Shadow of Wraeclaust [FT][IC][Closed|Vazio Rift]

[Ella2 6]

Shadow of Wraeclaust

A Tale of the Vazio Rift



"The Rift is a harsh mistress."
- The Keeper of the Firstborn

---

IC

The Axiom Supercluster

The Vazio Rift

---

In the shadows of the Vazio Rift, a strange pair of bodies emerged. Two entities, one master, one servant, bound by unrelenting gravitational chains, materialized from the inky depths of deep space to wander the Rift with its brethren. Surrounded by rocky stragglers - some no larger than a dreadnought fielded by advanced stellar civilisations - like a brood of insects, the two masses, one aflame and the other basking in the glory of its lord, departed the darkness. The Void seemed reluctant to let them go, its shadowy claws reached out to drag them back into its depths.

The presence of these mysterious bodies did not pass by the inhabitants of the Rift. Almost like a calling, the two celestial objects dragged the gazes of the Rift skywards to the two pale red dots which had suddenly appeared in the night sky. It beckoned them forth, promising riches, discoveries, and wonder. And danger which it tries unsuccessfully to hide from the cynical rifters, who are too familiar with the nuances of the Rift to assume such promised wealth does not, inevitably, come with great risks, even if it was from each other as they competed for a place amongst the stars.

---

Wraeclaust is an allusion to Wraeclast from Grinding Gear Game's 'Path of Exile' and is partially inspired by the land of the damned.
Thanks to the folks at GGG for all the wonderful hours I've been able to spend playing on your game.

[Vordekai Continuum]

Israkaal was not pleased.

It had been two months of the Vordekai calendar since his rebirth. The blue star in the sky shone brightly, its presence giving a hue to all land on Voshkaduid. This world's name meant "Greatest Hope", named by the Vordekai some time back. A few of those who had fought in the Subjugation of the Ishalpot. Those pathetic creatures who now served as the source of great arcane power, behind evolution or technology, had once roamed these lands. Now, a city stood in their place.

Great metal spires rose from the ground, one held together by stolen bones. There was jarring contrast between each structure, the sheer variety and dissonance between them staggering. Besides a small, vibrant angular building was a massive storage room, curved and with massively protrusions expanding from the shining metallic sheets that formed its ceiling.

That, however, paid in comparison to the variety of people. Some of them were like Israkaal. Their flesh was red, blackening as the upper layers of their skin peeled away and withered. Some flesh was turning purple- a clear sign that death was near. Not all, though, were dying. Many of them had ascended from suffering The Rot. A tripedal Zokput strode past, the reason for his strange number of legs revealed when Israkaal witnessed the massive automatic cannon attacked to his carapace. Some had their rear legs replaced with a mechanical shock absorber to assist in managing the recoil. An even stranger bipod moved based, with scales and fur and feathers grafted on in place of flesh.

Another Vendiri. One closer than I to perfection.

Vendiri was a word for those who were yet to overcome The Rot. A hideous disease, it affected all Vordekai. Insidiously, it gnawed away at flesh. From the cloning machine, three months was the deadline. That was the price of such rapid growth. Vordekai had their minds formed carefully, and then their flesh formed as quickly as possible. Defects were almost certain, and The Rot's presence was a guarantee.

Israkaal hadn't been cloned quickly this time. He had been reborn. A far more difficult process, involving physicians and magicians and delicate operations so that a mind could be restored in a a new body. A process he was lucky to have undergone, at cost of his third arm and a stolen electrolocation organ, prior to his expedition. It was why he was alive.

A pity then, that all he had accomplished with this body was pain.

He didn't know how he had died, for the replication of his mind had been undergone before the event. Vendektil, a fellow Zhaldut, had informed him that he had died attempting to salvage a Lektropot- a colossal and savage creature, who’s exotic smoke glands were highly valuable and would be very useful to Israkaal. The beast was native to Voshkaduid, lurking inside the subterranean tunnels and caverns of the planet’s polar half. The world was tidally locked, with one half searing and the other half frozen. Vordekai could adapt themselves to either condition with enough salvage, and this led to a wide variety of creatures to take parts from. Death when facing them was not uncommon if only small groups participated.

Israkaal noticed another Vendiri in front of him. This one was making progress in salvaging material. He looked at his own body. He had claws, four legs holding him above the ground, an armoured shell protecting his carapace. He could not sense electricity any longer, and his eyesight was narrower. Each colour seems different. His hearing was impaired, though his sense of smell was actually superior. He had only a single weapon now, a hunting rifle. None of the augmentations he'd once possessed were present on his withering flesh.

That was the price of death, even if your mind could be restored. Your lost yourself in the process. All those parts that made you, gone. Taken by others, or devoured by beasts.

But he was determined to rebuild himself. At one point after rebirth, he had gained new flesh for his right foreleg and some metallic augments for his claws. They had been lost in a foolish duel against a Zokput. Israkaal had hoped that speed would be on his side, but not amount of speed would haves saved him from three sweeping blades piercing his flesh from different directions.

The Vordekai turned to face his left arm, which now possessed one of his few remaining improvements. A massive pincer, able to snap bone and even tear weakened metal. Once, it had belonged to another local creature. A salvage expedition put the being’s parts into the hands of the Zhaldut that had slain it, Israkaal amongst them. It had been bolted on to his flesh, his former grasper amputated. A common procedure.

He saw a nearby starship, metal and junk cobbled together with an FTL drive inside. Beside it was a forming group of Vordekai, mostly Zhaldut but with a few Vendiri as well. Israkaal stumbled closer, taking sweeping steps to try to seem more confident than he was. He realised his fortune almost immediately. This was a seeker ship, one that ventured far into the depths of space, seeking out new life and bringing back new salvage and improved hunters. Better still, it seemed this craft was accepting anyone willing.

It was risky. Death could occur. But Israkaal made his decision. He would rather die in combat, taking salvage, than fall to the endless decay of The Rot. The greatest capability of the Vordekai was to take the parts of others, and use them for their own bodies. It was how they overcame The Rot. It was how they overcame the slowness of natural evolution. It was how they would one day become perfect.

Israkaal checked his rifle, stepped forward, and was soon aboard. This was his chance to rebuild himself. His true second chance at life. As the vessel soared into the air, he felt it rumble and shake, holding itself together as it moved higher and higher into the atmosphere. Soon, it would venture to another world, bring hunters to its surface, and then the search for improvements worthy of integration would begin.

Any living being on that world would be nothing more than salvage.

---

Q'Dai had once been an Elder. One of the wise rulers of his kind, a tribal leader, an enlightened one with spiritual power. The head of a tribe, expanding its influence across the Band of Life.

He thought about those times as he held his head low, struggling to fit through another cavernous passage. It was dark in two of his eyes, and cold in the third. Like all of those deemed "Ishalpot" by The Scourges, he possessed a third eye between and slightly above the others, which allowed vision in a far lower spectrum.

His crystalline armour plating, which naturally grew upon his species for protection, seems to scrape against stone with every movement. The caves were home to a great many creatures. Some of them were little more than worms, eating the dirt for energy. Others were far more sinister, sometimes emerging from their homes in the world below to ravage the countryside. Those beasts rarely appeared now. The Scourges had taken their place as the destroyers of civilisation.

They had come not long ago, yet already most of Q'Dai's people had been taken or killed, generally both. They had brought devastating weapons, which would shatter crystal and pierce scales and flesh. The Scourges seemed to lack spirit, lack any sense of righteousness or mercy. They came, they killed, they tore apart, and they left, rarely even leaving anything to rot behind as they departed, giant metal creatures ascending into the sky.

Many stories had emerged over why they had come. Some said they were just monsters. Some said they came from the Everblack, the cold lands few could withstand, and beasts that took care of any who did survive. Some said they came from the Scorchlands, the eternally arid realm where storms were omnipresent but rain never fell. And then, the most ludicrous yet disturbing of all theories. That they from Above, from the world after death. That they were the unhoky monsters banished before history, gaining their revenge upon the world.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Q'Dai spoke quietly to the tribesman in front of him.

"They're coming. They followed us. Scatter."

The began to crawl in opposite directions, moving through the smallest cracks they could fit through. Behind him, Q'Dai heard cackling, then hissing. He sensed in his mind the presence of those who could only charitably be described as alive. He didn't need this mystic power, granted to him by the Vanguard of Above, to see the heat in the rocks behind him grow and grow, until part of the cave wall became an entrance. There was a flash, and some chittering and buzzing in a bizzare language, echoing through the chamber.

Q'Dai raced away. He had seen how little use blades were against The Scourges. He barely kept himself from breaking his crystalline exoskeleton on a nearby wall of solid rock. He felt The Scourges following. Then, there was light. A vibrant beam swept the subterranean corridor. There was a strange sound, like metal scraping against rock. One of The Scourges revealed itself. Rotting flesh connected together flexible limbs adorned in metal armour, a single glowing emitting a pulsing flash. The light revealed another, which seemed to have massive gripping and tearing claws, and had a large tail in the place of legs, with sharp blades connected it to the The Scourge's abdomen.

Pain tore through Q'Dai as a surge of flame erupted from the metal monster, scorching his arm and body beneath the outer armour. Another strike came, and he watched helplessly as a crystal was torn from his armour, and a piece of flesh along with it. He writhed in pain as he shivered in terror, but his body barely moved. For he was now held in the indomitable grasp of The Scourge. Flesh was pierced, parts of his flesh carved and torn away from the tendons that held them to his bound, and then the tendons were stripped too from his bones.

He watched, in horror, as one or the monsters cause a flood of pain and agony and panic and desperation and excruciating torment to burst from the centre of his body. He stared in disbelieving terror, barely holding himself together, as The Scourge held his beating heart in its grasp. A claw moved.

For a few moments, all emotion drained into nothingness, as his own heart was severed before his eyes.

Q'Dai fell lifeless to the ground soon after, abandoned and alone in the dark passageway. His attackers left only a mutilated, some crystalline armour, and a single digit behind them as they left, carrying their salvage back towards the surface of this cruel, forsaken planet.

---

The room was well lit, a single bright light illuminating the entirety of the area. Munshaad was in a prone position, legs spread and pustules contained from expanding. A Voldat entered the room, carrying several tools and with many others fused with his form.

"Are you prepared to begin?" he asked. It was customary to give Vordekai a chance to back out just before the procedure. Forgetting such tended to lead to a violent departure.

"Begin." she replied. Unlike many Vordekai, Munshaad had retained much of her reproductive system, and being Vordekai, that made her hermaphroditic. Of course, she had elected to generally utilise her female organs, due to their unique modifications. She was utterly sterile, but it was possible to repurpose the tissues and glands within her body for something for more useful than mere reproduction.

The Valdot, specifically a Vordekai surgeon in this case, prepared an injection.

"No need." said Munshaad, as she allowed her glands to resume activity. She felt numbness overwhelm her, the relaxing sensation of a painless existence overwhelming. Her modifications had a very particular focus. Rather than simply adding on limbs or fashioning weapons into her flesh, she she opted to prioritise her internal capabilities. All it took was finding the right rare plants and creatures, taking a sample of their organs, beginning sequencing and modification...

Now, she was able to control many of her bodily functions at will. Chief amongst them, that of her new glands- to distribute whatever chemicals she needed throughout her veins and arteries. Right now, she was releasing a relaxant that disabled pain sensors and made her muscles limp.

The mechanical part of her mind, a single stem besides her brain, went off like an alarm, beeping in her head for a few moments. That was the liver warning. She would need a new one in a few days. No matter. Such parts were easy enough to obtain from the street markets and she could always go salvaging if she was desperate.

Munshaad saw the operator grab a large blade, restraining part of her arm. She felt the surge of pain, but it was soon overridden by the numbness and relaxation. But numbness and relaxation wasn't the greatest sensation she could allow herself to feel. The Vordekai opened another gland in her body, and began secreting a different chemical.

The feeling of exhilaration, of being without worry, of being in bliss. Pleasure and ecstasy overwhelmed her, as she felt the paradoxically stimulating yet relaxing feeling of the drugs she had produced within her own body rushing through her. She barely even noticed the tearing, grinding and removal of her limb, nor the metal bracket being positioned between it and a new tendril she had salvaged in a recent expedition. A boltgun was place in the circles within the steel device, and sharp metal wire was forced to hold together this new addition to her body.

She felt tiny flickers of pain, then overwhelming surges of drownings, numbness, and happiness. A portion of gelatinous tissue was added to the newly connected parts, organic material creatively named "mending gel". This would begin to form new tissue between the limbs, help to complete their connection.

After a short time of flooding the drugs into her liver and out of her bloodstream, Munshaad felt the restraints released. She stood up, and reoriented herself. The Valdot was already examining the previous limb. Vordekai culture demanded that when someone replaced your parts for you, they got to keep what you left behind as payment for their service. It was a withering limb. She needed to replace hers often, as they seemed to always decay.

But that didn't matter. Now, she had yet another she could use. She allowed herself to release endorphins into her mind, and feel a sense of satisfaction. Yes, this would be most useful for those times she spent having to search around her for parts and duties, between the periods of rest and relaxation.

"I appreciate that." she said, before beginning her departure. She had no fear for the world before her, the future coming ever closer.

After all, why would she need to a keep a gland for fear? Pleasure was a far superior emotion. To live in safety and bliss, to have complete control over her own body and mind, was surely the apex of perfection.

[Xah]

Bexul was a wet world. Marshes the size of small continents and estuaries that saw the water mark advance and retreat by kilometers dominated the landscape. Ecosystems that relied on a constant exchange of land and sea were widespread; almost all life on this world was well adapted to the frequent influx of turbid, brackish water twice a day. A giant moon filled the sky at night and a large, red sun filled the sky in the day.

Bexul was a warm world. The local sun was close and red, bathing the planet in its heat; ice caps were a relic of a distant past and snow was a rare phenomenon confined to the very tallest of the half a dozen peaks high enough on Bexul for it to exist. With a thick, muggy atmosphere and an overabundance of methane and water vapour in the air, the flat, wet plains were shrouded in an almost constant fog.

Bexul was a flat world. Ancient and settled, its mantle had long ago ceased its constant flexing and stretching, the firey inner now confined to its core, still providing that life-saving magnetic field. With few new mountains being created, and a constant inundation of water, the peaks were gradually eroded away, leaving boggy plains and island-like hills. Volcanoes were a rare phenomenon, centers of their own unique cycles of life.

It was on this warm, wet, flat world that the all-powerful Magi had built their capital in the highest, rockiest and coldest part. Perched in the only true mountain range on Bexul, the city of Tekim was all but inaccessible to anyone but the Magi and their favoured priesthood. Tall cliffs with constant waterfalls and wreathed in mist and cloud surrounded the ancient city, parts of it boasting to be almost twenty thousand years old. Getting to Tekim required the use of a magical portal, using a portal required the permission of a priest, or magic of one's own, something beyond most Bexulians.

Tekim had grown over the millennia to accommodate the Magi as they were hatched, discovered and then joined Bexul's most exclusive collective. Originally just a place for Tylith to speak to his acolytles, space was put in for the other Magi when it was realised that a place for them all to gather was deemed useful. It was now split into eight sections, each one of a varying size dependant on how each Magi used it. Each section was dominated by an impressive temple, built to both impress and outdo the other Magi, but in the center was the most impressive of them all; the High Tower of Bexul. Designed to be as inaccessible to non-Magi as Tekim was to everyone else, the High Tower held the doorless meeting room at its peak, wards and shields ensuring only the most powerful magic users could teleport into it.

Meetings within this room were, in theory, supposed to be regular and frequent, but the conflicting nature of the Magi's various personalities made such events difficult to organise. The oldest of them all, Tylith, resented always having to instigate the meets; it was almost a rule that unless he made the first approaches, it never happened. Qarina tried occasionally; the dry academic nature of her approach often put the others off though.

Eventually though, Tylith's irritation at being the organiser was overwhelmed by his deep seated belief that the eight Magi needed to meet. It was decades since the last one and he finally succumbed to his own internal pressure. A summons was put out, a date set and the chamber once again became a hub of almost unparalleled power.

[Ella2 6]

The Tempest in the Teapot

Wraeclaust, Wraeclaust
Heifu
Duizhang Tao Wuhan

"Release the bow sail and let her out! Deploy oars! Get us out of the stream!" The First Mate's orders cut through the serenity that has fallen upon the ship for the past few weeks of sailing. With a series of loud cracks, the forward sail, a device that resembled an umbrella of sorts but supported on the beams by sheets, was released and allowed to flutter harmlessly with the flow of the aether stream. The crew quickly disassembled the tackle and blocks and folded the canvas before stowing it away under the bow. With the forward sail gone, the great figurehead of a dragon was revealed to the elements, warding off evils and misfortunes. The vessel, no longer pulled along by the wind-catcher, slowed significantly and drifted towards the edge of the stream.

Three long, flat oars with ends the shape of banana leaves were affixed to each side of the vessel and pointed upwards. On the call of the lead rower, the small rowing crew of a dozen burly men lowered their oars to either side of the vessel and helped drag the junk out of the aether stream. Behind the Heifu, the other three ships of the vanguard fleet followed, their own oars twisting and swinging back and forth in unison as they pulled themselves clear of the influence of the cosmic winds.

The yellow, fulled battened sails were hoisted shortly thereafter and the golden banners and streamers bearing large black characters which spelt out the name of the black-bellied dragon the ship was named after were unfurled in the calmer currents of the Rift. Propelled by both oars and sails, the small fleet made good time to the two mysterious bodies that had emerged from the darkness of the Rift only a few weeks ago.

"We're arriving at Wraeclaust, Chuanzhang," the First Mate reported, "what are your orders?" The Captain of the Heifu and fleet commander of the reconnaissance fleet was a tall man in his fifties by the name Tao Wuhan. His pale, grey hair was an indication of the amount of stress it took to keep a vessel running smoothly. His hazel eyes were fixed on the gyroscope mounted on a small pedestal in the centre of the poop deck. He spoke now, his voice deep and authoritative.

"Anchor us in orbit around the planet and prepare the marines for departure."

"Shi, zhangguan!" The First Mate acknowledged, leaving to relay the orders to the rest of the crew. The First Mate was a very tall man, towering over everyone else aboard and muscular like most sailors; a set of traits the Captain found very useful for keeping the crew in line. After all, there was nothing quite like the threat of being thrown overboard and suffocating in the void to maintain discipline in the ranks. And like most sailors, the First Mate was heavily tanned and his belly showed signs of a fondness for alcohol.

The fleet soon found themselves in orbit around the strange world they called Wraeclaust. The star, by the same name, bathed the deck a bloody red, a colour the sailors found disquieting as they lowered the sails and separated the oars from their oarlocks. Once more, silence descended upon them and the mariners sat idle on the deck smoking a pipe or rationing a bottle of wine amongst each other. Someone brought out a set of majiang and a crowd had gathered to watch, placing bets down before the players had even finished setting up.

The long, narrow Qianglong fuchuan - a heavily armed troop transport that outgunned the standard war junk with two extra guns per broadside - broke away from the fleet and angled her hull for atmospheric re-entry. Her runic bubble shields glowed brilliantly as she descended upon the alien world below, her bow guided by the light of foreign stars. It was far from home and the sailors took great care navigating these uncharted waters.

---

Ready by the Storm

The Great Wall, Yuzushan
The Eastern Province, Kasmari
Carroll Andrews

Night set upon them as if someone had thrown a shroud over the heavens. There was no better description for the way the sun sets upon the Great Wall each night. This close to the Badlands, the Realm of Eternal Night, the impenetrable layers of dark, foreboding shapes which protected the gloomy landscape from the glare of the star blocked the life-giving rays from gracing the structure long before dusk. The fiery afterglow from atop the clouds faded rapidly and the air, chilly by day, froze in the darkness.

Puffs of white vapour marked Carroll's passage as she mounted the steps of a higher section of the Wall, pausing briefly to light the lanterns hung on the eastern side of the walkway. On the other side, her companion and classmate, Gwendolyn, mirrored her movements, keeping pace and lighting lanterns as she went along. The two proceeded in silence, neither in the mood to talk; the evening was cold and it had been a long day patrolling the Badlands and slaying monsters.

The heat of the small flame on the end of her lamplighter's pole warmed Carroll's cheeks. A brief respite from the frigid air that now surrounded them. Nuzzling her chin into her breast, Carroll pulled her scarf over her mouth with her free hand and placed her hand in her pocket in vain to warm it up. Her other hand, clasped around the long, unwieldy pole, was stiff and numb. She moved her fingers a little to make sure they were not frozen onto the pole itself.

The section of wall ended at the foot of a great, solid tower. Built from hard, stone bricks and rice mortar, the structure was designed to endure anything the elements or siege engines could throw at it. Carroll ducked under the protective stone arch that was the doorway and Gwen was half a second behind her. The two girls stood, shivering in the doorway, for a while as they got their bearings. The room was dimly lit with only a small torch set in the wall by brackets. Asides from a stairwell spiralling upwards, the chamber was empty.

The two knights mounted the stairs to the second floor where the guards kept a small fire burning, the light of which illuminated the final turn in the wall. Carroll shielded her eyes from the sudden brightness with her hand as they emerged from the stairwell. One of the guards turned from his position by the hollow arch windows and inclined his head in greeting.

"Wanshang hao, Knights," the pikeman greeted, the metal plates reinforcing his white dingjia rattling with the movement. Carroll nodded in return, noticing with some indignation and heavy fur coat the soldier wore over his armour. "Cold evening," he continued to remark, "Word has it that it's going to get colder. Apparently, our winter supplies have been delayed."

"It's winter all 'round," another soldier chuckled as he kept watch on the treeline. His companion inclined his head in agreement.

"Is this the last tower?" Gwen asked hopefully.

The man shook his head. "No, the next one is."

"Oh." Came the crestfallen reply.

---

"The fire's out," Carroll noted quietly as they neared the top. A quick glance confirmed it.

"Where are the guards?" Gwen whispered.

Carroll realised with a jerk that her friends were right. She had been so preoccupied with the small pile of ash and embers in the centre of the room that she had missed the fact that the guards were nowhere to be seen. Casting her lamplighter's stick around, she searched for any signs of a scuffle. The glint of light on dull steel alerted her to one of the sentry's spears. She rushed over to it and picked it up, examining it in the flickering light.

"Monsters?"

Carroll shook her head at her friend's question and nodded at the spearhead. "Too clean," she said, "If it were monsters, there'd be blood everywhere. Maybe a corpse or two as well." She looked around some more. "I'll check upstairs. Maybe you should have a lo-" The two perked up at the sound of footsteps echoing up the staircase and Gwen instinctively reached for the dagger in her belt. Carroll pointed the spear towards the staircase.

A head of yellow emerged from the slit in the floor, a lamplighter's stick in her hands. "Why's it so dark in here?" She asked. Behind her, her companion, a taller boy about a year her senior with a head of wavy, pastel purple lock grunted in assent, his sword in his hand, expecting danger. "What's going on?" The blonde asked upon spotting the other two knights.

"I can't say for sure," Carroll replied awkwardly, "The guards just disappeared." She stirred the ashes of the fire in the centre of the room with the tip of the spear. "The fire's gone out too." The knights stared at each other for a while, unsure of what to do.

"I'll go check downstairs, see if they're in the barracks," the boy said eventually, "Francis, come with me." His friend hesitated but followed him back down.

"I guess we take a look upstairs?" Gwen suggested.

"I guess so."

The two trudged up the staircase to the third floor of the tower. Here, watchmen were exposed to the full force of the elements without the protection of walls or the comfort of a fire. Carroll shivered as she emerged onto the battlements. The howling winds easily pierced through her woollen coat and the leather reinforced uniform, biting at her legs which were hidden under a pair of thick trousers. The heavy, leather padded armoured skirt around her waist, extending down to just above her knees, fluttered in the gales like paper.

Once more, she reflected bitterly on how completely inadequate the supplies were in the villages around this section of the Great Wall. Unable to endure any more freezing nights in the north, many of the soldiers on duty along the stony superstructure have resorted to hunting their own furs. Corps failed in the harsh conditions and most communities relied on the state supplying them with food. The treacherous mountain passes, often obstructed with appalling amounts of snow, had a tendency of forming ice beneath the unwary traveller's steps, sending many men, horses and wagons of vital supplies plummeting into the freezing abyss below.

The top floor was no much unlike the lengths of the Wall. Large stone slabs chiselled into squares were set on to of each other and glued together with rice mortar. A pulley lever system was set into the wall facing the Badlands meant to bring up throwing rocks and logs to hurl down are invaders. In the centre of the tower, raised on a rocky pedestal, a large pyramid of logs sat in a great metallic dish, accompanied by a garnish of dried leaves and branches. It smelled faintly of oil as the logs were soaked in the stuff and replaced semi-regularly to ensure they burn at the slightest spark. In the event of an emergency, these massive bonfires would be lit by guards to signal an attack on the Wall. The sight of these fires being ignited atop tower after tower was one that few men had ever seen, and for those who have, an impossible sight to forget.

"There's no one here," Gwendolyn muttered through chattering teeth. She was right, of course. As with before, the place was deserted and there was no a soul in sight.

"Let's go in before we freeze," Carroll agreed, eager to get out of the wind. The trip down was much speedier than the one up as the girls practically rolled down the stairs to escape the vile weather.

As they reached the second floor, a shrill scream echoed from below. "It's Francis!" Gwen shouted, recognising her friend's voice, and dashing down the stairs. Carroll could barely get the first syllable of 'wait' out of her mouth before her friend disappeared into the gloom. Panicking, she unslung her bow from across her body and ran after her companion's wakes.

As they reached the ground floor where the troop barracks was situated, they saw Francis backed into a corner, a dark, formless mass swirling above her. Her friend's limp, lifeless body lay on the opposite side of the room. There was the distinct absence of blood. Gwen quickly launched a fireball at the inky cloud from her palms. The attack exploded mid-air, unclear if it made contact with the target. Smoke engulfed the room and the blonde girl could be heard coughing weakly beyond the haze.

A much darker clump of vapour emerged from the smog, seemingly unharmed by the magical assualt. Carroll quickly fashioned an arrow out of solid aether and drew her longbow to launch the projectile. However, the entity, whatever it was, was much faster, and instantly shot out a thin, needle-like jet of gas from its form which solidified as it struck its target.

Gwen let out a sharp cry of surprise and pain and fell back into Carroll, knocking her aim off and sending her arrow flying harmlessly into the opposite wall where it buried itself. Seeing that its ploy worked, the cloudy body disappeared, fazing through the wall to make its escape.

The wide-eyed Carroll let it go in favour of saving her friend. She quickly lit a candle and returned to her friend to examine her wounds. Gwen was clutching her chest, scarcely breathing. Prying her hand away, Carroll quickly discovered the creature had punctured a small hole straight through her friend's chest and out her back. Upon further inspection of the scene, a deep impression had been made in the stone wall behind where Gwen had been standing, a small trace of blood could be found in the hole that had been bored into the rock by the attack.

"Hang in there!" Carroll urged, tears rolling down her cheeks. She seized her lamplighter stick from where it had fallen and rushed up the half dozen flights of stairs barring her from the bonfire pile.

[Xah]

High Tower
Tekim
Bexul

Magi made no attempt to be egalitarian; such niceties were for mortals. When the very universe itself was to be bound and controlled, it was difficult to consider oneself as equal to anyone. However, even the most arrogant amongst them had to reconcile this pseudo-omnipotence with the sobering reality that they were not unique, that other beings of at least equal power existed and, sometimes, they had to share a room with them, as distasteful as it was. For this reason, the table in the middle of the room was circular. Perfectly circular. It would take a machine of incredible precision and almost mythical accuracy to detect any anomaly in its shape. No single Magi could claim a better position around the table than another, even down to the atomic scale. Whilst this might seem petty and pedantic, conflict that almost rent the planet upon which it stood asunder was born of a perceived disrespect just as minor. So it was, that when each of the eight Magi materialised in the room, above the sigil that represented them, they knew that all were equal, that to pretend otherwise was both false and dangerous. Bexul could not, would not, survive another war between them.

Along with this almost supernatural equality, tradition ruled these meetings. Without established ritual and recognised protocol, emotions would rise, things would be said that could not be unsaid and Bexul bore the scars of disputes that such seemingly minor disagreements escalated into. Some of the more progressive Magi found the whole thing tiresome, and would gladly dispense with this charade of politeness, but the others were adamant in their importance and no one wished to risk it. So, as ritual dictated, Tylith was the first to speak. It was deemed his right, not only as the oldest, but also as the one who had gathered them together.

"Fellow Magi. We meet once more. There are matters that require our attention." Tylith said, the words a product of ritual. "What news is there from the regions?"

Tradition typically resulted in a long silence from the other Magi, as each one waited for the other to speak. This time, Tokirina spoke up, causing a slight stir between the others. "I have no new news form my region, but something of concern from outside."

There was a general tone of scoffing from most of the others at this statement. "We care not for the rest of the Rift," Saskel said. "Bexul is strong and secure. Let the chaos of the outside just wash against our borders."

"Agreed," Makel said. "Why do we need to know this?"

"As you all know, I journey around, both visiting my people and exploring the universe around us. Some of you see this as pointless, some as unwise, but it is who I am." Tokirina said, looking around at the other Magi. "Over ten thousand years ago, on one of my journeys, I encountered a system that housed a primitive people, whom I greeted as is my wont, and then left."

"You do that a lot," Qarina said. "I have cautioned you about it before. Upsetting the development of other species can result in untold consequences."

"I perhaps should have heeded your words better," Tokirina replied. "Truth be told, I did not expect them to develop much; they were aggressive and warlike, on a world with many predators and natural hazards. Such worlds and species like that rarely amount to anything. However, I returned to their system on my last journey, barely ten years ago and they did not fail as I expected, rather the opposite."

Tylith's voice was low and measured. "Tell us Tokirina, what have you done?"

"Nothing!" Tokirina said, protesting. "Or rather, I have contributed nothing to this situation save my own presence, all those eons ago. My initial visit stirred up a religious movement, which is not unusual, as you all know. Most faiths inspired by our visits are benign or fade away, lacking the basic elements to sustain such a belief without return visits or expressions of power."

"But not this one?" Qarina said. Despite the element of warning to Tokirina's tale, her academic interest was clearly piqued.

"Whatever religious fervour inspired by my visit has transmuted; it appears there was a religious war at some point soon after I left. The victors were a civilisation whom I had not visited, with a simplistic dualistic faith of good verses evil. They proceeded to cast my existence as the opposite of their own god. In short, I, or to be more precise, Bexulians such as I, have become the avatar of all that this civilisation deems evil and wrong."

"An amusing tale, but hardly something we need be concerned about," Saskel said.

"If that was it, then I would agree," Tokirina replied. "Like I said before, they did not fail as I expected, but have thrived, and that religion is now the dominant force behind their progress. They have reached for the stars with the express intention of finding their source of evil and eliminating it. I fear it will not be long before they discover where we are."

Makel laughed. "Let them come, why should we be afraid of some upstart civilisation just because they have designated us as their nemesis?"

Tokirina did not speak to reply at first, but instead projected an illusion before them all of the civilisation she had described. Various images appeared and faded away; a large tripedal creature with a thick exoskeleton, a fleet of advanced spaceships, dangerous looking weapons, and an enormous domed craft, dwarfing the ships flying around it.

"Their science is strong and powerful, and they are aggressive and warlike. I feel that unless we act now, together, they shall find one of our worlds and unleash their military might against it. I have no doubt that we would win together, but on our own, they are more than a match. Are you prepared to let our people suffer, or shall we face this as a unified whole?"

There was a silence as the other Magi took in the images and the mental information that Tokirina offered. A palpable sense of unease arose in the room; cooperation was difficult for them, but they all recognised the threat. "Let us not be hasty," Tylith finally said. "Contact Jexalpalel and see if he can send a fleet to gather more information. Perhaps this can be resolved without committing ourselves."

A murmur of consent rippled around the room, withheld only by Tokirina. "I do not believe this is best course of action, but I shall wait to see what Jexalpalel reports."

"Then we shall meet again once I receive the report. Thank you for your commitment." With an incline of head great head, Tylith faced from view, soon followed by the others, leaving the room empty once more.

[Opti Pare Wasre]

The Aetherforce of Opti Pare Wasre was, in a word, restless. They’d been relegated to jobs that amounted to anti-pirate cleanup work, and it wasn’t with any of the fervor- nor the funding- of the twenty-year restoration crusades. They needed a new goal, a new voyage- and, after a few weeks of studying strange things in the sky, they found one. Out of every mystery, the twin red dots in the sky were the most alluring. To the already outward-looking eyes of the aetherforce, they were like a slow, fat fish in the sea below was to a pandionid hunter- a hearty catch deserving of the utmost attention. An ominous, eye-catching name was given to the two points- Hrai Krra, red sky. The only thing to decide now was how to get there- which way would be the most exciting, and still face its mission’s challenges?

After a while, it was decided- the approach they’d use to carry a crew to Hrai Krra would be a single vessel; built out of a ship of the line, a freighter, and a few beam relays. Once she’d set off, she’d be named Starcatcher- after the first vessel designed to travel to another star, in turn named after the first vessel with lightsails. It’d carry sixteen remote relay stations, each designed to refocus and boost the light pushing Starcatcher once it was out of the effective range of the last station. It’d carry state-of-the-art military technology, it’d bring with it a few auxilliary warships, and it’d be the perfect thing to revitalize military funding. The momentum of a beautiful goal- no matter the result- would drive the current leadership to glory.

Three Months Later
Dregi Eastern Lobe Ocean, Pare Ziq- heading south.

Rrami Pekra flew just above the sea, flapping every once in a while. Another day, another coast-to-coast trip, another bout of beautiful views and time to think. Looking ahead, she could just about see the green land and gradually climbing mountains that formed the spine of Dregi, one of the six terranes making up the cluster that shared the same name. On a perfect day, if she started from the spine of another terrane, she could just barely see her destination on the horizon. Now, though, she skimmed the kilometers-deep sea. As she flew along, she dragged a wide net along with her, her tail flicking every once in a while to compensate for a fat fish. While hobby hunters could just use a satchel for their measly catch, the traditional net was just better for catching more -and larger- fish. Ships would've been even better for catching more, but everyone knew the touch of a skilled trader made the catch tastier- and the idea of golem-manned ships taking a job that could be done better by people who knew what they were doing had always had an uneasy taste of betrayal. The big net was perfect for the leisurely sunflying jaunts that took up most of her day. She could go faster, but this speed kept her going with a rush that lasted the whole time; avoided exhaustion; and, of course, made sure a particularly heavy fish wouldn't be a hassle.

Once she was done each day, it was time to sleep in one of the traders' hostels the guild provided on either of the shores a deep sea apart- because if something was this fun and this lucrative, why wouldn't someone else do it? She was a regular, though, and one of the best in the game. Every day, she emptied her nearly over-full net (stars above, so heavy!) into her preserver, pressing her hand on the cool lid’s channeler to let it draw energy off the rush of flight and her own excess energy. Halfway through the process of depositing her catch, though, she noticed something- a government official, tiredly waiting to be noticed. The official rattled off a quick chirping jabber of instructions (which, of course, she was bound to follow), and Rrami nodded- just a quick bureaucratic exchange, but one she knew would change her life. She- a descendant of a long, long line of fishers and traders- would be heading along with her catch for the next month into the deep black aboard a vast vessel under construction a planet away. She looked out the wide lobby window, further towards the mountains and into the distance, at the alluring light in the sky she knew was her target. The twin points ahead- Hrai Krra, she was pretty sure the name was- shone brighter than most any other star, and they were within reach.

6 Earth Days Later
OPWKS Dregi, High Orbit, Pare Ziq- heading east.

Viti Mardo, an average maintenance engineer- one of a group of thirty on the huge inactive OPWKS Dregi- finally got an order beyond “wait around for orders and make sure the ship still functions once they’ve installed that new gun”. Thankfully, she was already in the right place on the ship- the wide plain of metal, one of eight on the ship, that held the deep sail mast. She hooked herself to the side of the sliding plate, then flung herself up higher into the ship’s near-nullgee shield-atmosphere envelope. Thinking style and grace, as she’d been taught to always take into account, she hooked the plate to the side of the hole and pushed the automation to start up. It would’ve been easier to just trigger the automation, but maintenance didn’t just mean “ask the automation if it’s working fine”, now did it? Either way, the masts telescoped out to extreme heights- a tiny bit taller than the ship was long. She pulled herself down into the nearest airlock chamber- and told the chamber to cut its gravity. The lights dimmed, and she tapped her skinsuit to turn its phospors on. She felt the ship jink a little, and in a minute the lased light hit the sails. The airlock gravity reasserted itself, and the lights brightened again. The ship was off for Joteka, at a slowly-rising (though imperceptible) halfgee.

One Earth Day later
Equator-Seaside, Joteka- heading west.

The train rumbled across barren ground, and Datmu Famo was grateful for the relief it brought to her aching wings. While on the homeworld one would be hard-pressed to make any mass-transit system, in the high-gravity, thin-atmosphere environment of Joteka- where one could just about manage flight between distant suburbs (or, in some of the traditionalist areas of the planet, plantations)- roads and railroads crisscrossed the low, barren terrain. She was on the way to a big metal tradeship in orbit, to oversee the work on mating its hull with the generally-intact ship of the line still four days out. As the train approached the launchsite, she could see the shine of a lightshuttle much similar to the one she’d be riding being pushed into the skies- probably one of the work groups sent to make sure the re-backing of its hull with steelwood was going smoothly. At the three gees of acceleration needed to handle the high gravity of Joteka- something she’d been dreading for the past few hours- she’d need to have her wings out. More exhaustion…

Twenty-Five Earth Days later
OPWKS Dregi, just past Pare Ziq- heading into the void.

A hybrid ship, the first of its kind and role, headed outsystem on the most routine trip it’d ever take. Viti was enjoying the momentary peace in her surprisingly luxurious quarters (one wonderful advantage of being on the maintenance staff!) and going over the events of the past month- in particular, her work with Datmu, the Joteka native. The lady had been kind, especially for a corvid- if she seemed a bit frazzled. Maybe the kindness was just an effect of being from another world, but it was certainly a welcome one… Soon, though, the mission crew would come on board (thank the stars she didn’t have to give up this cabin!) and she’d have to make sure her group knew their jobs, had their crew patches and suits, and could at least pretend to be able to handle any emergency nullgee events.

Nullgee was like swimming and flying at the same time, Rrami reflected. There was no need to move if you wanted to stay in one place, but pushing off of the ground tended to be more functional than just using one’s wings. She didn’t need to experience it much- even the exterior of the ship had gravity-light plates. It was startling and a little weird, being tall enough that everyone walking on the ceiling (another surprise!) had to dodge around you. Otherwise, though, the military ship was surprisingly similar to an average long-term job: everyone gets a specific role set, and as many people as possible sleep communally. At least it was warm, and no one else seemed to mind...

Starcatcher’s rear sail turned slightly, setting itself up for one of the least confusing orbital maneuvers possible- a diagonal line across the system, out to Rale So. It’d be a simple test of high-speed maneuvers and on-ship beaming: once it was in Rales’ little system, the ship itself would accelerate a large shuttle such that it could dock easily, even as both ships sped towards Hrai Krra. They’d be there in a month, assuming the aether currents were favorable- and surely they would be.