Test for the Babylon Thrum rewrite, as well as seeing if there’s an audience for it. So have the beginning! It’ll probably be edited a bit here and there before actual posting, but so far, finally found momentum.
Going back to the original concept, which was an AU me and some friends played with that I decided to drop and subsequently pick back up since frankly, it’s a much better storyline. So, enjoy.
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The old relay tower dominated the landscape, a decrepit monument of steel and crumbling stone with the rusted remains of a satellite dish capping it. A couple ruins of walls curled into the landscape around it, piles of masonry covered in mosses and fungus. Whatever had been there was long since gone, with the tower as its lonely memorial.
But there had been something there at one point. Amid the hustle of the Blakkguard scouting the newly-acquired Outland Reach, Thaddius Blakk found himself fascinated by the presence of humanity where it was said none had been. Maybe it was an outpost for Gateway Cavern once, abandoned.
His cursory patrol of the ruin gave him some small scope of the dimensions, following the line of still-present foundation stones set into the mycelium dirt. Perhaps it could be rebuilt and repurposed as a depot for his Slugterrannean Express. The heavy freight trains could be indispensable out here for proper colonization, as well as hauling any resources back to Slagrock and the Industries for processing.
He rested a hand against a portion of the wall he could reach, already mentally drawing out the plans for the supports and the platform necessary. His attention shifted back to the tower, tracing out a new outer façade for a refitted and updated communications center, one that better fit his company image. The dark charcoal grey with the contouring re--why was the dish pointed away from Gateway?
His thought process stopped dead in its tracks, noticing with a rather abrupt start that the old rotting framework of the satellite dish at the top of the tower was not pointed toward the 99 Caverns. He looked first toward Gateway to be certain, the downward curve of the overgrown road assuring him that yes, that was the slope they had just crested and was the road back to the 99, then back up to the dish.
It was not pointing back to the west, to Gateway. It was pointing north.
"You know. Sirin feathers make them impervious to Slugfire. Very little effects stick to them for long." she said, a wry tone managing its way passed the distorter in the mask as she stood watching the unfolding skirmish on the other side of the wall.
Her gloved fingertips carefully traced the outlines of the Harbinger held in her hands, the belt of tubes with his arsenal of snarling corrupted Slugs in them hanging with hardly a care from it. Committing it to memory, remembering its curves and edges. She was aware of him noticing the habit. Was she taunting him with it, keeping it within sight in her hands? Reminding him of his captivity, maybe. The thought stoked a fire in him, twisted the biding submission into visible anger across his face. She knew how to poke him and it made him livid that she was able to manipulate him so thoroughly.
"I do not like ... these ... so much," she continued, lifting the red-tinted arsenal tubes up to scrutinize them and their unruly inhabitants next, "but if they pack more of a punch than standard..."
She was playing the field now to his favor, trying to stroke his ego and placate him to agree to her. He recognized it in the way she showed curiosity to his corrupted Slugs, mostly in her body language. He wouldn't give it to her.
"Aren't you supposed to be down there negating a threat or something to that manner?" he growled, derailing the subject to something more pressing. "You were called out here to do a job, I'm assuming your job."
She feigned interest in the chaos in the pass, shrugging. "They can hold it out a little longer. I already know what to do and how to use you to that end." He opened his mouth to retort when she held a finger up to silence him and continue. "Do these little monsters have more oomph to them or are their nasty little teeth just for show."
He straightened up and faced forward, though kept her in sight. "Of course they do. I refined them myself, I know their capabilities."
She nodded then, sharp and decisive. "Count this as community service then. If you can use these to keep the smaller Sirin from cresting this wall, I'll let you walk with escort back to your Western 99 Caverns."
"And what if I decide this is not in my personal interest." he retorted, watching with a certain relish as the bandoleer was set on the Harbinger's barrel and brought back around within range.
She hesitated and raised her eyes to meet his from behind the lenses. "If you run without a proper retreat issued, I will hunt you down and murder you myself. I have a creed to uphold and it spells the death sentence for cowards and deserters. You followed me here, you clearly mean to help defend the pass. Do you accept or will I drag you back to Babel to carry out the rest of your sentence."
"Do I have your word of my freedom?"
"You have my word to your freedom, your bondage, or your death. Choose wisely, I will not hesitate to end you."
The threat carried weight. He knew it all too well and for a moment, he looked from his captive effects to the emotionless face of War's mask to the fighting in the pass. Defend for freedom, right? Then he could return to his expansion plans in the 99 and forget all about the Reach? It wasn't a hard choice to make, at least to him.
Right.
"Give me my blaster. I'll do this." he told her, wrapping his hand around the grip fondly when it was offered to him as though greeting an old friend. In a way, he was, pleased to feel the familiarity return to him. The blaster was sacred to any Slinger worth half their salt, and the Harbinger was no different to him.
"Good. I expect to see you giving us cover fire from up here." She turned around as soon as her hands were empty to address the officer nearby. "I don't see my bird. What is commanding?"
The officer saluted smartly and pointed down into the skirmish. "That white peacock there, that's the controller for this wave."
Thaddius paused on returning the bandoleer to its place when he heard the singing thrum of those strange covered blades, looking up in time to see the Horseman nonchalantly step off the wall to join the fray. The hum's key played a dirge on the air behind her.
More random excerpts. Things are progressing, albeit slowly...
"You are avare of how many people you've murdered already."
Even warped through the mask to avoid identity distinction, the tone on her voice was haughty. Poking at him like a stick in an open wound and pulling back and away when he attempted to swipe at it.
"I know what I've done. I am not afraid to admit it." he hissed back, growing ever more impatient with her avoidance. Even if it did benefit her position for the time being.
"Ah, I like un honest man." she trilled, coming to rest out of reach of him some ways down the corridor and leveling the red lenses on him.
The brief respite was taken gratefully, though he was looking between her and the Harbinger, resting between them on the concrete floor. "Now now, no need for name-calling. I never said I was honest."
"You tell ze trut' as it is. Zat ist honest."
She had a point there, driven home with the flat tone in her voice. "Then here's a bit more honesty for your consideration. At least I can do what I do without hiding behind a mask."
It was scathing and it caused a visible shudder in her, her head canting to one side as though curious to his remark. Her hands tightened on the hilts of the swords at her sides. The creak of the leather gloves against the grips was ominous. Had he more of a preservation instinct, he might have been intimidated by it.
"I haf no reason to show my face. I am only a concept, un idea. I vas not born human, I vas born solely under ze name 'War'."
There was a sharp emphasis on the title, a negating of the accent. He had no time to ponder its sudden nonexistence, taking the opportunity given him and realizing in that last second as he ran to grab the Harbinger the startling blur that was supposed to be a woman with broken ankles with no moral inhibition coming to meet him.
The sound of finely-wrought metal moving so swiftly against the concrete created a hissing noise, like an angry serpent awakened. The blades sang in her wake, rising to a deafening chorus the closer they came. The cacophony did little to drown out her further retort, carried in the ever-shortening distance between them.
You call me either 'good' or 'evil'. Neither is true. I am not the hero. I am not the villain, either. What I am is a concept. An idea. And as an idea, I can see the world from a different angle. You think it is all 'black' and 'white', when really, it is only shades of grey. There is no human being or human concept who can embody one extreme or the other. 'Good' and 'evil' have no context here. I am grey, like the rest. I just happen to be a little bit ... darker than others are.
She stares at the paper in her hands. The apathy that stretches over her face at seeing it could rival a stone wall. 'Invoice for Services Rendered' is across the top. Finally, she heaves a sigh as though it's her first breath on earth. She's unaware of how tight her fingers are pinching the paper, minute creases and wrinkles marring the surface.
Murilla raises eyes heavy with weariness toward the messenger, a young apprentice at the Seelie Forge further north. She can't be mad at him, all he is doing is his job. It would be unfair to shoot the messenger, as the saying goes.
Still, he looks nervous to be handing it to her. Like she'll bite him or something. It's an unfounded worry, Murilla hasn't bitten anyone during her long and storied career. Removed some folks, sure. All marshals do that at least once, if not condemn some people to it. But they were true threats, not just handing her bad news.
"I knew I shouldn't have lent them my Limiter model..." she grumbles, hearing Cade walk in through the door of the office and come to stand in the doorway.
"What's that." he asks, seeing her jaw set in frustration.
He ignores how the technician's apprentice flinches a little away from him. Murilla remembers the boy, Cade does too. He's caused some small trouble in the past, but being hired on at the nearby beast forge has done him some good for character redemption. Seelie's a good place to find work, they're always taking in those who need it. Still, you tangle with a Coral Troll once and it sits with you for a while.
Murilla hands her second in command the paper. "Read it and see for yourself."
She tries to keep her tone as even as possible, if anything to not disturb Talloun during his afternoon nap. The Wawi is stretched from her shoulder over her head, his serpentine body relaxed and comfortable. If she raises her voice or gets too animated, it could disturb him and he would bite. Cade takes the invoice in his lower right hand, starts looking it over.
"Services rendered ... Limiter model ... replacing missing head and half of the neck ..."
He reads it in snips under his breath, a low whistle as he sees both the damage to be repaired and the pricetag that hangs over all of it. It's a moment more of his eyes darting over the information before he looks up, little further mumbles to solidify what is going on.
The head and neck need to be replaced, the sensors in both rebuilt. Part of the front right shoulder wheel is bent and sticking on rotation. It probably has a prominent limp. The main HUD computer is safe, but the regulators for a number of readers and other sensors are crushed. It can't see at all and can barely feel when something is nearby it. The engine and core are still intact, though. It's still mobile, if barely.
The Coral Troll looks up at the apprentice then. "What happened to it."
It's not a question, he feels like he knows the answer already. It takes a moment for the boy to respond.
"It was in a collision."
"Above and below, what did it hit to take out carbon fiber that deep!"
Cade can't help the astonishment in his voice coming through. He still has his suspicions, but the shock of the damage keeps him from reigning his surprise back. Talloun looks up at him from Murilla's head at the outburst as a warning, laying back down when he puts his hands up placatingly.
Although he flinches more noticeably this time, the apprentice responds with a relieved sort of wheeze. "It was a STL-1! They brought it in so it could be repaired, they said, before they returned it to you!"
Murilla groans in abject defeat at the response. Cade looks to his marshal exasperatedly.
"You lent them a Limiter!?"
"We weren't sure what was going on, they hadn't brought their own." Murilla snarks back in defense. "They promised to pay for any damages."
She's surprised she keeps her voice as even as it is, though her face screws up to show her distaste to being questioned. Before Cade can even retort on the matter, the apprentice waves his hand a little to catch their attention.
"It-it's true though. They're paying for the repair bill."
"Then why do we need to look over this!" Cade snaps back, waving the invoice for emphasis.
"Oh, I just need your signature, saying you as the owner of the beast give your permission for us to work on it..?" the kid squeaks out, lilting in apprehension.
Murilla lets out another held sigh, feeling a grumble of disturbance through her head from Talloun before she reaches to grab the paper from Cade. "You shoulda lead with that instead of just handing it to me and asking for my signature."
She grabs a pen from the desk nearby as the kid apologizes under Cade's tight-eyed scrutiny, looking over the full extent of the damage before scrawling her font across the bottom of the paper. Repairs will take some time, judging from the extensive itemized receipt of services staring back at her face. They'll have to default to the old Limiter model until they get the new one back.
Right above the line for her information as owner is a field that catches her eye. 'Submitter's Comment'. It is occupied by whatever reason the repairs are needed. As soon as her name, the date, and the number on her ownership card are input where they need to be, she chances a glance to see what excuse that warmonger has for destroying the Limiter she was loaned. It's only two words, but after reading them, Murilla can't even find the energy to be mad.
the last set of excerpts to spam the tag with before i finish off the site for RP purposes and start actually writing stuff again:
featuring thaddius getting his nose broken by his wife ... again ...
and some stuff for a much later part of the babylon thrum continuity, in which eli gets a strong lesson about alignments and thaddius wonders how in the hell eli kept beating him all those decades ago
readmore for length, you know the drill
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That shadow's too big to be mine…, he thought, scrunching his brow a little bit in thought as the floor around him grew dark.
Maybe he'd moved so one of the sconces was casting a shadow on one of the big pillars in the main office, he thought first. But when Xerxes rocked to one foot, he realized that wasn't it at all. The shadow remained unmoving. Maybe it was Uncle Maurice's, he reasoned with himself, forgetting for a moment that he had seen the man in question move off down the hall opposite the one his mother had slipped through as soon as the silent alarms were triggered, warning her young son to stay in the office. Located at the center of the citadel monolith, it was the safest place for him from any hostile force.
It didn't occur to him that Maurice always called to him when he was nearby, and as he turned to face who he thought he knew, it did occur to him that this was neither his mother or his uncle. The sharp monstrous form that filled the space, the glowing red eyes that centered on him, was like something that had come from his worst nightmares. The creature seemed anchored to its place, staring down on him with a look of what could be taken as an astonished awe. The pause gave Xerxes enough time to swallow the bouncing fear in his little throat before doing what he always did in nightmares.
He called for his mother.
It came out a squeak at first before raising to nothing less of a scream of terror that was less a word and more a noise that bounced off the marble and reverberated. He was still screaming when the blur of red that was his savior arrived, grabbing him by the back of his collar and tossing him down the rug runner to quickly put him out of any arm's reach, squaring herself between her child and the intruder with no pause for thought.
The furious thunder etched into her face as his scream cut out and was replaced by the shriek of metal on the floor of one brace anchoring and the roar of, "GET AWAY FROM MY SON" was punctuated by the sound of bone snapping and the thumping yelp as the monolithic figure hit the floor, taking the full force of her livid fist centered in its face.
Maurice bolted back into the room, running first to check on Xerxes as the boy scuffled in sobbing panic to get away from the scene and hide, before turning his attention briefly to the potential massacre. A courtesy in case the enraged woman advancing on the intruder's felled hulk needed help, but he already knew she didn't. Her knuckles were bleeding but it didn't seem to bother her much. He scooped up the child to remove him, letting the boy bury his face in his chest and put his hands over his ears to shut out the situation. He was running for the side door when a coughing expletive made him pause.
The voice was familiar. The snarling edge that followed was enough to send a shiver down his spine.
"Of all that's holy, woman, you would punch a Darkbane in the face. Wouldn't you."
There was a sharp fondness to it, a mixture of surprise and annoyance, and one that stayed any further attack from War with a visible shudder of dispersed energy through her shoulders and back. The rage was still there, marring her scarred face, tinted with something that could be flat-lined shock if read too much into. It was a moment still before she spoke, ignoring the clawed hand placed next to her, scratching for purchase into the marble floor as though it were paper. She canted her head to one side, her eyes leveled into the glowing red dots in front of her and her lips pulling thin.
"Thaddius?"
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The Baness gave a small laugh, a single note of fondness. "Oh please. My husband is an idiot."
Eli was taken aback by the statement.
Not so much the revelation that Thaddius was an idiot so much as it shocked him every time he was reminded that the man was married and had been for decades. Some sort of inside joke ingrained in him told him no one could stick around him for long periods of time without being paid to, even going so far as to solidify that Xerxes was a matter of convenience. It never occurred to him that someone out there could actually willingly love the hellish industrialist.
"Yeah, I can agree with that much..." he murmured, embarrassed a little by having to admit such in front of Thaddius' wife, even though she had been the first one to say it. He was quick to smooth it over. "But I still need him for this. Is he available?"
"He's somewhere around." she told him, sipping at the coffee mug in her hands. It was small compared to her long claw-tipped fingers, more of a teacup. "I don't meddle much in his affairs. Never have."
"Right…" Eli replied, absent-mindedly.
He took a moment to commit her to memory. Darkbane were rarely amiable or friendly, and to be fair he didn't remember ever having seen a female. It was impressive the height, the sweeping elegant lines, the delicate studs of horns and spikes along her angles. If all Banesses were like this, it was any wonder they chose to distance themselves from their brutish male counterparts.
"Did he … do that to you?" He was hesitant to ask it at first, but Xerxes was far too human to be born to a pair of Darkbanes. Eli could only assume his mother had been human once.
She stared at him a moment before setting the mug down, training her glowing red gaze on him.
"He did. But only because I told him to." He couldn't stop the look of shock that crossed his face at that, and the appearance of it caused her to add, "Thaddius is a stubborn idiot sometimes, but he knows better than to do anything to me without my express permission."
"That doesn't sound like Blakk…"
"Only because you never knew him intimately."
Eli rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Yeah, 'intimacy' is a word I wouldn't associate with him, either…"
"On any professional basis, certainly not. But I can assure he can show affection when he wants to. Not every aspect of his life is taken by the facade he has to play for work."
"…You make him sound almost human."
The chuckle that left her raised the hairs on the back of his neck, drawing her lips back from the dastardly needle-teeth. "All the best villains are. There is no 'black and white', Eli, only shades of grey."
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"I know I am going to regret asking this, but do you at least have a plan?"
Eli shrugged, but there was still that twinge of obnoxiously nonchalant confidence. "Go in there and flush 'em out."
There was an almost oppressive silence as Thaddius' clawed fingertips gripped his nose ridge in an attempt to keep from swearing. It worked only partially, a muffled expletive still making its way out.
"I'm missing my anniversary for this…" The 'Bane sighed heavily, staring exhausted at the peacekeeper. "Of all the traits you kept over the years, this is the one that stuck, is it. Fine. Let's just get on with it…"
Finally found a means to start this thing. It's by no means the complete version; there's still a LOT of editing to be done, plus the finishing of the installment in general.
But for now, enjoy the excerpt!
“Whaddya mean, ‘gone’?”
Surprise was evident on the Caribbean’s voice, peridot eyes staring in apparent disbelief at the radio guard who had come to tell him. Granted, Orion had to look up in order to meet the eyes of the other. Being five-foot-three really hindered the ability to properly look her in the eye, but he still managed it.
“The Western Beast Forge called in.” the guardswoman told him, keeping as calm as professionalism allowed. “They were supposed to be there three days ago, radio in, and be heading back by then.”
“An’ they never showed up.”
“No, sir. We tried radioing ahead to some of the settlements in the caverns in direct connection, hoping that maybe something inclement happened. But they never showed there, either.”
The more he listened, the more Orion’s brow furrowed, hand reaching up to cup his chin in thought. Certainly, they were somewhere. Horsemen and an entire caravan surrounding a shipment of magnetic plates didn’t just disappear into thin air. While his mind was on the mystery at hand, it also flickered somewhere else. “…’Ave y’told Fae yet.”
It came out more of a statement than a question. He was most worried about the mental stability of the Prussian at this point in time, hoped that no one had let her know just yet. Her father, War, was her last living relative. To have him suddenly disappear would not result in a good reaction, he knew. Thankfully, the radio guard shook her head.
“I came straight to you, Death, sir. I--”
She paused when he flashed those unsettling eyes toward her. “I ain’ Death yet.”
“But in the event of no acting Horsemen…”
“I ain’ Death yet!” he snapped before recoiling as though struck. “I … We’re no’yet ready f’ t’at. Too young still.”
“But, sir, in the event of no acting Horsemen in Babel…”
“I know the policies!” Panic was evident on his face at this point. Surely, she wasn’t implying what he knew she was. “I’m barely seventeen, I ain’ a Horsemen yet! None of us are, th‘program specif‘cally states all Horsemen‘re inducted an‘ … an‘ changed out at thirty, at latest!”
“You’re more qualified than any of us, even at seventeen, sir.”
The guardswoman was taking this a lot better than he was, to be sure. But she didn’t have that pressure weighing down on her head, he knew. All the children in the program were indeed more qualified to the role than anyone else in the caverns, but that still didn’t mean that it was time to change out the guard just yet.
“How long with th’ radio silence.”
“A day and a half, sir.”
“Keep tryin’ to reach ‘em.” Something to take his mind off things right now, that’s what he needed. Of course, he could have chosen something better to distract himself with than what he did. “I gotta go let Fae know.”
Concern spread across the guard’s face, but she didn’t press the subject further, merely bowing her head and shoulders respectively to his orders. “Sir. As you wish it.”
She turned around with him in tow, exiting the house and making her way toward the little mech shaped like a small fox with large satellite-dish ears parked in the front yard. Once mounted, the engine turned over, the buzzing growl of the considerably smaller mechabeast sounding as she turned it around and sent it bolting across the bridges connecting the islands suspended over The Pit, leaving little more than an echo as she exited through the corridors on the side of the magnet and through the entrance pass, out of sight.
Only now, with the guard gone, did Orion realize the stupidity of his choice of distractions. He quietly reprimanded himself for it, though knew that even if they had just lost contact temporarily with the caravan, someone was going to tell Fae. That or she would overhear it and begin to panic worse than he had. Of all of them, she had likely suffered the most and her post-trauma response would kick in, even if it was just a communications error. It was probably for the best that he told her of it, let her get it out and calm herself with someone she was close to and trusted.
He had left his island, traversing the bridge that connected to the nexus between the familial manors of all Horsemen at the back of the caverns, when a wisp of black caught his attention. Looking up, the Prussian in question had exited her own home and was striding across the connecting bridge toward him, giving him an odd look once she caught sight of him.
“Evey contacted you too?” she asked, confusion lacing her features.
He shook his head. “Nope. Wha’sup?”
Fae shrugged her shoulders, beginning passed him on her way through. “She just told me to grab you und meet her in ze garage. Has somet’ing to show us zat she t’inks ve should see.”
Orion sighed, internally. Another distraction from his distraction, luck was on his side. “Prob’ly a beta she needs testin’, oui?”
Once again, he got a shrug, “I don’t know, zough. It sounded urgent.” There was a pause as she reassessed her wording. “Or at least as urgent as Evey should sound? I don’t know vat constitutes as urgent for her over comm.”
He chuckled some. “Well, ‘ere’s ‘opin’ it’s just a beta she needs testin’…”
After the news earlier, he was going to need something lighter. Something that he didn’t need to feel afraid for. Even after orders had been issued and the changing was no longer priority, he couldn’t help but feel a sinking feeling in his stomach. Something wasn’t right, and Evey sounding in any way needing was not exactly helping to ease that sensation. It was a little cloud on his head and nothing short of drugging himself into sedation was going to stop it, he was sure.
The garage was a short, squat building at the mouth of the nexus island, light-colored and fairly plain, with the cascade known as Tigris roaring out its indistinct rhythm behind it, timed to the low thrumming of the magnet walls. Standing outside it were Evelyn and Oberon, next in line for Famine and Plague, respectively. Evelyn didn’t look too concerned, though she probably was. There was a glint in her silvery-blue eyes that said it, if the apprehensive Oberon nearby her hadn’t given it away, his lips pursed lightly and no small smiles of greeting given on his comrades’ approach.
Orion had barely raised his hand in his own brief greeting when Evelyn started. “I really need you guys to see dhis too. Before I take it up vit’ dhe council.”
That feeling in his stomach raised to notice again, twisting his gut until he felt almost nauseous. A glance toward the taller Prussian next to him confirmed that now she too was feeling something was off. It was in the way her shoulders moved as she crossed her arms, any joviality on her face falling flat to an indifferent stare, not unlike the Russian mechanic in front of them. It made the hair on the back of his neck and his arms raise, like hackles. Still, he made a conscious effort to nod his head a little to tell his friend to go on.
Evelyn nodded her head back, in much the same fashion, before turning around and typing in the access code to the pocket doors that covered just one of the two bays. A beep to confirm the demand was heard before a motor kicked on somewhere, the chains that moved the doors in their tracks clinking. The sound was almost menacing, like a ravenous monster was waiting for them just passed the opening threshold.
It was dark beyond, the ambient lighting provided by the Lumino Ore on the outside barely making its way into the ink of the garage. It wasn’t until the lights flickered on, as they did when a door was moving, that the problem was actually seen. Sitting in the open bay were two of the four heirloom warhorse mechs, silent and proud, with their distinctive paint-jobs and the masks that belonged to their designated riders hanging off the sides of their heads from the ear.
The silence that followed the reveal was oppressive. It was quiet enough among the four of them that Orion swore he heard Fae’s mind crack. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it when she processed it. The way her jaw set, the straightening of her back. He could still hear her breath become erratic, but there was an eerie calm out of her.
“Vat … vat exactly does zis mean, Evey?” Her voice was unsteady in tone, shifting from deep to higher pitches, a crack in the undertone.
Even Evelyn, usually so straight-forward, paused for a moment, giving the taller Prussian a once-over before she decided to answer. “To be perfectly blunt, I don’t t’ink dhey planned on coming back.”
