Welcome to Oil Rig Delta. How long is your sojourn?

A world of oceans and lost gods, divided in two hemispheres. In the North: pillaging and wars swim rampant, fuelled by pious practices and unethical sciences, spread across stormy seas. In the South: settlements and kingdoms rise as their residents learn to share their calm waters with those who fled from northern terrors. A southern kingdom made from a cluster of oil rigs stands powerful as it challenges the oncoming changes its era, prepared for the next change that threatens its serenity.

[oddhaul]

Detective Samir Rabia - Knight of Oil Rig Alpha

No CWs for this excerpt

Any feedback is welcome

Excerpt is from Chapter 1 - The Crime Scene

——————————

“Excuse me, Sir Rabia,” she said with a quick salute, “we have… an enthusiast situation outside we could use your help dispersing.”

“More of your fanatics?” Gecks sighed looking at Samir.

“I’ll sort it,” Samir grumbled and followed the Patrolwoman out of the crime scene.

“I apologise,” she said as they walked, “there’s one in particular responsible for the crowd. He wants to talk to you, and we don’t have the authority to send him away.”

“Don’t have the authority?” Samir questioned, “what is he, a Mayor?”

“A Knight,” she told him.

Oh he didn’t like the sound of that. From the darkness of a crime scene, Samir stepped into the bright fluorescent lit world of Pipeline’s substreets, feeling more blinded than welcomed. 

A small crowd had formed around the diner’s entrance and the Patrols were spent keeping them from nearing the two celebrities ahead of them. 

Samir Rabia, the trusted Knight of Oil Rig Alpha stood above and in front of Ezequiel Romeo, the daring Knight of Oil Rig Delta, who knelt before him. 

Samir looked down on him, like a regal angel, debating whether this just and lionhearted mortal was deserving of a divine paradise.

But Samir was not a divine being, the man bowing before him was not just, and the steps from which Samir stood led to a diner that held a forensic team and six corpses, not an eternal paradise.

“My dearest Sir Rabia,” Ezequiel Romeo called. His old voice deep and soothing. Giggles and covered mouths appeared among the admiring audience, “it’s been seven long weeks since these tired eyes saw such brilliance…”

Samir folded his arm, and did his best to contain his anger. This regal angel was not in the mood for another wooing performance from his past love.

[oddhaul]

Cainn, the Titanic Automaton

CW for free falling, sword violence, death, being fatally crushed, bloody remains

Any feedback is welcome

Two excerpt from Chapter 11 - Sand and Ichor

——————————

It became hard for Cainn to observe the fight as the duellists moved beneath his central landscape view. It had never occurred to him, nor his creator, that he might need to look directly under his metaphorical nose.

The automaton didn’t have a spine to bend and so tilted forward using his legs to resume spectating the acolyte. Idiotically, he bent forward before processing the imbalance of his exerted weight, and soon found himself free falling down the cliff face he was no longer on top of. 

Cainn’s body was heavily armoured and made to endure a lot of battery. Regardless, his impact on the sand, as well as three of the pursuing aquarics, was an unpleasant experience. He felt his inner pistons and motors complain as he stood up from a reddened crater of sand and ichor.

The shark-like leading the chase held a frozen look of utter bewilderment. It took Cainn a moment before he confirmed that bewilderment was from the acolyte puncturing his chest, and not from his sudden entrance.

The acolyte stared at Cainn as the final guard fell to the sand.

“Did you… intentionally fall off that cliff?” they asked the machine.

“Affirmative,” Cainn lied, and rose up on his feet. The word “affirmative” appeared on the rounded screen that was his face. As did every word he said.

——————————

——————————

“Do not interrupt me, acolyte,” Cainn hissed.

“I am Wyot’s Archoverseer!” Blake hissed back, surprise in their voice. “You will do well not to interrupt me, machine.”

“Your attitude is most unwelcoming,” Cainn retorted, “Father may see potential in you, but I am yet to.”

“How dare you!” Blake stepped up to the titanic automaton, “either Leah forgot to tighten some screws, or you’re damaged from your fall. One word from me and Father will have you liquified.”

“One word of your unbecoming nature, acolyte, and Father will take back the vision he has given you,” Cainn warned, pointing to their ocular implant.

“I don’t think Father would heed the word of some maintenance droid over their chosen disciple,” Blake condescended.

“Shamefully ignorant,” Cainn said and raised an index finger. On its tip was a red lens. Instantly a beam of sacred light emitted from his fingertip and paved a scorched line into the sand between them. “I am no simple maintenance droid.”

[oddhaul]

Blake Wyot, the Acolyte

CW for eye horror (cybernetic eyes), religious tones, and eminent violence.

Any feedback is welcome

Excerpt from Chapter 11 - Sand and Ichor

——————————

The acolyte didn’t have eyes but was neither blind or visually impaired, for fixed to their forehead and periorbital tissue lay the upper half of a black optical mask. A mask that replaced the frontal bone of their skull and the optic nerves that lead to their visual cortex. Granting the acolyte an improved perception to better serve the occult they followed.

They raised their arms up, rapier still drawn. “Omega’s blessings are with you, settlers!” they announced to their bladed snarling audience, “for bestowed unto you is I, a proud agent of the Occult of Wyot. Understand that your lives now rest safely in the hands of Wyot’s graces, the True Herald of Sinai’s gods!”

A shark-like afflicted with large swellings spoke up. “We have no desire to serve your occult, freak-face!”

“Your misplaced skepticism is understood, settler,” the acolyte lowered their arms, “I too once doubted the claim of Wyot’s words when they first spoke to me, but I have learnt that his power and rule are not things of myth. They are as real as you and I.”

“Didn’t ya hear him?” said another aquaric guard, “we’re not interested in your sermons, drowner.”

“Very well, I did not come here to preach after all. I seek the Captain of the Outlier. Nothing more,” the acolyte stood with their blade readied.

Cainn saw a twitch in two of the aquarics’ fins at the mention of the Outlier. Another two shifted in their stances. They knew what the acolyte wanted to know, but there was no outcome where they’d share it willingly.

“You’ll meet your own damn god before you meet him!” roared a shark-like behind the acolyte, and charged.