Sunday, March 27, 2011
The screaming mewl of life cuts the air as the last breath falls on ears that can't hear. Isn't he beautiful. Fur the color of his fathers. But he isn't looking at the child crowing away. No. His eyes are dying as the body of a creature he has known, truly known, falls into an abyss. Lips pulled back in a partial snarl of pain, of joy, of glory. A son! But the heart monitors, they are telling. She is taxed...perhaps too much? The nurse is ignoring. And then the rush of silence and noise and pain. Her hand is in his and the nurse now sees. Sees his tears and empty anguish and misbegotten rage. The son is crying, demanding. Doctors move in, many, and he finds himself whisked away from the room. He leaves his son, his wife, his purpose. And then, and then he looks down in his arms at this small thing, this thing that they say has his color fur and his eyes that is yelling and screaming and he is outside the room and silent. How he wishes to yell and scream. To throw this child, this thing, away from himself. You have stolen from me that which is most precious. Anger and resolve replace his heart and his purpose. He has lost his faith and his way. Amarouk feels the life of his wife slip away. His beloved, his Kristav, and this thing...that is now his that has stolen from him. He will name it. Katan. The knife. The dagger that was plunged into his heart. He dies.
Sunday, March 06, 2011
A series of rings flow forward, each smaller than the last in the shape of a cone. The edges enflamed green. The center is like a pool of water, focused onto a point small and black. Looking into it, the eyes follow the edges, but the feeling of the soul being pulled inward, ripped away and thrown... "Daek'tar." Head snaps to the left. A figure walks somewhat behind, a halo of light escaping from him. Floating displays, talking heads, coursing data. He is it and it isn't him. "Yes, doctor." "You'll be traveling to the Orutaelas System in the Caetura Universe. Your orders will be unlocked upon arrival. Good luck." An arm flung forward, a half flap like a bird or the paddle of a boat, whichever, and he spins in direction, flowing on a new breeze. Unspoken, she is told to walk the plank. A step...and her body is jerked forward. Broken and battered and full of vigor, she hobbles and walks proudly through the expanse of crushing gravity while floating. A bridge extends and collapses. The light is so bright as to be darkness complete. Lively dead eyes cast about while inflexible hands grasp for the edges of infinity that crack from her years of indolent un-use. And... And reality bends as the latticework of truth becomes a lie. It ripples. From it, this pool in the air that wavers like heat rising, yet dropping down into an infinitely black dot steps the creature. Before and behind is blue sky and shuddering clouds unfolding like arms swimming through the sea. An estate stands proud before, a boulevard lined with soldiers. Follow the yellow brick road, she is told silently. Data packages begin to unfold as the Baajin takes her first step on foreign soil. Artificially enhanced mental functions combined with field scans pull in information as sharp, slitted eyes drink in everything. Another step on a hock-jointed foot with a hooked dewclaw clicking against the stones. Baggy kapries with side pockets, sleeveless shirt covered in a specialized ceramic-metaloid armor covered in molle attachments. An SMG styled gun on the back of the waist with a large knife-like implement below it. Another on the left breast with the handle of a knife poking out from the left shoulder. The left thigh has long pouches strapped to it while the right thigh has circular diskettes about hand-sized coupled into the very fabric. Fingerless gloves topped with silver points with forearm braces and hardened elbows. The shock troop flicks a forked tongue into the air. It tastes revolting...