Ceaseless Dark - Chapter 2

Original Artist: Shawn Poh | https://www.artstation.com/artwork/qdOQL

===

 

The problem, simply, is larger than many people

tend to realize. Space, and space travel, requires all

of the relevant resources to be carried with at all

times; or, at least, some measure of acquiring the

necessary resources. Ask your average layperson and

they will give you the big four: food, water, air, and

fuel. But existence requires more than that.

 

Any tool you will ever have, or the ability to fabricate that

tool, must be brought with you. You must bring clothes,

medicines, recreation...literally anything and everything

you would need to function both mentally and physically;

all of that must be shoved into a cramped, vehicle

with you as you shuttle through the dark. 

 

Imagine being forced to live in an apartment for 

years on end. Every door, window, every crack to the

outside would be sealed and you would have to live in

there without anything but telecommunications to the

outside. No physical, outside assistance of any kind.

 

What would you need to bring with you to survive 

for all of that time? 

 

- Captain Tatiana Botezatu, The Nagato 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

  

    The entire door gave way with a muted thunk that wasn't so much heard as it was felt through the reverberations of the environmental suit. However, thanks to the microgravity, the door didn't fall, but rather just began to drift lazily backwards away from them.

    "After you, little lady." Dunagan said with a wave of his hand.

    "Well, if lady's first, by all means." Colby shot back with a wave of her own hand.

    "Well now, don't mind if I do." he responded with a mock flip of imagined hair.

    The big man pushed off gently from where he rested near the door, floating into the hallway beyond, followed shortly thereafter by Colby. 

    The hall was pretty much what they were used to with these sorts of ships. Cramped with only enough space for the two of them to be side by side, drifting maybe a foot or two off the deck. Sleek, metallic paneling, thick, solid metal doors, big, bulky electronic doorpads and monitors, hardened polyglass lighting across the roof and floor, and clearly marked walkways, doors, and location designations in bright off-white paint that, without the century of exposure to the elements, would have glown in the dark with natural bio-luminescence.

    Everything was sturdy, built to last, and meant to survive and help the passengers survive deep space. No frills. No decoration. Just functionality and rugged durability.

    All about them, things drifted quietly in the dark. Random objects that found no rest due to the microgravity. A pen spinning in a constant, lazy circle. An old tablet that drifted near one corner of the hall. Someone's discarded hat, a UMC private's hat based on the designation on it, hovers just between them as they move. The dented remains of a steel coffee tumbler slowly bounces off one wall.

    "Spooky place." Merrick crackled out over the radio.

    "Eh, it ain't the worst place we've been too." Colby said with a non-committal shrug that the pilot on the other side couldn't see.

    "Still... gives me the creeps." she shot back.

    "And that's why you don't dive." Jameson's voice came through over the static of the radio.

    "Nah. Don't say that, boss." Dunagan replied with a smirk Colby could make out even through his darkened visor. "Give the little girl a chance. Next time, I'll fly and she can go with Colbs."

    "No fuckin' way." Merrick answered quickly.

    Half way down the hall, Dunagan and Colby stopped in front of the next door. Near identical to the one they just cut through, this door was labeled as 'EQUIPMENT STORAGE'. Glancing back the way they came, Colby could just make out 'ALPHA LAB' next to the sizeable hole in the metal that they'd passed through.

    "What? Don't think I'd make a good pilot?" Dunagan chided.

    "Dunagan, I don't think you could fly us a hundred kilometers through open space with the ship on autopilot."

    "Technically, that wouldn't be flying." Huli seemed almost to whisper through the static of the connection.

    "Look, all I need is a fancy hat and to sit in the squishy chair. No muss, no fuss." Dunagan blustered with a gentle wave of one hand. "Best damn pilot y'all have ever seen."

    Colby glanced down the hall to the flotsam floating about. After spotting her target, she hopped along the wall for a moment and snatched the old private's hat before returning and tapping the old piece of headwear against the chest of Dunagan's environmental suit.

    "There ya go, big guy." Colby said. "All your's."

    "Ah!" he almost squeaked with joy, a sound you wouldn't expect out of the wall of muscle that was the big man. "A fancy hat!"

    "And I'm sure we'll find you a squishy chair somewhere in here if we look hard enough." Colby returned as she pulled the plasma torch once again from her belt.

    "But is it Merrick's squishy chair?" he asked.

    "No, I guess not."

    "Well then I don't want that one. I want Merrick's."

    "It's my squishy chair, Dunagan." Merrick hissed out playfully. "All mine. You'll never get it."

    The blue-white flame ignited on the plasma torch, spurting and flickering with little flashes of white and gold trailing off its edges as Colby brought the tool up to the outside edges of the door. Instantly, the metal there began turning to a soft, molten putty beneath the torch's heat.

    "But see, I got the hat, Merrick. And you'll be on a dive with Colbs. There will be no one to stop me!"

    "Buhh." Colby could hear Merrick practically shudder through the radio connection. "No thanks. And, even if I did go on one of those deathwalks with Colby, someone could stop you."

    "No one could!" Dunagan repeated.

    "Huli could."

    "Here I thought you'd say Pascall." Colby commented, her focus on her work in front of her.

    "N-no. She's right. I'd just lock out your access to the command consoles." Huli said, her voice distant as she seemed to be thinking about it. "And probably my door after that. No, definitely after that. But, worst comes to worst, yea, I'd call Pascall."

    "They've got ya beat, Dun." Colby observed.

    "What am I being called for?" Pascall's thick baratone scratched out through the microphone.

    "It's nothing, Pascall." Merrick replied. "Just threatening Dun."

    "Dunagan?" Pascall asked, just the slightest hint of threat in his tone.

    "Alright, alright." Dunagan said, holding up his hands in defeat, though only Colby could see it. "I'll be good. But I'm keeping the hat!" he quickly added.

    "Love ya, Dun." Merrick chided.

    "Yea, yea. Say that all you want but you cheated bringing Pascall into this."

    "What can I say? I'm just a fan of the man with the high power sedatives."

    There were a few scattered chuckles throughout the radio feed, though, unsurprisingly, not from the doctor himself. Pascall was almost certainly more focused on some other project more interesting to him unless something drastic happened and the team had need of his services.

    "Got it!" Colby said as she finished cutting through the metal around the door.

    She stepped aside and, gingerly, Dunagan drew the slab of metal that was the door back out into the hall with them and set it to drift away down the hall to join the rest of the detritus. It was always easier to bring the doors to them versus trying to shove them into potentially small spaces like an unknown room. In this instance, it was definitely the right choice.

    Beyond, they found themselves in what seemed to be some sort of large, walk-in freezer. The walls were a thick, textured metal and several large vents could be seen overtop of three heavy-looking, industrial shelving units packed to the brim with assorted items.

    It's probably colder now then it ever was when the power was on. Colby mused.

    "What've got, guys? Can't quite make it out." Jameson asked through the static.

    Dunagan and Colby both drifted carefully into the room and started going through the stuff on the shelves. Plenty of it was basic lab equipment. Beakers, vials, metallic and plastic hand tools of every, shape, size, and level of precision. Cleaning supplies for every state of matter be it solid, liquid, or gas. Nothing more than they might find on in their own ship's haul.

    "Nothing interesting here." Colby announced.

    "Sucks to suck." Dunagan commented, causing her to glance over his shoulder, though the only thing she could make out were some sort of darkened polyglass jars.

    "Got something?" she asked.

    "Hey, Jameson." Dunagan asked, ignoring Colby's question. "What's the rule about pets on board, again?"

    "Only Sir Fredrickson the Third is allowed on board and only because he is fluffy and delightful." the captain replied in his normal, strict monotone despite the ludicrousness of the statement.

    "So if I told you I found something slimy and disgusting?" Dunagan asked while proffering up the jar he was holding to Colby, who took it gingerly.

    "I'd say you should probably clean your sheets." Merrick offered.

    Colby stared down at the jar in her hands, trying to understand what she was looking at. The jar seemed almost perfectly sealed, as though it were never meant to be opened somehow, though, how whatever was inside actually got inside was beyond her. Smooth polyglass in a perfect cylinder, maybe some 30 centimeters tall and 13 centimeters wide. No openings, tabs, or any obvious means of getting into it short of sawing the thing open.

    Whatever was inside the jar was a lot harder to make out, however.

    The majority of the inside was stained a deep ombre green with scattered batches of brown, black, and deep violet purple. Those patches that she could see through, Colby could make out some sort of thick mold or growth coating the inside of the cylinder that appeared almost furry or fuzzy in appearance. Tiny tendrils of some sort of plant or something grew out from the fuzz and drifted listlessly about like it was in a fluid.

    Colby gently shook the cylinder in her hand and, confirming, saw things drift about thickly as though in a soup. She couldn't make out any liquid actually sloshing, and concluded that it must be vacuumed sealed.

    Then, as she watched, something small and with far too manly limbs moved swiftly from one of the patches of mold to another. Disappearing just as quickly as it appeared.

    "Guhhh." Colby exclaimed.

    "Wow." Huli proclaimed. "I think something's moving in that, Colby."

    "Definitely is." she confirmed.

    "And we got more!" Dunagan declared excitedly before motioning to the several shelves of similar containers, probably at least two dozen in total.

    "The hell is this thing?" Colby asked as she held it up closer to look, once again seeing something small and slimy dart from mold patch to mold patch.

    "Whatever it is somehow hasn't frozen in deep space and still has shit living in it, so that's good enough for me." Jameson declared matter of factly.

    "These things are gonna sell for a pretty penny." Dunagan declared happily and Colby felt her own excitement growing.

    "Let's get them back to the ship." Colby said, brief thoughts of what something like this could be worth flashing through her mind.

    "Negative." Jameson said. "I'll mark it and you can pick them up on your return sweep."

    "But Boss..." Dunagan began.

    "What if something happens to them?" Colby finished.

    "If a century in space hasn't done it yet then I hardly think another thirty minutes or so is going to matter. Besides, you're going to follow quarantine procedure and put those things in DeCon tanks. This isn't the family station wagon."

    Colby and Dunagan stared at each other through their visors, looking at the jar in his hand and the ones on the shelving, but it seemed like the matter was already settled on the other end.

    "What is a station wagon?" Merrick asked.

    "Th-they were a type of old fossil fuel vehicle." Huli answered.

    "Huh. Weird."

    "Boss..." Colby began again.

    "No. Now hurry up. You're burning air." Jameson said flatly, shutting down any further discussion with that simple fact.

    She stared at the jar, a bubble of worry starting to creep into her stomach.

    "Come on." Dunagan said with a gentle pat on her shoulder as he took the jar, placing it back on the shelf where he found it. "We'll grab em on the way out."

    Colby stared after the jar for a few seconds longer, watching as something dark and slimy flitted from once side of it to the other, appearing only long enough to disappear into the mold on the opposing end and wondered at how anything could be living in there and not be frozen solid.

    "Yea. I guess you're right." she said before finally looking at her diving partner. "Let's go."

===

Start the Story from the Beginning

Ceaseless Dark - Chapter 1

 

=======

 

Space is one of the only wonders that humankind will never

truly manage to fathom. It's seemingly simple in its complexity,

able to be summarized in only a few words, but impossible for

any person to grasp the magnitude of it. The concept of 'Infinite'

is one that the layman and scientist alike can agree on the basic

definition readily. Endless. Without borders or edges or dimensions. 

A vastness so great that the act of traversing a fraction of a fraction

could see the birth, rise, and death of an entire species and not even

reaching your intended destination during that time. 

The very concept is so grand in its scope that no terrestrial ape,

no matter how clever in their machinations, could ever hope

to appreciate or understand the unlimited, uncaring emptiness of 

which we barely manage to survive in by no other measure than luck.

- Dr. Shagun Beckett, "Into Infinity"

 

 

Chapter 1 

    "Easy. Eaaasy." Dunagan drew out the word as if by force of will alone, the universe would bend to him.

    Colby ignored him.

    The plasma torch in her hand was hot, even through the layers upon layers of protective equipment and the thick padding of her environmental suit. Truly, a testament to the dangerous tool in her hand. The blade of blue-white flame burned noiselessly in the vacuum around her, but seemed to echo up through her suit from her fingertips as a ghostly hissing noise.

    "Almost through..." she declared. "Three... Two..."

    In the next moment, Dunagan pulled hard against the debris, wrenching the freshly cut metal loose, and then promptly pushed back against it to keep the whole mess from sweeping the two of them back into the blackness beyond.

    "We're in." Dunagan announced.

    "Good job, guys." Merrick crackled over the headset radio. "Keep us posted and be careful in there."

    "Always am." Colby responded, the excitement slipping through as she did.

    Colby always felt excited the first time they entered a wreck. To her, it was like opening a present on Christmas morning. Every ship was different. Some were big and boxxy. Others small and sleek. Plenty were somewhere in the middle with all manner of weird shapes and angles, facilitating the needs of whatever systems or people used to inhabit it. But opening them up was what really got her heart racing.

    You never knew what you'd find inside.

    Contrary to what most Earthers believed, wrecks were somehow both more and less perilous than they imagined. Many dirt-dwellers thought of it akin to diving for sunken treasure in pirate infested waters, exploring the rotting corpse of some vessel claimed by the sea years prior. But, given the lack of both sharks and water, abandoned space-vessels were more akin to urban exploring or, perhaps, wandering into a great, old ruin. It wasn't completely uncommon to find the remains of people, though probably less common then one might think.

    As fun as Colby always thought that sounded, it just wasn't accurate. Instead, the actual dangers came from the ships themselves.

    After all, people don't just abandon ship because everything is ship shape. Something catastrophic is often happening. The bigger ones, engine failure, reactor meltdown, etc. don't tend to leave much more than scrap to pick up. However radiation leaks, environmental failures like oxygen or temperature, and even contaminants like disease or a dozen different types of system failures can all lead to people high-tailing it off a ship and leaving the hulking vessel to careen lifelessly through space.

    When working ship salvage, as Colby and her team did, it was always necessary to remember that the inside of a ship was filled with untold dangers, all of which you had to be on the lookout for. Something as simple as a misstep or bumping too hard into something could tear open one's environmental suit and then it was "Bye Bye, Guy".

    Still, that had never happened with their team.

    They were professionals.

    Even with all the dangers, the reward far outweighed the risk for her.

    Just as every ship was filled with possible dangers, it too was filled with possible treasures. Scrap was the easiest haul. Literally just metal and alloy to be processed down and recycled to fly again once more. But the interior of ships were filled with anything and everything imaginable. Anything that a person might possibly carry with them or strap onto or into a ship could potentially be hidden within the confines of a dead wreck.

    Technology, electronics, equipment, contraband, smuggled goods, cargo of all shapes and sizes, and, depending on a salvager's view of graverobbing, potentially any number of personal items could all be found and resold for a decent price.

    While Colby and her team didn't fall into that later category, there were times she'd considered crossing the line. One time in particular had been on a small passenger ship when she found the remains of an old wealthy woman's jewelry box. Technically she could have commandeered the expensive box and its contents without anyone being any the wiser, but it always felt wrong.

    It's one thing to take from an empty vessel.

    It's another thing to take from that which was once a person.

    Now, as Dunagan carefully pulled the loose pieces of metal and tossed them out behind, dooming them to an eternity of drifting through space til they either ran into a sun or burned up in the atmosphere of some planet who knows where, Colby felt her guts tightening in excited anticipation.

    The ship they'd found, the Auriga, was an old military science vessel that had been marked as destroyed roughly a century back, during the First Planetary War. Based on the condition it was in, it seemed likely that it been under fire and the crew jumped ship. Holes pockmarked the hull and detritus, attracted by the pull of the vacuum of space, had filled in the gaps of the wreckage.

    No gravity.

    No atmosphere.

    Filled with debris and the remains of a hurried escape.

    It was honestly Colby's favorite sort of wreck.

    It was probably the closest she ever felt to being one of those explorers that so many people thought ship salvager's were. Those old divers that would go down into the ocean ship wrecks. Water. Sharks. Beasts and mysteries of the deep.

    Colby felt goosebumps run down her back, the darkness closing in around her as her and Dunagan floated gently through the newly cut opening. The drifted past the thick, jagged remnants of the hull, and into a wide open space lined with computer bays, electronics, and a dozen different pieces of equipment that she could only think to describe as 'Science Stuff'.

    Her lips curled into a genuine smile as her helmet lights carved through the dark and she took in the load of old equipment that was, quite literally, in the very first room they'd entered on the ship.

    "Jackpot." she said gleefully.

    Strictly speaking, electronics that had been floating around in the emptiness of space were unlikely to actually work anymore. More than half, if not all, would almost certainly be toast. A century of exposure to cosmic and solar radiation, not to mention temperature fluctuations that varied by several hundred degrees, had a tendency to do that.

    Even so, finding military or science intel of any kind always pulled a pretty penny from the party who had lost it, more so if someone was inclined to sell to the opposing side. On top of that, the equipment itself was a good deal more valuable as scrap to be recycled and repurposed than hull metal.

    Precious metals were, after all, precious.

    "Can I say? I hope the whole damn ship is like this." Dunagan said, the smile plain in his voice.

    "It may be. May not." Jameson chimed in with a burst of static. "I'm marking it for the moment. Complete your sweep."

    "You got it, boss." Colby confirmed.

    "Be careful in there, guys." Huli's gentle voice sounded over the static of the microphones. "Military ship means no records. No records means I can't guide you through there."

    "We got this." Colby said with confidence.

    "Hell yea, we do." Dunagan agreed, lifting a heavy, gloved fist and receiving his desired fist-bump from Colby.

    "Enough chatter." Jameson said with a clipped tone. "Get moving."

    "Aye aye, boss."

    Floating past the bays of electronics, the two salvagers made their way to the sealed door on the other side of the room and began cutting their way through with the plasma torch, intent on the ship, and the bounty, beyond.

   

 ===

 

Read the Next Chapter - Chapter 2 

The Tales of Raythia: Trojan Horse | Chapter 2: "Judgement"

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The Tales of Raythia

Trojan Horse

Chapter 2  -  Judgement

    Amelia swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat and the breakfast that was threatening to come up right behind it, down.

    Despite the absolute terror she felt at that moment, no one looking at her would be able to tell. Her amber eyes were steady, locked directly ahead of her. Her golden hair, straight, cut short, and tied close to her skull, was immaculate, without a single strand out of place. Her lips were a thin line, her jaw hard set, and her posture perfect. Arms rigid but ready, back straight but flexible, knees locked but trained to respond at her slightest thought.

    No, if you looked at her, she was a statuesque model of everything she had been trained to be.

    And people were looking at her.

    Eight other sets of eyes, each a matching hue of golden amber identical to hers, stared back at her: each a hard, trained gaze with many more decades experience then hers’. More decades then she could hope to achieve in her lifetime.

    Old men in a profession that killed young.

    The Eight Points of the Council of the Sun.

    The hand-appointed of the Goddess Solair.

    Each sat at their designated seat around the Council table, their bodies just as hard and ruthlessly trained and ready as her own. Despite their age, Amelia knew that she would not stand a chance in a one-on-one with any one of them and, with that passing thought, she once again had to swallow down breakfast.

    No face gave away any emotion. No thoughts could be made out from any of their stoic faces.

    “Recite the Doctrine of the Radiant.” Paladin Golina, the closest to her, commanded in his gravelly voice.

    The simple instruction brought a sudden stillness to her thoughts. A calmness that quelled her fear from the moment before.

    The words slipped out one by one, clear and crisp as easily as breathing.

    “A paladin is a tool to be used by the Golden Lady and by Man-Kind alone. Their sword is the blade to cut down foes and wheat alike. Their pommel is a hammer to crush evil and grind grain equally. Their shield a fortress to protect the innocent from evil and darkness no matter where it is found.”

    “A paladin is to serve until such time as they are released by death or the Golden Lady herself. Their work is for all and forever, a dedication of the one life they are granted in honor of all those who might lose such lives they have been gifted without one to stand against evil for them.”

    “A paladin may stand alone on the battlefield but never alone in life for all Man-Kind is but one blood. No bloodline is special and though all are unique, all are the same. The man to a paladin is their brother and the woman their sister and all are family lest they are a foe.”

    “A paladin does not seek judgement, but they do uphold it. Those that have wrought themselves an enemy of life, of the Golden Lady, and of Man-Kind are a foe to be dealt with. To be corrected, to be culled, and to be brought to the light under the sun.”

    “A paladin shall only use violence in defense of oneself or in defense of another and only so if peace or diplomacy is impossible or such acts would be corrupted by a foe to a twisted version of their original intent.”

    “A paladin understands that no foe is too great to be defeated and no weakness too small to be exploited. They know that everyone and everything will be brought to their end and so they must never fear the mighty while never believing themselves to be such.”

    “A paladin knows that a disarmed foe is not a harmless one for a snake without fangs still has venom and it needs only cunning to use it. However, when one is helpless, stripped of their mental, physical, and all other capabilities to defend or to harm, they are to be treated with absolute dignity and honor.”

    “A paladin without honor is paladin no more. All life is precious; a gift to be cherished and loved until that day which Hamet take us. Death is not a punishment but the end of a journey and should never be inflicted lest it be the permanent end of an otherwise dangerous foe. A dead man does not learn the error of their ways and it is only through life that a foe may be a friend and honor restored.”

    “A paladin stands before the Rising Sun as a symbol of peace, power, and righteousness. They hold themselves above all others not in glory, but in aid; a servant on their knees at the edge of a cliff pulling those below them up and standing before the gathering darkness to beckon the Sun and defend all who might fall back down without them.”

    “A paladin carries the Light of the Rising Sun within them wherever they go. Darkness may infiltrate the hearts of men, but the paladin is the light at the end of the tunnel, even if they merely hold the torch needed to find their way out of the gloom. No soul is forgotten, and every life is a blessing to be cherished and bolstered.”

    “I stand before you and the Golden Lady in reverence and solace and do hereby swear it that I, a paladin, will uphold these laws until Hamet take me from this life and beyond.”

    Every word that left Amelia’s mouth was clear.

    Crisp.

    Perfect.

    She had to wonder at times what she had done more of through her life: swinging her sword or reciting the Doctrine. Put to the test, she had to think that the numbers might be pretty close overall. She said it out loud and to herself dozens of times a day, everyday and had been doing so ever since she had learned it at the start of her training.

    A lullaby turned promise and a promise turned prayer that had been drilled into her since she was a babe.

    Paladin Golina glanced back over his shoulder towards Paladin Stillwater. They exchanged an unknowable look though this time Amelia felt less uneasy, her nerves calmed by the promises she had made to her Goddess and to Man-Kind. They were here to judge her right to be granted the mantle of Paladin but, if for some reason they elected not to, Amelia would simply continue her training and present herself again on the next Day of the Rising Sun.

    It would be a disappointment, but one she could and had dealt with before.

    No matter what happened, she knew where her heart laid, and an organization of men mattered little in the face of who she was as a person. No decision would burden her because, in her mind, nay, in her soul, she was a paladin already.

    She would fight for Golden Lady.

    She would fight for Man-Kind.

    She would lay her own life on the line to be the hammer and the blade for all others who stood under Solair’s radiance.

    Her title didn’t matter.

    Paladin Golina and Paladin Stillwater’s gaze turned to the other side of the table, this time both towards Paladin Jecoux who gave a very small nod.

    “You speak well, Sister.” Paladin Golina declared, looking back towards Amelia. “And you Know the Doctrine.”

    Strange choice of words. Every initiate knows it.

    “Thank you, Brother.” Amelia said.

    “You have called upon the Council before for Paladin-hood on the Day of the Rising Sun, have you not?”

    “I have.”

    “And you were denied.”

    “I was.”

    “How many times?”

    A wince of annoyance flashed in her mind. They all knew the answer. It’s not like they weren’t all there for it.

    “Seven.” She responded simply, giving away no sign of the momentary emotion.

    “And you continue to try.”

    “I continue to serve. It is my only desire.”

    “Hmm.” Paladin Golina hummed with a soft nod.

    The unease started to bubble up again from her belly. They’d done this before, and this was normally where they kicked her out. Recite the Doctrine and get the Hells out. Get back to drilling in the yards.

    “How long have you been training now, Sister?”

    “Twenty-six years. Since I was three, Brother.”

    “Yes, of-course. And how long will you continue to try?”

    Damnit all to the Hells.

    “Until I bear Solair’s mantle or Hamet take me, Brother.”

    “And what will you do until then?”

    “I will train. I will learn. And I will be a teacher and a servant to all, acting on and honoring the Doctrine no matter my title.”

    Paladin Golina held Amelia’s gaze for a long time. She was ready to be dismissed; ready to be excused. But it wasn’t coming. Granted, it was a slightly longer conversation then normal, but…

    And then he turned his back on her.

    One by one, Paladins Golina, Stillwater, Jecoux, Kimo, Redbark, Feign, Ianara, and Lasset all turned away from her and faced their place at the Council Table.

    Amelia had no idea what to say or do. They had never done something like this before. Normally they just told her to try again and come back next time around. This was new.

    So, in light of the unusual circumstances, she didn’t do anything.

    The Paladins each extended their hands out to their sides, just barely touching fingertips with their neighbors on either side, and forming a circle of gloved, metal gauntlets around the Council table. Their heads bowed and eyes closed, they begin to speak in perfect unison.

    “Oh, Radiant One!” they declared in a single, booming voice. “Rising Sun of the Heavens and Eternal Flame. We ask for your judgement. Look upon us and rejoice. Look upon us and sing. Look upon one who will be your Hero and your Champion. A Paladin of the People. Look upon her and let her be judged. To Know you. And you, to Know her! Know what is in her heart and let her be judged!”

    With each word, the sounds in the room seemed to echo and intensify. They seemed to bounce off the walls and each word began to feel like a punch to the gut. By the end, the force of each syllable felt like a hammer in her chest and she could only clench her jaw to keep from crying out in pain. Then it all stopped, and the room fell deathly still.

    Around her, the candles and torches winked out.

    No. she thought. They’re still burning. They’re just…not giving off as much light…?

    Wisps of flame seemed to sizzle, almost imperceptibly, away from the flickering, dulled candles and torches towards the center of the room. It gathered at the center of the table and began to form into a minute, flaming sphere. A tiny ball of fire that gave off for more light than anything that size should have been capable.

    Was this some sort of spell? Magic? But why?

    Amelia stared at the little dancing sphere as it started to grow both in size and intensity. The room growing hotter and sweat running down her chest and legs beneath the steel armor. None of the other paladins were looking at it and she wondered if she shouldn’t be either, but she couldn’t help it.

    It reminded her of the sun.

    An unconscious smile slipped across her lips as she stared at it.

    Why would she fear the sun?

    Why should she fear Solair?

    The heat was no longer too hot.

    The light was no longer too bright.

    The radiance of the little sphere was not too much for her because she knew that it would never harm her. The radiance she felt and the love she felt was that of her Goddess and both of them knew she would carry her Doctrine for the rest of her life in Solair’s name. She would love and be loved by the Golden Lady and she would be a beacon of light for all to rally behind.

    She wasn’t going to be a Paladin.

    She already was one.

    As quickly as it had come, the sphere vanished, and the room suddenly felt colder and darker for it. It was nothing compared to the love of her Goddess. The light that she cast.

    And, to her surprise, Paladin Golina was suddenly in front of her, cradling her cheek with an ungloved hand and a knowing look in his eyes.

    “It is alright, Sister.”

    A choked sob escaped her throat that she hadn’t known was there and she realized her cheeks were wet, stricken with more tears than she’d cried since she was a child. The tears still ran freely and, reaching up take Paladin Golina’s hand, she found she shook too hard to do so.

    “That was…” she barely managed.

    “It was. Just for a moment. And she has smiled upon you.”

    Paladin Golina took her hand, gently as the grizzled man could, and placed it against her own breastplate. There, emblazoned where it had not been before in glittering gold and red rubies, was the eight-point star.

    The symbol of Solair.

    The symbol of a Paladin of the Rising Sun.

    Any resolve Amelia still had was broken in that moment. She clung to Paladin Golina as a child might, collapsing to her knees but for the older man’s strength holding her up, sobbing uncontrollably.

    The tears would not stop coming.

    And there was joy in her heart.

The Chronicles of Jhool: A Hero twice Born, Once Dishonored | Chapter 2

All Rights to Elder Scrolls and Bethesda for their wonderful Artwork.

The Chronicles of Jhool

Chapter 2

  

    BOOOOOM!

    The sound of the statue's head exploding reverberated through the empty city with a baritone Tarver could feel in his bones. It was promptly followed by a sprinkle of gravely bits raining at the stone man's feet and the shiiiiiiiiink of cold steel drawn from the now decimated neck hole where the warhammer sat partially embedded.
    "Wow." the little halfling commented through food stuffed cheeks.
    Lenna didn't even bother to acknowledge him.
    Instead, the well-built, elven woman, warhammer firmly grasped in both hands, strode several feet down to the next stone effigy. She looked it in the eyes, spat, and swung again.
    BOOOOOM!
    This time the head didn't powder as much as before. Instead, the sprinkle of gravel and bits was accompanied by a soft rush of air as a large chunk, a good half of the stone head, quickly soared several yards backwards past the limits of the road, over the the precipice, and into the darkness below.
    "Yea!" Tarver cheered as he ripped off another far-too-large bite of jerky. He was gnawing at it and opening his flask when something caught his attention. "Looks like Bron's on his way."
    Once again, Lenna didn't bother looking up, intent still on destroying the next in what Tarver thought was a bizarrely long line of humans, notably the same human, for what was supposed to be a Dwarven city.
    That didn't much matter to Bron though.
    "Whit th' bugger is wrong wi' ye?" the massive brawler demanded in his near indiscernable Truskin accent. "Urr ye trying tae wake th' deid, ye dumb boot?"
    BOOOOOM!
    The larger man openly growled, baring his teeth and reaching out to grab the hammer's hilt. But before his meaty fingers could wrap around the cold steel, he found the head of the weapon pointed directly at his face, Lenna's eyes narrowed into vicious slits.
    "Don't tell me what to fucking do, dirtwhore!" the generic insult for Truskins was literally spat through a snarl just as menacing as the much-larger man's but with far more ferocity and venom.
    "Whoa!" Tarver exclaimed in surprise, a dribble of whiskey trickling from his lips. "Calm down. No need for that."
    "Shut your face, Tarver!" Lenna barked, her ire stilled locked on Bron who was bristling at the challenge. "It's neither of your fucking business!"
    The two stood there like that for far too long, their eyes locked; each one furious and daring the other to move. Luckily, neither made the first move.
    "Calm down." the little halfling repeated, having set down his lunch and moved slowly up to the duo. "Len'. You wanna destroy a bunch of statues of....ehh..."
    He glanced at the line of stone humans, each in a different pose.
    "Whoever that is than I'm sure that Bron-"
    "WHOEVER THAT IS?!" the elven woman roared, spittle spraying as she glowered down at the halfling.
    Whatever the next words were supposed to be, it was lost in a moment of rage as she turned away from her adventuring party and roaring again, swung the warhammer like an oversized baseball bat, slamming the head of the weapon directly into the chest of the nearest statue. The statue's entire torso was rent from its legs with a crunching and grinding sound. Stone flew backward into the chasm beyond while mithril rebar glittered in the pale torchlight, bent and broken in a dozen different angles.
    The three of them watched the granite soar into he darkness below for several seconds. Lenna's chest heaved with anger and Tarver backed away slightly, but it was Bron who spoke first.
    "Urr ye dane destroying hings noo, ye doolally wifie?" his anger with Lenna the moment before quickly turning to exasperation.
    Lenna screamed again and threw down the hammer, carving a chunk out of the road below, and began pummeling the next statue down the line with her bare fists. Her blows landed with far more purchase than any flesh really should against a stone anything, however a brief universal misunderstanding of physics and biological fortitude didn't stop her from caving a rather large hole into stone man's chest and side along with leaving behind more than a few chipped dents scattered about his torso.
    "Fur th' loue o' th' gods, let me ken whin this doolally witch gets her heid oan straecht." Bron groaned. "A'm aff tae scout ahead."
    "Yeah. Okay..." Tarver nearly whispered, his eyes still locked on the elven woman whose breath was now hitching in her throat. She wasn't quite cradling her hands, but he could plainly see blood dripping from shattered knuckles and gouts of the crimson liquid staining the glittering mithril rods in the freshly opened holes in the stone. "We'll catch up."
    But Bron was already gone, muttering something the little halfling couldn't make out as he wandered off into the darkness of Bhar-al'Jhool.
    Lenna, on the other hand, collapsed to her knees. Each breath brought either a racking sob or a furious, albeit small, roar.
    "Easy, Len'. Easy." Tarver whispered, trying to comfort her. "It's okay."
    Once again she glared at him but this time it was plain to see the tears bubbling at the corners of her eyes.
    "It's okay." he repeated, trying to muster a smile.
    Lenna glanced back to the bloodied statue before finally speaking, her voice a rasping whisper.
    "I'm not okay."
    "Sure, you are. I mean, you made that statue know what's-what, am I right?"
    "It's not the statue, you stupid fu-"
    "Let's not start that again now."
    She glared at him for a moment before a new fit of rage gripped her. She stood and swung again. However, her fury was quite short lived this time as her roar was instantly replaced with a scream of pain. Despite her keening wail, Tarver could hear the crunching of her splintering knuckles and saw the bone shards jutting through the back of her hand as she collapsed to her knees once more, one hand gripping the bloody meat.
    This time there were only sobs racking the woman's chest.
    "Yea. I pretty much figured that would happen." he said, already digging through his hip satchel. A moment later the halfling fished out a small vial with a glittering red liquid inside. Popping the top, the smell of dust was immediately replaced by a whiff of summer blooms and cherries and he couldn't help but feel a little giddy even smelling the concotion.
    "Drink, stupid." he said cheerfully.
    Lenna shook her head hard from side to side, tears streaming down her face, cradling her openly bleeding compound fracture.
    "Driiiiiink." Tarver said again with a smile in a sing-song voice, softly shaking the red liquid. "Tastes goooooood. Makes the pain go away."
    The elven woman let out one more heaving sob before tilting her head back and letting the little halfling help her drink the elixer. A wash of warmth ran through her body the instant it touched her lips and a buzz of pleasure ran through her very being that replaced her cries with a hushed moan. Her eyes roll into her head and closed a second later as her bones began to reknit and the lost blood quickly replaced itself. Within moments, the healing potion had made the horrific injury nothing more than a distant memory that, through the intoxicating effects, she couldn't quite recall. A passing thought about a nightmare lost in a dream.
    "Beeetter?" the halfling asked cheerfully, a smile still played across his lips.
    She nodded.
    "Wanna tell me about him?"
    She shook her head.
    "Why not?" he jidedly softly as he tucked away the empty vial.
    Lenna stared at the bloodied statue in response. She sat like that for a long time unblinking. Far too long. Her eyes slowly unfocusing as her eyes met the cold, granite ones above her.
    "That's Jhool..." she finally rasped through a raw throat.
    Tarver's eyebrows shot up in realization. He should have put it together sooner. The stories the elven woman had told him about the Liar God-Bourne. About the things he had done. About the things his cowardice had caused. Had taken away from her.
    "THAT'S him?" he asked, more out of shock then needing confirmation. After all, she'd been mad enough to break her own fist on a statue of the man.
    Lenna gave a small nod.
    Now Tarver found himself staring at the statue, disbelief and horror washing away any semblance of cheer or joviality in an instant.
    "I'm sorry..." Tarver whispered after a long moment.
    And he meant it.
    The elf was much, much older than him. She had lived so many more lives than any one of his race could ever hope to achieve. Been so many things. Seen and felt and experienced so much. But with that age, certain things that were nothing more than legend to him today could still burn bright hot for those that lived near to it. For those that were children when it happened. For those that lost so much that even millenias later, their fury was insurmountable.
    "Come on..." he whispered, very gently coaxing her to her feet. "Let's go."
    Lenna sobbed again, all rage gone for her, replaced by an overwhelming sadness he'd never seen in his lover before. Despite her powerful frame, she shook like a leaf on a dead branch and felt weak beneath his palms.
    "Let's go see what Bron found. Get out away from these ghosts." he cooed, his voice soft. "Don't forget your hammer."
    The elven woman nodded one last time and reached down, drawing the weapon up to her from the dent she left in the road. As they walked, she seemed to cradle the weapon like a child holds a toy to protect themselves from the dark; leaving behind the damaged statue, her blood still wet and dripping from the broken hole in its side.