too large to storm the secret passage. A hundred eyes gleam under starlight and hairy mouthparts twitch. [spiders hiss and chitter]

To your left, there is a boulder. Clamber atop it quickly. Now the dimensions of these spiders are clearly laid out in Mr. Yao's creature compendium. Their abdomens are bulbous and they cannot reach their own backs. To get past, you must jump across the spiders, leaping from abdomen to abdomen.

Jumping on the spot will serve for the motion. Keep jumping for one minute, landing with your knees bent. Go. The spiders move their mouthparts in odious glee as they perceive how close you are. The spiders are trying to shake you off their backs as you move from hideous body to hideous body. Jump faster.

[dice clatter] You're halfway over the spiders. One leaps towards you, but you are able to duck it. I must admit, these dice are a fair simulator of the luck element in any engagement, though the bright colors are unnecessary. You are almost across the spiders. They hunger for your living flesh. Do not slow. One minute elapsed.

You have jumped across the spiders, landing beyond their reach, and may stop jumping. You have a fair start on the monsters, but they are giving chase. Ahead, between tall trees, you spot a river. [water flows] The river descends from a waterfall uphill and is crowded with slippery rocks. Jump onto the rocks, then leap up river toward the waterfall.

Regrettably, Mr. Yao has smeared chocolate over his notes on the local geography, so the distance to the waterfall is unclear. To compensate, please keep jumping for as long as you can manage in the coming break.

[water flows]

JANINE DE LUCA: You near the waterfall. The spiders are some way behind, slipping on the rocks. Approaching the fall, you cast the king's gold chain into the water. Abruptly, the waterfall sweeps aside, revealing a cave. According to Mr. Yao, the fall is a water elemental which guards the cave, but has a weakness for glittering treasure. Your offer has bought passage. Rather reminds me of bribing enemy patrols with bullion in the Caucasus.

Unfortunately, the elemental is too impressed by the offering. Suspecting you have more gold, it summons a wave to wash you under the river. As you enter the cave, you hear a great rush of water coming from ahead. You climb the cave wall to your right. There is a crack in the wall just below the cave roof with a thin ledge opposite. You can wedge your feet in the crack and lean on the ledge.

Adopt a plank position, lying on your front with your weight on your forearms and toes. Hold that for one minute from now. [wave splashes] The first wave washes over your head and you're almost swept away. Hold on! The wave washes through the cave, seemingly endless. Hold fast. Now the first wave has passed, your perch is just above the water line. The wave is still coming. Fortunately, it washes away the spiders chasing you as they enter the cave. Water is still rushing below you, but you can feel the wave waning. Maintain the plank!

The wave has died down, leaving only puddles in the cave. The elemental should be too tired to summon another, but feel free to plank a little longer in the break, just in case. Otherwise, climb down and rest. The dark cave lies ahead, beckoning, for this is the cave system the spiders hail from, and deep within its heart, you are sure to find their master.

JANINE DE LUCA: Deep within the caves in a dank cavern filled with luminous blue moss, you discovered a hunched figure in a black cloak sitting amid a circle of giant arachnids, all bent in supplication. The figure has long dark hair and many jeweled rings. He is Doref, the king's chief warlock and most trusted adviser. Plainly, he commands the spiders.

Mr. Yao describes Doref's treachery as shocking, which is naive. In my experience, political advisors are often complicit in coup d'etat. In any case, Doref sees you and shoots to his feet. There is a glowing shard of crystal cupped in his hands. He whispers to it and the spiders charge. You must fend them off.

[spiders hiss and chitter]

Since it is doubtful many listeners will have a sword to hand, one minute of punching air will suffice to simulate combat. Begin punching now. The spiders reel from your blows. but Doref seems confident of victory. Doref mocks you. “For too long, I have schemed to overthrow that cowardly king. I won't let you stop me now! Rip and tear, my spiders!” Unhelpfully, Mr. Yao has simply specified “evil voice” for the warlock. I trust that was a fair attempt. [dice clatter] However, the dice are against you. Few spiders lie slain. Keep fighting. As Doref whispers to his crystal, more spiders appear from the shadows. Clearly, the crystal controls them.

You have survived one minute and bought yourself a temporary reprieve, but spiders keep coming. As you rest, a horizontal column of water comes crashing into the cavern, thrashing like a snake. [water splashes] It is the water elemental, still seeking your life. Thinking swiftly, you point at Doref’s crystal, and the elemental, entranced by the shine, descends upon it. Quickly, while Doref is distracted, aim your sword at the crystal and throw it. [dice clatter] A 20, excellent! Your sword smashes the crystal from Doref's hand while he gapes at the elemental. The crystal shatters, releasing an explosion of incandescent magical energy.

Around you, the cavern begins to shake and collapse. To your left, you spot a tunnel to the surface. As you flee, Doref leaps to follow, but the rings on his fingers have caught the elemental's attention and a tendril of water drags him back into the collapsing cavern. You have nearly escaped, but if you'd like to keep exercising over the break, feel free to strike an additional spider or two as you climb toward the surface.

SAM YAO: Hey folks, it's Sam here. Janine was called off on urgent business, so she asked me to take over the broadcast. I've been busy baking in the kitchens, but she's left a note to catch me up.

“Dear listeners, begin cooldown jogging. Congratulations! Many of you have confirmed completion of the simulation via ROFFLEnet. Your character has escaped the collapsing caves and the warlock has been crushed behind you. With the crystal gone, the spider horde is scattered. Castle Rackthorn has been saved and the villain slain, far more efficiently than in Mr. Yao’s planned story.”

I don't... are these... are these my D&D notes? Oh no! No! You're not supposed to get to Doref yet! All the obstacles... it's supposed to be impossible! That can't... how did you get past the spiders? [sighs] Listeners, I think um... yeah, I think we're going to have to end the session here. It's about time anyway, which is good because uh... because it-it looks like I've got some major rewriting on my hands. Oh boy. [sighs] Janine, what have you done?

#zombies run #zr home front #zrhf 28 #battle at rackthorn #zr transcript

2 notes · View notes

darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 6 years ago

Text

Echo pt2

@kthomas325

Warning: This is a little dark. There is blood, death, Strong Language and yeah ... please read with caution. **Still not sure what direction this is taking so I should add a warning for Author with no plot **

Masterlist

---

Echo part 2

The castle was always active at the start of a new day but it seemed to be particularly lively right now. Servants darted from chambers and rooms fetching and carrying as orders were barked at them from the 9 siblings and their Mother.

Today was the audience with the crown. Dignitaries, as well as members of the general populace, were gathering to seek out solutions to issues from the highest authority in the land. This was part of being a ruling power here but it did seem that the Queen and her offspring took matters a little too far in the direction of dramatic flair.

Main gates were temporarily closed allowing the castle to be set up for the expected crowds that were already milling around outside the castle walls in the streets below. Fresh flowers arrangements were placed on the white stone staircase that lead up the incline to the castle proper. Rooms around the lower level were also locked and sectioned off so that no one could venture further into the building without proper clearance. Light flooded the corridors providing a kind of natural carpet effect on the floor and the Throne room was pristine in all its grandeur.

Twelve thrones set in a crescent moon shape were at the very top of the chamber. The white stone of the building gleamed thanks in large part to the massive lead lined windows that stood majestically behind the thrones. The light from the twin suns reflected through the multiple diamond shapes casting shimmering shards of incandescent light into the room. There was no doubt it was a room designed for ultimate effect and the Queen knew how to use that to her advantage.

After the hoard of visitors had settled into place and taken position in their queue, the large doors at the side of the Throne room opened and the siblings entered in pair formation. Each was elegantly dressed and shone like a priceless gemstone. In the shadow of one of the large supporting columns of the room a thin razor-sharp smile spread over one man’s lips as he watched the “performance”. It was the only word that could be used for this. The Queen viewed this land as her stage and everyone in it, including her offspring, as mere players on it.

Drones. The thought passed through his mind easily as he watched the royal formation move. Every hair on their head, every accessory, every piece of clothing had been chosen for them by the Queen. Their movements were trained, their words were not even their own as much as they would protest against it the truth was simple.

The eldest child entered with his mother on his arm. The Queen standing straight and tall her age masked easily by the glamour she held. Her flowing blonde hair cascaded down her back and her form-fitted dress moved like ocean waves as she glided towards her seat. The empty chair to either side of her stood as markers to a tale that had slipped into the history books. Beautifully crafted Pawns. I applaud you, dear Queen, you did well. As if she could hear his thoughts her eyes settled on his. Those piercing cold blue eyes that could cut like ice would freeze a lesser man, but not him. He simply stood and maintained his gaze the smile on his face almost mocking.

---

“You took on a case without clearing it with me first?”

The door to her chief coordinator's office barely closed before they rounded on her.

“I’ve told you many times already I cannot always clear these things with you two or three weeks in advance.” She sat straight in the guest chair unflinching as the older man who was like a father to her in a lot of ways sighed and slumped his shoulders.

“That is not the point Kid and you know it. You have just moved and the case is out of your jurisdiction.” He pinched the bridge of his nose where his glasses usually sat. Probably thinking that this choice to wear his contacts today was maybe not the best plan given that headaches made the lenses uncomfortable.

“Most cases are out of my jurisdiction. It has never stopped you from letting me take them on before.” If it had been someone else, she would have been just as indignant as she protested the restriction on her work.

There was nothing except basic formalities that required her attention right now. All Ops had been grounded and placed on downtime which provided her with more than enough time to sit around twiddling her thumbs and being bored. Last time this happened she took on a case that saw her flying to Africa to check a water source for a rare bacterium that should not have been present in freshwater. That wasn’t just out of her jurisdiction it was out of the same god damn continent. She couldn’t understand why her boss was choosing now to be an obstruction on a case.

“Look pick a case any other case. Just not this one.” The sound of his begging pathetically was a far cry from the man she knew. She leaned back in her chair and levelled a defiant glare at him.

“Col you are being unbelievably stubborn and pushy on this which isn’t like you at all. I’m not going to do anything until you say what you are really wanting too and don’t go trying to candy coat it. I’m not a kid.” Her blue eyes that were normally clear had turned thunderous and dark. He knew from past experience that when things felt wrong and she wasn’t getting straight answers it could only ever end badly, for the other guy. He certainly did not wish to join the ranks of the fallen.

“Look. Your father and I go way back right?”

“Right” She nodded firmly. Colin had been one of the first other adult males in her life outside of family members to visit their house. He had helped with schooling and relocations so many times it was hard to think of a time when he wasn’t in her life.

“Wrong.”

“What?”

“Wrong. Look Kid the first time I met your dad it was about three decades ago and he looked like he had survived falling into a mincer at a slaughterhouse. I found him at the side of the road and you were wrapped up in his arms.” Col’s words were blunt and direct. There were no detectable traces of anything that could be considered a lie which made the bombshell he just dropped on her even harder to process.

“How is that even possible? All the years I’ve known you and what? You lied to me the whole time?”

“Only about how far back I’ve known your dad. He is a good man and dammit if I didn’t feel terrible for him.”

“Why?”

“That is something he would be able to tell you, not me. I told you he was injured. He looked like he had come from a renaissance or medieval fair or something, you both did. He was babbling about not letting them have you and how he didn’t have a wife anymore.” Col chose this time to get up and walk to the false shelf on his bookcase. Tapping it so it popped open revealing a bottle of scotch and some glasses. She had known he kept it there but she hardly ever saw him drinking at the office. He poured some amber coloured liquid into two glasses and handed her one as he went back to his own seat. It burned in her throat as she took a sip of it but she felt the muscles in her body begin to relax a little with the alcoholic lubrication.

“I don’t get what any of that has to do with the case.”

“Because for a couple of weeks during that time. We found things.” He looked over at her making sure she was still alright to continue. “Things like large animals, deer, bears all dead. All fresh and all drained of their blood. Some hikers too.” He downed his drink in one go as if the memory of the events was still with him. It wouldn’t be uncommon; you see it a lot in stressful or unusual cases where you have pushed your mind and body to get on with the job at hand you end up with like a remnant of the memories you suppress. Like an echo coming back to you time and time again, some echoes were worse than others.

Her mind went back to the case reports. Mountain rescue and rangers all reported finding campsites abandoned and later finding the inhabitants dead. The things Col was bringing up matched with what she had already found but they didn’t explain the connection to her and her father or why nothing had been said to her before.

“Why didn’t you say anything about this to me sooner?”

“Told ya. It wasn’t my story to tell. And that body thing was an old case that never came up again.” It was clear from his one that even with a feeling of guilt he was going to stay tight-lipped on this.

“What happened with it?” Asking this she followed Col’s lead and drained her glass. The sudden volume of the fluid travelling down her throat caused that familiar burn you got from strong alcohol to tingle in the back of her nose and she suppressed a cough.

“Shelved. Never caught the ones responsible or found out how they pulled it off. But it only went on for a few weeks and then stopped completely.” Col didn’t sound satisfied. She knew him he hated unfinished work, but back then he would have been a rookie. Nothing you can do if a higher-ups decides to shut down an investigation.

“Right.” She put the glass down on his desk with a hollow clink sound and got up to go. Her hand was on the office door when he called out from behind.

“What you gonna do?”

“You said so yourself. Not your story to tell. So, I’m going to go ask the guy whose story it is.”

One thing she learnt was butting heads with a stubborn person when you are also a stubborn person gets you nowhere and to be honest right now, she was in no mood to fight a wall. She wanted answers. The files she received from the Met were back in her office she would grab those. But most important task now was going to find the person whole tale it was to tell and getting him to talk.

---

The Queen elegantly draped herself in her private chambers near her vanity table. The room was a perfect image of what one might be tempted to call excess. Every surface was highly polished and inlaid with crushed crystals making it look rather like the centre of a geode. The audience with the crown was over and she sighed lightly before catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror and grinned.

It had all gone according to plan. The masses were happy and she had been praised for her beauty, kindness and intelligence so many times she was walking on cloud nine. If it was possible to survive on adoration she felt like she could be immortal right now. Naturally however even in this realm that was not something that could be done. Immortality was the stuff of fantasy. But prolonged life? sustained beauty? You could have all of that. It came at a cost if you were willing to pay, and she was just mad enough to do it.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of two figures. Both were dressed similarly in loose clothing bound over with strips of fabric to pull it tight to their forms. This was the typical uniform for scouts. Nothing more than required and everything designed for complete freedom of movement and cover.

“What did you find?” She didn’t bother with greetings. Observing the two visitors like a cat would a mouse.

“The rift is strong, and it holds. We can go back.” The taller one explained with a complete lack of emotion or detail. She was pleased to see this, emotions wasted time and made for weak soldiers.

“Good. Bring me what I desire.” She waved her hand and turned back to her reflection.

“One other thing My Queen.”

“What?” She moved her eyes in the mirror staring through it at the second scout who had spoken.

“The rift from what we can tell didn’t naturally tear.”

She felt her breath catch in her throat at this piece of information. Naturally forming rifts were rare and took generations to form and become stable. A non-natural rift would mean someone with the power to tear at the fabric of time had created it. Someone as powerful as she was, possibly even more powerful. Her blood ran hot as she picked up a clear crystal turning it over in her hand until it changed to citrine. The glittering yellow like a shard of trapped sunlight glowed from within and she tossed it towards the scouts who caught it nimbly.

“When you go back take this. I want to know what happens to it.”

“As you wish.”

The two scouts briskly left the Queen’s chamber. They had their orders and it never paid to keep her highness waiting. Once they were a safe distance away, a shadow in the corridor rippled a pale outline of a figure moved in the opposite direction. Long fingers pulled the edge of their cloak up higher, turning its hood over their head.

---

8 notes · View notes

fakesurprise · 6 years ago

Text

Upgrades and Repairs

This high above the heart of the city the streets are scarred from the rain, the clouds a riot of wounded colours I ignored as I walked down the road. The instructions would have been vague to anyone else. The streets below spire wasn’t a vague location in itself, but the only direction I’d been given to find my point of contact had been to find one who doesn’t belong even though no one belonged up here. Lived here, yes, but every building creaked against the untempered winds and most everyone was chasing hunger or consumed by it.

I paused at untempered, not that anyone gave me grief while walking down the road. When you’re seven feet tall and almost as broad with muscles more real that work, people do that. But even so: it said a lot about my mental state that I was using words from school that I thought life had drummed out of me. I used the pause to scan the streets around me, ignoring the familiar itching in my eyes as I tried to access blocked tech.

I moved slowly, scanning everything. Assessing threats without conscious awareness half the time. This time I made myself aware. What was wrong, what stood out? Find the pattern and you find the solution.

A dozen young men sauntered down the street with knock-off impact rifles, moving too close together to be veterans. Four deliverypeople on speed cycles wove through the crowd. Families of various stages of coping with the fringes of the city huddled together for imagined protection. A couple of tourists from the city proper, smart enough to have hired thugs to guard them. One person whose entire body was covered in pale fur chatting to a cyborg whose leg they were repairing. Two people singing whose throats cast the sound over half the street. A couple of older cyborgs quietly discussing a trade deal in one side street. A handful of people buying happiness at inflated prices from furtive dealers with second-grade drugs at best.

Nothing unusual for any city, though the dealers would have been arrested in the heart of it.

I settled on a boy in a side street sitting by himself. No one begs for money up here, but he carried no weapons and no one had shaken him down for anything useful. I moved closer. He was wearing a thin cloak that didn’t hide scarring over a pale stomach.

Not a veteran, but a victim. Always more of those than vets after any war. Electricity raced through the air around him and I stopped a couple of feet away at the crackle of energy.

Electromesh grafted into him. His eyes were wide and moved about tracking nothing but the glint of cameras was in them if you knew what to look for: they were recording everything around him. I winced at that more than the mesh. Kid had sold his eyes to someone. Probably the same someone monitoring the mesh so that he didn’t burn his brain out using it. The boy stood stiffly, left side of his body a little slack. Nasty things, electromeshes. Protecting you but also putting enough juice through your body to fry nerves, then cybernetics and finally your own brain. That the eyes were working said whoever was controlling the mesh was doing a damn better job using it than the kid had.

“Stevens. I believe you are expecting me.”

The boy nodded, not blinking. His voice was soft, almost as sexless as the rest of him appeared to be. “I believe so. If you would follow me?” he said, and walked back past me onto the road.

I frowned. His lips didn’t quite match the words, the voice definitely synthetic. Most people wouldn’t have noticed that but I haven’t been most people in a long time. Three years that were technically five, but it always feels like it was longer. I had options, but none that made sense as much as the obvious so I simply followed.

The boy moved quickly, paused briefly at intersections with his face to the wind, walked a precise number of steps, turned down a side streets. I followed slowly as he led away from the hustle of streets through a tangle of side alleys, our path gently sloping upward until we reached a rooftop. The boy moved slowly to the edge of the room, rapping two thin pieces of wood that connected this roof to the one across a street carefully and then walked swiftly across them. I followed, one breaking beneath me but a jump carried me the rest of the way before the first piece broke.

The boy froze at the noise. “You – you broke the bridge?” He whispered, and his voice cracked with fear.

“One board, yes. Sorry.”

The boy licked his lips. “There is a rope ladder as well later on.”

I swore softly but followed him without another wolf. Two scrambles over rooftops, a couple of leaps he’d memorized and we were at a thin rope ladder that led up to a stairwell. Higher in the city that most anyone lived. The boy scrambled up the ladder easily by feel.

I followed, and he gasped as I was beside him a moment later, the stairwell shuddering under us.

“You leapt that high?” the boy asked as electricity arced over his skin. His voice hissed with the current and he fell silent.

I waited for him to calm; an electromesh might not kill me but I couldn’t afford for it to fry any of my systems. “I did; I am too heavy to climb that rope. Can we continue?”

He nodded once, leading me along the stairwell to a large recessed doorway. It was a good twelve feet across and almost as tall. Presumably for vehicles docking once upon a century.

The interior has been a viewing chamber once upon a time but the windows were all sealed over. There was a small kitchen unit to the left of us, one mattress beside it along with clothing in a neat pile, a small shower and sink beside that along with a second kitchen unit that was almost new. Everything else appeared rebuilt and refurbished, even the mattress being at least second-hand. The other walls were a controlled clutter of tables, cupboards and storage for thousands of salvaged items in various states of being repaired or scavenged. The centre of the room was dominated by a floating medchair, the inhabitant an older-seeming woman without hair. One human arm, one older-model cybernetic arm and where cybernetic legs had been were connections attaching her to the chair proper.

“Stevens, is it?” she asked, the chair moving closer.

I nodded.

“Well.” She touched the side of the chair with her right hand, her cybernetic left one slower to move. “A scan, if you will be so kind?”

I waited as the chair scanned me. The woman sat back in it slowly, the cybernetic arm flicking off.

“Astonishing. How long were you in stasis training for?”

“Two years.”

The woman blinked a few times. “Two – that explains the –.” She moved closer slowly and shook her head. “I have helped some veterans regain what they lost, but your systems are so advanced that it will take some time. They shut down so much of you for civilian life that it’s a wonder you can even breathe.”

“Can you make me whole again?”

“Frankly, I have no idea,” she said. “I am very good, but you’re not just a cyborg with systems disabled for civilian life; they rebuilt you entirely from the ground up, I think. Even disabling the warnings reactivating your wartime functions do would take hours. I am certain you want to be you again, with all you were capable of doing; but I am not certain you could afford my services. It will take far too long to achieve in even a week.”

“I have contacts; I could get you proper modern cybernetic legs.”

The woman shook her head. “Useless, for me. I have tried to repair myself often, Stevens. But two legs, an arm, the enhancements they put in me to run all those – those are too dated to be repaired, and getting them to work with anything modern is difficult at best. Removing them was the wiser option, in the end; I will need a medchair in a decade or two, so I decided it made sense earlier.”

“You need the arm, however.”

She nodded. “The boy has his uses, but yes. That I do need to repair, but finding anything modern that will work and interface with my shoulder –.” She shook her head. “This arm is only a year old and the latency is almost intolerable at times. You, on the other hand, are wearing a battle suit over your real body,” she added, as casually as anything else. “Why?”

The boy walked toward me at some cue between them.

“For protection,” I said, and then nothing as the mesh flared. The chair was unharmed, ,though the one arm twitched a little. The suit I was wearing took the assault easily enough but a good third of the interface shorted out.

“Payment,” the woman snapped, and the boy moved closer.

I am fast, but the room was confined and a battle suit is not meant for speed. Both his hands slammed onto it, and the suit sparked out around me as the mesh burned through every system.

I undid the manual release and let the suit hit the ground. The plasteel smoked and sizzled. The boy had moved a step or two away, arms wrapped about himself as electricity ground itself into calm, smoke drifting from his mouth, breathing thin and laboured.

The woman in the medchair glared at me. “Why are you here, whoever you are?” she snapped. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to destroy a battle suit of that calibre for me?”

“You were visited one month about by one Sergeant August Zim. He was never seen again; I thought some precaution was warranted.”

“So you wore a battle suite designed for war?” she snapped.

“There have been others who visited you. None of them were seen again either.”

“August died. Others have not.”

“You reactivated them.”

She smiled coldly. “I did. A veteran like yourself must understand: you are so slow, so – limited – now. They wanted to be whole again. Dangerous, yes, but no more so than many others in Edos. And I profit handsomely from repairing them, and learning their secrets.”

I froze. The boy was close to me, the mesh burning in the air around him. Controlled, by her or him, and enough to harm me badly. No normal electromesh is this potent. “...the chair is for show, isn’t it?”

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“You have legs inside it that you put on when you need to. It’s a tool, the same as the boy and everything else.”

She smiled slightly. “That is correct. He paid me with his eyes for a voice; a terrible thing, the gasses we use in our wars. Without the shunt in his stomach for food, he would have died long before the mesh could kill him. I kept him alive, offered him a voice. It has taken longer than I thought, but in the meantime he is quite useful as a lure.”

The boy gasped. The voicebox inside him barely works because of the damage from the mesh, but does let out a shriek as he reached for the small of his back and collapsed writing on the ground.

“The downside of not being able to see himself is not noticing the neurotoxin implanted into him on the stairwell. Your move.”

The woman studied me, and the boy, then lowered the chair and reached into it, pulling out and putting on two legs that were definitely military-grade cybernetics. Her left arm no longer had any latency at all.

“This is my home, Stevens. If that is your name. You expect to kill me and survive?”

“I am a soldier, even though my war is over. Survival was never in the cards.”

She stared at me for a long moment. I don’t move, hearing the boy’s head twitch as she used his eyes for scanning along with her own. “You were never decommissioned,” she breathed.

“The government has uses for those like me. It does not have use for your adding – problems – into the city. In exchange for ceasing to do that, and dealing with anyone you have sold such knowledge to, I am authorized to give you aid in turn.”

“What kind of aid?”

“The kind that can lead to travel to other nation-states. Ones that see flesh as something to escape, perhaps.”

She didn’t move at all for a good minute. “I will need technology. And experts. I owe the boy to finish fixing him. And in turn I will to Elmith.”

I nodded. Elmith was based entirely around putting people into the Array. Their own, Network, it didn’t matter: they intended to find a cheap way to make humans live only as data, able to manipulate and survive in the vast information networks. It was madness, to me, but I had to admit it was a safer madness than most others. And they, at least, made no wars on anyone else.

I walked back over to the boy and removed the toxin. He stood shakily, hands balling into fists, and punched me once in the stomach. I pretended it hurt, apologized formally and departed. No one had died, and an alliance made. Sometimes we can walk away and leave more than ruin behind us.

The government had tried to convince me this was possible. I wasn’t about to believe them, not yet.

But I could see a future where I might.

#writing #prose #survivors #prequel srtory #post cyberpunk #biotech

9 notes · View notes

creepypasta-fandom-is-trash · 7 years ago

Note

what is your origin story for EJ

Well…it was something like this….

Warm sun glows and glitters down onto the small boy’s head. His little knees tucked up close to his stomach, leaving only enough room for the comically large book resting in his lap. A tiny pair of glasses slip slowly down the child’s nose as his blue orbs race across the page. Small black frames contrasting wildly against his ivory colored skin and glassy eyes. Little brown curls dance down Jack’s forehead as the wind brushes softly against his frame. The scent of grass and wildflowers engulfing the boy as he frantically consumes the contents of the book under his hands.

“ In summary, the cornea is the clear, transparent front covering which admits light and begins the refractive process. It also keeps foreign particles from entering the eye,” Jack mumbles as he reads, the medical textbook weighing down his miniscule body as he squirms in place. The bark of an old oak tree scratches at the boy’s back through his red t-shirt, but that hardly bothers the freckly kid.

“Jack???” A deep, soft voice calls out from a distance “Jack, where are you??” Upon hearing his father’s voice, the boy curls up tighter in his spot, and tries to hide between the covers of the book. Heavy footsteps approach rapidly from behind him, soft worried huffing following. The sight of his father’s blue jeans out the corner of his eyes causes Jacky to shrink up further.

“I’m not here,” He whispers feebly, trying with all his 7-year-old might to hide from his father.

“Jack, what on earth have I told you about taking my textbooks?” his father crouches down besides him.

“That these are very expensive,” Jack mumbles.

“And?

"And you don’t want to lose me….” A shameful flush crosses the boy’s cheeks. “That’s right Jay,” the father scoops him up effortlessly. Naturally, Jack grumbles and squirms, trying to protest the affection from his father. Because, as all humans know, being loved by your parent is sooooo uncool when you’re in third grade.

“Dad stop,” the boy growls softly, trying to crawl out of his parent’s arms. A heavy sigh leaves the older man.

“One day you'lml wish you had a dad around,” he hums

“Never!” the midget whines.

“Wanna bet?”

“yeah, five bucks!”

Apparently to Jack, five dollars is prime real estate.

“Alright kid. I’ll take you up on your offer….”

A soft gasp escapes Jack’s soft pale being as he jerks up in bed. Papers fall from his messy covers and scatter onto the floor with a dramatic flutter. Panting, Jack runs his hands through his wild mane of near-black hair, trying to will away the cold sweat running down his back. Despite his thin t-shirt, the poor man feels both ridiculously hot and frighteningly cold at the same time.

A sense of throbbing loneliness crosses over Jack as he turns his gaze over to the dark nightstand to his left. A series of small knick knacks lay scattered about. A half-solved rubik’s cube, some broken pens, a picture of mom and dad…A small alarm clock on the desk reads off five-o-clock a.m. The red glow of the little numbers hardly registers in the mind of the man as he sleepily tries to gather himself together.

“Ugh,” Jack grumbles, slipping out of the bed and searching meekly for his clothes. A huff comes from his bunkmate, the weed-scented teen rolling over in his fitful sleep. Cringing, the spindly man slips into his clothes and snatches his backpack off the floor.

“Keep it down,” groans his buzzed roommate. his gastly complexion obvious as he grabs his blanket and drowns his himself in it.

“Shut up grassyass,” retorts the scholar as he angrily storms from the tiny dorm. The halls glow dimly with lights plugged into the wall, just enough lighting to allow those drunk and late-working students to return to their dorms with semi-accuracy. Jack’s time-worn shoes thump against the floor clumsily as he traverses this strange area. Of course the day wont be of any particular excitement. And Jack is very much aware of this trivial fact. And it is in his mind something else to not care about. His mind is on the schedule.

“Advanced Anatomy, Chemistry 104, Med lab no. 2….” Mumbling is what brings Jack comfort as he walks down the many flight of stairs to his earliest classes. Though mumbling is probably an issue when it comes to paying attention to the hallways.

“fuck,” grunts a random student walking down the halls, his shoulders slumped and head cast downward.

“pardon?” Jack hums, turning back to the stranger to see if he is okay.

“You should have bumped into me,” the freak grunts “It would have been a life saver.” And with that, the stranger rushes off, his face pointed to the end of the hallway as if it were an angel sent from heaven. Confusion fills the poor college student as he watches the freakish man stand at the end of the hall.

“what?…” Jack mumbles, slowly turning and rushing away from the teen.

Despite not seeing the strange student again for the rest of the morning, Jack can’t help but feel watched, The burning gaze of unseen eyes trailing along his shoulders and head as he walks briskly around campus.

The warm spring air felt suffocating against his neck as he meandered among the lazy old spruce trees and mildly exhausted students. Nothing felt better than a blast of cool air inside the main recreation center attached to the cafeteria. Sitting inside, the young man munches disdainfully on a sub sandwich, his back hurting from hours of hunching over papers. Softly, as if it were merely from a dream, a soft song begins to play from Jack’s backpack. It’s an old jingle on the piano, one that his mother used to play when he wouldn’t go to bed at night. Quickly snatching his phone from the bag, he answers.

“Hello?” grumbles the student, “who is this?

”“who is this?” Jests a familiar deep voice “Jeez kid I didn’t think you’d forget me like this.” A soft rush of shame crosses Jack’s body as he wiggles awkwardly in his spot.

“Sorry dad,” he hums “I guess I’ve just been on edge all day…”

“I should expect so,” His father replies with pride “My boy is getting his PhD in neurosurgery next month! At the age of twenty-hecking-four!” A blush covers Jack’s freckly face as he looks away from his fellow students.

“Dad…” He grumbles “C'mon it’s no that big of a deal” A scoff comes from the speaker.

“Not that big of a deal my ass, your mother and I are counting down the days until we get to be there for your graduation!!” Warmth blossoms in Jack’s chest as he listens to his father blabber on about his accomplishments. The other students cast him strange looks as they pass by, his awkward form curled up on the floor blushing and listening to his phone. Sadly checking the time, Jack reluctantly clears his throat.

“Dad, I need to go to my next lab,” Jack interrupts, awkwardly packing his things together.

“Okay kiddo,” his father chuckles in return

“We love you, kid.”

“love you too dad.”

Worrying is never a good idea, when it comes to issues it is best to merely assess your options and acquire the tools necessary to fix it. The solution to many problems is just a walk in the park. Or in this case, a walk in the forest. Soft moist earth is crushed easily under Jacks worn red sneakers as the tired boy meanders through the hiking trails by the campus. Old birch and oak trees sway and dance in the light wind. Jack’s favorite thing about being in the woods is the seclusion.

Cool breezes rush over his head and tousle his hair as he meanders down the trail. Finally, after a day of racing around and avoiding the eyes of unseen watchers, it’s nice to relax. With each step Jack finds himself more relaxed, more relieved from his fears. The sun creeps down behind the distant hills, the crickets calling out to each other as the world around them darkens. Owls hoot and holler from their perches on the treetops, breaking the peaceful silence. Soft bubbling of a nearby creek bringing a small smile to Jack’s face. Turning his head, the exhausted college students note several people in a clearing surrounded by heavy bags and random items.

"Campers?” Jack mumbles “on a Tuesday??” confusion fills the man’s chest as he slowly meanders away from the rapidly darkening clearing. Probably just a bunch of stoners, its not uncommon for kids like that to hide out in the forest to hide the smell of their smoke. Nonetheless, the sapphire-eyed man shuffles further into the forest.

Eventually, the sun does set, and the night takes hold of the forest. And, being a man with poor directional skill, Jack finds himself hopelessly lost. Confusion absolutely consumes the tall sleepy man as he paces confusedly in a small clear patch within the forest.

“Hey man, what are you doing here?” A voice cuts into Jack’s worried meandering. Looking up, Jack’s eyes meet dirty blue ones. A dark-haired guy a few years younger than him with bushy sideburns on his cheeks and a tattered old jacket covering his frame.

"I’m lost,“ Jack replies, nervously rubbing the back of his head "Could you point me back towards my college? Faraday University?” The strange, tired-looking man points down a random trail.

“That way…” He grumbles “It’s best not to come to these parts right now, kid.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m older than you, bub,” Jack chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets “But thanks!” the man adjusts his tan jacket and huffs, shaking his head.

“Jeez,” the stranger mumbles “Richard would love you.” Confused, Jack casts the strange man a soft scowl before racing off down the trail.

“weirdo…” Jack grumbles as he stumbles head first into a projectile rock.

Thunk

Pain thumps through Jack’s head as he wriggles on the ground. A soft trickle of blood racing down his forehead as he squirms. The sensation of rough rope around his ankles and wrists squeezes and tugs at his soft pale skin. Slowly, Jack opens his eyes, the blaring light from flashlights surrounding him.

“He is awake” hums one of the hooded people standing to his right “Prepare the tools.” reality comes crashing back down onto Jack as he looks around. The rope bites down into his skin and causes his wrists to bleed, panic fills his chest like ice water and sweat races down his neck. Arms and legs held apart by rope, Jack yanks and struggles violently against his bindings. A choked sob escapes his throat as two cloaked individuals kneel by his head.

“Hush now,” whispers a soft, feminine voice “This is for the good of the world.” Pure excitement shakes in the young woman’s voice as she places her hands on Jack’s forehead, coating her delicate fingers in crimson as she forces him to lay flat on the ground. A second person pries open Jack’s mouth and jaws with their fingers, not minding the harsh bites they received from the pale kidnappee. Forcing a strange metal contraption into Jack’s mouth, the hooded freak forces the young man’s jaws to be held in place by the mechanism. Soft fearful wails escaped Jack’s maw as he tries to struggle. “Help…” He thinks desperately, his throat growing hoarse from yelling. A third person approaches, sitting on his chest and preparing a metal spike in their hands. Pressing the tip of the spike onto Jack’s front teeth, the stranger pulls a mallet from their cloak. Fear-laced tears bubble out of Jack’s eyes as he wails helplessly.

CRACK

A pain-filled scream escapes the poor college student as the spike snaps his front teeth. Blood fills Jack’s mouth as he gurgles and writhes in place. The spike is placed close to his molars.

CRACK

Horrible screams leave Jack’s mouth, the urge to vomit rising as his tongue is coated in his mutilated teeth shards and blood. Quickly, the metal bit is moved from his jaws and the hooded figures back off. As soon as they do so, Jack heaves and vomits onto the ground beside his head.

“Help me!” He screams “Please! Someone! Anyone!” Slowly, the cult around him begin to dig, burying their hands into the earth and flinging clods of muck everywhere. A large circular moat forms around Jack, his body sore and filthy form. Blood trickles down from Jack’s mouth as he heaves and sobs softly. With some hesitation, Jack closes his eyes to shield himself from the scene. “Mom…Dad…” Jack’s mind wanders in a pain-induced stupor “I’m so sorry…” Hands grab and tug at his shoes and arms, the stranger tugging at his fingers and yanking off his socks.

“I love you both so much”

A metal piece is shoved under his right thumbnail, prying up his nail and yanking it off.

“I wish I could have made you proud of me”

Pliers meticulously remove his toenails, the sickening cracking and snapping of his skin and nails ringing out like gong strikes.

“I wish I could come home”

Soon, his fingernails are gone, the pain pulsing up his arms and legs as blood gushes wildly from his hands.

"I wish I could be there…”

With all of his nails removed, Jack opens his eyes feebly, noting the hot ring of soon-to-be fire in the trench. But this discovery is hardly important as Jack’s head is forced to face the sky. Soft chanting emits from the strangers around him, soft rhythmic chanting from a language that Jack has never really heard like this.

“Thank you,” Whispers a soft, delicate voice from his right “You will make a mighty fine vessel for our lord.” faint confusion fills Jack’s body as he stares up into the starless, moonless night sky.

Suddenly, the metal spike returns, pushing in between his eyelid and eye and digging into the socket. A fresh volley of pained screams escape from Jack’s mouth as the eyelid is stretched wider. A scoop-shaped something pushes up underneath his eyeball, forcing the delicate skin to the sides of his eye to rip open and bleed profusely. Pain pulses through his skin and bones as a wild, animal-like wail fills the air. Soon, with another sharp burst of pain, all sight fades away from Jack’s right eye. A soft, disgusting slurping sound can be heard over the ringing in Jack’s ears. With his one working eye, Jack sees the beautiful blue form of his right eye being dropped into a small jar.

The chanting grows ever louder as a final hooded figure stands over Jack’s legs, straddling his thighs and forcing him to be immobile. With his attention focused on the new hooded cultist, Jack hardly notices the tugging of his left eyelid until the bloody spike is shoved into it. A pained wail is all that Jack can manage as the man standing above him readies what looks to be a large sledgehammer. The scoop comes under his left eye and the familiar sensation of skin tearing by his eyes comes again.

Just as the scoop tears out Jack’s left eye, the man swings the sledgehammer down into his right hip like a wrecking ball.

C R A C K

A violent scream of pain fills the air as Jack’s tailbone snaps, his body flooding with intense pain. The urge to vomit rises up again, yet Jack can’t gather the strength to move, his body broken by the horrible things that have happened. Footsteps indicate that the cult is stepping back.

“ пожалуйста, ребенок, открой себя нашему хозяину” someone in the group grumbles, stepping closer and kneeling down by Jack’s head. Slowly, the group begins to chant softly.

“ восхвалять повелителя , восхвалять повелителя , восхвалять повелителя ,восхвалять повелителя ,восхвалять повелителя….”

And with the finality of a mother whispering softly to their baby, the woman kneeling by Jack’s head murmurs into his ear.

“Chernobog.”

Confusion was short-lived with Jack as his eyelids are pried open and scalding hot liquid is poured inside. The smell of singed flesh and hair filling the air along with the foul stench of tar and brimstone as the liquid in his eye sockets pool down and out from between his eyelids. Pain, anguish, fear, no longer is Jack able to comprehend the world around him as the shock sets in. And the world goes black…

#eyeless jack #eyeless jack origin

42 notes · View notes

nuttydefendoryouth · 4 years ago

Text

Pipe Fittings

This chapter presents various types of pipe fittings. Of all the fittings, the elbow is the one most often used. Simply put, the elbow, or ell, is used when a pipe changes direction. Elbows can turn up, down, left, right, or any angle in between. When one finds it necessary to draw a 90° elbow or calculate how much space it will occupy in a routing configuration, knowing its length becomes essential. An elbow's length is commonly referred to as the center-to-end dimension and is measured from the centerpoint of its radius to the end of either opening. Dimensional sizes of fittings are typically provided by the manufacturer of the fitting. Manufacturers issue dimensioning charts containing lengths for a particular fitting. Another elbow that may be used under certain circumstances and with permission from the customer is the 90° short-radius elbow. The 90° short-radius ell makes a much sharper turn than does the long-radius ell.

Emissions from Pipe Fittings and Gaskets

Threaded pipe fittings in the seal flush line can be significant leak sources, with readings above 1,000 ppm.4,17 Similar emission levels may be measured near the gasket region on the seal chamber face. Any leakage from these areas may drift into the emission measurement area for the mechanical seal. The mechanical seal may then be erroneously implicated as a leaker. It should be standard practice to sniff nearby hydraulic fittings and the flange gasket area if excessive VOC concentrations are detected adjacent to the mechanical seal.

Leak-tight threaded pipe fittings can be more easily attained using anaerobic paste-type sealants rather than PTFE tape. The seal chamber face must be smooth to be emission tight. Gaskets and O-rings must be free of nicks and scratches.

32.16.2 Thermoplastic Fittings Manufacturing

Thermoplastic pipe fittings may be injection-molded, fabricated, rotomolded, or thermoformed. Injection-molded fittings are generally made in sizes through 12-in. nominal diameter. Typical molded fittings are tees, 45-degree and 90-degree elbows, reducers, couplings, caps, flange adapters, stub ends, branch saddles, service saddles, and self-tapping saddle tees. Electrofusion couplings and fittings are either made by injection molding or machined from pipe stock. Electrofusion fittings and couplings are made with a coil-like integral heating element incorporated into the fitting. Joining with other fittings uses an electrical fusion device that provides electricity into the heating element, which melts the adjacent thermoplastic material and creates a fusion-welded joint.

Larger-diameter fittings exceed the capabilities of injection molding and are typically fabricated. Rotomolding is used for the manufacture of polyethylene large-diameter (up to 60 in.) and custom fittings for polyethylene corrugated drainage piping applications.

Thermoformed fittings are made by heating a section of pipe and then using a forming tool to reshape the heated area. Examples of thermoformed fittings are sweep elbows, swaged reducers, and forged stub ends. Some polyethylene corrugated pipe fittings and appurtenances are also thermoformed.

All proprietary joints shall be made in accordance with the manufacturer’s instructions. Care shall be taken to establish satisfactory jointing techniques for all water service pipework. When making joints by welding, brazing, or soldering, precautions shall be taken to avoid the risk of fire. All burrs shall be removed from the ends of pipes and any jointing materials used shall be prevented from entering the waterways. All piping and fittings shall be cleaned internally and free from particles of sand, soil, metal filings, and chips, etc.

8.19.3 Cast iron pipes

Flexible mechanical joints shall be made in accordance with the manufacturer’s instructions.

For molten lead joints, the spigot and socket shall be centered with rings of dry yarn caulked tightly into the bottom of the spigot to prevent the entry of lead into the bore of the pipe and to prevent contact of lead with the water.

Synthetic yarns that do not promote the growth of bacteria shall be used to prevent contamination of the water. The remainder of the joint space shall be filled with molten lead (taking care that no dross enters the joint), cold wire, strip, or spun lead (lead wool). The joint shall be caulked to a smooth finish with pneumatic tools or a hand hammer of mass not less than 1.5 kg. When working with spun lead, caulking tools shall be of a thickness to fill the joint space, ensuring thorough consolidation of the material to the full depth of the socket.

Lead joints shall be finished about 3 mm inside the face of the socket.

Flange joints shall be made with screwed or cast on flanges.

8.19.4 Steel pipes

Welded joints shall not be used where a protective lining would be damaged by heat, or where the pipework is employed as a primary circulation to an indirect hot water heating system.

Screwed joints in steel piping shall be made with screwed socket joints using wrought iron, steel, or malleable double crimping fitting. A thread filler shall be used. Exposed threads left after jointing shall be painted or, where installed underground, thickly coated with bituminous or other suitable corrosion preventative agent.

Flange joints shall be made with screwed or welded flanges of steel or cast iron using jointing rings and, if necessary, a suitable jointing paste. The nuts shall be carefully tightened, in opposite pairs, until the jointing ring is sufficiently compressed between the flanges for a watertight joint.

8.19.5 Unplasticized PVC pipes

8.19.5.1 Mechanical joints

Mechanical joints in unplasticized PVC piping of sizes 2 and upwards shall be made in accordance with BS4346: Part 2, by the use of push-fit integral elastomeric sealing rings which are compressed when the plain ended pipes are inserted into the adjoining sockets. The plain pipe ends shall be chamfered and the surfaces cleaned and lubricated.

The chamfered pipe end shall be inserted fully into the adjoining socket (except where provision is to be made for expansion), or as far as any locating mark put on the spigot end by the manufacturer. The sealing rings shall comply with BS2494.

8.19.5.2 Compression joints

Compression joints shall only be used with unplasticized PVC piping of size 2 and smaller. The joints shall be of the nonmanipulative type. Care shall be taken to avoid overtightening.

8.19.5.3 Solvent cement welded joints

Solvent cement welded joints in unplasticized PVC piping shall be made using solvent cement complying with BS4346: Part 3 recommended by the manufacturer of the pipe. The dimensions of the spigots and sockets shall comply with BSEN1452: Part 1–5.

Joints may also be made using integral sockets formed in the pipes and solvent cemented.

8.19.5.4 Flanged joints

Flanged joints used for connections to valves and fittings shall use full-face flanges or stub flanges, both with corrosion resistant or immune backing rings and bolting.

8.19.5.5 Polyethylene pipes

Mechanical joints shall be either plastics or metal proprietary compression fittings, for example, brass, gunmetal, or malleable iron. These shall include insert liners to support the bore of the pipe except where the manufacturer of the fitting instructs otherwise.

To ensure satisfactory jointing of the materials from which the pipe and transition elbow are made compatibility shall be established. The manufacturer’s instructions shall be carefully followed.

No attempt shall be made to joint polyethylene piping by solvent cement welding.

Large pipe fittings and valve components must be press forged and will require extensive machining. Whereas small parts such as the flange previously described can be quickly heated and cooled, and given optimum process conditions, should exhibit microstructure and properties similar to pipe and tube, the properties of large forgings will be location and thickness dependent. While no large forged part has yet been made from 740H, the properties of a solution-annealed, water-quenched and aged 343-mm-diameter bar shown in Table 14.2 are informative. Yield strength near the surface is comparable to that of thin wall tube, but yield strength at the bar center, while meeting ASME minimum, is significantly lower. Ductility and toughness were good. A hardness traverse taken on the as quenched bar showed VHN 170 at the surface and VHN 290 at the center. This is indicative of strong auto-aging in the bar center. Because the γ′ that forms on slow cooling is relatively coarse, after the final aging treatment, the bar center will have lower strength than the surface. The microstructure and creep strength at the center of the bar has not been evaluated.

A calculated continuous cooling transformation diagram for alloy 740H is shown in Fig. 14.26. This diagram supports the notion that significant γ′ hardening will occur even during water quenching of a large forging. A cooling simulation was conducted for the bar heat treatment using DEFORM software [49]. The cooling rate at a depth of 25 mm was 315°C/min and at the bar center was 30°C/min. Based on the calculated CCT diagram, there should be about 10% γ′ in the center and no γ′ at the surface. That is consistent with the experimental results.

Filament-wound pipe fittings, such as elbows and tees have been used in the chemical, and oil industry since the 1980s.9 Traditionally, composite pipe fittings were produced manually or semi-manually, but the development of CNC winders with six or more axes has allowed automated production of pipe fittings since the 1990s. The efficiency of these advanced machines depends on methods and software to determine winding patterns and perform fabrication of the complex shape within manufacturing specifications. Winding pattern generation is particularly challenging since a substantial amount of data storage/processing is required to meet manufacturing requirements (e.g., fiber tension and full-coverage) of non-axisymmetric patterns, which are required for filament-wound elbows or tees.72 On the other hand, it is worth noting that CAM software capability, rather than hardware, is considered the limiting factor for improving the performance of automated winders of non-axisymmetric parts. Consequently, general-purpose filament winding systems for pipe fittings are currently deemed impractical due to the lack of universal mathematical models and design software for CAM.9,73 Although some progress has been made to determine closed-form solutions for efficient winding patterns on specific shapes, such as elbows,74,75 most CAM systems still implement approximate methods to design and produce specific pipe fitting geometries.73 An illustration of a software-generated winding pattern, and the resulting wound elbow, is included in Fig. 11.75

Leaking valves and pipe fittings are the next concern when pressure is dropping during a test. Test sections should be isolated at pipeline block valves by using slip blinds to insure no leakage. If the test section cannot be blinded but the valves are double blocked instead, the operator must measure pressure increase in the adjacent section between the double-blocked valves to insure a tight seal exists. You need to be careful when using a thin “fire blind” at an isolation valve because under pressure the thin blind will deform and the blind cannot be removed without removing the entire valve. This often requires calling in vacuum trucks to remove product on the opposite side of the test valve being removed.

So, leakage through valves and fittings jeopardizes the chances for a successful test and may lead to data that cannot be correlated, and in that situation, the pipeline must be retested.

Tree piping is defined as all pipe, fittings, or pressure conduits, excluding valves and chokes, from the vertical bores of the tree to the flowline connections. The piping may be used for production, pigging, monitoring, injection, servicing, or testing of the subsea tree. Inboard tree piping is upstream of the first tree wing valves. Outboard tree piping is downstream of the first tree wing valve and upstream of the flowline connector.

Tree piping is normally designed in accordance with ASME B31.3. The guidelines in the API specifications are general and, in many cases, open to interpretation. It is up to the manufacturer to apply his engineering judgment.

0 notes

etcn · 4 years ago

Text

Casting

https://www.etcnbusiness.com/machining-service/casting/

Casting is one of the basic processes of modern equipment manufacturing. The casting process can be divided into three basic steps, namely casting metal preparation, mold preparation, and casting processing. Casting metal refers to the metal material used for casting castings in the production of castings. It is an alloy in which metal elements are the main components and other metals or non-metal elements are added. It is usually called casting alloy, which mainly includes cast iron, cast steel, and cast non-ferrous alloy. As a professional casting company, ECTN provides our clients with advanced metal casting services such as low and high-pressure aluminum casting, custom aluminum casting, custom brass casting, permanent mold aluminum casting and etc.

Die Casting

The product uses die-casting process to complete the blank, CNC machining and polishing treatment, suitable for auto parts.

Die Casting

Gravity Casting

The product is a casting product, which is used to fix the support of the driven shaft. The surface is not machined and has no holes and cracks.

Gravity Casting

Processable Materials for Casting

Copper

Magnesium

Stainless Steel

Carbon Steel

Alloy Steel

Zinc Alloy

Aluminium Alloy

ABS

Aceta

Acrylic

Carbon Fibe

Fiberglass

Nylon

Polycarbonate

Spring Steel

PTEF

PVC

Neoprene

Polyethylene

Polypropylene

Polystyrene

Rubbe

Silicone

NBR

Plastic Injection Molding

Extrusion Molding

Flywheel

Black Blank

Antenna Bracket

Advantage of Casting

It Can Produce Parts With Complex Shapes, Especially Blanks With Complex Cavitie

Wide Adaptability, Metal Materials Commonly Used In Industry Can Be Cast, From A Few Grams To Hundreds Of Tons.

The Shape And Size Of The Casting Are Very Close To That Of The Parts, Reducing The Amount Of Cutting, Which Is Non-cutting.

It is Widely Used

40%~70% of agricultural machinery and 70%~80% of machine tools are castings.

Casting FAQs

Casting Cracks

1. Usually, the metal solidifies too fast at this place, resulting in casting defects (joints);

2. Cracks caused by high temperatures.

The solution: Use low-strength investment materials, reduce the casting temperature of the metal as much as possible, and do not use alloys with low ductility and brittleness.

Easy To Crack When Die-casting Thin-walled Products

Metal Splashing During Die Casting

Why Can't The Inner Processing Of Aluminum Die-casting Hole Exceed 0.25mm

Unclear Marking During Casting

#iron #casting #companies

0 notes

vishwakarmagroup · 5 years ago

Text

High Quality Pressure Die Casting Componets

We the Vishwakarma Automotive Pvt. Ltd. leader in Machine and Automotive Products With quality components delivered to its valued customers and manufactured by exceptional technology which is an epitome of quality, precision, and perfection for all products which are being used in different sector like automobile, machinery manufacture, railway sector, agriculture and various industries and certified as TS 16949 & ISO 14001.

We offer high quality and standard, customized top-quality Casting products, precision Steering & Suspension, Fabrication & Sheet Metal, Shaft Assemblies Transmission Lever and Pivot Pins for various applications.

“THE DIE CASTING INDUSTRY IS INNOVATIVE AND ALWAYS CHANGING”

Die casting is a manufacturing process that can produce geometrically complex metal parts through the use of reusable molds, called dies. Most die casting is used for high volume components for creating dies for individual parts which are being used widely in automotive industry for various applications. VISHWAKARMA AUTOMOTIVE PVT. LTD. Die Casting components are well known and we are one of the manufacturing industries to provide cost-effective solutions for small to medium industries. As pressure die casting components can be made up of the most popular die cast alloys like Aluminum, Zinc, Magnesium, Brass, and Copper. Some material has low strength while some of them have high strength and these materials creates a finished product with the rigidity and high quality.

➢ Die casting process-

Molten metal is injected into the cavity under high pressure filling thin walls and small features. If metal have low melting temperatures such as zinc then hot chamber machines are used and if alloys have high melting temperature like aluminium then Cold chamber machines are used. The metal solidifies very quickly and the die is opened to eject the casting. The tooling can be single or multicavity depending on part size and quantity requirements then die or mold is fabricated with the impression of the component. Expected tool life can vary based on the tooling material and part geometry. Let’s have a look in types of die casting.

• Single cavity to produce one component • Multiple cavity to produce a number of identical parts • Unit die to produce different parts at one time • Combinations die to produce several different parts for an assembly

Over 30 Years of Experience in Die Casting Innovation!!

➢ Die casting phases

• Clamping

• Injection

• Cooling

• Ejection

• Trimming

In pressure die casting process a molten metal alloy injected under high pressure into a steel mold. When it comes to pressure die casting then it is a quick, reliable and cost-effective manufacturing process for production of high volume, metal components used in different automotive industries that are well-shaped with tight tolerances. ➢ We lead the globe with our high-quality die casting components

• Die casting eliminates the cost of labor with longer service life, dimensional accuracy.

• High quality production in short time.

• Fine surface quality & Tight tolerances

• Advanced production speed & Extended tool life.

➢ Application of Pressure Die Casting

• Automotive parts- wheels, blocks, cylinder heads.

• Aerospace castings

• Electric motor housings

• Electronic Industry

• Automotive industry

We at Vishwakarma industry looks at product tolerances differently. Our level of quality both meets and exceeds industry standards. With the help of world class testing facilities for steering and suspension parts our products are highly tested and qualified and are more competitive in global market. we assess the form of the part, the proximity of the feature within the tool, and its relation to other features on the part. Our die casting service is offered through a strategic R & D and highly qualified engineered team. Our pressure die casting parts are more durable and have highly efficient quality.

#Die-casting #pressurediecasting #automotiveparts #automotiveindustry #castingcomponents #electronicindustry

0 notes

nekoflashficcing · 8 years ago

Text

GW -- Misadventures

For the @gwblockparty

Title - Misadventures Fandom - Gundam Wing Pairing - None Trope - Magic gone wrong AU/accidental summoning AU

AO3

“Duo, help!”

Hilde burst into the room and flung herself onto her friend, her nails digging into his skin. Duo hissed but didn’t pull away as he let himself be dragged away, stumbling over slippers.

“--the root was too old. Or maybe the glyphs were copied wrong. We had exactly three drops of blood. I don’t know what happened. But we don’t have much time--” Hilde rattled on without context.

“Wait, wait, hold on.” Duo said, digging his heels in the ground to stop advancing.

Hilde opened her mouth to launch herself in another panicked stream of monologuing, her eyes scared and darting around the room and her hands shaking while they fisted her dress. “Duo, I gotta tell you--”

“Sshhh, shhh. Take a deep breath.”

“Duo, there’s something I --”

“Hilde, Hilde, breathe. Breathe.” The no nonsense glare he gave her made her comply. Hilde took gulps of air to calmed her heart. She didn’t even realize she was hyperventilating until she realized how her body was shuddering too uncontrollably and her chest felt too small for her lungs to expand.

Duo’s hand rubbed her back soothingly. “Better now?”

Hilde nodded, swallowing a few times as she finally calmed down. A few deep long breaths later, Hilde steeled herself and looked up at Duo.

“What’s wrong?” Duo asked her.

“I’m sorry,” Hilde said and her hands clung onto his wrist. “I have no time to explain this properly.”

“Why not?”

She didn’t wait for Duo’s response, tugged her friend along again, dodging fellow-peers in the long corridors and up the stairs heading to the Tower. On the way to the Tower, or what the Professors called the Spell Chambers, Hilde had tried to fill him in with sparse information and kept glancing around, afraid that someone or something would jump at her any minute now.

“I was honestly just practising for the exams. With the girls from the Magic Theory class, you know Relena and Sylvia. We weren’t trying to do anything bad. I swear. Saw something in a book or some study. I don’t remember. Honest! We followed the instructions. I even checked it twice in the library. It has these sigils and these incantations. And we--.”

“Hilde, cut to the chase.”

“I--” She inhaled loudly. “Iturnedthemintofrogs.”

“What.”

Hilde let out a whimper, a whine maybe. Duo wasn’t sure.

Duo sniggered. “What exactly? Frogs? Really?”

Hilde finally stopped in front of one of the many Spell chambers and threw the door open and pushed her friend inside before pulling the door closed behind her back. “Please save them, Duo! The spell said we have only less than a fortnight to break the Curse before they die.”

“Wait, Hilde, you were Cursing someone with your friends? I thought you said you were practicing for an exam. That’s so--”

“Irresponsible!” Hilde cried out. “I know! And now I’m sorry I even tried. Please don’t report me to the Professor.”

“Uhm. I was going to say, hilarious. Cuz I never thought you’d be the type to Curse.”

“Duo!” Hilde whapped his arm.

“Sorry.” Duo laughed, dodged another slap while he looked around the chamber.

There was the magic circle in the center of the chamber. He gave it a cursory glance and decided it looked harmless for a Curse circle. Nothing from the sigils gave him hair-raising warnings. Not even the residual magic that still lingered in the chamber. Hilde shouldn't be having problems with this Spell, not when she was backed with Relena and Sylvia, both prospective top Magic Witches of their year.

What went wrong in the first place? Did they mispronounce the words? That was so hard to imagine.

There was a study table pressed against the far wall with several spell books spread across the surface. Pieces of chalk laid scattered outside the circle and a pouch filled with salt was carelessly dropped at the Northern sigil of circle.

“Where are your friends?”

“You just stepped on one of them.”

Duo jumped backwards and stumbled, his back pressed against the door. “Geezus! Sorry. Who did I almost kill?”

Hilde was already on the ground and scooped up one of the frogs. “Sylvia, I think.”

“Sorry, Sylvia.” Duo ducked his head guiltily. “Where’s Relena?”

“Somewhere…around here. Oh! There she is.” Hilde quickly skipped over the magic circle to scoop the second frog from the window ledge. Once she had Relena The Frog secured, she held both frogs expectantly out to Duo.

Both frogs stared at Duo with glassy eyes. Almost pleadingly. If Duo were telepathic, he'd imagined them asking him pitifully for help as well. As if having Hilde direct that same look in her eyes at him wasn't bad enough. He was such a softie.

“Uh, so how am I supposed to help you?” Duo asked.

“I don’t know how. Aren’t you technically the so-called Magic Genius here?”

“Well, not according to the Prof. Last I checked I was a nuisance and had no latent magic skills to speak of.”

“He’s an idiot!” Hilde spat. “So, are you gonna help them or not?”

“How exactly? Remember, there are rules in Spell Casting. Usually the caster can break the Spell.”

“I don’t know how! I’ve already tried the basic counter release magic spells on them. I even kissed them like those fairy tales talked about kisses being Curse breakers.” Duo grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Oh shut up! Nothing worked!”

“Who were you trying to Curse anyway?”

“None of your business! It wasn’t even a True Curse anyway. I was just--we just wanted to teach them a lesson.”

“Let me see the original Curse first.”

Hilde gestured to the table.

Duo picked up the Spellbooks one by one, scanned the pages that were laid open and checked the diagrams to make sure the they were properly drawn on the floor. “With this level, you should’ve been able to complete the Spell successfully.”

“I know~~~ Which is why it was strange this happened! Please tell me there is a counterspell.” Hilde whimpered.

“What kind of conditions have you set on that Spell?”

“A mild one. Nasty frizzy hair Spell.”

Duo nodded absently as he quickly leafed through the Spellbooks, checked the index a few times, flipped back and forth to check certain Spells before deciding they weren’t appropriate in this situation.

After what seem like a long excruciating wait in silence while Duo scanned the Spells, Hilde whimpered. “What are we supposed to do?” Hilde looked down at the two frogs in her arms. They looked back pitifully at her.

“You mean--what are you supposed to do? Cuz this was technically your fault.“ Duo pointed out.

“Fine, sorry. I admit it’s my wrongdoing.”

“How about--” Duo stopped checking the Spellbooks and looked Hilde in the eye. “--I rewrite the spell?”

“Are you crazy?” Hilde cried out. “That’s dangerous! You’re not even a proper Witch yet. If the Professor ever finds out, they’ll do more than just subtract your credits in class. You could get punished for real.”

“As if you three weren’t doing anything dangerous at all when you decided to Curse someone.” Duo pointed out.

Hilde flinched, pressing her lips into a thin, angry line and guiltily ducked her head.

“Look, Hil, sorry. I know you didn’t mean it. You came to me for a solution and I’ll do all I can to reverse this Curse. And we will speak none of this outside this chamber, all right?”

“It’s still dangerous.” Hilde said quietly.

“Well, you’ll never know until you try it.” Duo shrugged, shutting the books closed and went on his haunches to grab a piece of chalk and untied the salt pouch hanging from his hip. He unloaded the salt onto the floor, adding a thicker layer on the outer circle for protection, smudged a few sigils and signs with his hand and added smaller sigils in the circle of the center. He instructed Hilde to place her frog friends inside the magic circle.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Hilde asked nervously, wringing her hands.

“Sort of. In order to reverse the Spell. I need to mirror the signs and change a few words in the Casting.” Duo dropped his chalk and patted the powder off his hands and fingers. “All we need is a drop of my blood, since I technically didn’t cast the Curse. My blood should be able to release them.”

“Are you sure?” Hilde remained unconvinced.

“Well, in theory at least. I’m still doing research on this with Ze--a friend. So now is probably the best time to test it out.” Duo grinned.

On hindsight, he probably should’ve listened to Hilde more. She’s his best friend and came from a long line of powerful Witches herself. She had probably heard this theory before since it’s nothing new in the Witches world, but nobody had gone far enough to prove this theory true.

Until now.

“Stand back, Hil.” Hilde had already propped the table on the ground to hide herself against the wall.

Duo winced as soon as he pricked a thin knife into his fingertip to let his blood drip onto the circle, dropped the knife beside him and then murmured a Spell he had created on the spot by changing a few words from the original Curse.

The circle brightened, emitting light so bright that it nearly blinding them, wind swirled around the chamber, whipping Duo’s hair in disarray and there was a loud screech and a bang.

Once the smoke dissipated and the light no longer piercing the back of their eyeballs, Hilde coughed and waved the lingering smoke aside.

“Duo? Did it work?”

Hilde approached her friend cautiously and tried to see the circle where her frog friends once were. A thick cloud of smoke had obscured them until it finally dispersed from the air when Hilde sent a quick wind Spell around the chamber.

“Well… it worked!” Duo laughed nervously.

He didn’t sound too sure though. Hilde got closer to see--instead of two bodies lying on top of the Circle, there were three. Two of them were thankfully both Relena and Sylvia. Hilde would check them later if they have missing body parts.

The third one though… was a man. A strange man wearing strange clothes.

“Duo, what did you do?”

“A miscalculation. I guess.” Duo leaned closer. “I forgot my blood is not normal.”

“How is it not normal?” Hilde all but screeched.

“Remember what the Prof said about my lack of latent magic? He meant my blood. It’s… impure.” Duo grimaced as he spat those words.

“For your sake, I hope it’s not a demon.”

“That was one time! And it’s not a demon.” Duo said slowly. “He’s not. He feels… different.” Duo reached out carefully to press his index finger on the strange man’s forehead to peak into their memories. But before he even touched the man, their eyes sprang open, wide and dangerous, and Duo felt his world shift, his face was slammed against the floor and his arm wrenched in a painful angle. Duo cried out when he felt the man dig his knee into his back.

“Who sent you?” The man growled. “Who are you?”

“Release him!” Hilde commanded. The strange man didn’t have time to react when her hand slammed a shockwave through his back, his body convulsed violently under the voltage strike before he crumpled on top of Duo.

Duo groaned and crawled out from under the weight, one hand holding his bruised arm as he glared at Hilde. “Next time, can you please strike him when I am preferably out of range, Hil. Look what you’ve done to my hair.”

End

#gundam wing #gwblockparty #my fanfic #nekocin #tyreling #anime #duo maxwell #hilde schbeiker

11 notes · View notes

storyunrelated · 8 years ago

Text

Short Stories

For a given value of ‘short’, seeing as how most people’s definition of a short story is about 5k up to 10k (roughly) while mine is lucky to reach two thousand. But! That’s variety for you, eh? We’re all different? Etc?

Anyway.

These are the ones I’ve put up on here. You’ll notice I don’t do that anymore. The reason – to myself at least – is the ever-lurking notion that one day I might parcel a bunch of these up together and do something fancy with them. Unlikely, but the thought keeps me up at night sometimes. If only because of the work that would be involved.

Speaking of which, I do sometimes also consider parceling up all of these ones into an e-book or something (the ‘Money for Old Rope’ collection I’ve mentioned previously).

This would require work too, as these below are peppered with typos and poor structure. This is because I don’t proofread.

Because I don’t CARE.

(I had to put them below this line because there’s a lot of them and I can’t in good conscience do that to your dashes. Of course, this now means that no-one will look but, you know, swings and roundabouts.)

Unwanted Advances – The logic of online pornographic robots is even more obtuse when they appear in real life, at your front door. Who’d be stupid enough to fall for that?

An Interview With… - Something I wrote for a contest thingy with a local writing group. Didn’t win, obviously. It’s about an interview, obviously. Someone trying to make a big break in the blogosphere by talking with something they found in the garden. In a chasm.

Just A Touch – For a refreshing change, believe what a conspiracy theorist believes for a little bit. Only recreationally, you understand. Just a taste.

In The Loop – A very childish game, played with the very real possibility of horrible consequences should you fail. The thing behind you won’t do wonders for your concentration.

Soothe Me – Sometimes, while doing horrible things for what they think is a good reason, a person might suffer a bout of introspection and wonder whether murder and horror is the right thing to be doing. Luckily, there’s usually someone on hand to explain why being a monster is fine.

Cupcake – There’s a hole in my bathroom wall and out of this hole extends an arm. Me and the arm are buddies, and a cupcake seems a good way of expressing this.

Checklist – What’s keeping you here?

Rollover – Even as your efforts come to nothing and you wither away to dust know that the trying will never stop.

Immovable Object – The next stage in unskippable advertisements (obviously the best form of advertisements) is something rather more difficult to ignore.

Oh What’s New? – Networking is very important! It’s all about who you know! So go in there and try to make some connections! What’s the worst that can happen? Really?

Get Hammered – You’re special, but special doesn’t fit. Don’t worry. You can be made to fit. (And later when you see someone else lauded for not fitting, don’t complain; no-one likes bitterness).

Open Platform – It’s important to let people speak their piece, but it’s equally important to recognise that what some people want to say is nothing but toxic.

Ga-Ga, Goo-Goo – The world is a scary place, isn’t it? So many bad things happening! All so complicated! No solutions without drawbacks! Problems on top of problems with no end in sight! Wouldn’t it be better if you could just divest yourself of responsibility and press yourself to the bosom of someone big and strong who’ll stroke your hair and tell you who’s to blame? Good news!

By The Book – Pick the beliefs that best reflect yours, rather than having to adjust your view to conform to something else – where’s the fun in that? Show me which book lets me hate the people I already hate and let’s get going!

Stay The Course – Support the tyrant to the hilt! Until they do something that directly impacts you, at which point you should bawl your lungs out about how unfair it is.

Old Songs – I thing I wrote out by hand (writing club, again) and then transposed. A man who can fix things by singing to them, obviously. Old songs have power, you see?

Sit Comfortably – What starts as an unusual job interview goes in an unforeseen direction. Specifically underground. Where there are spiders. More spiders, rather. (This story has a lot of spiders).

Things Are Grim – A dystopian broadcast to tell the populace something they already know for no good reason. You never know when an audience who doesn’t know how the future works might be watching, after all.

Tabula Rasa – The Book is very important, but you are not allowed to read it.

Reaper of Souls – A being of immense power watches over the city, guarding it from necromantic mischief. It also likes fanfiction and knows the importance of leaving feedback.

Out The Door – A man makes things and the two others that live with him have differing opinions on what he should do with them once they’re done. Do you improve them first, or do you move on? Ultimately, who even cares?

My Violent Heart – Using machines to turn people into soulless drones so they work without complaint seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Tinted – Goggles that allow you to see the world not as it is, but as you think it should be.

Sanded Down – You only have so much sand in your life and how you use it is very important. But using it is far more important than hoarding it. After all, even if you do something badly at least you’ve done something…

Misshapen – Looking at what everyone else is doing, it seems easy enough to replicate. Right? Right?

For Your Own Good – “Unhand that phallus!” and with that cry is the crime of male masturbation rudely interrupted. But it’s entirely altruistic – that’s spinal fluid, that is!

Flensed – Every month you’re renewed and every months you’re stripped to nothing once more. This horrible process happens without fail and it does not get any easier.

Southern Pole – How else should you define yourself except by how you are not like someone else?

Interloper – You don’t belong here.

Tannin Salon – The best tea in the world? Why, the nectar of the Teabeast of course! Getting it is a bit of a pain, naturally, but that’s all part of the allure!

Well Off – Someone’s been put at the bottom of the well, and someone at the top has a vested interest in this staying that way.

Machinegun Man – A long way from home, in the rain, only a gun for company.

Extra-Curricular – An ovoid in class provides answers the teacher cannot bear to hear.

Little Shop Of Sandwiches – A dusty, quiet little sandwich shop that sells lunchtime snacks the likes of which few have ever seen. The likes fewer still have eaten!

Start The Clock – The time between you starting a conversation and it all falling apart horribly because you’re an awkward mess is always smaller than you think. Clock’s ticking!

Rote – It might feel like you’re doing the same thing over and over (and over) again, but somehow from the outside everyone seems to think you’re all over the place.

Push On – Success can be yours! Look at all these other people! They succeeded. You can too! Just keep going! No matter how had it gets.

Excision – In the future, love is to be outlawed! No-one is really clear as to why, however.

Consult A Doctor – If you experience an erection that kills you, you should probably get that checked out.

Object of Disputation – A child tries to make something nice for their parents but everyone else has an opinion on what it actually is.

Catch Of The Slate Sea – A man on a cliff watches a big ship catch a big fish.

Faceless – We wear many faces in life, acquiring new ones as we grow and as we encounter those who dislike what faces we have already. It can be so hard to keep track of who you were to start with. Then again, were you ever anyone?

Slice And Dice – A man invents a superior method of killing that which is reluctant to die.

We Care A Lot – There are those that are paid to be professionally unpleasant in very public places. Eventually, machines displace all jobs held by persons – such unpleasant people aren’t as safe as they think.

Taste Test – Blended down, is there any real difference between these two people? A focus group shall decide!

Limit Break – Be nice enough and it’s inevitable

Three-Way – Just because what you believe also happens to be what’s best for society doesn’t mean you’re biased or myopic. You’re just sensible! It’s everyone else with the problem.

Better Than – How far would people go to avoid something horrible happening? Often, far enough that they’ll inflict something far worse and fail to see the irony. That’s irony! Is it? Maybe.

Infantalise – Casting men is easy! There’s no upper limit. Women (girls, sorry)? That’s another story! They get old so quickly! And who wants that? We have to go younger. Much, much younger. No, younger than that!

Material – Where do these journalists get these outlandish tales? Out of thin air, obviously.

Barred And Shuttered – Life is full of opportunities! Just not for you. A lifetime of closed doors. Have fun!

So Delicate. So Fragile – A man births an opinion! He’s surprised, but knows he must protect it from everything and everyone. Exposure is lethal to an opinion! It might become something else.

Mother Of Invention – Every new weapon invented is touted as the last one, the one horrible enough to turn mankind off war forever. Eventually that’s got to bear fruit. Surely.

All That’s Fit To Protect – Wrapped in lies, the truth of harm is simply deflected.

Abstinent Without Leave – What’s the best way of ensuring The Youth is not banging away like an outhouse door? Education, trust and respect? No! Ignorance!

Great Hunt – The girl is gorgeous and her father is unusual. A boy is invited to the house of the most popular, wonderful girl at school, though he knows not why. He also doesn’t know why all these other guys have been invited, either.

Nothing To Hide – If you’re not thinking anything bad then you won’t mind having your head smashed and your thoughts poked at, right?

The Perfect Model – The human body is disgusting but we’re forced to hang clothes on it so we must find the best example for this. Why must women insist on having MASS?

Lead Balloon – Trapped in an office a man yearns to run off with the nice lady from across the room. Does it end well? Take a guess.

Four Guys – The best burger you might ever encounter! But at what cost?

By His Own Hand – A man is desperate to leave a mark and to leave life on his own terms.

Somebody Cares – Someone trying to put a comforting, supportive voice into his head does it wrong and regrets his decision. His method of removing the voice might perhaps be going a bit far.

Restructure – Journalists are obsolete. We feed a monster now.

Magic Eye – What’s obvious to everyone is not so obvious to this one guy.

Rod For His Own Back – Watch what you say, or else you may find your words used against you.

Bad Boss – Not everyone is cut out to be an evil overlord.

La-La-La – If you ignore a problem like everyone’s legs turning invisible then it’ll probably just go away.

Inner Glow – Scooping out his insides and replacing them with hot coals.

You May Find This Relevant To Your Situation – Truffling for potatoes in a lake of shit.

The Door Opens and Let’s the Future In - Nigel mustn’t touch the door. The future is on the other side.

Writing Is The Wall - Waking up to find a huge wall has cut their bedroom in half. It says something, but they don’t see it. You will.

Hoops - Life is a series of hoops, and each one matters until you jump it, then you find out it didn’t.

Flat - A man finds out something about his partner he should have noticed before.

Secret Techniques - They make tea differently in this office.

Dancing in the Dark - Do what you enjoy, no matter the audience.

Close Observation - It’s nice to be watched, but it’s not happening.

Slug - The people who run the world are beaten to the punch.

We Have to Go Deeper - Layers of suffering lie beneath your feet, and further still beneath those.

Exegesis - Feel free to bring your own meaning to the book, but disagree with me at your peril. Your soul is at stake.

Square Cube - Weaponising physics to kill kaiju

Irresistible - A court-case segues into just raving about how poorly-handled sexual assault cases are. So, uh, enjoy that.

Smoke - Newspapers spew enough nonsense that it stops working.

The Dick Heard Around the World - A man sends a picture of his penis to a woman. It works too well.

Driving Home for Christmas - I look at the driver next to me. He’s just the same.

Hangers On - Saying the wrong thing can attract unwanted attention.

Bottled Up - A man in a cave puts stories in bottles. No-one cares.

Little Furnace - Curiosity burns bright in the human breast, which can end badly if mishandled.

Pecking Order - The worse a tenant you are, the higher you are placed in the building.

Waiting Around - There are those who sit and wait for opportunity to fall into their laps

Hazy - A man loses himself.

#Amwriting #writing #writblr #writeblr #writers on tumblr #short story #short

2 notes · View notes

onlymorelove · 8 years ago

Text

Fic: I See Fire (1/2)

For @gwennieliz , who gave me this prompt: “You can’t keep it all inside, you know? Bottling it up won’t do any good,“ from this list of sentence starters. Thank you for prompting me, sweetness! If anyone else sent a prompt, I promise I haven’t forgotten you; I’m just a painfully slow writer when it comes to fiction. <3 If anyone else wants to send me a prompt from that list, feel free. Happy Pride month, everybody!

Title: I See Fire (½) Fandom: Timeless Ship: Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston/Wyatt Logan (garcyatt) Rating: PG-13 Summary: Lucy has a nightmare. [Set sometime in the future. Lucy, Garcia, and Wyatt are in a relationship. Yes, all three of them.]

Read under the cut, on AO3, or at FF.net.

Tagging @grey-haven , @gwennieliz , @extasiswings , @inbetween-the-moon-and-you , @nevergrowupnevergrowupnotme & @qqueenofhades . (Happy to untag or tag you; just let me know.)

If you read this, thanks. Feedback is treasured; constructive criticism is welcomed.

Lucy’s eyes opened on the wild current of a nightmare: trapped in her car, she watched it fill with water cascading through windows that were cracked open several inches but wouldn’t respond to her frantic grip. Already her body quaked from the chill of the freezing water, which was now up to her chin. Her head thrashed left and right, panic grabbing hold of her and shaking her like a rag doll in its inexorable grip.

To her right, in the passenger seat, sat a partially decomposed skeleton wearing a cowboy hat tipped at a rakish angle. Empty black eye sockets winked at her above ruined cheeks where the some of the flesh, warped and raw, dripped like melted plastic, exposing the bright gleam of ivory bone beneath. As she watched, the jaw dipped open and a swarm of maggots bubbled forth from the gaping maw.

Her head and her ears pounded with laughter that built and built, climbing until it climaxed in a shriek. She swore her ears were bleeding. Slammed by the grotesque image and the terrible laughter roaring in her head, on instinct Lucy inhaled, sucking river water into her mouth and deep into her lungs, coughing and choking on the burning scream that wanted to rend its way out of her tender, pink throat with razor-tipped claws.

The skeleton raised a bony hand, fingers rolling in a beckoning gesture before they reached out and stroked her cheek, shooting bolts of ice down her spine. As blackness swirled and whispered on the edges of her vision, Lucy slammed her car window—once, twice, three times—with the sharp point of her elbow. Pain echoed through her arm….

"—Ow! Damn it.”

Someone screamed. Loud and shrill as a whistle blast, the piercing cry penetrated the bony plates of Lucy’s skull and burrowed into her brain.

The terror and grief layered in the cacophony clawed at Lucy, drawing hot tears from her eyes. They spilled, scalding, in rivulets down the sides of her face and into her hair. Her eyes shot open to find Garcia leaning over her, straddling her hips. She tried to move her hands only to find they were pinned. “Garcia?” she asked, her voice like two thin, dry sticks rubbing together, and Garcia immediately released her hands and moved aside, sitting back on his haunches next to her. “What happened?” Her hand flew to her chest, where her pulse thundered loud and unpleasant, echoing in the marrow of her bones as her gaze searched the dark room. A single lamp on a bedside table cast an anemic circle of light and a plethora of eerie shadows. Lucy gasped. A hard shiver reverberated through her, making her teeth clack together.

Garcia frowned and pulled at the puddled blanket, pulling it up until it lay over her chest. Then he swept his thumb through the wetness on her face before he responded to her question. “You tell us, Lucy. You were screaming and thrashing around. Did you have a nightmare?” Worry inscribed deep furrows on his forehead.

Bits and pieces of what she’d seen floated back to her. Being trapped in her car again, like in her sophomore year of college, with water pouring in… A gruesome skeleton next to her… Just flotsam and detritus from the depths of her mind and her personal history. A nightmare. Yes.

“—Either that or I did something to piss you off,” Wyatt said from his perch on her other side, a wry note pealing in his voice.

She snapped her head in his direction. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, stretching his jaw.

“What?” she asked, frowning in confusion.

“You got in a couple good shots at me,” Wyatt said with the barest hint of a smile edging his lips. Wincing, he fingered his cheekbone gingerly, eyes squinted in discomfort. “Nobody warned me I’d need protective padding if I slept with you.” He stroked her hair back from her forehead. “I thought I was the reckless hothead in this relationship.”

Lucy groaned and started sitting up. Garcia lifted her pillow upright against the headboard and helped her settle back against it. Dread curdled in her stomach. “Oh no.” She shook her head and stretched a hand toward Wyatt, stopping just short of touching his face. “Tell me I didn’t hit you.” Her fingers wavered near Wyatt’s cheek until he caught them with his own and lifted them to his mouth for a soft kiss.

“It’s fine, Lucy. Don’t worry so much,” Garcia said, tucking the blanket around her hips. “Knowing Wyatt, he had it coming.”

“Ha ha, asshole,” Wyatt said, brandishing his middle finger in Garcia’s direction. “Real funny. Ladies and gentlemen, Garcia Flynn: comedian and douchenozzle extraordinaire.”

Lucy rolled her eyes.

“Sorry, didn’t realize you couldn’t take a joke, Logan,” Garcia said, emphasizing Wyatt’s last name.

“Oh, I love jokes, Flynn.” Wyatt grinned in challenge, flashing a lot of teeth, and Lucy braced herself for whatever absurdity was about to charge out of his mouth. He waggled his eyebrows. “Let me tell you the one about your mom—”

“Guys. Come on,” Lucy said, cutting Wyatt off before things completely disintegrated. Garcia’s mother was a sore spot for him, even in the context of ludicrous banter.

“No no. Please, Wyatt,"—narrow-eyed, Garcia climbed off the bed and stalked toward Wyatt—"why don’t you finish your joke?” Hands balled into fists at his side, Garcia stopped mere inches from where Wyatt still sat on the bed and tilted his head to look down at the other man. His lips twisted into a thin-lipped and insincere facsimile of a smile. “Then I can give you a bruise on the other side of your face. You deserve a nice, matching set.”

Wyatt rose from beside Lucy and advanced on Garcia, rolling his shoulders, back straight and sharp as a knife edge. “You could try,” he said with a pugnacious tilt to his chin and a smirk that made the fine hairs on Lucy’s arms stand on end.

The atmosphere zinged and snapped, teeming with livewire tension. Pregnant with the threat of violence. Lucy tugged at the scoop neck of her nightshirt; their bedroom felt ten degrees hotter than it had five minutes earlier. A bead of sweat skipped down her body and pooled uncomfortably at the small of her back.

The two men stood toe-to-toe, an air of waiting hovering over them, coiled energy vibrating from their tensed muscles. They looked like nothing less than two fighters awaiting a ringing bell to signal the beginning of their bout. They appeared to have forgotten she was in the room; the entirety of their attention focused, laser-like, on each other. Their chests rose and fell on a synchronized cycle of breaths. Each man’s exhale ricocheted off the man standing opposite. Their bodies cast hulking shadows on the gray-blue walls they and Lucy had agreed upon. Blue is peaceful and calm, she had told them when it was time to pick a paint color for their bedroom walls. They had shrugged and agreed that it was a nice enough color.

Lucy had to stop this—whatever nonsense was about to explode in their bedroom.

Bedrooms were meant for sleeping, cuddling, sharing secrets under cover of darkness, and fucking. All of that, yes. But not brawling.

The thing was—the thing was, Lucy loved Wyatt and Garcia. This life they shared, it wasn’t anything like what she’d expected to have when she’d been a girl imagining a future love. But it was real and hers and true. She knew they loved her, and she knew they loved each other, too, the same way she knew the sun would rise every morning. With that love came an intimate dossier replete with ways to bore under each other’s thin skin and cause an itch that would just have to be scratched.

A blind, deaf, and mute person could see neither Garcia nor Wyatt was going to back down from a direct challenge. (Lucy Preston was none of those things.) Garcia and Wyatt, on the other hand, well, they were idiots. But they were her idiots, and she wasn’t going to watch them follow each other like two lemmings sailing off a cliff into a valley of flaming refuse.

Wracking her brain for a solution, Lucy came up empty-handed. Not to be deterred, she grabbed the pillows on either side of her and launched them at Garcia and Wyatt, nailing them both in the face. Take that, she thought. It seemed her aim was better than she’d thought.

Both men swiveled to face her.

“What the —?”

“Lucy!”

With a nod of satisfaction, she threw off the blanket Garcia had snuggled around her with such care, hopped off the bed, and marched over to her idiots. She schooled her face into as severe lines as she could manage, then skewered both men with a diamond-hard glare. Neither held her gaze, choosing instead to stare at the floor as if it held the secrets of the universe. Their faces folded into identical expressions of sheepishness.

She tapped Garcia on the arm to get his attention. When he looked up from the floor, she crooked a finger at him, beckoning him down to her level. He acquiesced, and she stood on tiptoe and grasped his earlobe with her thumb and forefinger. Giving it a good tug, she pulled him toward the bed.

“Ah!” Garcia said, grimacing. “Is this really necessary, Lucy?”

“Yes, it is,” she said, releasing her grip on his ear and pointing to the bed. “Sit,” she added, and there was titanium in her voice.

Garcia sagged down on the bed, arms crossed in front of him, expression distinctly pouty. All the belligerence and swagger had left his posture, siphoned out like air from a leaky balloon.

Wyatt snickered behind Lucy. She rounded on him so fast his eyes widened. Though his hands shot up in front of him in a placating gesture, Lucy still took him by the ear and tugged him to the bed. She wasn’t going to treat him any differently than she’d treated Garcia.

“Ow. Luce.”

“Don’t you ‘Luce’ me, Wyatt Logan,” she said, releasing him and tilting her head toward the bed. “Sit,” she said. Her voice was a one-word command Wyatt dared not disobey.

Her blue-eyed lover sat poised on the very edge of the bed, his hands folded demurely in his lap, while the green-eyed one curled his body into a question mark, his upper body slumped and his bare feet flat on the floor. They so resembled naughty school boys facing a stern headmistress that Lucy fought a mighty battle not to smile. Marshaling her defenses, she set her hands on her hips and pinched her mouth into a thin line.

What, she thought, looking at their bowed heads, am I going to do with these two drama queens?

#nbc timeless #garcia flynn #lucy preston #wyatt logan #garcyatt #timeless fanfiction #prompt fic #gwennieliz #onlymorelove writes fic

14 notes · View notes

lykegenia · 8 years ago

Text

The Things We Hide Ch. 3

The Southern Water Tribe stood for a hundred years against the Fire Nation, indomitable until Sozin’s Comet tipped the balance in Fire Lord Ozai’s favour. Now, as planned, the South is decimated, Chief Hakoda is a puppet on his throne, and Princess Katara is a political prisoner held in the Fire Nation capital to ensure his good behaviour. But Ozai has little time to gloat. A vigilante masquerading as the Blue Spirit is causing unrest among the people, rebel ships still hound his navy, and right under his nose the South’s most powerful waterbender waits with the patience of ice to strike at the very heart of his empire and bring it crashing down.

Chapter 1 on AO3 Previous chapter on AO3

Words: 3,526 Pairing: Zuko x Katara Chapter Summary: The Blue Spirit spends his nights fighting crime in the lower reaches of the Caldera. Tonight, under the light of the full moon, he runs into someone he did not expect.

Read it on AO3

Night in the Fire Nation summer always came with a sigh of relief, the sky powdered with stars and the dusty streets of the capital sagging after the day’s strain of busy travel and hot sunlight. People opened the lattices on their windows to tempt in the breeze rolling in off the eastern sea, and pulled mosquito curtains around their beds to keep the biting insects out. In the better districts, lanterns illuminated the metalled highways and cobbled alleys, tempting evening patrons towards the eateries and teahouses, and reassuring the wealthy that even in pernicious darkness they could walk without fear of cutpurses or thugs.

The Blue Spirit never frequented these brightly lit streets. The guard concentrated their patrols in the central part of the city, and that, coupled with the stringent punishments meted out for criminals who attacked nobility, meant only the very stupid or truly desperate succumbed to the temptation to pick well-lined pockets.

Sometimes, people saw him as a shadow flitting over the rooftops, nothing more than a silhouette against the stars, but he was gone so swiftly and made so little noise that most of the sightings were put down to wild imaginations or, more probably, indigestion. The guards tasked with tracking down the elusive vigilante faced more problems than just the Blue Spirit’s skills, however. In the few months since whispers began to permeate through the entire capital, he had become a fashionable topic of conversation, and young ladies swooned over reports of the shadow’s trim physique while their escorts grumbled about how he made a mockery of Fire Nation justice.

Very few in the richer areas of the city paid any attention to the reason for the Blue Spirit’s continued presence.

Crouched on the roof of a warehouse in the merchant docks, Zuko kept watch. The tiles were still warm beneath the touch of his thin gloves, the smell of fish and tar almost overpowering through the holes in his Blue Spirit mask. No lights shone in this part of the capital, populated as it was by the poor and broken-down, those who spent the long hours of their days toiling in the factories or on the coal ships that brought raw materials for the industry that drove the war. After the sun set and the whistles blew for the end of shifts, fatigue ruled here as the workers trudged home and waited for the next inevitable day to begin.

What few businesses had survived the stranglehold of the war were being starved out by the gangs that roved through the night-time streets, paying off or intimidating the official guards ordered to the wards as a show of force. With so many conscripted into the war, only the vulnerable remained, and they continued to be exploited because it was easier to let the poor suffer than to root out those causing the city to crumble from within.

Footsteps approached. Zuko’s hands clenched into fists as he recognised the hulking, scarred figure he had hunted for two weeks, but he forced himself to stillness. If he made a mistake now, all his research, all the risks he had taken, would come to nothing. The brute, an enforcer named Lao Shu, the Tiger, turned down a gloomy side alley, lost to sight briefly as Zuko moved to follow him. Any noise his feet made as he pursued was lost in the gentle lap of waves against the stone-piled harbour wall.

Wherever Lao Shu was headed, he wanted nobody following. Twice he changed direction to avoid the sound of voices, and when he finally came to a stop, he flicked his eyes left and right to make sure he was alone. From his vantage point on the cargo crane above, Zuko watched as the man knocked on a rusted door set in the side of a dilapidated boat shed, grunted a password, and slipped inside.

Behind the mask, Zuko’s eyes glittered. He waited for Lao Shu to emerge, and when he didn’t, he stretched out the cramp in his leg, climbed down the neck of the crane, and leapt wraithlike onto the shed. The roofing timbers were rotten, so Zuko trod carefully, using the light of the newly risen full moon to pick his way along the shingles. A jagged hole yawned just below the spine of the roof, and grumbled voices rose with flickering light through the cracked wooden planks, too low for Zuko to hear their words.

He recognised the tones, though. The high whine of the man nicknamed Guard Dog, who acted as a scout and a runner for the others; the gravelly bass of Lao Shu, who had been an engineer aboard a battle cruiser until a Water Tribe attack left soot in his lungs and half his crew dead; others Zuko knew by face if not by name, all of them lieutenants for the man he had come to find, the man who called himself the Captain.

As he crept up to the opening and leaned over the lip, a flash of grey feathers exploded out of the darkness. The pigeon-rat veered and fluttered into the night, the confused slap of its wings against the air loud in the quiet.

Zuko flattened himself against the roof in case his shadow gave him away. Below, the voices died away.

“What was that, Captain?” came the timid voice of Guard Dog, when nothing else moved.

A deeper voice grunted. “Lao Shu, did anyone follow you?”

“N-no, boss.”

“Did you see anyone!” demanded the Captain.

“No, I looked, I swear!” Lao Shu replied.

Another voice spoke up. “What if it was the -”

“Don’t say his name, Kazon,” Guard Dog hissed. “It summons him!”

“It would, if he wasn’t just some jumped up nobody in a mask,” Kazon retorted. “Stop being so paranoid. We stick him, he’ll bleed just like anyone else.”

“It cannot be the Blue Spirit,” declared the Captain, raising his voice to be heard above the squabbling of his lieutenants. “Nobody among you would be foolish enough to squeal after what happened to Yan Yu, would you?”

The men gathered around the Captain shuffled their feet, darting glances at their hands and those around them. Nobody wanted to remember their last sight of Yan Yu, a low-level grunt terrified of the Blue Spirit and the Captain both, as he pleaded forgiveness for spilling secrets to the city guard. It didn’t stop the Captain torching him from the feet up and then pushing him down the breakwater.

“No, boss,” they mumbled.

They startled when something tapped on the outer door.

“Heh, it’s probably just an alley scrounger,” Kazon joked, though he looked towards the open roof nervously.

“Guard Dog, whatever it is, deal with it,” said the Captain.

“But -”

“I’ve had enough of your paranoia. Do you really think the Blue Spirit would knock?”

“I… no, boss.” Guard Dog ducked his head and sidled out of sight of the others, down the narrow corridor that once connected the master’s yard with the foreman’s office.

Once his footsteps died away, the Captain turned to the rest of his lieutenants. “Does anyone else have something to say? No? Good.” He rocked to his feet, using the piled cord-rope he had been sitting in to steady himself. Although luckier than most of his battalion, he was still pained by the injury he sustained at the first siege of Ba Sing Se, when an earthbender swiped a boulder into his kneecap and brought him crashing down. He had been sprawled in the dirt when in a flash of brilliant light the avatar appeared and levelled the entire army, killing the general’s son and most of his friends.

“Since the subject has been brought up, it is time to discuss our shadowy friend,” he said, pushing away the memories. “Too many times has this rogue got in the way of our work. He doesn’t seem to realise only the strong survive in this city. Worse, he creates hope for the peasants, which means there is less room in their tiny skulls for fear of us.”

“It’s cutting into our profits!” cried Kazon.

“If he worked with the guard it’d be easy to sort him out,” Lao Shu grunted.

“He knows the guard work for us. He handed Ty Mai to that sake merchant in the coiner’s quarter. He and the butcher messed him up real bad, I heard.”

The captain growled for silence. “It appears our solution is simple. To protect ourselves and our investments, we must -”

“Hey,” Kazon interrupted. “Where’s Guard Dog?”

Guard Dog hadn’t returned from the door. He wasn’t the only one missing. Outside the small ring of firelight cast by the makeshift hearth, only six of the ten lieutenants remained, their pale faces sweaty with nerves. They pressed together so they could face the darkness and the threat that surely lurked within it.

Then, caught in a dim patch of moonlight, a shape moved.

“H-h-he’s here,” someone whispered.

“Then he’s saved us an effort,” the Captain snarled at them.

“What do we do, boss?”

The mask floated towards them, no sound of footsteps or breath with which to tell that there was really a man underneath it. The eye-holes were pitch black and blank, boring straight through to the fear in their hearts.

“He’s brave taking us out one at a time,” said the Captain. “But he’s no match for us all at once, and in the light, he has no advantage.

The mask paused its advance, cocking its head as if the small fire was something it had not considered.

“See? What do you have to be afraid of? Get him!”

The mask veered backwards. Behind the thugs, the flames roared to the height of the ceiling.

And extinguished.

Unable to see, unsure of what made them blind, Lao Shu and the others panicked. When of the first of them grunted and yelled in pain they lashed out, swinging fists and fireballs into the darkness.

Zuko danced between his opponents. His swords sheathed, he used his fists to break their stances, tripped them with his legs. Most of these men had been his father’s soldiers once, spat out by the system when they lost their usefulness, and he didn’t want to kill them. But many were twice his size and in the brief flashes of the Captain’s firebending he saw the murderous intent in their eyes.

Someone grabbed him around the shoulders, pinning his arms at his sides. Lao Shu lumbered towards him with an iron chain whirling above his head. Zuko ducked, dragging his attacker to the floor with the unexpected dead weight of his body, then surged upwards. He caught the big man in the groin then struck an elbow at the back of his neck to bring him down.

Within minutes all six lay sprawled on the floor in a circle around the Blue Spirit, groaning over their injuries or else unconscious in untidy heaps. Only the Captain stood unscathed, his hands out to ward off the silent figure who every moment seemed more and more like a demon. He heard the dry rasp of steel as the Spirit reached up and drew his signature liangdao from the sheath on his back.

“You’ve got some nerve,” the Captain growled. His voice broke over the words. “What do you want?”

The Spirit remained implacable.

“Hey, now listen,” he stammered as the Spirit moved toward him. “I could use a guy like you. What are you after? Money? I got more than enough for you.”

Another step.

“Not money. Alright. You’re right, I know it’s not fair, what we do, but what else is there? Nobody cares about us, not the Fire Lord, not the guard, nobody. They use us up then cast us off like we’re nothing. What’s wrong with taking a little back?”

You don’t take back, Zuko wanted to yell. You do to others what those in power did to you. He forced his anger down. There would be time to deal with the ministers and the bureaucrats later. He could not allow himself to be distracted.

The Captain staggered as his weakened knee buckled beneath him, flames igniting in his palms. “What do you want?”

The Spirit halted. His mask tipped to the side and paused, then, very slowly, one of the swords raised until it pointed straight at the Captain’s chest. The message was clear.

Rubble shifted behind Zuko. He turned just as Lao Shu lunged out of the darkness, hoping to catch him off guard and slam him to the floor. The Captain took advantage of the momentary distraction and sent a stream of fire hurtling from his fist, but Zuko was already twisting away, and the flames caught on his adversary’s clothes instead. Lao Shu screamed as they licked higher, filling the dank meeting place with the stench of burning hair and cooking meat.

The Captain fled. Zuko hesitated, but saw in an instant Lao Shu couldn’t be saved. The man’s flailing tipped him into a half-rotten barrel of tar that collapsed under his weight. Black liquid spilled against the walls, the fire trailing after, hungry for the scraps of sailcloth and seasoned wood stockpiled for boat repairs. The men still lying unconscious wouldn’t stand a chance, and Lao Shu was already dead.

Cursing, he sheathed his swords and grabbed at the bodies on the ground. The fire raced him. It slithered along the walls of the corridor as he dragged the survivors to the door and the clean air beyond. Heat scorched his throat though he tried to push the flames back with his bending, so slow its spread. Smoke stung his eyes. Just a few more steps…

He kicked the door off its rusted hinges. Air sucked in with a roar to feed the blaze behind him. Zuko bent it back and hauled the four he’d been able to save clear of the structure. So much time had cost him a lead on the Captain.

A groan wobbled up from near Zuko’s feet. Guard Dog slapped his hand over his face, rubbing fingers over eyes caked with ash to see the impassive face of the Blue Spirit staring down at him, framed by the burning building.

“You – you – we were in there?” he gibbered. “You saved us, why -?” But he blinked and the spirit vanished.

The Captain was already three streets away. He tripped over a flock of cat-gulls scrounging through a wharfside midden, startling them into affronted, squawking flight. Although he had known these streets most of his life, terror and the darkness turned him around, until he found himself limping across the main thoroughfare that led from the city proper to the military docks in the northern part of the bay. In the full moonlight the flagstones shone like pearls, he himself a dark and easily tracked blot upon their flawless surface.

He folded to his knees, the old injury flaring with a stab of white fire up his leg. Smoke clung to his clothes and his breath dragged in his lungs as his body recovered from the unaccustomed exercise. Let the Spirit catch up, damn him, and throw him to the guard. He had survived the avatar’s attack at Ba Sing Se, he would survive whatever this jumped-up vigilante had to throw at him.

But something strange was happening in the harbour. The water churned and bubbled with froth that shone in the moonlight, making the boats tied at the outer jetties bob like toys in a bathtub. Above the low splashes against the breakwater came a steady, metallic groan of protest as the three gigantic troop carriers anchored in the deeper water strained at their mooring lines. Astonished, the Captain watched as they pitched and heaved as if caught in a maelstrom on the open ocean rather than safe behind the breakwater on a clear, calm night. He heard one anchor chain snap, saw the ship buck one last time as it was carried across the bay, felt the rattle in his bones as it crashed and broke open against the stone pilings that held back the ocean.

From the roof of an armoury warehouse, Zuko saw it too. The impossibility of the sight brought him to a standstill, all thought of the Captain forgotten. The welding along the hull of the second ship popped and contorted, its spine broken against its mate, the whole side of the vessel splitting like an egg to reveal the internal structure and the few unlucky souls trapped within. Fires broke out where sparks met engine oil, and Zuko smelled the tang of hot metal on the wind.

He had to move. Such an act of sabotage… he had to stop it.

As he leapt between buildings he lost sight of the carnage, but the disturbing sounds coming from the dock spurred him onwards. In place of screeching metal something large glugged and sucked at the water. Zuko picked up his pace.

He skidded to a halt moments later as the last line of buildings fell away. Nothing stood between him and what was happening on the water, and nothing prepared him for what he was seeing.

“What the…”

Backlit by the burning wrecks of the two other troop carriers and the moon above, the third ship had been pulled to the mouth of the harbour by ropes of mud and seaweed that seemed born of the ocean itself. Waves lapped white at the dark hull as it was dragged under, crushed in an awful display of elemental power.

“Look over there!”

It took a moment of panicked scrambling for Zuko to realise he was already well hidden, and that the people spilling from the tavern weren’t looking at him. The grizzled old sailor who had spoken pointed at the pier where the largest of the troop carriers had been moored.

Someone stood there. From such a distance, details were impossible to make out, especially given the figure’s black clothing and the dim, wavering light of the flames. Without conscious thought, Zuko started running again, his eyes fixed on the stranger and the strange swinging movements of their arms. Several people shouted shocked curses behind him, but he ignored them like a moose-lion would flies. He had to get to the pier. He had to stop whatever madness this was, before the situation got worse.

Lights bobbed from behind the nearest row of buildings ahead as the city guard closed in. At their panicked calls the figure turned, hands raised in a defensive stance. Zuko tumbled to a halt from his headlong sprint less than fifty yards away, liangdao poised and every line in his body prepared for an attack.

Even so close he couldn’t be sure the stranger was human. Face paint in shades of black, grey, and white striped sharp angles across whatever defining features the saboteur possessed, blurring it at the edges and exacerbating certain features into something unearthly and grotesque. Looking down, Zuko found his face growing hot behind the Blue Spirit mask. Whoever this person was, she was female. The material that hid her intentions in the darkness did less to hide the lithe curves of her hips or the soft swell of her breasts. His gaze lingered despite his best intentions, watching as her shoulders lost their predatory tension. Her eyes, wide and pale in the moonlight, roved over him from mask to feet and back again, though he couldn’t tell if she was just surprised or observing him as keenly as he was her. An unexpected tingle shivered down his spine.

“Over here! The Blue Spirit!”

The sound of his name made him spin around, swords raised to face the threat of the guard. They halted at the edge of the dock, unwilling to approach the dangerous vigilante but conscious that short of diving into the water, he had nowhere to run.

“What are you waiting for, lads?” called out their captain. “Get him!”

Zuko shot a look over his shoulder as a pair of firebenders stormed towards him, but the strange woman was nowhere to be seen. He cursed inwardly and shook her from his mind as he fell into a fighting stance. The faster he dispatched the guard, the sooner her could sneak back to his rooms and catch some sleep before the inevitable chaos this act of terrorism would cause.

The night shattered with a deafening crack. The guards stuttered to a halt to watch and Zuko used the distraction to dart through their lines, not slowing his pace until he gained the roof of a fish-salting warehouse and gave in to his curiosity to look back. Bystanders gasped and raised prayers to Agni as they watched the final troop carrier sink beneath the sea, snapped in half by the forces pressing it from all sides. Already mutters of spirits and supernatural retribution rippled through the crowd. By tomorrow the tale be exaggerated, the wreckage scattered on the breakwater a damning corroboration of the story and an unsettling message to the Fire Nation’s enemies across the ocean.

Zuko was about to have a very long day.

#zutara #zutara fanfic #zuko x katara #katara x zuko #atla #avatar fanfiction #zuko #katara #my writing #story: the things we hide

1 note · View note

scurvgirl · 8 years ago

Text

Queen of the Stone, Part 4

Read on AO3, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

She has been a Grey Warden for eleven years, and the taint is beginning to consume her. She needs to find a cure soon. So Elodie Amell sets out in search and finds herself in the city thought long-lost, Kal-Sharok. There she discovers something much bigger than just a cure for the taint running through her body.

A companion story to my other story, In Your Gaze I Wish to Stay, but this can be read separately!

Beyond the Veil

They reach the Titan.

The home of the Titan as Karega called it so poetically, was gargantuan. Elodie could see no end in sight to the vast expanse before her and she wondered exactly how far it really did extend into the earth.

They stepped onto the bridge leading out to one of the smaller rock and building outcroppings. Where they would go from there…she wasn’t entirely sure. If this was the home of the Titan, shouldn’t things be happening? Shouldn’t she feel it or have some clue as to where it was? She reached out with her magic to tentatively feel the condition of the Veil, concerned that whatever battles that clearly had happened centuries ago had weakened it.

The Veil rippled easily, carrying the small burst of energies across its wavelengths. The Fade pulled then pushed against the Veil, snapping at Elodie like a band. She retracted her magic quickly, hissing at the electricity in her hand.

Pritte paused and tilted his head to the side, “Everything all right, El?”

“Uh, yes. Just…the barrier between our world and the Fade is…not thin, per se, but volatile. I’ve never felt something quite like this before,” she explained. Pritte raised his eyebrows at her and looked at the vast expanse before them.

“That’s not reassuring, Long Legs,” Karega called.

“What results in such a change?” Pritte asked.

“Battles, places where a great number of people have died, or there were lots of magical energies coalescing together are all found to thin the Veil. But this feels…different. Yes, there is a thinness to it, but there is also a defensiveness.”

“You speak as though this is a living creature.”

Elodie shrugged, “It…certainly unique. Perhaps it’s like lyrium, a certain magical carrier but also…more?” It was pure speculation but she knew that lyrium and the Fade were definitely connected.

And while it was interesting to speculate on, she did not have the energy or time to spend on it. Elodie followed Karega and Effir to the building on the other side of the bridge.

“I assume we need to go down?” She said.

“That…seems right,” Effir replied, cocking their head to the side. Elodie furrowed her brow.

“Seems?”

“The Stone feels different here, it’s so potent that it’s hard to pick out a direction to walk in,” Pritte said.

“This is where Gurendar took his fall,” Karega said. Her voice was quiet and silencing as they turned to watch her. There was no hint of weakness in her, no extreme display of emotion – just her and her armor and gear. She looked out down at the mist covered depths of the cavern, her face blank.

“The Titan is down there; we just need to figure out how to get there.” Karega stepped away from the ledge and headed down a spiral staircase in the center of the room. The rest of them followed, Pritte lagging behind somewhat as he tried to jot as much information as he could down.

When they reached the bottom, they came to another bridge. The far side of which was obscured by the mist. The hair on the back of Elodie’s neck prickled – something wasn’t quite right. Lyrium buzzed in the air and there was a high pitched keening in Elodie’s ears, ringing before clear sound gave way.

You’re here?

Elodie blinked and fortified her mind. Spirits could and did often lurk even in the deepest of places. She had resisted them all before, she was not going to ruin that record now just because of sleep deprivation. She had survived worse.

The ringing cut off and they began to move across the bridge.

You are not alone! Please listen – No! She was not listening to this spirit! She blinked and trudged forward. She had ignored the spirits and the Archdemon, she could ignore this. Except her head was beginning to ring and feel fuzzy.

The only way was forward.

They were half way across the bridge when she noticed Pritte was lagging behind, caught at some interesting railing of the bridge.

“Pritte! Come on!” She gestured for him to keep up, to follow the walkway to the side of the building. They were now pressed against the side of one of the rock outcroppings. Pritte gathered his things and hurried along to get in front of Elodie now.

A glowing dart suddenly split through the air and landed right beside his head. Pritte screamed in shock and stumbled back, about to tip back into the chasm when Elodie waved her staff up and sent him back up on the walk way and into the wall of rock. He fell on his butt no less for wear, but Karega growled at the bolt and yanked it down.

She began to shout at the void in dwarven, though it was unclear if there was anyone there. Pritte listened to her and blanched before launching himself up and began to shout in what…sounded vaguely different from her speech. His tone was much more placating, beseeching than her angry tirade.

Elodie cast a simple barrier around them, regardless.

“I think…we should move,” she whispered, feeling unease suddenly take root in her stomach. They had to move, had to…get away from this place. She looked up at the pulsing lyrium above her head.

Yes, that, they should follow that.

The lyrium was so blue, so pure, untouched and untainted by all around it. Her hand reached up, touching its smooth exterior. She gasped and a loud screech filled the chasm.

The lyrium at her finger tips turned red and she jerked it away. No, red is bad. The color disappeared as quickly as it appeared but the cavern shook, groaned.

“MOVE!” Elodie shouted just in time for a cloud of bolts to suddenly appear in the fog. She drew up a barrier, stopping them and then high tailed it with the others down the spiraling walk way. More and more bolts appeared and she brought the barrier back, but it was exhausting work, she maybe had two more of these in her before she had to stop due to pain and exhaustion.

Sleep. She hadn’t slept in thirty-three hours.

They pushed forward faster, her long legs carrying her faster than her dwarven counterparts, but she was unwilling to leave them.

You do not need them.

They will not be harmed.

Leave them now.

Run to us.

We will welcome you.

Elodie Yvetta Amell.

Come.

Her vision went white for a moment as the invasive thoughts trickled into her brain. She should outrun the dwarves. Leave them behind.

NO! She could resist this, just like she resisted the Archdemon ten years ago in the Dead Trenches.

We are no Archdemon.

We simply wish to talk.

Every demon says that, and she wasn’t falling for it. She could hear the demon of Pride in her head, whispering to her about true tests never ending. It was right, temptation for a mage was never absent – but resistance…that was their true strength.

Another hailstorm of bolts launched themselves at her group and she brought up a wall of fire, incinerating their attempts. They were not such easy prey.

Elodie –

No, that was enough. She was done listening to the voices in her head.

The rock beneath and around them shook as a hole was suddenly blown apart behind them. Elodie’s eyes widened in shock as she saw…dwarves emerge from the hole, their bodies glowing brightly with lyrium.

Karega growled more dwarven profanities, readying her axe. Effir and Pritte took their stances and another shockwave sounded through the space. This time from around the bend of the outcropping, closing them in. She took a deep breath, she had faced worse odds, she had taken down an Archdemon, she had battled through the deep roads, and she had slain giants.

She opened a lyrium philter on her belt and tossed it back before driving the end of her staff into the stone above their heads.

A gasp escaped her. There were…spirits…in the stone. Sleeping, ancient spirits.

Help us? She pleaded, letting out a burst of her own radiating spirit healing energy. They sighed and the stone moved. It parted on a great thunderous crack and began to slip down away from the dwarves and down the outcropping.

Karega, Pritte, and Effir screamed as she jolted the slab of rock down and into the pit of fog. More stone blew up and the attacking dwarves began to scale the rock down after them.

“Pritte, give me the throwing axes,” Karega demanded and promptly began to throw axes at the crossbow bearers. One landed soundly in the skull and the dwarf stuttered and fell off into the void. The others did not stop however, as they advanced on Elodie and her group’s position.

Faster, she urged the boulder and then jerked her staff, changing direction to shoot up at a diagonal, spiraling around the stalagmite. It slammed into some of the dwarves, creaking, grinding, groaning as it blasted by against the grain of the rock. But she pushed it, feeling the old spirits wraps themselves around her body and imbue her with new energy.

She was a mage specialized in spirits, after all.

They whispered to her, old names and old things that she barely heard over the cacophony of battle. But they were joyous to be finally awake and…freed? Yes, freed.

The other…things tried to whisper to her as well, but she focused on her task to get her people safe. She jerked her staff again, going down and then sharply back up, using the stone as a battering ram. She would lose energy for this soon, however, if she did not find a solution….

Ah. Solution.

She launched the rock up back to the walkway. She urged her dwarves up onto it then turned back to their attackers, quickly following them. She touched the stone again and pulled out another spirit, this one bigger and brighter, sighing happily as it’s released from its stone prison.

How thin must the Veil be down here? She wondered, for the spirit to emerge from the stone and wrap its wispy body around Elodie, sinking its power deep within her.

Thank you, it said before they turned and raised a hand, freeing the…hundreds of spirits from their stone prisons, floating out and knocking back the dwarves into the abyss.

Elodie collapsed as the spirits left her, almost singing in their harmony as she felt the Veil waver and split.

Magic suffused the air and the cavern trembled in response. Spirits flooded, then receded, came back and then receded into the Fade, content with the equilibrium suddenly found.

The lyrium suddenly glowed brighter and she felt the voice in her head boom.

Free!

Finally free!

The song returns!

We’re Free!

So many voices, clouding her head, judgement, she couldn’t –

She staggered to stand up, Karega reached out, Effir called out a warning, but it was too late.

Elodie hit the edge of the rock and tipped back, falling into the depths.

Spirits continued to whoosh by her as their thoughts and the thoughts of the Titan, she thought, invaded her mind. Fear and confusion were rampant but not directed at her impending doom as she plummeted down…down…

Down, until the air changed and she was suddenly suspended up by the air. She dropped again when the air suddenly stopped. She screamed and the air resumed. Then cut off. And bit by bit she seemed to…be lowered to the depths until her feet touched solid ground and she fell with an “oomph!”

Still unsure she was alive, she remained on the ground, surrounded by warm fog. What…just happened?

Elodie had lived through many weird things. From being sent into the Fade and fighting other people’s nightmares to meeting a walking-talking demon possessed corpse to meeting an intelligent darkspawn…she had seen much, done more, and had learned a long time ago to expect the unexpected, and above all, if you think it’s too weird to happen, it will happen.

But this took the cake.

She was at…the bottom. The very lowest she felt she and the stone could go. The source of the air that had buoyed her up was conspicuously absent as the fog parted and a slimmer than average dwarven man strode forward. His white hair was long to the point of nearly reaching the ground, his eyes a brilliant blue from lyrium and his skin glowed blue with lyrium infused blood.

He was…beautiful, though, with a smile that seemed to wrap warmth around her.

“Be welcome, Elodie Amell, Hero of Ferelden.” His voice rang out clearly, though heavily accented. She trembled as she recognized his voice from earlier, except now it wasn’t in her head, but it filled the space all around her still.

“You were trying to convinced me to run ahead.”

He nodded, “Yes, I wished to speak to you about removing the seals placed around this place to allow the Titan to awaken fully. But apparently that was unnecessary.” He smiled again and her heart dropped. What did she do? She helped awaken the creature that was potentially killing her? Driving her mad to keep her down her the entire time like…

“You’re Gurendar,” she whispered and he nodded.

“I am. Or was. I am…what is the word in common? Chosen? …Checked? No, no…Champion. That is the word, Champion of the Titan, now. Though that title does not carry the same weight in your tongue as it does in mine.” He cocked his head to the side and strode closer, offering her a hand to stand up. She declined and rose herself, unwilling to put more pressure on her lyrium burns.

“We thought you dead.”

“That is a logical conclusion for what Karega saw. But as you can see, I am very much alive…just like you are. Just like the Sha-Brytol you forced off of the cliffs.”

Her eyes widened.

“Your friends will not be harmed. And as for why you are here…the Titan is not your enemy. We do not seek to harm you or our children. That is not why we called you.”

The obvious question tickled her tongue, but she couldn’t speak, just watch in strange fascination as he moved about the space, the fog briefly obscured his figure, only for him to appear once again, hands behind his back.

“We called you because we needed someone with magic to break the seal, to release those that kept us bound for all these millennia. We rejoiced when we felt you enter Kal-Sharok. And we tried to communicate with you but…it seems our methods have not improved. We apologize for the discomfort.” His voice was like a lullaby, soothing and warm, lulling her into a sense of complacency when she knew better.

“Those visions…what were they?” She asked and his face fell into a hard expression.

“To explain what happened, to tell you why it was so important for you to come, but it seems that those who are not of the Stone do not comprehend as well.” He did not elaborate any more, but began to walk away from her. Cursing inwardly, Elodie followed him until he stopped and looked up. The fog obscured everything but she could the faint glow of lyrium, bright and pure and singing in the center.

“We are old. And we have power. There are those in this world who will do anything for power and view it as a commodity to be had by themselves alone. But that is not the case. What was not be yours never will be, and trying to take it will only warp it into something unrecognizable. Give me your hand.” He held his own out and she looked at it for a long time.

There was…sorrow here. Spirits trapped for millennia, and this man was called as she had been. They were alive and she suspected that it was due to the Titan. Whatever it was, whatever plan it had, it didn’t appear malicious as so much as directing in a very clear manner.

She placed her hand in his. He raised it up to the glowing sphere of lyrium, and she expected the burn but all that came were visions of what was. Tears slipped down her face and she cried in shock, “No.”

A beautiful, tall elven woman walked through the Deep Roads, the tails of her armor billowing behind her in great bloody swaths of part magic part fabric. Hundreds of elves followed her, and for everyone that was clad in elegant, bloodied armor, there were ten more chained and crying as they descended into the deep.

The roads were pristine then all sharp and new carvings. But here they were tarnished the blood of the Children of the Stone, their bodies lining the halls.

And the woman laughed, smiling and happy as she strode past them all. Foreign words slipped past her lips that Elodie distantly recognized. Anger suffused the image and she felt the earth shake around the elves as skrimmers, Crestals, and deepstalkers flooded the chambers.

When she spoke next, Elodie did recognize the words.

“Is this the might of the dwarves? The force of the Titan? How pitiful.” The slaughter was not quick as she delighted in maiming, cutting, and inflicting torture upon the poor creatures.

She cut a great swath of red and blood to the Titan, and finally she stood before the Champion of the Titan, a great hero clad in lyrium infused armor, their axe raised high.

“You are nothing before my will!” She cried and turned back, barking an order back to her troops.

Holders of the slaves reached down, unsheathed blades and drew them across the throats of the slaves, blood running down their bodies. Magic poured out of the elves and into the woman before the Champion.

The Champion cried out and Elodie felt the fear and the anger, the distress at seeing so much blood, so much death. Needless. Wrong.

How could someone do this?

They charged the woman, raising their axe high as she directed the magic into them, past their armor and into the body, sinking deep and around their heart.

They screamed, fighting the control as she whispered commands, dark things, to them.

“You are mine. This is all mine. How dare you attempt to keep it away from me.”

But the Champion fought and lunged forward to hack into her only to have one of her followers take the blow for her. He gasped, sputtered, fell into the void to die.

No. Needless death.

What does this sacrifice bring but destruction?

The magic flowed more intently into the Champion and they fell to their knees, the magic pushing past them and….

Into the Titan.

The cavern shook and pain coursed through her body as she felt the blood force its way into the lyrium, into the Titan.

Her will was to the be the Titan’s will, overpowering it with the sacrifice of hundreds of innocents. Blood, twisting will and creation into slavery and destruction.

Forever tainted.

The scene shifted suddenly, growing from blue to red. The thoughts became disjointed and disfigured with the woman’s thoughts, her will suffused into it. Shadows flew across the red, and suddenly teeth and claws sank into the veins, bursting, overflowing, harvested? No, attacked. Sinking, falling, deeper? How much father could we fall? Down, down. Hidden, away, PAIN.

Severed. Disconnected.

Children. Where are the Children? Are they safe? Who will protect them?

Did we hurt them? No. No. Not death. Not sacrifice, never. No choice. Her will.

She needed an army.

The visions slowly cleared from her mind, and when Elodie landed back in herself she found herself sobbing. She clutched at her sides as she felt the pain and the sickness twisting the Titan inside and out.

“What…what was that? Was that this Titan?” She gasped, finally finding her voice.

“No, that was our sister. She yet lives, not yet allowed to die.”

That…the source of the taint was…blood magic? No, not blood magic, but twisting will and thrusting it upon another. That was what twisted the Titan. Mass sacrifice, forcing a creature of creation to kill like that.

Titans…create.

She let out a shaky breath, trying to regain herself.

“I am tainted, as well, I should not be here.” She should not have touched the lyrium! What if she will cause this Titan to sicken with the Blight?

“That is precisely why you should be here. The taint stems from the corrupted Titan, only a pure one may remove it completely.” He took her hand again and placed it back to the lyrium.

“Let it flow into you like you allowed the Blight to flow. Let it burn away all traces of corrupted will.” The lyrium was cool to the touch this time and it slipped into her fingers and hand, painfully sinking her skin and into her blood.

The Joining had been painful and terrifying, and the purification was no less so. It was worse in a way, as she fell to the ground, vomiting black bile and sludge as the pure lyrium worked through her body.

Her magic strained under the effort, billowing out and collapsing against her in heavy waves.

It went on for what felt like hours, vomiting and choking as the lyrium slowly burned away the taint.

As the last drop left her, she felt her body lighten and her magic coalesce within her once more, hovering carefully as she instinctively tried to heal herself before falling into a deep slumber.

There were no visions of Archdemons or of Titans past. Only sweet, normal dreams filled with blue skies and flowers. The Fade pressed up against inside the cavern, surrounding the Titan and falling back into Elodie…

When she woke, she was on a stone bed with Gurendar standing nearby. He smiled and gestured to her.

“You are free, unburdened of will that is not your own.”

She felt her body and her eyes widened at how…clear she felt. Her head didn’t feel heavy, inundated with whispers of the taint. Eleven years of thoughts that were not her own had plagued her. Eleven years she had felt the poison pressing up inside of her, trying to consume her….

And now she was free.

Free only to have Alistair and potentially his son still be bound.

Her breath hitched and tears threatened to spill over. She could take Alistair here, perhaps. But little Duncan….

Loud shouting suddenly sounded from the far end of the space. Gurendar turned in mild curiosity just in time for Karega, Pritte, and Effir to suddenly charge in, weapons raised high.

Karega was swearing in her tongue again and ready to kill whatever stood in her way when she spotted Gurendar. She stopped, eyes wide.

“Gurendar?” she said.

“Karega, Paragon-Elect of Kal-Sharok, be welcome,” he said in the same voice warm voice he had used to greet Elodie.

Karega sneered and charged at him again. He sighed and ducked to the side, deftly avoiding every move.

“This is very unproductive, Karega.”

She shouted at him in dwarven and Elodie could hear the angry desperation, the confused outrage.

“Karega, stop. He’s melded with the Titan, he is…her Champion now.” Elodie said meekly.

Karega whipped around, eyes glassy but full of indignation, “Do you not think I know that? He is hers now, he is no longer my husband.”

“I…still retain my memories, Karega. I was very fond of you. I loved you, even, and our children.”

She screamed at him again, but her axe remained on the ground.

More dwarven spilled from her lips and Gurendar nodded, replying to her in their tongue. Pritte had his notebook out and quickly taking notes and sketches of the place.

Effir watched the interaction between Karega and Gurendar, until finally they strode forward and put themselves between the two.

“Paragon-Elect, the Titan has changed him, this gift does not come without price, and it is unfortunate that you have to pay it. But he lives, and he serves the Stone. He protects Kal-Sharok.” Their voice was even and softer than their usual biting tone.

Gurendar nodded, “Well-said, young one. I am and am not the man you remember. I…we are different, and we apologize for the strife for this to have caused you. In the past this would not have been so…traumatic. We are learning.” He brought his hands forward and bowed his head and Elodie got the distinct feeling that he wanted to feel more, that he wanted to give her the love he once had been able to do…. But things change, the world shifts and the demands it has for you can take a toll.

Some dreams simply cannot be.

Her eyes closed once again and she turned her gaze to the rock above her.

The world demanded sacrifice from everyone, some were more difficult to bear than others. The sacrifices made to be a Grey Warden weighed more heavily than the sacrifice to be a guard, or even a Templar considering that becoming a Warden was a guaranteed death sentence. And Karega had made sacrifices as Paragon-Elect, even more sacrifice when she married Gurendar. And while Elodie could see the immense honor it would be to have her husband be tied like to the Titan and her children to be tied to him…it was a gut wrenching sacrifice. Love lost, hope, then it was torn all away again as she realized that he was gone just not gone.

“You…are not my husband,” Karega bit out.

“No,” he answered and Elodie could feel the disillusioned hurt rolling off of Karega.

Her face scrunched up and she turned from Gurendar. Pritte’s eyebrows drew together and Effir hung their head low.

Loss is the most difficult when there is not satisfactory closure, when the wound isn’t even stitched. Elodie rose from the stone, legs wobbling and head aching from dehydration. She remembered Nav, waking up one day to find that the Templars had…there had been the decision to…they were made Tranquil. They had known who she was but they hadn’t known. There really was no pain like that, to see someone you love just…ripped away like that, but to have them still linger.

She rested her hand on Karega’s shoulder, not saying anything but offering any compassion she could. A gauntleted hand came up and rested on hers.

It was Effir who spoke first, “Why call the Warden?”

“She is like those who created the barrier around us, and we needed the barrier gone. It was an opportunity we could not resist,” Gurendar replied, tilting his head to the side.

Effir nodded their head, “Your methods are dangerous, I expect you to refine them if you are going to continue to communicate with Kal-Sharok.” That made Karega whip around, eyes ablaze.

“You do not get to talk to hi – them – like that! They do not intend to harm –

“But we do, Karega. They are right. We will do better, there were better channels…before, but so many things have felt…blocked. The barrier is gone now though, at least here, that will hopefully help.”

“Hopefully?” Effir pushed but Gurendar shook his head and turned away from them and to Elodie. His eyes appeared to glow even brighter now.

“Elodie Amell, we were not finished.” Gurendar suddenly said, walking to her side, giving her another reassuring smile.

“We have two requests of you, if you would be so willing to help. One, is to carry a…sample of ourselves, a seed perhaps in your tongue, to another place. We have been gone for too long. It is time to rebuild.”

“I can leave? Will I not perish away from the Titan?”

“No. We gave you the visions to bring you here to help us, not to harm you. Why would we harm someone who has helped us?” He cocked his head to the side again and she wondered at how such an old creature as the Titan could have such a…child-like effect on a grown man.

Relief surged through her and she nodded. This outcome, while odd, was preferential to every single one that she had come up with in her head. She had not been looking forward to lyrium imbued demons due to a Rift, or having to actually kill the Titan.

How would one even begin to kill one?

She shook her head free of the thought.

“To help you? To take another Champion?”

“Champions must be Children. You are not one of the Children.” He answered simply. She supposed she should be relieved at that, but worry for the dwarves in Kal-Sharok bloomed anew. Who would be claimed? Children?

The Titan may be a force of creation but it clearly did not think in the same way that Elodie or the dwarves did. Would it understand the difference between a child and an adult, a willing volunteer and an unwilling one?

Gurendar blinked, his brow drawing together somewhat before he began to speak again.

“Once we were connected across through the Stone, able to plant ourselves into the Stone anew. But now we are singular, cut off, and have no room to grow. Will you do this for us?”

Elodie watched the strange man, eyeing how eerie his eyes glowed, the faint blue of his skin…. But she also thought of the Blight, of how she no longer felt connected to it, of how pure lyrium had somehow surged through her and purified her. Ferelden’s lands were still recovering from the Blight, the taint sown deep into where the horde had marched.

It wasn’t just herself or Alistair tainted, it was land, it was people.

She nodded her head and he smiled.

“Thank you, Elodie Amell.” He strode to the wall where she had touched to receive her vision and held up a box he had picked up along the way. He whispered a few unintelligible words and lyrium began to pour into the box.

Bright, untainted, fresh lyrium that she…heard. Its music was twinkling and hypnotic, beautiful and swaying. It was cut off quickly as Gurendar shut the box, locks suddenly moving in place.

“There, take this to a deep place, the pour the lyrium onto a clean bed of rock.”

“That is remarkably simple.”

“We need not much, only the opportunity.” He answered. She took the box from him, surprised by its lightweight before placing it gently in her pack.

“And the second thing?”

“Ah, yes. This…is not something we ask lightly but, we are fearful of what the future will bring. We were awakened by a…great rupture, and such change in the past has led to death. The death of our sisters.”

There was a long pause as Gurendar shifted on his feet.

“We ask that should we be attacked, that you return to us with haste, to defend us.”

That…wasn’t ominous at all. She watched Gurendar’s face, watched the slight confusion and surprise at his own words. Perhaps not all had been revealed to him by the Titan until now. Elodie considered it. She…did not wish to return, she wished to spend the rest of her days with Alistair and Duncan, perhaps they could try one more time for children now that she was free of the taint. Her time as the Hero was coming to a close, or at least…she had hoped it was. For how could she stand by and allow this Titan to be attacked, potentially enslaved and harvested for its power further endangering countless people and their very world?

In the end, her choice was clear and while she did not relish it, it was her responsibility. Those who can, should do their part to ensure the safety of the world and its people. She nodded her head.

“I will return if I am able.” She said, bowing her head and swearing herself to it. She could regret it, but she had regretted little in moments such as these.

Gurendar smiled and bowed in gratitude.

Karega stepped forward then, her face drawn into a tight lipped frown. She watched her husband, confident and knowing.

“You serve the Titan?”

“Yes.”

“Then…that is good. I love you but we serve the Stone and Her city.” She switched to dwarven, her voice never wavering, only sounding strong and defiantly beautiful.

Gurendar nodded and leaned forward at the end, resting his forehead against hers. He murmured something in dwarven and she let out a long breath before giving a short laugh.

Her heart ached as she watched them. She longed to return to her Alistair, it had been too long, her body was weary and she was…ready. Ready to go home and sleep for a year or two.

“How will I know exactly to return? I’m not a dwarf, I lack all of sort of Stone Sense,” she said, raising herself from the slab.

Gurendar turned to her, his hands still on Karega, “You have merged with us, no matter how briefly, that has changed you. You are connected to us now. When the time comes, you will know.”

Elodie dragged in a breath. Alright, this…was her duty, her life. She could rest when she’s dead.

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age #fanfiction #amell #warden amell #the warden #grey warden #kal-sharok #titans #dwarves #deep roads #my writing #queen of the stone #elodie amell #karega #effir #pritte #gurendar

5 notes · View notes

planar-echoes · 8 years ago

Text

The Horror at Ronom Glacier (Dominaria) By Doug Beyer (6/21/06)

As told by Aevar Borg...

Even during the Thaw, my father liked to say that if you could count your worries on one hand, your life was still worth it. I applied his mantra that night, huddled in a tarpaulin lean-to during the scariest guide-journey of my life, and counted up my worries:

One campfire, using the last of my fuel, sputtering in the winds whistling through the gaps in my tarps. One spit, heavy with the stuffed stomach of an aurochs, sagging slightly but hissing with promise. One client, a wizard judging by his garb and his rune-scarred fingertips, who had paid in Soldevi coins, in advance. One destination, Ronom Glacier, a continental trudge to the north and west.

My worries fit on four fingers, I thought, but some of them probably should have counted as more than one.

The Soldevi coins, for example, were little warnings hanging from my beltring. The topic of Soldev could still extinguish polite conversation in alehouses; no one wanted to talk about the swallowed city. Soldev was once a mechanized wonder, the triumph of the famed machinist-wizards—but was now just a rubble-choked hole. Soldev had become thought of as a cursed place, a place not to speak of except in murmurs, lest Phyrexian jaws follow the words to the speaker.

I pierced the aurochs stomach with a fork, releasing a cloud of sour steam from the bubbling sweetmeats inside.

Of course, I had guided enough risky clients across Terisiare to recognize the danger glowing from this anonymous Soldevi survivor. He had said he was no adventurer—“just a scholar”—and my palms must have believed him, because they greeted his coins outstretched.

My client carried little gear with him now, other than his overdone cold-weather clothing. Voluminous robes obscured his frame and a fur hat, tied under his frost-flecked beard, shaded his face. And still, he shivered at midday. There was also the matter of the undiscussed bundle he wore swaddled in canvas on his back. I told myself I was not paid to ask questions.

We had trekked for days, following the trails I knew that obeyed the heading of his compass, a mystic device imprinted with our destination. I tried not to think about the distance to Ronom Glacier or the uncheerful rate at which we chipped away at it. The wastes seemed wider than our resolve.

It was days later, as we sat under an outcropping on the trail, walled in on two sides by snow, that my client opened up.

“The distance made them seem tiny,” he said. “But they were like whales breaching. They swallowed whole sections of the city with—orifices—designed for that purpose. After a moment I could hear the crashing, after the air carried the sounds to me. It was faint, but I heard the voices of individual people dying to the machines.”

“But where were Soldev’s defenses? Why didn’t they sound the alarm?” I knew that Soldev was famous for its automated culture—why weren’t the war beasts repelled before they could enter the city?

The old Soldevi shook his head. “They had no chance. It was over in moments. And now a madman, Heidar of Rimewind, wants to build an army of these constructs. He wants to use scrolls from the vaults of Lim-Dûl to awaken Phyrexian killing machines from the ice of Ronom Glacier, and stop the Thaw. I’ve warned King Darien—now I must go to stop Heidar.”

I knew now why we trekked to the Glacier. Just a scholar, he had said. “You’re Dagsson. Arcum Dagsson. Aren’t you?” My client didn’t look up.

The famed master machinist, Arcum Dagsson, on his way to Ronom Glacier. This was no mission of investigation, to perform wizardly analysis of an enemy’s weapon. It was a mission of revenge, a mission of guilt, a torn man’s attempt to cause pain to a chosen enemy rather than to feel it in his soul.

My mind leapt to the bundle he carried with him. It was there, resting next to him as he spoke. My eyes tried to peel back the canvas, but whatever it was stayed securely wrapped until the day we met the Glacier.

Ronom Glacier’s size was incomprehensible. It loomed, a cliff face composed of pearly ice, studded in broken boulders and shot through with vertical fissures where ice shelves had at one time sheared from its surface. Centuries of wind had scoured grooves across the glacier wall like icy wood grain; it gave me the initial impression that it was climbable, which led to a self-directed chuckle when I came to my senses. An otherworldly, deep-throated crackle, the sound of the glacier’s slow advance, reverberated throughout the canyon. The entire structure shone like a frozen tidal wave in the sun. My companion and I stopped for a moment, turning our heads this way and that, making dumb attempts to grasp the largest single object on Terisiare.

Dagsson spoke first. “Bigger than I thought.”

I prepared to mimic his bravado and understatement, but no words came. Eventually I just nodded and said, “Let’s keep moving. The compass says we need to head in the direction of that rise.”

As we rounded the peak, the snow changed. It felt strange under my snowshoes before I saw how trampled it was, a unique sensation after weeks of not seeing a soul. My nostrils flared at the trace of a raw smell on the wind, again strange after all the crystalline whiteness. The tracks were messy gouges, halfway between claw marks and wheel tracks, that had chewed the snow and exposed the black earth beneath. They led down the slope into the valley before us, across a frozen lake, and into a cavern in the glacier wall, carving a wide swath. The cavern in the glacier was hand-hewn: tools and abandoned tents formed a halo around its mouth.

The tracks’ orientation was wrong. I realized that they didn’t lead toward the glacier, but away from it. “They’re already gone,” I said stupidly. Yet the compass insisted that our goal still lay ahead. Dagsson said nothing. He started down into the valley.

The thin scent on the air hinted at rot. What could have caused enough carnage to make me smell it across the valley? I followed my fare down the slope, trying not to step in the gouges left by the machines.

The ice cavern echoed the crunching sounds of our approach, and zephyrs flowing past the mouth created an eerie wind instrument. As we crossed under the archway of ice, carved by what must have been the spells of Rimewind, I felt my worries multiply past the counting of my digits. The air was muggy with decay, a moisture I shall never care to feel in my lungs again. We lit oil lanterns and followed the tracks inside.

Dagsson’s hand shook as he raised his lantern ahead of him.

The chamber was defined by stair-step cubes, an enormous, irregular hollow where the glacier had been dissected by sorcery along invisible grid lines. Lamplight reflected off the thousands of surfaces of angular ice, illuminating the scene before us. Dozens of pits perforated the ice floor, each ringed with ceremonial offerings of unidentifiable gore. The pit edges were rough, broken outward from beneath—the empty wombs of Phyrexian monsters. Dragging tracks led from each pit back toward the entrance. A pall of foulness, from animals either recently butchered or somehow partly preserved from the ice, hung in the air. Nothing stirred.

My father would have made a comment at this point—something about quitting while you’re ahead, or while you still have your head—whose message was: get out.

I consulted the compass. “It says there’s still one here.” Dagsson nodded, and muttered something under his breath I couldn’t hear. Before I knew it, he was half-visible in the far gloom, making his way deeper into the cavern.

I spent a long minute scanning my memories of my father for an aphorism that would justify abandoning my client in a hole in Ronom Glacier. Then I heard Dagsson gasp.

I ran to the sound. There was Arcum Dagsson, kneeling astride the spine of a huddled giant made from ice and iron and shiny black carapace, agape as he gazed down into a recess in its back.

The Phyrexian construct, crouched half-submerged in the ice floor, was the size of an allosaurus. Its sheen caught my lamplight and highlighted the pipework that surged and twisted in its structure. Its head, a giant, crocodilian hinge lined with carving knives, rested ajar between its buried front paws. Eyes were absent, but flared holes, like viper pits, studded its muzzle. Sacrificial offerings surrounded the Phyrexian in similar style to the other craters throughout the cavern, apparently meant to coax them to revive, but this one had not moved. Chains made of iron rings the size of my fist crisscrossed its body, anchored in the ice floor.

And there Dagsson perched, having climbed onto the thing’s back and unbolted a panel in its rib, gazing inside. A bluish glow radiated from the Phyrexian’s core, casting Dagsson’s face in frozen horror.

I read the open page of his expression. His master machinist’s mind, confident in its ability to comprehend the construct, withered in the face of the howling illogic of the Phyrexian’s inner workings. I saw his eyes dart around the cavity, his mind struggling to cling to some kind of coherent logic but finding only smooth, blank lunacy. He wanted to find an answer there, some solution to his guilt among the animated metal innards, or at least a reason for Soldev’s destruction. He found none of these—just a noxious mass. He had begun sobbing quietly.

“Dagsson, come down from there,” I offered. “This thing is dead. Let’s get back to Kjeldor—they’ll be happy to hear that you’ve found the source.”

Quit while you still have your head, said my father’s voice wryly in my mind.

Dagsson’s bleary eyes didn’t focus on me, but he did register my voice. Just when I almost thought I’d gotten through to him, he seemed to remember the bundle at his side, and began to unwrap the canvas.

“I mean it,” I told him, hearing a scolding tone in my voice. “You’re not thinking right. Let’s move out of here—if the other machines have already gone, then we need to hurry if we’re going to beat them back to the southeastern lands.”

Dagsson revealed a torturous device of wheels and dials, a sinister clock. A weird smile spread out over Dagsson’s face—it looked like the kind of mechanical magic with which his mind felt at home. He waved three fingers over it, and it came to life, its dials clicking a slow rhythm. He lowered the thing gingerly into the Phyrexian’s back, and fastened the panel shut. The clicking dials were still audible, steadily speeding up in tempo.

The beast stirred. Its shoulders rose. The old machinist stumbled, eyes wide, but caught himself on a chain. The chains snapped taut and something cracked deep in the ice, but held.

My muscles thawed and I rushed to the side of the Phyrexian, then stepped back as it shifted its weight toward me. The immense head turned a lazy arc, carving shavings from the floor. The chains strained.

“Dagsson! What did you do?”

Dagsson looked astonished. “It shouldn’t have revived it… just a bit of mana to activate the bomb…”

The bomb! “Never mind. Listen to me carefully: get down now.”

“It must have been this cavern… something about the cold mana of the Glacier… can’t believe it….”

Dagsson, it was clear, was out of his head. I must have been partly out of mine, as well, because as the Phyrexian beast hunkered down to gather its strength, I leapt onto it and scrambled as best I could to get to my client. My hands slipped on icy metal, but my feet found purchase on the friction of a scaly outcropping. I tried not to recoil as I grabbed something fleshy in one spot and something chitinous in another—I focused on climbing up its flank and reaching Dagsson.

The beast swung its head around to regard me, opening its immense hinge of a jaw. It lunged to swallow me whole, but the chains yanked back at it. I glanced down its maw as it snapped shut, and what I saw gave me a sense of swirling vertigo: its black esophagus was a tunnel miles deep, extending far longer on the inside than it should have been by the geometry of its body. I nearly fell from dizziness, but the monster struggled against its chains, and the lurch hurled me up onto its back.

Dagsson was still immobile, a pained expression on his face, when I reached him. I fell against him to keep steady, and gripped his shoulders. He looked at me helplessly, trying to form words. I had to get the old Soldevi man out of this cavern, or we were going to die.

I pulled on his shoulders to try to direct him, so we could attempt to scale down, but then I realized why Dagsson hadn’t moved. His leg was pinned under one of the chains by the strength of the beast below us, and by the ugly angle of his knee, the leg was broken. He gestured at me urgently with a scroll in his hand.

I scanned around for something to cut the chains, or—I admit I thought of it—to cut bone. Of course there was nothing. I had abandoned my gear in my desperate leap to reach Dagsson, and he only had that unfurled scroll.

The Phyrexian heaved, pulling the chains tight and producing a sound of ice cracking far below. Dagsson grimaced.

“I’ve got a hunting knife in my pack,” I started. “I’ll go get it and we’ll—”

Then Dagsson grabbed my throat. He shook the scroll in his hand. This was one of the scrolls of Lim-Dûl—what did he want? He released me and jabbed at a particular passage.

“I can’t read them. They’re nonsense to me.” Pronounceable syllables of nonsense.

The master machinist was mute from pain, but his eyes insisted.

“Yes, okay, I’ll read them, I’ll read them,” I said.

As he held the scroll before my face with one hand, he took my wrist with the other, and I read the words aloud. I felt an electric tensing in my arm that spread throughout my body, like a bath of stinging nettles suspended in ice water. I droned the words, hearing my voice deepen—and as I finished them, I felt my heart squeeze once, and I heard a series of retorts from the ice floor below. The tingling sensation flooded from me.

We weren’t whisked to safety, as I’d hoped. The gigantic chains slid away off the slope of the Phyrexian’s back, and Dagsson gasped, clutching his released limb. I realized what had happened: with the help of Arcum Dagsson, I had just uttered the spell to free the Phyrexian killing machine from its bonds.

Suddenly I stumbled, and the icicle-draped ceiling dropped closer. The creature was standing up. This was the plan?

There was a jerk of momentum, and the freed Phyrexian began striding for the cave entrance. Dagsson and I clutched outcroppings on its body to hang on. Did we free it to rejoin Heidar’s army? Icicles whizzed by above me, and I wondered whether we would die from being thrown to the ground or impaled on the ceiling. I had the itchy feeling I was forgetting one option.

I heard a rapid clicking sound from inside the creature. I remembered, now, that we were riding a bomb.

Oh, for the love of….

Think. Think. What would father do now? What would King Darien do? What did I expect to buy with these Soldevi coins? I mean, could I even get a good rate for them in Kjeldor? How could I, with all the moneychangers’ tariffs?

Focus.

Dagsson lay awkwardly, clenching his knee with one hand and the creature’s back with the other. I reached over and grabbed the sleeve of his robe, and started crawling toward the Phyrexian’s tail end. He groaned as I dragged him, but we made progress across the lurching landscape. The Phyrexian bounded on.

As we crested its hipbone—a mistake—the construct’s jarring footfall lifted us into the air. Icicles snapped momentarily against my skull. We slammed back down onto it again and I couldn’t regain my grip on anything but Dagsson. We bounced sideways off its back.

Freefall.

Hold on hold on grab hold of something hold something please grab something.

In quick succession, I grabbed onto something and felt the sensation of my arms being nearly ripped from their sockets. I glanced down at Dagsson swinging from my grip on his robe, the cavern floor rushing by below his feet, and up at the spike I had grabbed that protruded from the Phyrexian’s side. We dangled just in front of its back leg.

Dagsson slumped inside his robe. The creature’s leg came at us, its foot planted, and the leg began to straighten and move away again. No time to consider—I prayed and let go of my client. He dropped away, but I couldn’t follow his trajectory. Muffled thump somewhere below. The Phyrexian continued its stride with that leg, and Dagsson was gone from my sight. Squashed underfoot, or safe on the ground, I couldn’t tell.

I took hold of the spike and swiveled to look ahead. The tunnel was narrowing—the Phyrexian was about to breach the mouth of the cave. It was too narrow; in a moment I’d be smashed against the wall. I let go too late, and I slammed against some combination of the Phyrexian’s knee and the jagged ice wall.

A ticking sound receded from me into darkness.

When I heard Arcum Dagsson’s croak, unmeasured minutes later, I mistook it for my father’s voice. “Cover your ears,” he said, kneeling over me in the archway of the cave.

My eardrums wish I had obeyed, but to this day I’m glad I heard the full force of the explosion that ripped apart the killing machine. The Phyrexian had marched across the valley and up over the rise, and a ring of nearby hills lost their layer of snow from the blast. A stain of ash spread against the sky. As we tended each other's’ injuries, gray flakes floated down from the heavens.

Heidar’s Rimewind army still marched across Terisiare, and thousands perished—no heroic tale can reverse that. That stain will not soon fade from our land. But you can still find testaments to those who struggled against Rimewind, if you look well. Hire a northern guide and travel the thawed glacial flats of the northwest, for example, and you may happen upon a lake in the bowl of a crater. Check the soil there. You may find shrapnel from one machine that never made it past the shadow of Ronom, and a scattered collection of Soldevi coins.

#magic the gathering #vorthos #planes #mana #glacier #dominaria #tales #story #lore

2 notes · View notes