I thought Iād join the madness of draecember. And since I canāt draw well, I write. Todayās (well, yesterdayās) prompt was: Hugs.
Thanks to @vaard for giving their permission for me to borrow their characters. I really didnāt have any draenei thatād do that much hugging.
Also these two are cute.
The door creaked quietly as it swung open, though that sound was drowned out by the smattering of rain on everything - roof, ground, walls, it didn't matter. A good wind helped the rain making everything wet and soaked.
First through the door was Rue, water pouring from the hem of her cloak. It also poured from the rest of her clothes as, despite Vaard's best effort, she'd removed her cloak several times in their short walk to better splash in the puddles.
Behind her came Vaard himself, almost as soaked as she was. He'd tried to shield himself from the rain with his own cloak, but the winds and Rue worked together to stop that - her continous attempts at playing in the water and his own attempts at stopping that had taken both of his hands, giving the wind all the time it needed to open up his cloak seemingly every other step he'd taken.
The moment Rue was inside the door she tossed the cloak to the side, where it landed with a wet, smacking sound, and moved to spread water all over the house. Vaard, somewhat used to her ways, gently grasped her shoulder to keep her back.
"Baby, wait for me" He said with a softness of voice that was reserved for his daughter "Then we'll get you some dry clothes for you, alright?"
"Yes dada..." Rue pouted a little bit at that but did restrain herself for the whole ten seconds it took Vaard to hang his cloak up after he let go of her shoulder. When he then reached for her hand she took it.
"Let's dry you up a bit, yes? Or you might catch a cold" Vaard said as he began to guide her the most water-resistant way to the bath-room, where the floor would be able to handle the full, dripping fury of their clothes without taking any damage.
Rue followed the whole way, though it was more thanks to Vaard's hold on her hand than an agreement that changing clothes was needed. As far as she was concerned, the couch could take some water! She also thought that Vaard's lap could handle it, if she wanted to sit there.
Once Vaard had managed to guide his energic daughter into the bathroom he pulled out a towels from one of the drawers. One of the big, fluffy towels that he'd gotten just because he knew Rue would like them. He'd been quite right in that.
"Okay baby, let's get you out of those wet clothes and dry you up a bit" He placed the towel on a low table and began the work of getting Rue out of those soaked clothes of hers. It was a surprisingly troublesome job, right up until Rue noticed that her clothes didn't just pull away, but that Vaard had to peel them from her skin. Then, suddenly, and with a few grins, she was all too eager to do that herself.
Before she put it back on again so she could repeat it.
Thankfully Vaard was used to this and guided her towards removing not just the soaked shirt but also the pants. Then, before she could put anything back on for more play, he wrapped the towel tightly around her to start drying her down with a comforting "Let's get you dry"
Halfway through she said the words that he, and any parent, both dreaded and longed to hear. The words "I can myself" Thankfully, on the topic of drying herself, he did believe that she could do it herself. He'd seen her do it many times. Sometimes with less success than others, but they didn't have the bath full of water this time.
"Okay, I'll go fetch you some dry clothes" He answered her and let go of the towel, once he was sure she held it herself.
Then he picked up the wet clothes she'd discarded, least she got any ideas of putting them back on. After twisting them over the bath's drain to make them stop dripping so much he left the room with the clothes in his arms.
When he returned with a set of dry clothes he spotted his daughter before he reached the door to the bath-room as she'd settled in on the couch, wrapped in the towel. He did not feel surprised, he merely sighed and stepped over to place the new clothes beside her.
"Put these on, baby. I'll light the fire soon" He said, gesturing to the unlit fireplace not far away from them both "I just need to change too"
"Okay" Was the answer she gave him, though she didn't seem to want to leave the towel just yet. Perhaps she'd realized she was cold, and didn't want to get any colder by removing it.
Whatever it was, Vaard was quick to take the relatively calm moment to change his own clothes. A trip to his room later and he could at last get out of his own soaked clothes. Clothes which seemed to somehow have gotten both wetter and colder since they got out of the rain.
Yet the relief of getting out of them was almost strangely worth it. The feeling of the wet coldness removed from his skin, a few strokes of the dry towel, and suddenly he felt alive again. Cold, but alive.
Once he was once more wearing pants and more-or-less wearing his shirt he left the bath-room to return to the common-room and Rue. At first he thought she had not moved at all, before he realized that the pants he'd prepared for her were nowhere to be seen.
When he saw her squirm in the embrace of the towel he realized what was going on, and a flicker of a smile came to his lips. He corrected the shirt over his pale torso and walked over to the fireplace.
"Is it going well?" He asked, wanting to give her a chance to get her clothes on without helping - even if he kept a close eye on her. He wouldn't been surprised if she accidentally wriggled her way into falling off the couch.
She said a childish-firm "Yes" to answer his question as she continued her attempt at dressing without leaving the towel.
By the time he'd light the fire - small but growing - she seemed to have managed to get into the pants at least. The shirt, however, posed a far more difficult endeavor. It seemed to demand that Rue gave up her quest of not leaving the towel, to at least raise her arms over her head.
Rather than watching her futile attempts of doing so, cute as they might be, Vaard took things into his own hands.
"Let me help you with that" He said as he sat down beside her, something that made her squeak as his weight tilted her seating in his direction and nearly made her fall over. Naturally he caught her, but he did not just help her sit back up. Instead he snuck his arms into the towel and with gentle movements pulled her from its soft, warm embrace.
He put her back down in his lap, where he quickly helped her untangle the shirt. She'd managed to get it, somehow, both inside out and backwards. Fixing that was rather easy, despite Rue's attempts at helping. He was rather used to those attempts, and knew how to counter the effects.
Once the shirt was the right way, in all the ways, he helped her slip her cold arms through the sleeves and pulled the rest of it down her torso, until she was properly dressed. Then he checked that her pants weren't inside out as well which, thankfully, they weren't.
Knowing that she was dressed he simply wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a soft hug. It was, partially, for her. To help her warm up again after the cold rain and the wet clothes. To help her be more comfortable.
But it was mostly for him, to help remind him of what he still had. That whatever else there was in the world, there was Rue, his daughter. He held her tight until she began to squirm, having enjoyed it to start with but soon found her dad just overdoing it.
So he let her go, though to his delight she didn't escape his lap. Instead she just leaned back against him, and demanded a story.
Because I wanted to try and keep a relatively up-to-date ādiaryā of Lysseaās actions around her joining her new guild. ( I failed, but will add more posts in time. Because theyāre cool )
Itās going to be a troublesome and probably painful experience for absolutely everyone involved.
The portal opened with a quiet, almost hissing sound. It was quickly followed by the sound of mana rippling and settling as the hole in the world was established from one side to the other. And then it was open, surrounded by the tell-tale sound of a portal as well as the blue-tinted light that emanated from the ring of twisting mana.
From the other side came different sounds altogether. It was the sounds of far-off hammers and of great, reveberating halls. Of distant people and roaring fires. It was the sounds of Ironforge, the capital of the dwarves. It also came with far closer, and more mundane sounds, such as the voices of a conversation.
"And it is safe now?" It was the voice of a woman, with a hint of draenei accent. It sounded as someone who had put quite some effort into learning the language, and tried to adopt it as their own.
"Aye lass. It'll bring ya there safe an' sound, if ya don' tarry too much. I ain't keepin' it open all day" Another voice, also a woman, though unlike the first one it was thick with a dwarven accent of the Ironforge variety.
There was the sound of coins changing hands from the other side of the portal, told by not only the quiet clinking of metal against metal, but also the quietly mumbled counting of the dwarven voice.
Moments later there was movements as an armored leg stepped over the lower edge of the portal, much like one might step over a sharp line of cutting metal. The leg's dark-blue hoof found the grass on the other side, and soon more weight was put on it. First in a testing manner, to make sure that the grass could take it, but then in a more natural manner as the draenei stepped through the portal and to the other side.
She was both armored and armed, with well-kept plates and chainmetal keeping her innards where they were supposed to be. Her helmet, though, hung on a short chain at her side. A shield was hanging from the side of a backpack, though metal spikes and sharp edges suggested it was as much a weapon as it was for protection. A sword hung at her side, one with a very plain handle.
In addition to her arms and armor she also carried a collection of pouches strapped to not merely her belt, but also to her upper arm and thigh. Each of them clearly contained all they could properly fit. In addition a large backpack was strapped to her back, just as filled with things as her pouches.
Her face was weathered and stern, and seemed to have settled into a default of rather neutral expression. Except for the flicker of discomfort passed over it with her exit from the portal. White hair hung around her face while gently glowing eyes darted over the area around her. There was little emotion in them either.
Once she had taken a few steps away from the portal, hurried steps, as if she feared that it'd close with her still in it, she turned around. She nodded at someone on the other side.
"Pleasure doin' business with ya'!" Came from the other side before the portal flickered and folded back upon itself. It was as if the hole was sucked into itself, and the view and sounds from the other side became smaller and smaller, until the portal closed.
Then there was silence, or at the very least there were no more sounds of the capital city. Azuremyst isle was by no accounts a quiet place, despite the mass-death brought on merely a few years earlier. The wildlife had adapted practically overnight, and it had returned in force. Most of the animals might still be relatively young, but they were everywhere.
Lyssea let out a quiet sigh and looked around. On her right she could see trees growing. Most of them were, like the animals, young. Larger trees, felled by the shock of the Exodar's impact, lay spread out among the younger ones. Even the trees that remained standing were scarred with stumps of broken branches or, in some cases, debris stuck deep into their trunks. One even appeared to have a dead crystal piece the length of Lyssea herself stuck straight through it.
When she turned her head to her left, she frowned. There were a few trees behind her and it, but even then she could see the purple glow of the Exodar itself both behind and above them.
The crashed ship was large, even when partially buried in its own crater. Its broken shell and crystals were easily spotted, even though someone appeared to have set up large banners with the draenei arms to try and at least partially hide it. It had been a very futile attempt.
Scaffolding had been constructed around it from the local materials, to allow the artificers to reach the many broken or damaged pieces of crystal. Even in the late evening small figures moved around on them.
There were tales, even in Ironforge, that the Exodar was not being repaired at all. Instead those tales spoke of a smaller draenei ship used in the assault on Argus, which was presumably built from the cannibalized parts of the Exodar.
Not that it truly mattered to Lyssea. They could have spent the last few years feverishly restoring the ship to pristine condition, and she would still not been happy to see it. She felt no trust towards the crystal creation.
She took a deep breath before she turned to the left and began to put one hoof in front of the other. As much as she distrusted the cracked ship and its magical arches, it was where she had been summoned.
Of course she could still turn her back to it all. There was not a soul in the Aldori Axiom that could prevent her from simply cutting her losses and head for the docks. They could do nothing to stop her from beginning the long, tedious trip back homewards in the honest, proper way.
But they didn't need to have someone like it, Lyssea already carried such a thing with her. A doll, sewn in the likeness of her partner and wrapped in several layers of cloth for protection, lay in one of her bags. It reminded her not just of who it had been made to look like, but what they meant to Lyssea herself. And she could already imagine the look on that beloved face when Lyssea told of how she, too, was a hero.
A flicker of a smirk passed over the blue lips. She truly had fallen far, if what she was doing was not to protect herself or her reputation. It was for one thing, and that was to impress someone. Someone she had already partnered with too.
But it was worth it.
Step by step the Exodar grew larger above her. Dwellings made from scavanged parts of the ship lay all around. Pods, hull-fragments, and pieces of whatever the Draenei had gotten their hands on at the time of their crash had grown into permanent homes.
Outside of one was a small garden of strange, glowing flowers and a little fountain from which a small Elekk was busy drinking. Children could be heard from inside another, chattering excitedly about a vindicator or another. Paths had been worn down in the dirt between the homes, showing how the people liked to walk.
Most of the families seemed to be artificers in some manner or other, as both tools and materials lay placed at nearly every house. Not to mention that many of those that walked there, aside from Lyssea herself, carried either the outfit or symbols of that path of life.
Some of them gave her strange looks as she walked past them, which was really only to expect. She carried none of the usual armor or symbols of other draenei, but instead armor far more inspired by a more human or perhaps elven design. But none of them protested against her walking there, whatever she was wearing she was one their own.
And then she finally reached the arch that formed the doorway into the Exodar itself. A pair of guards flanked the opening, but like the others they did nothing to stop or even question her. The path past the arch was almost exactly like she remembered it. Broken and damaged, with crystals growing in strange places. There was, however, much less lightning arching between the crystals, and someone had apparently gone through the trouble of sweeping away the rubble.
For a few moments Lyssea hesitated there, looking up on the arch above her. She hadn't expected to return so soon, or at all, and now she was standing there. She could still turn around, or at least she could in theory. But her choice was already made.
After a deep breath she stepped forward. It was time to try something new in her life.
I realized I have not posted any of the stories Iāve written for a while up here, so letās do that.
This one was written for a short writing contest in my current guild, and was the prompt to write the story about this picture.
Hereās my entry for that contest, which hit the maximum word-limit exactly. And by exactly I mean I sat and changed a few ācan notā to ācanātā to squeeeeeeze it down the last few words. Do forgive any minor lore-breaks in it.
Elliot Oliver walked with confident strides down the small path which was almost more for animals than for humans. He'd been walking for almost a week now, and he was making good time.
On the sky high above the sun shone with warmth. Had he been walking on an open plain or farmland it might been too hot, but down in the shade of the trees the temperature was absolutely perfect.
He'd even zoned out a little bit as he walked, thoughts filled with the bright smile of a certain someone back home.
The roar snapped him right out of his thoughts. It was a roar that had the strength and fury of an animal yet, somehow, sounded uncomfortably human.
He stopped dead in his track. He strained his hearing to pinpoint the sound or any other sound that might tell what it had been and from where it had come.
More shouts came to his attention, only slightly muffled, from the left of the path. These sound more human, and they sounded close.
He strained there for a few moments, trapped between his instinct to run and the same curiosity that had brought him to the road in the first place. Yet he didn't remain trapped in indecision for long before his self-preservation gave way.
Carefully he left the road and stepped into the dense undergrowth of the forest, following the sounds - not that he needed to move far.
Almost just on the other side of the bushes he found a rocky clearing, perhaps the home of some animal once upon the time. But it was not a home anymore, for it had become a battleground.
The first thing Elliot saw was the monstrous beast near the center of the clearing. It was twice his height and far more than that in length. It had four legs, a long tail, yet a disturbingly humanoid upper body. It reminded him of the tales he had heard about Centaurs.
Except centaurs were half horses, this beast was half lizard. It was heavy and muscular with scales covering it from the tip of its tail to the fang-filled mouth.
The scales were a black color with sickly, jagged lines of white crossing the skin. It was as if it had bathed in lightning and left with the scars of the searing heat.
It was both armed and armored. Heavy metal plates, as black the scales and decorated with - or perhaps held together by - heavy chains, covered much of its body. In its hands it held a halibard both larger and undoubtedly heavier than Elliot himself.
The creature was truly something that must have clawed its way from a nightmare. And it was not alone.
In front of it, facing the beast, was a second monster. It was as tall as Elliot and a half, though unlike the other it stood on two cloven hooves rather than four feet.
It was bulky and powerful, as if whatever had created it had taken five men's worth of muscle and just added it. Its body was covered in short fur, and from its head came two twisted horns.
Held in its hands was what looked like the better part of a tree, carved and painted to look like some kind of nightmare visage. The two-legged monster used this as both club and shield, in addition to its fists, to strike against the larger beast.
Again and again they slammed into each other with such terrifying force that, for some time, Elliot didn't even realize the two weren't alone. He only saw that as the larger beast used its powerful tail to slam into one of the others, sending it flying.
This third one landed not more than a few steps away with the crashing of snapped branches and a muffled cry of pain.
It was the shortest of the three, yet that didn't diminish its twisted nature. Its skin was an unnatural blue, like a corpse fished from water, and from its head curved demonic horns. Twisting tentacles sprouted from around its face, wriggling like worms.
Most of the rest of it was hidden in strange clothes of fur and metal, cobbled together from the waste of a tanner and a blacksmith. But there was no mistaking it for a human.
With a groan it pushed itself from its back and up to a sitting position, its left hand clutching to its right side. A sickly stain of blue began to spread from beneath its fingers, as if it was bleeding blue.
The blue demon used its free hand to dig around among its scrapped clothes, looking for something that it had hidden there. But Elliot didn't watch for what.
The monster and the beast slammed together once more with a pair of furious roars and the clashing of armor and weapons. The cracking of wood and bone echoed in the clearing.
But again the demon drew attention as it pushed itself up on one knee. One of its hand rested one a strange, crystal-shaped thing which had been forced into the ground. Small runes pulsed over the thing, and from it thin threads of poison green connected demon to its tool.
Perhaps Elliot made a noise, or perhaps the demon could sense prey, but it suddenly turned its head and looked straight at him. For a second he stared into its face and the pair of blue-glowing, soulless eyes that rested in the eyesockets.
Elliot could see a hunger for flesh and souls in those eyes. It was evil, and reveling in it.
The sight of those terrifying eyes, and perhaps simply having been seen, snapped Elliot out of whatever daze had seen him simply stand there and watch this battle of nightmares. Without a word, even without a scream, he ran.
He had never ran like such before in his life. Fear filled him, the jaws of death hunted him, and so he ran. Roots and rocks sent him to the ground more than once, yet each time he simply clawed himself back to his feet and kept running.
If there was pain he never felt it, all he knew was to run. The path in the forest was all that he knew, and he kept running. When his chest hurt with each breath, he kept running. When his legs burned with every step, he kept running. He dared not stop, least what he had seen in the clearing came for him.
He only stopped when, at last, he crashed to the ground and couldn't get back up. His legs would carry him no longer. Yet he tried to get back up but failed. Unable to move, he lay there for some time. Every moment he feared he might be killed.
It took him several minutes to even realize that his backpack, with his supplies, tools, and his grandfather's lookingglass, were no longer with him. They must been lost in his run, but he couldn't remember when. It didn't matter.
When his legs would once more carry him he pushed himself standing and stumbled further down the road until, at some point during the morning, he simply ran out of energy.
When he awoke the sun was still high in the sky, but it was clearly heading towards the horizon. He was lying on the road, his clothes, face, and hands covered in mud. As he tried to move a stab of pain passed through his body, and a thousand little cuts made themselves known.
But he moved anyway. He pushed himself up and continued. His mouth was dry and tasting of dirt while his stomach growled, but he paid them no attention.
He must have walked for some time when he saw that someone was waiting for him, just a little bit up the path.
She was short, the size of a child, yet she clearly was not young. Her clothes - fine robes of white and black, with golden decorations - were that of an adult woman. The staff in her hand, taller than she was, spoke of a priest.
Perhaps she was one of the so-called dwarves he had heard of - though she didn't have a beard. He had been told that all dwarves, even women, had large beards.
He stopped in front of her, and they looked at each other. She gave him a small bow of the head, a sign of politeness.
"Hello. You may call me Chromie, and... I am very sorry about this"
As she spoke she looked into his eyes. He saw something old in there. Something far, far too old. Yet when he tried to move his body didn't obey him.
The small woman raised her staff, and from it came a flash of light that blinded Elliot to the world.
The sound around him changed, and when he at last could open his eyes again they were no longer on the forest path. They were up on a mountain - the very same one which he had seen on his way forward.
Chromie sighed and stepped toward the edge of the cliff upon which they both stood. She seemed to consider things for a moment before she finally spoke up.
"I might as well tell you. You weren't supposed to see that fight... it wasn't supposed to have happened"
The priest-like gnome had the same tone Elliot's old teachers had used when he and his friends had played pranks during their study-time.
"You were supposed to have continued on. Passed this mountain-"
She used the staff to point a way through the forest below, which continued over the mountain
"-and on to the other side. There you would have seen... well... it doesn't matter. You would have seen an enemy. A large group of them"
She turned to Elliot, who's body still refused to obey him.
"For several days you would have spied on them, taken notes, until they detected you. They would have tried to kill you, but you escaped - but you were hurt"
She walked closer and then around him as she talked, until he felt her tap his back with her staff.
"Right here. An arrow. It would have become infected, and badly so. You would have tried to go home... but unfortunately for both of us you wouldn't have gotten further than here"
Elliot was spun around without warning. He didn't turn, it was as if someone had simply grabbed him and turned him like he turned his little toy soldiers when he was small. In front of him was Chromie, and behind her a large boulder. On it lay his backpack.
The parchment-case, his quill and ink, his knife, even the looking-glass lay visible on the rock as if they had spilled from the pockets of the backpack.
"Too much changed for me to be able to let it play out, too much is at risk. And your body need to be found here. The message you wrote and carried here will change much"
Had she been human the look on her face would have been one of regret. As she took a step closer Elliot tried desperately to move, but he couldn't even get a single muscle to react.
"I am afraid you must die here, Elliot Oliver, and for that I am so sorry. I will make it painless for you, it is the least I and the Bronze Dragonflight can do for you"
She stepped even closer and raised her staff again. Then she tapped him gently on the forehead with it - and Elliot Oliver slumped together. He was no more.
Chromie saw to his body one last time, after she had posed it on the rock. Wind, weather, and time would soon take its toll on it. But for now he seemed to be asleep. Muddy, unkept, but asleep.
Then she turned and left. There was other things to see to, other details to ensure went right.
Back then: Tyrande and Malfurion are kinda cool. Maievās a bit crazy though. All in all, Iām on their side.
Now: Tyrandeās a murdering psychopath, Malfurion thinks with his boner, and Maiev got the patience and dedication of a bloody saint. Fuck all of these people, except Maiev.
The first part of my two-part ( probably ) little story-series about my delightful character Len the Techpriest.
This first section will cover everything up to the start of the first adventure. Birth, homeworld, goal, all that stuff.
Not really properly proof-read, Iām too lazy. Also sorry phone-users.
The Cara-system ( KI-L-1759 ) is a system known more for the Forge World of Cara-4-2, a moon of Cara-4, than it is known for the massive Hives covering the desert dunes of Cara-4. These planetoids are the only large-scale habitable areas in the system, excluding smaller bases or mining-platforms in the asteroid-belts.
Cara-4-2, locally known as Fortu or Fortune, is the second and larger moon of Cara-4 and is one of the most deadly Forge Worlds in any of the nearby subsectors. Low gravity weakens bones and bodies, while the air is so thin it is barely breathable - further compounded by the toxic and highly carcinogenic smog spewing out from the many Manifactorums.
Unprotected humans are expected to live only five years past arrival, with pregnancies yet to produce viable offspring. Using gasmasks or similar can significantly extend the lifespan, but most if not all deaths are from painful cancerous growths or lethal accidents in the Manifactorum. Death of old age is reserved for the Tech Priests.
Serfs live in large complexes located in the bowels of the forges - many which do not contain filtering on their air-supply and often only basic purification on water. Gas-masks and rebreathers are in continuous high demand, and the Mechanicum supply free, purified air-supplies at all workstations - as long as you work.
Due to this state of affairs Cara-4 is responsible for supplying the Forge World with the flesh they need to survive. This comes in the form the low-class citizens of the hives. Among these people terms such as āGained Fortuneā or āFound Fortuneā are synonyms for death - and travel to the Forge World.
Len was born into a āmiddleā-class in the Hive, rich enough to buy food and avoid Fortune, but rarely able to afford more than the necessities.
For ten years Len lived there, and saw many of the miracles first-hand. Len saw the Temple of Purification, where the thick, toxic sludge that comprised of outside water was turned into drinkable liquid. Len has worked in the Halls of Reconsitution, where the waste and bodies of the hive - and some fresh supplies - are remade into edible food for the masses. Len even entered one of the sacred Generatoriums, where energy was generated for the blessed machines that kept the Hive alive.
During these years Len saw many holy machines, but also the many serfs that slaved to keep them operational. For the machines are kept working only due to human blood, sweat, and tears.
When Lenās dedication to the machines, not to mention the good memory for rituals Len had, was noticed it was decided that Len would be given the chance to become an acolyte of the Machine God.
For the hives did not only supply the disposable serfs that aided the mighty forges of Cera-4-2, but also many of the children that would become Tech Priests - if they managed to pass the many tests. Those that failed would still serve, but only as the half-lives given to servitors.
Len was eager to try, and left for a brand new life. It was a harsh life were every personsā face were always hidden behind bulky facemasks that provided air or shadowed by dark-red hoods of their calling.
Punctuality became key, with harsh punishments for those even just a second late. By the end of the first year, terran standard, six thousand initiates had become seven hundred. The rest died horrifically or repurposed for other uses. The second year removed another two hundred.
By Lenās twentieth year, Terran standard, only one hundred and nine remained. They became true adepts of the Machine God and granted their first implants of their own choice.
For at this point their bodies were already heavy with implants - from the True Flesh of the cybernantle to the air-purifiers implanted in their lungs to free them from the masks.
Len accepted the blessing of a cranial implant meant to improve thought and logic. But had the adepts responsible heard the thoughts in Lenās head they would have carved the implant back out with no regard for damage to the adept.
For a long time Len had felt that something was wrong with the age-old chant of āThe Flesh Is Weakā that was hammered into their heads. Not that it was wrong in the purely literal sense - not even the strongest human could defeat even the simplest of pistons.
But the idea that the flesh was inferior in every way rang untrue. The most obvious proof of this could be demonstrated, and was demonstrated on a daily basis back in the Hive, that the flesh could heal.
Break a piston and it is ruined until repaired or replaced. Break a human arm and with time it will mend.
But this alone was not enough, Len would not falter for merely that. It was not before Lenās seventeenth year, Terran standard, when irrefutable evidence presented itself.
On that year the Strike-Cruiser Hereticās Bane of the Adeptus Astartes translated into the system for refueling. In the years to come that day was turned into a holiday, with a shrine built around the place where one of the Emperorās angels had stepped.
But that made Len realize that even the Emperor favored the flesh. After all, had not He made his angels of death in flesh rather than metal? And was He not the avatar of the Omnissiah, also known as the Machine God? Was this not proof that to discard the flesh entirely went against the will of Him?
Len ever so carefully brought these questions to others, but overwhelmingly they did not agree. Only a handful seemed to consider his words even worth hearing, and they all came from the same cut. The Biologis, the researchers of the flesh.
As Len joined their ranks tales were told of xenos species. The primitive Orks, durable and strong, capable of surviving and healing wounds that would kill a human in a single heartbeat. The foul Tyranids, adaptive as few and capable of creating biological machines and even void ships. A thousand xenos races, big and small, that had abilities that rightfully belonged to humans.
Regenerative abilities beyond dreams, sight into the mysterial Infra Red, flight, and so much more. Len knew that this must be corrected. The secrets of these xenos should be ripped from their flesh and granted to humanity, and Len vowed to do this.
As a step in this plan Len dvelved into the human biology. Len learned the behavior of the intestines, of how the heart and lungs worked, and the mythical and poorly understood secrets of the double helix.
But it would not be enough. Without references Len could not ever hope to change the double helix to create the new mankind. Len would need to find xenos samples and study their double helix. To createā¦ hybrids.
The Mechanicum wouldn't even use Len for spare parts if they knew everything.
Over the next twenty years Len worked. Each ritual was meticulously memorized, each organ and each muscle. But xenos samples were hard to come by. Some, like the Ork, were and always would be completely impossible to acquire. They were simply too dangerous to bring alive - or even dead.
The rest were either hard to justify or impossible to keep alive - if not both.
Len did acquire an adult specimen of the Snowstalker, a feral animal known for its nightvision and indegionous to a nearby system. The specimen died from stress and unsuitable habitat in nine days after arrival.
Then, in the fourty-second year past Lenās birth, Terran standard, came a boon in disguise.
It was a small group of humans, five in total. Three of them were wounded, one to the point that Len would have considered her nothing but spare parts. They asked Len to heal them all, even the near-dead woman. Len had stated the fact that it would almost certainly be a waste of resources and their Geld to try, but suggested they could trade in the womanās organs to help pay for the other two.
The leader of the five, suffering from a simple lasgun-shot to the leg, had pulled down the sleeve of her left arm. There, on the dark skin, an eletroo-tattoo came to life in the form of a stylized I. The mark of the Inquisition.
She repeated the demand for Len to save the woman, making it very clear it was not a request. Len agreed, free of charge.
It took weeks of hard work. Every ritual performed flawlessly, every piece if insense burned and every word spoken.
Operation after operation was performed replacing and repairing organs. Five Serfs were taken apart for their organs and only the very best taken. In the end, the woman lived.
After those two weeks a void-ship arrived to the planet. Hundred of ships appeared on a daily basis, and this one had no reason to draw Lenās attention. But it did draw the small groupās attention.
They asked that the wounded one was transferred to the ship and, when Len suggested it was unwise, made it clear that this was not a request either.
It was remarkable how quickly they acquired a medicae-equipped shuttle. Len oversaw the transfer, start to finish, and then returned to the surface. The Inquisitorial Agents saw fit to send a generous sum of Geld too.
For the next week Len watched the reports of the ship with mounting dread. It did not leave its orbit.
Then came a Serf with a message; a message sealed with the mark of the Inquisition. It was a request that Len report to the ship to serve in Inquisition. Len, of course, stopped only long enough to gather the most valuable items before leaving.
It was not before halfway up the atmosphere that Len realized this might be a boon. If they made Len an agent, it would grant resources untold. Horrific danger, certainly, but also access to any number of Xenos.
Perhaps the Omnissiah had seen Lenās efforts and decided to give aid.
Well, I get that for resturants and stuff like that. But schools, really? I mean, yeah, the bathrooms at the university ( I donāt remember lower school layouts ) wasnāt exactly massiveā¦or possible to turn around in if you had a backpackā¦ but I donāt think they took up more space than a normal bathroom-stall.
Though I suppose the actual door and wallsā¦ butā¦ how penny-pinching are you people?
my elementary school had bathrooms so big you could play fuckin baseball in it. schools have the biggest of bathrooms. I donāt think itās a money issue, itās a work issue. What works better with the infrastructure. I donāt question it, it works.
Well, I get that for resturants and stuff like that. But schools, really? I mean, yeah, the bathrooms at the university ( I donāt remember lower school layouts ) wasnāt exactly massive...or possible to turn around in if you had a backpack... but I donāt think they took up more space than a normal bathroom-stall.
Though I suppose the actual door and walls... but... how penny-pinching are you people?
Why is your beard getting white? I am pretty sure you are not -that- old yet.
I totally am -that- old yet, youngling *waves cane menacingly*
Or it could actually be a mole that was there and for some reason started destroying the pigmentation of its surrounding. When it started, like a decade ago, it was just a spot of pale skin, but when I started growing beard it appeared to be affected too. I vaguely remember a dermatologist calling it an autoimmune condition or something, not sure it was actually about that one.
