The Weeping Jade
Icicles formed on the masts of the ship. The sailors of the ship called The Weeping Jade shivered as they pulled the ropes and swept the deck of any ice that formed along it. The Quartermaster known as Goborn looked across the ship from the Quarterdeck feeling the winds of the Eastern Sea growing colder the closer the Weeping Jade came to the Severosian Isle. A week had passed since his captain drunkenly accepted Advisor Hushtone’s job offer. “Travel to the Severosian Isle and make sure accept the Arkins terms.” At the time, Goborn nor his captain knew what those terms were, and he was quite certain Captain Nard Marx had no idea still. Yet as the good bookkeeper and Quartermaster Eli Goborn was, he looked over all the paperwork after Captain Marx sloppily shook hands and clinked cups with Advisor Hushtone.
What he read astonished him. Another war. Another bloodthirsty fight for the heart of Allkline. And this ship, this crew, this captain even was to be the harbingers of the bloodied axes and gun smoke.
“You understand all this Marx?” The Quartermaster asked shuffling around the captain's quarters like a hyperactive ship rat.
“For the millionth time, Goborn, yes. Go to the place, make the big wigs agree to be a collaboration of big wigs. It's all honestly pretty under me, really.” Captain Marx said, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes trying to block out the anxious weasel-looking quartermaster from drilling deeper into his already aching mind.
“Under you? Sir, do you not understand how paramount this is? How dangerous and how historic?”
“Goborn...”
“No, non-Severosian ever makes it past The Pass alive! If we did, which is a highly illogical probability we would then have to convince each tribe not to murder us on sight, and even after that-”
“Goborn...” Nard Marx said increasingly annoyed. His temples grew red and raw as he tried to subdue the pain growing in his head.
“Even in the wildest outcome, there the abhorrent task of trying to convince bloodthirsty warlords to join as one with the entirely different nation? I mean, what have we gotten ourselves into? Really, its-”
“Goborn!” The captain finally had his full of the rambling fearful bookkeep. “Relax your fluttering lips please.” he said with exhaustion, giving the Arkin a pitiful look. “It’ll all go as planned, like I always say, right?”
“Yes, but you have no pl-” Marx cut off his twitchy quartermaster before his hangover got any worse and used his finger to direct him to the door back to the deck.
“Part of the plan” He whispered with a nod to the door and a facetious smile. The Quartermaster let out a frustrated sigh and retreated to the open air of the deck.
When Goborn first met the Salkavien Captain like many he was mesmerized by his silver tongue and led astray from the Arkin Administration. Eli grew up with a determination and fire inside to understand all walks of life, to build upon the foundations of the Arkin Republic. Goborn, unlike many in the Republic, was a student of history. Although much of the archives were either locked deep away inside the Kantara’s many labyrinthian catacombs, or completely rewritten, Goborn was a student of what he could know and what he did know was he wanted to help build a better Republic.
The Republic came from the Arm of Scion, a large-scale repopulation mission from the vaults to the surface. In Eli’s findings the Arm of Scion were ruthless. The only ones allowed to wield weapons they took full charge of the waif they guided through the new world. It was the Arm that founded Huxwell, and in the first years ran it as a camp, having the people of the below mine through the old-world goods and building the large wall that stands today. They followed in the footsteps of their elders, of the central city that helped create this world.
It was Cavenall Hamlin, the leader of the Arm of Scion who deemed the end of the zealot group. After the wall was constructed and the buildings were built. He read off the laws of the land to his people. Mostly all boiler plate, no murder, no stealing, simple and common rules. Then came the uncommon rules. All jobs will be appointed by the governing body; the people shall not speak ill of the governing body; all people shall serve the guards and military anything asked of them including food and shelter. Then came punishments. All who violate the will of the government shall be cast out to the untamed west or sent into the sea. The first one only lasted until the War of the Divide, the other Goborn believed to be outlawed with it, until the ship drifted further into the Severosian waters.
The sun began to fall under the water and the moon crafted diamonds along the waves in its place. Something bobbed in the water near the side of the ship. In the shadows of the night Eli thought it to be wreckage from the battles of the clans of Severos, but soon he could see the heavy wet hair draping over the wood of the barrel.
“Castaway port side! I repeat castaway port side!” Goborn yelled as he rushed to the steam whistle and gripped its chain. A familiar hand yanked him away.
“Stop.” The silky voice of his Captain softly said pushing him away from the whistle. “Mans been long dead. A cast out of the Arkins like the rest.” His words sloshed around his mouth like the liquor in his bottle. The captain waved his finger toward the bow of the ship, revealing the horrendous sight to Goborn. Littering the entrance to the isle of Severos were barrels with the bodies of Arkin exiles strapped to them tight. The decaying and half eaten floating exiles welcomed the Weeping Jade to their shores as Nard Marx ship push through. “Welcome to the Channel of Winter Dead.” Nard said gripping Goborn’s shoulder. “They used to call it, the Channel of Vok, you may know more history than me, but I know the waters, dear Goborn.” Marx said cracking a daring grin.
“They...They look fresh...” Goborn said examining the bodies from the railing.
“Well, the ice-cold water helps, but most ‘em are!”
“Thats impossible!” The Arkin couldn’t believe such words. Exiling was banned since the War. All “Undesirables” were sent to the Mountains, that was the rule.
“Think your evidence to the contrary is right ‘front and center, Gob.” Marx said unfazed. “They never stopped... Well maybe they stopped sending them to the west, but they sure as hell sent them south.” Eli Goborn, a man who had grown up seeing the beauty of the concrete city of Huxwell, and studied the great history of the Republic and its Tiso’s, stared off quietly into the waters of the frosted exiles. He had no words, no questions or answers as to why his people would do such a thing after all that had happened before. The Pearse Militia, the Confederacy, history told that this only brought danger to the Territory, yet the Republic spat on history and lied in the Divide Treaty. Or was it a lie? Did they simply find a loophole in its words? If his memory served him correctly, as it should since he had memorized the treaty over a dozen times, it did state “The Arkin Republic shall not Exile its traitors to the West.” The drunken Captain may have been right after all, Not the west, but the south had never been written. Questions finally began to flow; if the south had not been off limits, then possibly the north as well and even the east. Reckoning’s. Could they possibly still be happening...It was an awful thought. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it though as the steam horn was pulled and one of the sailors cried out across the frosted deck.
“Ship ahead! Ship ahead!”
Captain Marx rushed to the wheel of the ship and commanded everyone to fighting positions. “Bring this ship to power!” He yelled through a grate below him. In the belly of the ship, three of his men shoveled coal into the furnace as quickly as they could and cranked a hot iron lever shoddily wrapped in leather and cloth releasing the built-up pressure to the rest of the ship. Rutters began to push the ship faster than the wind on their sails that carried them to these shores ever imagined.
The opposing ship that lurched ever forward could not compare with the speed of the weeping jade. I had no need to be fast though. Through the frosted and foggy air, the Severosian ship seemed small and not very imposing as Goborn had expected. The stories of these warriors of the sea made their ships seem like the terror of any vessel that they crossed paths with. The very reason they came to these shores was to gain their naval expertise.
A ball of flame shot out from the Severosian vessel with a loud Crack and illuminated the foggy night air. In the seconds before Goborn was tackled to the deck by Marx he witnessed the true legendary fear the Severosian ships gave to every sailor who crossed them. It was unlike any ship of the Arkins or even Marx’s people, the Salkayvians. It was rudimentary yet that seemed to be the point. It wasn’t built to look elegant, the Severosians were too busy fighting each other to take time out for such things. It was built to strike fear, sail better than any other ship and destroy.
It was designed in the style of a longship. It had patches of scrap-like metal, that seemed to be from other ships it had defeated; Trophies that doubled as armor. It had no steam engine like the Weeping Jade and was simply propelled through the icy waters by oars and two rows of Severosian warriors on either side. Between the rows of warriors and raiders was a large mortar that shoved the light ship into the waters for a moment as it blasted its molten metal ball of fire into the sky. The bright ball of flame crashed in the water of exiles, crunching through the bones and barrels. The embers singed the wood and scolded the metal of the Weeping Jade. It rocked the ship with the shivering waves that were created in its wake. Marx tackled Goborn to the ground as it landed, trying his best to keep the small Arkin alive in such a battle.
“What in the Tiso’s name is that?” The Arkin Quartermaster cried out.
“A very mean rowboat, that’s what.” The captain picked himself off the ground and called for his men to fire on the Severosian Longship. Round after round they fired with no luck of penetrating. “The wood! Fire for the wood you dolts!” The captain commanded as the longship continued its approach. Goborn could see some of the pale warriors easier now. They barely seemed to care for the chilly weather. They wore thin cloth shirts and torn pants. The only protection from weather and wounding Goborn could see was a warrior wearing a sleeveless leather cuirass. Their faces were painted with ritualistic runes and hellish accents to their physical ashy features that created a terrifying demonic look for the wearer. Then he noticed something off as the ship grew closer. The wood of the ship had not a scratch or dent from any of the lead fired by the sailors. His heart sank at the realization.
“Pykrete...” Eli spoke to himself.
“What?” The captain said spinning the helm trying to aim the Weeping Jade to maneuver around the beastly Longship before it rammed them.
“It's not wood, its Pykrete!” Goborn cried out “It can ricochet small projectiles! Aim for the men-”
Before he could finish his words, the sailors fired again toward the pykrete hull. Five men fell bloodied and lifeless, three laid wounded. Only two, the Billing brothers, Vince and Erik, survived. They were known for the odd way they never earned a scrape, sometimes even known as the “Bills due brothers” for this consistent, incredible luck.
“I need more men up here, leave the shoveling to one of you!” Marx said yelling toward the grate below him. He looked back up to see the longship heading in for a ram. Marx swiveled the helm trying to outpace the man powered longship yet somehow in the design of the ship or in the power of the men who rowed it, it was not enough to create a great distance. Goborn began to understand what they brought themselves into. This was their waters, their home. No matter how much power the Jade had, it didn’t have that.
The longship caught up enough to hit the stern. The Weeping Jade spun in the water before the captain and the quartermaster heard the snapping of metal and wood along the coastline. The Weeping Jade had just run aground.
“Get this thing moving!” Goborn whispered to the captain. “There is not much time!” He kept himself low to the deck floor hoping the Severosian’s would think they already fled into the snowy island.
“And what would you have me do? Push it with the few men we have left?” The captain raised his body from the ground and stood upright toward the last remaining men of the Weeping Jade. The Billings brothers, two men of the coal crew Benji and Brock whose clothes were a mess of soot and blood, obviously belonging to Tolvin, who met his demise by a stray ricochet piercing the hull, the carpenter Shaynee, who was below decks ready to repair any damage done and with the luck of the void she managed to come out unharmed, and lastly the chief Rovo, who almost met his demise to a stray bullet that damaged his prize butcher knife as he made what he thought to be the crews favorite, Tarthound and Falmis berry stew. It was not a single sailor's favorite, besides the Billing brothers of course, who tended to like their stew sweet with a tang of gamey meat.
“Time to bash some heads, Cap’n?” Brock asked looking up to the helm where Marx stood above his crew. Eli Goborn tugged at the captain’s pant leg begging him to get to the ground and waving the men to get down as well.
“We are here on a mission of peace from the Arkin’s ill-fitting crown.” He said shaking the Arkin off his leg. “As much as I'd love to give em’ a good bash, I'd say with the lack of men and lack of ship best bet is to play the long game on this one, aye? See where this goes once, they ride up over here? Watcha say mates?”
“Aint they looking to kill us?” Rovo asked curiously. The wheels of the dull-minded chief began to turn.
“Exactly, so get the hell down!” Goborn whispered aggressively from the deck floor.
“Nah, now why would they do that? They love to maim and kill their own kind!” The captain said placing a boot on the small Goborn’s lips. “They fight the other clans from what the stories have told.”
“And kill any who enter their waters.” The bronzed Salkavian carpenter added pushing her neck forward and widening her large and dark amber eyes to annunciate the predicament.
“How long has it been since any ship has passed through here? ‘course they are skeptical as any of us would be! Mates, let's just play the long game, ‘lemme talk ‘em up when they get here, and we shall see from there!”
It was an uneasy compromise between the crew and Marx, but the crew of the Weeping Jade hid in the hull of the ship, watching from the gunports with arms ready as Marx stood in wait on the tundra of the island watching as the longship approached through the misty waters. Through the snow palms the weary captain could hear the thud of something in white desolate distance and hope it was not nearing. He watched the ash-like skinned warriors debark the longship from the frosty beach and rush toward him with growls and wails of something of the void. He closed his eyes and waited for their screeches to get closer, and yet so did the thud of the infernal percussion of the island.
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“WAIT!” The captain shouted to the band of warriors as they neared. “I am of no clan!” They did not yield. The drumming rang loudly with a crash of metal.
“The outsider said he is of no clan!” the harsh voice of a women called out from the crash of the metal. “And we are in a time of cold truce are we not Farouhk?” She questioned one of the raiding warriors.
The captain opened his eyes to see a pale woman on a white lizard creature with long silver fur hanging from it, Marx would later know it as a Tundra Thrall. The woman had the fairest of features even with her battle scars crossing her face. She had a fair nose and chin with wide and round eyes that could easily see through the blizzards of Severos and the posture of someone demanding importance. Her fur coat told him that even though she demanded it, she still was important. The warriors around her wore the typical leather and pants like the raiders while she wore fur and jewelry. The others hair was raggedy while hers was cleanly cut and woven beautifully.
What Marx did not notice, but Goborn did as he peaked over the port was the paint across the ones beside the woman and the raiders attacking. The ones beside the woman wore red paint that circled one eye or connected them like glasses almost and trailed down their armor or body if they had none. The raiders had a mix of black and green that made jagged shapes and sharp movements across them.
“If you would damn well answer the elder, we could leave this cold truce already Frelka!” A small hunchback man sharply spat out like venom with his scratchy voice. She stayed stoic and turned her beast to the ship and rode close to Nard Marx who looked more confused than anything. “Per the orders of the Elders of Severos during the Summit no death or violence shall occur throughout the isle till a decision has been made unanimous. Therefore, all of you are safe and under the isle's protection, my protection!”
“They are outsiders!” Farouhk insisted.
“The order says no violence, does it specify no violence except to outsiders, because if so, you are free to carry on.”
“If I may, I would say it probably doesn’t-”
“Hush, you!” Frelka stopped Marx in his tracks before he irritated the situation further. All he heard from the hunchback man was a quiet growl before his men back up toward their longship.
“You are all safe to come out! My men will not harm you!” She said calling out toward the grounded Weeping Jade.
The Three Sisters
The Kantara had towered above the city of Huxwell since the end of the Arms of Scion and the beginning of Tiso Reignly’s linage on the throne. It had seven floors and twenty rooms to each for the most part. A large garden and courtyard stood behind the palace and was fenced in by the servant's wing on the west side, armory and barracks on to the east and the gardener and greenery on the north end, with the tall palace at the south. The top of the tower held a large and powerful steam whistle where once was a bell. Both the whistle and the bell served the same purpose. It was to signal the Arkin Army and the people of Huxwell of any threat. Below the bell tower was Tiso Reignly’s large and lavish chamber. His chamber had many amenities. A large library of knowledge on the history of the Arkin Republic that was not tampered with or censored, a wall of clothing and jewelry, many being passed down by Tiso’s of old, and a lounging area with the finest furniture in the territory made by the finest craftsmen. From the wall paint to the furniture, everything followed the same pattern of color and style. The colors of the Arkin flag, Maroon Red and Gold. Talion may have been a young Tiso, but he was a very proud one.
Like clockwork the tapping of frail knuckles came from his large and hand carved doors. Talion yawned from under his warm and beautifully tucked bed sheets, of embroidered silk and satin. He called for the frail knuckles to enter and the large chamber doors with the carved visage of Marianna Kantara and Hugo Lestare swung open letting in the cool air of the stone palace. “Your Lordship, this is your eight thirty wake up.” A boney and greying man with an awkward and ill-fitting formal outfit said as he shuffled into the room. “It is currently cool outside with a slight drizzle, Advisor Cullo has some news on the search party being helmed by Commander Hein and Captain Luko, he is awaiting your presence in the throne room, Advisor Hushtone has informed me that he has no new information on the Weeping Jade and believes it has finally entered Severosian waters.” The old butler gave an exhaustive snap and in whizzed garment racks rolling across the expertly carpeted floor. The racks held dozens of coats, boots, trousers and jewelry for the young Tiso behind them came three women holding combs and scissors to make sure the rulers stubble and hair were expertly crafted before the day. “Anything else, sir?”
“Yes, please bring my breakfast to the throne room, I'll have be having breakfast with the Advisor.” Talion said as he was tugged and pulled around by the women as they carved a beautiful head of hair for the leader today.
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Vaas Cullo sat in the most finely carved and upholstered chair in the Tiso’s throne room. Stared up at the large mural that rested behind the Tiso’s desk. Unlike the rigid and muted colors of the rest of the Kantara which typically consisted of simple maroon red, gold and grey with the occasional royal purple. This mural had green and bright blues. It was a mural of the Arms of Scion guiding their people out of the vault, led by a tall and wide shouldered man with one good eye. It showed the green meadow of the earth the vault members had never seen, and beams of golden sunlight shining on their old home. On either side of it curtains of maroon red covered the edges of the mural and Vaas Cullo couldn’t help but grin at how far they had come from the bright skies of the new world to the metropolis of Huxwell. Quickly he was taken from his thoughts by the hurried footsteps of the help rushing in with plates of hot food and setting them on the desk away from him.
“How are you feeling today, your lordship?” Vaas Cullo asked curiously as he watched the young ruler scarf down his plate of baked bread, cooked sweetened meat strips and a freshly killed venni steak. The Advisor noticed there was some greens on the plate, but the Tiso had hid them below his steak.
“Do not question my health, only update me on the where those damned files are.” Talion said with his eyes fixated on sawing the venni steak.
“Yes, um...Well Luko’s reports have been quite detailed. It seems they have tracked them to a small town west of Huxwell, but the scouting party found that the town itself has been...well utterly destroyed.”
“Destroyed?” Talion’s eyes looked up from his meal curiously.
“Yes, sir. Scouts say birds did it.”
“Since when have you gained a sense of humor, Advisor Cullo? My father never mentioned it.” He said leaning forward and gesturing with his knife.
“I do not joke...Your highness.” The room went quiet for a moment and the air grew thick with tension as the young leader’s eyes tightened on the Advisor.
“Then tell me, Vaas. Did they find any bodies? Is the wandering nuisance of a wolf and his bumbling companion in the body count of this ‘disaster’?”
“They don’t believe so. They found fresh trails of a motor cart heading north from town. And one of the merchants who frequents the town said everyone was accounted for, he didn’t spot any out of towners in the bodies.”
“Do you have any idea what could have done this?” The Tiso asked curiously. “The destruction of a whole town? It wasn’t Aldous Hein, the brash idiot, was it?”
“No sire, Luko wouldn’t have let that happen.”
“So what do you know? You have your secrets, I'm not stupid enough to know you don’t.” Talion said with a grin crossing his face. Vaas saw right through it. Talion was too young at this game to be playing against him. He knew he was trying to startle him, make him show his card too early, but Vaas played this game with his father enough times. “Well, if you believe I haven't been completely forthcoming with you I would say you are correct, sire, my apologies.” He answered boldly. “I have held something back, but only because I feared upsetting you so early in the morning. One of your fathers best and most loyal soldiers lived on a farm on the road into town, and he was one of the casualties. I man by the name of Otock FarWither. He was one of the ones reassigned to attack the Rel commune the day your father passed. Like Commander Hein.”
“Oh.” Talion said quietly to himself. “I am sure that will give something for Hein to stew on...So good, I suppose.”
“Anything else, sire?” The advisor said feigning sympathy.
“You are free to go.” Advisor Cullo couldn’t tell if the pained look on Tiso Reignly’s face was one of defeat or true sadness at the thought of his father's death and the ones who failed to protect him. He took his leave and stepped out of the throne room and into the large chapel ceiling hallway of the Kantara. The walls were filled with paintings of the old families and artwork from some of the best in Huxwell and its territory. Mahvienne, Boddren and many classics from painters after the vaults opened. Like Frankel who painted scenes of lavish greens and Chetrich who painted brooding reds and yellows of where the fire still reigned upon the Divided Mountains.
Cullo felt an odd sense. The halls of the Kantara were airy, yet a heavy and thick dew was in the air. He could taste the water on his lips and his body tingled with a static sensation. Suddenly he felt frigid fingers drive deep into the back of his bald head like razors digging in. He found his body pulled backwards. His body stayed frozen in a suspended position of mid-fall. His eyes darted up and down in fright only to catch a glimpse of the source of his peculiar and terrifying situation. “A meeting with kings, but no meeting with queens. A meeting is demanded from both, if one serves double.” Three women covered by shadow and chained together by their necks spoke with the voice of one. The one who held his head dug her nails deeper. It felt to Cullo as if her fingers had wormed their way into his brain and swirled them around inside. The one to his left bent down to his ear and whispered to him “Join us in the steel bars of old, where the mother of your new world breathed last.”
Cullo felt the dew in the air subside before he fell to the ground. The three women linked by chains were gone. He brushed himself off and rushed down the hall.
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“Advisor Cullo sir!” The prison guard said surprised. His eyes were wide, and he adjusted his stance to a more proper position. “We were not told you would be coming this way.”
“That seems to be a good thing. A position as meaningful as this doesn’t require a slouchier.” Cullo kept his eyes ahead and nodded to the guard on the other side of the steam locked door who quickly began the process of unlocking it. The officer on the other side depressurized the steam by switching a lever. The pistons that held the door tight receded into the door and opened.
“Right, of course sir!” The guard said trying to hold a proper stance and the proper confidence in the face of such an imposing figure. The door creaked open, and Vaas Cullo entered into the underground mass prison complex. It was right below the Kantara and had two entry points. One from the main prison building a couple of blocks from the Kantara which held low level prisoners like tax dodgers and petty thieves at the above ground level and one from the Kantara itself. It was built into the Kantara early on. After the fall of the Arms of Scion the Lestares changed their slave mining operation into a prison of sorts and liked easy entry to check on the prison. So, they built an extremely secure entry point into the Kantara itself.
As Cullo entered the guard switched a knob on a brass box attached to his hip. It was connected to a tube that ended in a handle with a dish-like device. A high pitch noise rang out from the dish and a bright purple light shined through the middle of it. “Just a formality, Advisor.”
“Yes, yes, just hurry yourself.” The advisor said with irritation. The man waved the device up and down the advisor steadily. Before nodding down the hallway to another guard stationed by the final checkpoint. The second guard released the steam lever and swung the door open.
“Clear! Visitor incoming!” The final guard called out as Cullo entered the mining prison. His ears rang with the clanking of metal on stone. It was hard for him to even hear his own chilling thoughts as he strolled the catwalk above the deep mine. He tried his best not to look down, but only found it harder not to look toward the steep and treacherous fall. His stomach sank as he looked seeing how deep the mine had gone into the earth and the prison miners like specks or far away stars on a dirt and stone sky below him. He took a large gulp with his dry throat and carried on. He took a short turn off the catwalk and down an old tunnel path that looked unused in decades. The walls were damp, and no light came through it. He had to feel his way through, wetting his hands along the wall as he did. Soon he came upon it. A small light peeking through a steel door at the end of the tunnel. This was it.
The steel door was rusted with a greenish hue and had a wheel on it holding the gears in place that would pull the bars back from their locks. The older Cullo struggled for a moment with the device pulling the best he could until finally after a few tugs, the device cracked through the rust and spun like new.
A stench of damp mold and thick watery air permeated the air as the door creaked open. It was incredibly dark inside, with a thin sheet of light slicing through the ceiling and landing in the middle of the cobblestone floor. Cullo knew that shadows lived here. And from said shadows he heard a clicking and creaking of dried out bones that rubbed together and snapped together like jigsaw pieces being forced into place. From the darkened corners of the room cried a cadaverous creature as it rushed past Cullo and into the darkness once again. It was a meager figure, with molding wet hair, and complexion of sickly inhuman porcelain. Silk, dirty and tattered maroon and gold robes were draped over her animal-like body. As she slipped back into the shadows a small, jeweled totem of a child sat between Cullo and the shadows.
“This is where the world as it is, began.” Three snake-like voices hissed from the darkness in unison. Cullo picked up the totem and looked it over curiously. He noticed the jeweled eyes were emeralds and remembered that neither Talion nor his father held eye colors like that. “Mother begat son, and we begat advice to the advisor.” A figure pierced through the shadows surrounding Cullo. The first of the sisters stepped out from the shadows with the scratching of her chains across the ground. She wore a long cloak that only barely could stand out from the darkness that surrounded her. Her face seemed old and withered yet young and beautiful all at once. Just like her face her hair seemed grey yet jet black as it poked out of the hood of her cloak.
“This is where the throne of hatred was birthed, where the linage of aggression inaugurated. Born from an evil act to do evil deeds.” Another stepped out from the shadows, she wore a intricate tailcoat and was a woman with a complexation of a cool obsidian statue. Her face was sharp and serious, and seemed to have multiple rune-like carvings fading and reappearing along the skin Cullo could see.
“This is where all you hate, began, and all you desire ends.” The last one to emerge began. She was the only one to wear a long and flowing gown. Her feet looked to be bleeding yet she moved on them with grace. She was the one who whispered to him, and she was the most beautiful of them. Cullo did not know if it was her grace alone or her appearance, but all he knew was she was truly beautiful even in the darkness. He also knew that she was a siren. They were all tricksters and manipulators, yet so was he.
“I have done as you asked, I have sent your pet on the prowl, convinced the nepotistic child Tiso to expedite the attack, saved that old, ragged Commander from annihilation, what more do you ask?”
“You will be all you wish for and more. First you must focus on the task.” The first sister said.
“And what is that?” he said begrudgingly.
“You speak in one ear, yet another speaks in the other.” The second sister quickly stated.
“Two voices too many, one voice only.” The third added with a giggle.
“Your voice” The first gladly elaborated. Vaas’s head tilted curiously, and his lips curved into a wicked smile.
“You ask me to silence the other Advisor.” He stated, simplifying their riddle-like words.
“Hush, the Hushtone. Silence shall fall in one ear and the other shall drown in your words.” The serious one covered in static-like flashing runes spoke in the voice of many.
“You give me nothing until then? No reward for the service I have given?” Cullo answered.
“You wish for power.” The second sister stated.
“It has been endowed.” The first added.
“You silence the voice.” the third said.
“More shall be endowed.” the second added.
The sisters motioned towards the Advisor. The first sister moved stiffly with a creaking sound yet seemed to flow across the cold concrete with swaying hips and a lively strut. The second sister moved with a rigid and formal walk that was immutable and martial. The third sister almost seemed to dance across the floor, her dress danced across her body and waved in the breezeless room. Cullo, the fearless and stiff Advisor, pulled his head toward his neck and covered his chest and stomach with his chest. He felt the long and pointed finger of the first sister touch his mind once again. He looked up to see her eyes as white as a Dember winter snow.
All he could see was her eyes. The cell around him had been overtaken by the large primordial darkness. He was nowhere and yet somewhere with the ageless sister. He felt like nothing but a pebble in the vast openness of this swollen darkness. Suddenly he was able to see something behind her. It was an outline at first, something peeking out from the dark abyss. A large spire-like structure with tentacle like prongs jutting out from each side. The structure ended at a sharp point as its prongs did. It was something ominous yet beautiful, and Cullo wanted it yet was terrified by it.
Like a dream or a nightmare, he was not in the boundless darkness anymore. He stood at the front of the Kantara, looking out across the city outstretched before him. The steam lamps illuminated the streets as the sun peeked up from the horizon and the dark ran away from the light across the sky.