CHAPTER 2 – EMPIRICAL BALLADS
Botannica, the name of a new Empire within the confines of Earth, one pressing against the cold arctic of the north, slowly spreading it’s tempestuous tendrils out through the hard crags and snow laden valleys. The Dream pierced it’s varying light through heavy blizzard expression, shedding meaning to the expansive growth of this new birthed, burgeoning cathedral, to macabre afterthoughts of violence and hopes for different endings in infernal breaches of long historic convention. Isolation and the myriad culmination of artistic expression in the advent of creative pursuits in languid woods and tranquil mediation to meditation upon the could bes of what ifs. It was an attempt to curb the avarice appetite of a race known for neither mercy or restraint into applications of frivolity and the enjoyment of life. Needless to say, it had a steep climb to a mythical, some say, non existent peak. There were stranger visions upon the cosmic weave of the universe but some would say, not by much.
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Xautil sat upon the crag that had become known as the Emperor’s Throne. He was both perplexed and trembling upon the edge of exasperation. He didn’t even know or understand how his Empire could have stumbled it’s way into the name Botannica. His irritation was immense as he gazed upon the clouds, snow pounding heavy, a flurry of intent. It was so thick he couldn’t even make out the trees across the small valley. The walls of his growing bounty had already went far beyond this area but he had them leave his vista alone and would deal with the one opening to his defenses if push came to proverbial shove. He had little doubt that enemies would know better then to invade him to begin with much less ruin his favorite spot of relaxation. There were some conventions of war that were inviolable and in his mind, enemies trodding upon his private alone time was written in the stones of stones.
If he was being honest with himself, he had every idea of why his empire had picked up the silly name. He had made the mistake of telling Bota he was struggling with coming up with the moniker for the amazingness that was their or more importantly, his empirical vision and Bota, being Bota, said he would help, which ended up as usual, him toddling off, dancing all about his mongrel horde, which was seriously, if Xautil admitted to such, his shell mate’s horde. The mongrels which had grown close to five hundred, worshiped the ground Bota stumbled upon.
When Bota had mentioned his new quest for a name to the horde, not that they actually understood his rambling, with their limited minds, still, they started chanting Bota, which turned to Botannica, five hundred gutteral voices echoing along the rafters, so thunderous in the sound, that even the hundred or so higher staged demons, picked it up, and by then, it was done and Xautil had spent several days moaning the unfairness of it all. Secretly he was relieved that it was off the table of to dos, if not the name itself. He would be merciful and generous and allow Bota his moment to shine. It would inevitably fall back upon him and his majesty but for a few moments, it was good to see Bota enjoy the moment of his infamy.
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It had been several weeks since the naming. His thoughts slow stepped through all the growth of the last stepping of todays falling to yester eves. His city had expanded to ten miles out in every direction, the walls still rickety slapped together attempts at walls but now fifty feet high and buildings, just as poorly made, littered every scrap of ground within the patched boundaries. His city and empire was growing as it should though they had decimated the local wildlife for miles between the mongrels he had made and feeding. They had to keep sending hunting packs further and further out and it was a careful balance between food and wanting to keep the expansion of his forces ever growing.
He heard the tottering steps of his shell mate and the heavy thunder of the shadow he had picked up over the last week. That one never left Bota’s side, like a lost puppy, well if the puppy was eight feet tall and could take an infernal’s head with one swipe of one of it’s massive claws. The giant snow bear mongrel, who led the whole gaggle of them, looked upon Bota’s back as it followed behind him like the God of it’s tiny mental world. Xautil stretched his ever present leer a bit. Bota had named it Graal. It was smarter then most though still slow as molasses compared to the ever mercurial lightning that was his own.
Bota’s voice rang out in his perpetual joy.
“Xautil! Xautil!!! Mores infernals coming from south, maybes, a few miles aways. Wrath and Envy. More then a few hundred. I’m very excited to do more bonking!”
Xuatil found the joy to be infectious and why his minions were as easily manipulated as they were. Bota just had a way, something about him that could pin a smile on almost anything he met. Well, if he wasn’t bonking them that is.
He sighed, more infernals and no doubt, some lords attempting to drag him back to New Hades. Why could they just not leave him alone. Hopefully this would show more respect and understand the word no. Xautil didn’t care if one of the Seven themselves wanted him, the answer would not change. He has own path, his own vision, and he would see it through. If he needed slaughter army after army till they understood that fact, he would. This time he hoped he would actually remember and the fog would not cover his memory in wet blankets of clouded storm.
Speaking of which, he wanted a few more minutes of peaceful gaze upon the falling ice upon the Emperor’s Throne and drifting thoughts of days long gone. Bota had refused to delve further into their childhoods and who their Father was and wings. He said it was big secrets and he had promised. Xautil could of pushed it, probably needled or tricked him out of it but he refused to take away one of the few things that Bota was so proud of. Protecting Xautil, and keeping whatever the secret was, defined who he was. And Xautil had to admit, he still felt quite a bit of guilt about tripping him to save himself even though it seemed like an age ago. Allowing Bota his moments and secrets was a small price to pay.
He realized why he was lost in his thoughts, Bota and the bear, stood there, waiting for him to give an order or do something other then staring off into the arctic storm. His leer left up tilts to amusement. He stood and stretched then turned.
“Well let us not keep them waiting, and Bota, hold off on the bonking till I tell you otherwise.”
He looked a bit disappointed at that but in usual Bota fashion, his joy returned and he fell in beside Xautil while the bear ranged on ahead to gather his mongrels to say hello.