Kereth
Storymaster
Because 'stabbity, stabbity, stabbity' is a punchline.
Posts: 222
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Post by Kereth on Aug 15, 2006 11:18:29 GMT -5
Okay, the story is already well underway, but I like the avenue for feedback this forum provides, and it tempts me, so I'm gonna' start posting here and quickly catch up with the story that has been told in game. (I may very possibly even get ahead of it before the end, so if you want the early scoop, watch for it here!) I've never used this forum before, so I'm going to see how it feels. Now that I have that clarified, off to create that "Comments' thread and then get some story in here! Charge!
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Kereth
Storymaster
Because 'stabbity, stabbity, stabbity' is a punchline.
Posts: 222
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Post by Kereth on Aug 15, 2006 11:22:46 GMT -5
What follows is the tale of a former Imam. It has been passed down through the procession of Imam until the time it was requested to be brought to light, namely the time of the "Last of the Third Cycle."
The significance of this indication shall be indicated, to those who watch closely, as the story unfolds. For now, it is sufficient to say that it refers to Kereth, who was the seventh of the third cycle of seven Imam.
Having received it, he has taken great pains to transcribe the text into a format that may be read by all who seek it, translating from it's original tongue into the common, and from a first-person account, to a narrative.
The tale comprises many significant events in the history of the retroverse, including the transformation of Raji, the formation of two major guilds, and the reason for the start of the old Hand saying: "Not only Raji. . ."
--------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": There won't be any naked anakim! ---------------------
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Kereth
Storymaster
Because 'stabbity, stabbity, stabbity' is a punchline.
Posts: 222
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Post by Kereth on Aug 15, 2006 11:29:20 GMT -5
Chapter One: The Imam Part One: To Create a Successor
When the first earthquake struck Shara, the Imam was in his room, holding a private consultation with a new mustajib. So involved were they in their meeting, that one would not have held them responsible if they had missed the earthquake entirely.
Their business concluded shortly thereafter, and Huja rolled over onto his back, breathing heavily.
The Imam, Huja, was a male anakim. He was strong and well conditioned, as any Imam is expected to be, and his hair was a pale, cinnamon-brown. He wore his hair combed back typically, though it was far from orderly at the moment, and he kept it cut short enough to keep out of his eyes when he battled. His skin was well tanned and glistened with sweat, but even the most strenuous of exercises, such as the one he had just finished with, would only leave him winded for a few moments.
Next to him, beneath the covers, the mustajib stretched her nubile body tiredly, moaning in contentment. Huja glanced over at her, unconcerned.
She was younger than he, though still fully-blossomed into womanhood, a fact that was fully apparent from the shape her body made beneath the sheets. She rolled over to face the Imam, and her short, golden hair dangled across her features. She smiled at him, a sort of sleepy expression, like someone waking up from a very pleasant dream. "That was amazing," she said, "and however did you manage the earthquakes?" Her face broke into something of a mischievous grin at the last.
Huja gave no reply and she smirked, leaning over to him. The sheets fell away slightly and she gave him a quick peck before turning and climbing from the bed with another satisfied groan. She stepped away, collecting her robes and drawing them close around her supple form.
Inwardly, Huja gave a very different sort of groan. That witch, he thought, did she really think he did this because he enjoyed it?
He stepped out of bed and began replacing his discarded pants and shirt, slipping the pants on and tying the shirt behind him. It is interesting to note that during this time period on Raji, most shirts had no back to them. They were put on over the front and held in place by a tie at the waist and behind the neck. This was because, of the races that existed on Raji at the time, most of the shirts were worn by anakim or atomy, who both had to make room for their wings. Of the other races, the jinn and arcanus would typically not wear shirts, preferring either togas or going topless, the suula were incapable of wearing them at all, and the ettin were generally avoided and presumed responsible for making their own, which they usually didn't, being too stupid for such a complicated task.
Huja ignored the female anakim- who was watching him dress with an expression of extreme disappointment- and stuffed his feet into his boots. He had explained to her what his reasons for sleeping with her had been, and he had meant them, even if she had not believed him. As Imam, he needed to have a successor, and the successor must necessarily be his descendant. Former Imam had gotten married and started families to provide themselves with such an heir, but Huja felt familial responsibilities would distract him too frequently from his duties as Imam, as he felt they had for his predecessors. That was why he slept with other women without having any personal attachment to them. It was not for pleasure. He did it because it was his sworn duty to do so and nothing more.
He stood, and the mustajib sighed. "Going already?" she asked, making only the scarcest attempt at holding her robe closed properly.
Huja nodded at her. "I am," he said, "I have much business to attend to. I thank you for your cooperation in this."
That mischievous grin appeared again. "It was my pleasure," she said. He simply nodded to her again and stepped out of the room, finding himself face-to-face with Khalid. --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": A Jinn and a Prophet who shows no signs of levity. ---------------------
Part Two: Priveleged With Humor
Khalid raised an eyebrow in amusement, looking first at the Imam, then at the woman behind him and back again at the Imam. The female anakim quickly closed her robes properly, and Khalid's face twisted into a nigh-demonic grin.
"An earthquake," Khalid said, "impressive. You must have been working hard in there."
Huja rolled his eyes and stepped past Khalid, not giving the woman a backward glance. Khalid turned, floating along side the anakim who was, by tradition, his "heir, executor, and interpreter" and had been destined to be such since the opening of the cycle of seven Imam.
Khalid was a Jinn, and a powerfully built one at that. When his race had been freed from their ancient imprisonment to mortals, and King Odie had offered them refuge in his distant city-kingdom of Suthnas, Khalid had taken another course, traveling instead to Shara, where he had first been taught of Cyllyl. The Hand of the Black Rose had seemed a noble and a powerful group to him, and it had been his pleasure to associate with them for many years, yet when he had first arrived at Shara, he had no idea of the dreams that would be offered to him by the Divine, nor did he suspect that the Hands would one day revere him as their Prophet.
Together, Executor and Regent moved away from the Imam's personal quarters and through the grand hall of the cathedral that stood without them. A great mosaic of a clenched fist around a Black Rose decorated the floor, and the two made no sound as they crossed it.
"She was quite an attractive one this time," Khalid commented idly as they exited the cathedral and stepped into the streets of the city. Arcanus merchants hefted their wares calling out bargains to the passerby. The Imam shrugged as they made their way through the crowd uninhibited.
"I ask only that she is willing," Huja said, "nothing more."
Khalid permitted his grin to widen at this. "That is all most men ask," he said.
Huja sighed, not appreciating the joke. "Khalid, you know why I do such things. Must you insist on misinterpreting my motives at every opportunity?"
"I'll misinterpret my own visions if it would make you smile for once," Khalid said, "but one way or the other, I'm sure she enjoyed herself. Really, I've never thought that being an Imam could be so incredibly. . . convenient." Khalid's grin had not faded.
"You know a Fidai would be dismissed for such levity as yours," Huja said, unamused, "And a Dai would likely be executed."
"But never a prophet," said Khalid, giving Huja a hearty slap across the back, a gesture that was greatly unappreciated, and Huja quickly brushed the hand away with a wingtip. "Such is the privilege of my position," the jinn concluded, "And don't tell me you don't go enjoying the privileges of yours. I SAW where you just came from. . ."
Huja snorted, deciding not to pursue the subject any further. "And what brings you out to see me today, Khalid? I trust it was not simply to harry me about my personal life."
"Ah, yes," said Khalid, his grin disappearing at last. "Business," he said, "always business. . ."
They walked forward in silence for a moment, until they rounded a corner and the great Rajian Ocean spread out before them, glittering in the sunlight beyond Shara.
"I've had another vision," Khalid said, "something I thought you might like to hear about. . ." --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Khalid's vision includes bunnies. ---------------------
Part Three: Premonition
It was a long moment before Khalid spoke again. Huja allowed him all the time that was necessary. The desert sun baked them with its lurid rays. A dry wind whisked past them. In the distance, the ocean glimmered brightly.
"In my vision," Khalid said at length, "I saw the desert of Shara."
Huja nodded. This seemed to be a recurring symbol in Khalid's visions and one that he was familiar with the interpretation of. "Go on," he said.
"The desert was filled with a great multitude of people. All the races, and every nation on Raji seemed to be represented among their ranks: suula, jinn, anakim, atomy, arcanus, even ettin. In the center stood the leaders of all. You and I stood foremost, with all the lesser officials around us. Odie was there, as was Sadam, Abraham, Nebu, and every other major or minor magistrate the world over. The land was peaceful, and everything was as it should be. Then the sands of time began to tremble."
Khalid paused again, looking off into the sky. His face was a mask of deep concentration as he tried to recall every detail that might be important to the Imam. His stocky, green form quivered slightly at a large gusting of wind. "Many people fell," he said.
Huja raised an eyebrow. "They fell?" he asked, "Where?
"Yes," Khalid said, "They fell, screaming as they did so. I do not know where they went. They plummeted from view, right down into the sands as if it no longer could support their weight. The entire world seemed to fall as one into an endless abyss, but a handful of us remained. Strange beasts rose up from the sands, the likes of which I have never seen before. Cats that walked as men, horses with the upper bodies of wingless anakim, pale monstrosities with fangs and blood-filled eyes. . . all manner of abominations, such that I could never hope to describe them all. They filled the places of those who had fallen and then fell also, as more rose to take their places. In time, very few of the original creatures remained. None save Odie, as much as I am loathe to admit anything that might be perceived in his favor. Even you and I fell by the end, fading in the selfsame instant. Others replaced us, and others still replaced them in turn." Khalid turned to look at Huja, his expression becoming focused and resolute. "This continued for some time, with no further events of note, save that we too were finally replaced by these creatures, but there was never an ending to those who came to replace us. That was all I saw."
Huja said nothing. His expression had grown distant. A stray hand came down and rested upon his dagger and his eyes wandered out to the sea then back to the city, blank and unfocused.
"What does it mean?" Khalid asked.
Huja said nothing, but Khalid could see a strange tremor in his fingertips and a alien glimmer behind his eyes. What was that look in Huja? He did not think he had ever seen it before.
The Imam shook himself, gazing about himself in something that Khalid could almost place as desperation. "What does it mean?" Khalid asked him again, "Do you know the interpretation?"
That glimmer. That look in his eyes, it was something. . . something. . .
"I do," said Huja, taking a breath that was slow and deep.
Was it fear? --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": The interpretation isn't remotely ominous, and Huja even sings a song about parakeets: lots and lots of parakeets. ---------------------
Part Four: Revelation
"The desert," Huja began calmly, "Is the world, Raji, and the people are the inhabitants of it. The beginning of the dream is the present day. All the races live together in the world in complete harmony. At their center are those on whom they look for guidance. They are their counselors, rulers, and protectors in the time that is to come. They have none other to rely on, and their fate will be determined by the actions of those who you saw."
Khalid nodded. "We were foremost, you even more so than I. I assume that it is our place more than any other to guide future events?"
"That would be probable. The others who will serve well are the others who appeared. Abraham Ben-Levi will serve those at Elysium, Nebu, the atomy, will guide the Air City, Sadam will guide the Alchemists, and so forth."
"And the other magistrates? I think I saw the mayor of Nineveh and some farmer from Ferne-Den in there. . ."
"Then they have roles to play as well, though we may not see them. All must do their part, for all were present. Many will still fall regardless."
"And what are they to do their part in?" Khalid asked, "What is coming? Where did the people fall to?"
"I don't know," Huja said, "but I can guess."
Khalid waited for the answer (it took a few moments in coming). Huja's face grew distant again and he finally replied.
"The falling is death," he said, "There will be great changes in Raji soon- things that I cannot even begin to really think about. Millions will die, and. . . I do not know what they are, but other things will come to replace them. You and I will die in the same moment as one another, and we will be replaced by our successors. The Imamic line will never be broken, though Cyllyl may go through surprising and unusual means to maintain it."
Khalid nodded slowly, letting the gravity of the situation wash over him like a slow, watery mudslide. He could even feel it oozing into those unpleasant locations he didn't want to think about. "What will we do then?" he asked.
"Millions will die," Huja said, "and it is up to us to protect them. We will do whatever is necessary. The will of Cyllyl is tantamount. We have no other options." --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Other options! ---------------------
Part Five: Resolution
Huja soared alone over Shara, taking in the sights and relaxing his mind, hoping to relieve some of the stresses of the passing day. The skies were streaked with fire and blood. Dusk was upon the people of Shara.
He could see far from his vantage point, even beyond the desert to the wide sweeping plains and far out over the open sea. At the center of it, beneath him, wedged between the ocean and the desert, lay the port city of Shara. Torchlight glimmered in the fading light. Its people hustled about, tiny specks on the roads, wandering about their daily affairs, each struggling through their own little dramas and difficulties, completely unaware of whatever disaster was soon to befall them.
Huja was sure that it waited for them, whatever it was. It waited for everyone. That was what Khalid's dream had meant, and his dreams were never wrong. Huja tilted his body over backward, arching downward silently toward the city below him. Nobody would hear him. Nobody would even see him descend. Practices of stealth were so long ingrained into the Imam's movements that they came to him entirely without thinking. He soared, plummeting, and the ground rushed toward him like a charging pack of ettin.
At the last conceivable moment, Huja arched his wings and pulled up, gliding down an empty street by the docks. The smells of the sea and the fishermen's catches danced in his nostrils. The salty foam of the air rippled along his skin, and he cut around a corner, barely squeezing his wingspan into the new roadway. The buildings were shaped in the old style, adobe and ceramic walls with hanging, tent-like rooftops. The larger buildings, such as the Cathedal of Cyllyl (though it was known by other names as well) were stone, topped with pointed domes that shone in the light of the setting sun.
What was to become of this place? he though, What of this people?
When the time came, Cyllyl would know. Of that, Huja was certain. No problem existed that could not be solved by her infinite Reason.
He flapped onward, shooting out over the docks and across the sea, painted in the same incendiary tones as the rest of the world. Waves sloshed beneath him, and he barreled outward, leaving the land in his wake.
Cyllyl would know what to do. She always did. Whatever happened, it would be she whom they would always rely upon.
Behind him, for the second time that day, the ground trembled under Shara. --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Acid Arrow! ---------------------
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Kereth
Storymaster
Because 'stabbity, stabbity, stabbity' is a punchline.
Posts: 222
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Post by Kereth on Aug 16, 2006 13:45:50 GMT -5
Chapter Two: The Dai Part One: Plans and Greetings
The room was dark, secluded deep beneath the cathedral in one of the intricate catacombs that lined the bowels of the Rajian soil. Had it been near the surface, somewhere with a window and access to the outside world, the sun's morning rays would have been seen, shining into the room and exposing the actions of the one within to the light of the coming day.
The room was broad, and strangely cubical, measuring approximately fourteen feet wide in every direction. The walls were bare, save for those implements being used by the occupant. These walls were unremarkable structures, cut stone, and they served no purpose in decoration. At one end, thin, wooden pedestals of varying heights provided the only sort of furnishings available. At the top of each, a cheaply-made clay pot was positioned, ugly and empty, though the man who had placed them there was still several moments from deriving any use from them.
That man's name was Salem. He was an arcanus man, short for his race, but still much taller any jinn or anakim he might stumble across. His skin was the darkest blue, tanned from the Sharan sun until his complexion was nearly blackened. Many of his people found their way as merchants, buying and selling and making a profit from the needs of the other races, but Salem had chosen another road. He was a Hand, a Dai in fact, an assassin, instructor, and worshipper of Cyllyl.
The most notable feature in the room was the portal standing in the middle of it, shimmering red and leading into places few would dare to tread through. The rippling bands of energy that made it up cast a crimson haze on their surroundings, offering one of the few sources of light to be had. Glistening white teeth sparkled between charcoal-blue lips as Salem grinned at it, watching it and reveling in the triumph of its creation. His powers were coming faster now, and the project was already in full swing. Cyllyl permitting, things would continue from here, even without his supervision. He must be careful, however: the powers he tampered with were not ones to be taken lightly. He would be famous for them, to be sure, but he mustn't allow himself to be reckless.
The portal shuddered and collapsed, and Salem brought his hands up, gesturing wildly and offering an incantation.
"A burn, a scorch, a trail of pain," he began, "bring low my foes in a shower of flame!"
Fire erupted from his fingertips, coalescing into a strange arrow of sorts that rocketed across the room, striking one of the pots and detonating. The pot was obliterated. Salem grinned again.
Perfect, he thought.
As he thought this, a second pot shattered, seemingly of its own accord. The arcanus snarled, glancing at it impatiently. A thin throwing dagger extended from the remains of the shattered vessel.
Salem turned to find the door open and Huja standing there, looking up at him.
"A thousand pardons," Salem said, "my Most Holy Imam." He bowed deeply, though not so far that his head receded to the level of his relatively diminutive master. "I did not hear you come in."
"No one does," Huja replied, and Salem righted himself. Hands lashed out without warning, finding more hands coming up to meet them.
The hands clasped together, Imam and Dai joining in a hearty greeting. "It is good to see you, my friend," Huja said.
"And you also, my Imam," said Salem, "Cyllyl smiles down on us as always." --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Straight to business! ---------------------
Part Two: Demonstrations
Huja nodded at Salem, stepping past him to survey the rest of the room. He looked at the demolished pot critically. "Studying some of the alchemist ways, are we?" he said, "It seems a great deal of work to go through, just to break a single vase like that."
Salem shrugged at him. "I do not study the alchemist ways," he said, "I have been employing my studies into the learning of magic through my own system. The alchemists fire arrow is an effective spell, but it is only the first step on a path to far greater understanding."
Huja raised an eyebrow at him. "And what is your path, my friend?" he asked. The Dai shrugged once again, declining to comment.
It was common knowledge, at least to the people of Raji at this time period, that Hands only trained in Cyllyl's arts until they had achieved the rank of Fidai. From then on, they were free to develop their talents in whatever way they liked, so long as they remained loyal agents of the Divine. Even a Dai was left to train in his own ways, and thus it was with Salem. Huja remained silent, intent on forcing an answer from his comrade.
"The path of all magic," said Salem at last, growing impatient in the Imam's muteness, "I have studied attack in all its forms, and even a few spells that would be useful along the way. From there, I have spread out into telemancy, the magic of movement. Such concepts are the center of our powers and duties to Cyllyl, are they not?"
Huja nodded, satisfied. "They are," he said, "but so is stealth in the attack. Speed is critical. An opponent who sees you waving and muttering at him for several seconds before the blow lands will have little difficulty in striking before you do."
"And where exactly is my fault in this?" Salem asked.
"It's all well and good to destroy a pot," Huja said, "But not if it takes you half an hour to demolish all of them."
Salem permitted himself a grin at this. "Then perhaps another demonstration is in order," he said.
He turned back to the pedestals. His lanky, blue frame was outlined almost immediately in the darkness as he began to mutter, twirling his hands around and summoning a flickering, orange glow before him. Huja watched from behind, counting off seconds.
"The skin and flesh that quickly scald," Salem intoned, "I call upon a fireball!"
The fireball erupted from Salem's hands, screeching across the room and exploding, enveloping all the pedestals. The pots were thrown free, shattering against the wall. Salem turned back to the Imam triumphantly. "Well?" he asked.
"Fifteen seconds," Huja said, looking uninterested.
"And?" Salem asked.
"It didn't actually rhyme," said Huja. He looked down, examining the nails on his left hand.
"It doesn't have to," Salem muttered, "What about the speed? All the pots at once! Is that fast enough for you?"
Huja looked back up at him. "You know how many daggers I could have thrown in fifteen seconds?" he asked.
Salem sighed in exasperation, burying his face in his palms. There was just no getting through to some kinds of people. --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Nothing to do today. ---------------------
Part Three: Powers and Duties
"Then I apologize for wasting your fifteen seconds with my demonstration," said Salem, bowing slightly.
"Think nothing of it," said Huja, "It was a fifteen seconds well wasted."
Salem shrugged, turning towards the door with the Imam.
There are many who say that a Dai is to the Imam what the Imam is to the prophet. This is untrue. It is the duty of the Imam to interpret the revelations of the prophet and to direct the Hands accordingly. The prophet does not have the power, nor the authority to interpret his own revelations. The purpose of the Dai is to act as an intermediary between the Imam and those Hands to which he or she has been assigned. The Dai is an instructor and a teacher. It is the Dai's responsibility to interpret the words and instructions of the Imam. When the Dai says that something was what the Imam meant, then that was the way it was, unless the Imam said otherwise. The Imam could interpret his own statements, and it was the duty of the Dai to explain what they meant if there was confusion, while the prophet had no command over his own visions and was totally subject to the judgment of the Imam, making the relationships between Imam and prophet and Imam and Dai of a vastly distinctive nature.
Because of the delicate nature of the Dai's position, and the ability of an unworthy Dai to perpetuate false doctrines, the position of Dai is one given only to those who have proven themselves to be of exemplary standing. It is a position given to them in the greatest and most sacred trust.
Salem was not the only Hand currently serving in the position of Dai at this time. There were two others: Nusrat, an arcanus, and Naomi, an atomy.
Of these three, Salem was of the highest degree, the Eighth, outranked only by Huja in such things. His position was that of guildmaster. His was the primary responsibility for the secular affairs of the Hands. Training new recruits, maintaining good relations with other powers (by keeping them in fear of the Hand's abilities where possible), and overseeing the financial affairs of the guild were just a few of the areas for which he was personally accountable.
Naomi was the first ward, and a Hand of the Seventh Degree. The responsibilities of the first ward were that of collecting dues and distributing assignments to full Hands in the field. They also had a more direct interaction in handling the details of jobs passed down to them by the guildmaster.
The remaining Dai, Nusrat, was of the Sixth Degree, the lowest degree at which one may become a Dai, but her responsibilities beyond that of Dai were limited to her work in the training center.
"Dais must be of dauntless devotion, exceptional education, high intelligence, commanding appearance, impeccable conduct, executive ability and captivating courtesy." That was what the rules said, and any high enough ranking hand would be quick to quote it in the right situation. Salem could quote it easily enough, and he made it a standard to live by.
Of Dais there were three and Salem was the greatest. As such, he must be superior in all other ways as well, and first and foremost was devotion. A great amount of trust had been placed in him when he had become a Dai, and it was a trust he would not soon be betraying. He would not turn on the Imam or Cyllyl, he was certain. Not for any reason, and not ever.
"So what do we have on the order of business today?" Huja asked as they stepped out into the passageway, letting the door fall shut behind them.
"Everything," Salem said, "Everything." --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Today they will have a tea party. There will be tacos and biscuits. No tea. ---------------------
Part Four: The Important Thing
When the prophet has a dream, the Imam interprets it. He generally will then proceed to tell the interpretation to his Dais and they to the other Hands. If, however, the Imam wishes the dream to remain a secret, it is his privilege to tell the Dais absolutely nothing. This had been the case with the latest dream of the desert. As such, the Dais, including Salem, knew nothing.
The stone doorway closed and sealed itself behind them as they stepped out into the corridor. There was no sound as the door sealed itself, leaving no seam in the regular stone wall. The hallway beyond the room was black as pitch. Together, Imam and Dai focused on the blackness, forcing their eyes to adjust to the dim at a nigh-supernatural rate. The hallway came into view and they proceeded through the darkness.
"I could cast a spell to bring us light here," Salem commented. Huja shrugged at him.
"To give sight to yourself is one thing," he said, "but producing actual light reveals yourself to your enemies as well, in addition to permitting them to see more clearly. Best to rely on your night vision, keeping the light to yourself and your enemies already in the dark."
Salem nodded. "I was merely mentioning it," he said.
"So what of the schedule for today?" Huja asked, "Anything too terribly important?"
Salem nodded. "You have a meeting with Sadam this afternoon."
"The alchemist master?" Huja said, puzzled, "What is he so interested in?"
Salem gave a half shrug. "The usual concerns. Elements out of balance and all that. I think it was something about the end of the world this time. I assumed you'd be the one to sort it all out."
Huja's eyes narrowed. Salem had not noticed how the Imam's step had faltered at the explanation and proceeded to walk onward unconcerned. "End of the world?" Huja asked.
"I don't know either," said Salem, "Presumably the usual alchemist nonsense. I understand Khalid is rather looking forward to the meeting. . ."
Huja gave a tiny snort, but didn't smile. Khalid and Sadam, the Alchemist Guildmaster, had an interesting sort of relationship- one that seemed to consist solely of Khalid making jokes at the poor guildmaster's expense. However, Khalid already knew of his vision and its interpretation. If he knew the nature of the alchemist's concerns as well, then Salem might be more right than he knew.
Huja was tempted for a moment to tell Salem of the vision, but he quickly decided against it. The Dais had not appeared in the vision. Their place in what was to come would be a minor one. There was no need to be revealing things to them too soon. Doing so might cause word to spread unnecessarily, and Huja could only imagine the kind of panic such rumors would bring.
"So what's on the schedule before then?" Huja asked.
"Something a bit less interesting, I afraid," Salem said. --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Nothing interesting at all. ---------------------
Part Five: An Assignment
They stepped around the corner into one of the main corridors, closing another door behind them, this one made of thick wood reinforced with steel bands. It locked with an audible click.
"So what is this uninteresting assignment, Salem?" Huja asked as they strolled along the new corridor. This one was wider than the first, illuminated by some magical means, making their night vision unnecessary. A few other Hands proceeded down this hall, tending to their respective duties, all pausing to bow briefly before their leaders before moving on their way.
"There has been an abnormally large influx of new Hands lately," Salem said, "More mustajibs than we have willing masters to apprentice them to. The other Dais and myself have even taken on apprentices of our own, and a few more than we can really manage."
"So you need me to help pick up the slack as well," Huja said, "Seems reasonable." It was actually not uncommon for the Imam to take apprentices. Huja simply avoided it as he did starting a family, feeling it was an unneeded distraction from his more important duties. "How many do you need me to handle?"
"Just one," Salem said, "for now, at least. We may have to reevaluate if the recruits keep on coming in like this, but a single apprentice for you should suffice for the moment."
Huja nodded. "His name?"
"Her name actually," Salem said, pulling some parchment from a pocket and checking the notes he had made on it. "Nihan," he said after a moment. "An anakim like yourself. She just came from Elysium and proved her proficiency in remarkable time. She has great potential, if she can learn a bit of gravity. We thought it best that she be assigned to as competent a master as possible."
"A commendable decision," said Huja. The name actually sounded vaguely familiar and he wondered if he might have known the girl's parents at some point. It was of no immediate concern, however. He would be treating her the same regardless of any connections they might share.
A new recruit to the Hand guild, known commonly as a mustajib, would always be trained within the guild for a variable period of time before being permitted to travel and hone their skills in the outside world. To graduate from this early training, the mustajib had to demonstrate basic proficiency in a few, necessary abilities, such that they would not be considered an embarrassment to the guild when they departed. Once they had accomplished this, they were assigned as apprentices to a more experienced Hand, who would serve as their principle master, instructor, and mentor for the remainder of their training. Traditionally, only the most talented mustajibs would be apprenticed directly to the Imam, but that did not make it a position many upcoming Hands would clamor for. Imam masters were known to have high standards for their apprentices- standards that were often not easy to conform to.
They approached the door of the First Ward's office. "She should be waiting for us here," Salem said, reaching for the doorknob. Huja nodded, the door opened, and they stepped inside.
Naomi was out. Her tiny desk sat empty, mounted to the wall about halfway up to their left. Among the various implements scattered around the room, designed for testing advancing Hands to verify their preparedness to progress in rank, stood the room's sole occupant.
She was a female anakim, several inches shorter than the Imam. Her hair was a bright blond, cut shoulder length and very curly. Her body was soft and unconditioned, the skin showing through the back of her shirt between her wings. She was turned away from them, examining a dummy at the far side of the room. Huja stopped in his tracks, expressionless, recognizing the woman immediately.
"My Lord Imam," Salem said, "I present your new apprentice, Nihan."
Nihan turned, grinning mischievously and bowing before her new master. "Greetings, my most holy Imam," she said, a bit of a tease clearly evident in her voice, "Have another earthquake lined up for me this evening?" --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Special treatment. ---------------------
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Kereth
Storymaster
Because 'stabbity, stabbity, stabbity' is a punchline.
Posts: 222
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Post by Kereth on Aug 16, 2006 13:50:06 GMT -5
Chapter Three: The Apprentice Part One: Cold Winged Shoulder
Salem hesitated. "Have. . . you two met?" he asked, casting a curious glance from one anakim to the other.
"Can't honestly recall," said Huja. His expression was something passive, verging on boredom. Across the room, the mustajib's grin had first widened and then faded. Now she just looked cheated.
Of course he remembered her, she thought. He had to, and how dare he go pretending otherwise! She narrowed her eyes at him. A small, offended pout played across her expression. The nerve. . .
Huja wasn't even looking at her. Instead, he made his way past a knife throwing target and over to a file cabinet positioned in the corner. He opened a drawer, thumbing through its contents. As he did so, Salem made to excuse himself. "If there is nothing further," the Dai stated, "I should probably return to my exercises."
Huja nodded absentmindedly and pulled a file from the cabinet, closing the drawer casually. It might surprise some that such a secretive group as the Hand of the Black Rose should actually keep paperwork on it members. It is, unfortunately, a necessary evil in any organization of its complexity. The file cabinet in question had been blessed by the Cyllyl, however, and only the Imam or one of his Dais could open it. Huja examined the documents, finding the mustajib's name and personal information. "Nihan, is it?" he asked.
Nihan eyed the Imam unhappily. She had assumed that once Salem departed, her superior would drop his pretenses. He had not. She confirmed her name for him, and if he caught the trace of coldness in her voice as she did so, he did not acknowledge it. He continued going over the papers.
"Nihan," he muttered looking across the information, "Born in Elysium, full name Nihan Bath-Asher, 126 years-old. . . barely of age. Did your parents approve of you joining the Hands?" He looked up at her at last.
She hesitated, then shook her head. "No," she said, "They weren't terribly fond of my decision."
Huja nodded, looking back at the forms. "I wouldn't imagine so," he said, "Your ancestor's have been serving as priests and templars for Sikkar for many generations in anticipation of his coming, but I suppose you probably have siblings and cousins who can do the anticipating for them." Nihan nodded.
But how could he be so indifferent to her like this? Could he really have forgotten that they had been sleeping together only two weeks previous?
Huja opened the drawer again and slid the folder back into place. He closed the drawer, turning to face his latest charge. He eyed her carefully, looking her up and down, measuring. Something inside Nihan shivered slightly. She had seen a similar look from him once, but it had meant something entirely different at the time. Huja strode across the room, heading straight towards her. She tensed, suddenly nervous and uncertain of what she should be expecting. She didn't see him slip the two, wooden, practice daggers from the rack as he passed it.
He stopped several feet short of her. "Well, Miss Bath-Asher," he began. Nihan cringed both at the formality of his address as well as the use of her surname. It was something she had abandoned in coming here. The rest of her family no longer considered her a Bath-Asher, and she was inclined to agree with them. "Naomi asserts that you have demonstrated the required proficiency and are ready to be moved into an apprenticeship," the Imam said, "Is that correct?"
"It is," Nihan said. Everything about this man, his expression, his tone of voice, even his bearing, reeked of insufferable formality: the way you would talk to a stranger, someone you just met. Imam or no, he had no right to be treating her like this. "It was all in that paperwork you were looking at," she snapped, "What more do you want to know about it?"
"I want you to prove it," he said.
Nihan's eyes became slits. Now he had the nerve to question her readiness? So be it then.
"Fine," she said, grabbing a practice dagger from a rack and assuming a fighting position, "Let's do this." --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Prodigy ---------------------
Part Two: Maneuver and Opportunity
[Disclaimer: The following passage includes many bits of terminology that might only be familiar to those who have trained in western-medieval armed combat, especially where it involves daggers. My apologies to the rest of you. Hopefully it will still make some sense, even if you're missing a few details here and there.]
Nihan assumed fighting stance, holding her practice dagger upblade in the trail position. Huja did not react, and she held that place for a moment, hesitating. So now what? Was he going to try to defend himself, or did she just have to jab him a few times with this thing to show that she knew what she was doing?
She took a quick skirt step to her left. He rotated his body, keeping her in front of him. Another skirt step. Again he followed. Have it your way, she thought.
She made a quick quarter-lunge at him. Huja skipped backward, keeping his hands at his sides. He moved just far enough to avoid contact with her thrust, and she pulled back into a fighting stance.
The Imam gave an almost imperceptible shrug. Nihan looked annoyed. She switched her dagger to downblade, keeping it trailing. Huja's expression remained unchanged.
She took a full cross-step to the right. Still he turned to face her.
No sooner had her feet completed the step than she moved forward, striking at him twice, the first one directed at his upper gate. He stepped backward out of the way. She turned her strike around moving across her body and going for his upper gate along the opposite side. Again he stepped back.
Nihan didn't stop there. He couldn't dodge backward from everything. She stepped into him, letting her dagger fall back out of the lead position. A quick flick of her wrist moved it into upblade, and she gave a full lunge, aiming her blow right for the lower end of the Imam's sternum.
Huja's wings flapped, and he pulled back, being forced at last from his composed posture. He threw himself rearward, using his wings for extra thrust and matching the mustajib's lunge in velocity. Nihan extended herself a full eight feet with the thrust, struggling for every extra inch she could push it, hoping to outreach the Imam's maneuver, but it was hopeless.
Huja caught himself short just before the lunge lost the last of its momentum, letting it catch up with him. As it reached him, he brought a hand around, pushing the approaching blade to the side at its wielder's wrist. The thrust was just past him. Had he cared to do so, he could have disarmed her there, but Hands were trained to do far more deadly things in such a situation.
Nihan caught her breath as she felt herself go off balance with the overextended strike. Huja had her by the wrist, and she had no spare weapon to follow through with.
It was then that she noticed the wooden practice dagger that the Imam held. It was pinched in the hand that was holding her wrist. An instant's examination showed her that the other hand was carrying such a dagger as well, but by then it was too late.
The master was already closing with his apprentice. --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Infighting ---------------------
Part Three: Thoughts on Steady Ground
The ground shook. This was still a relatively new thing for the people of Shara. Unbeknown to them, it was happening all over Raji, and it was a relatively new thing everywhere.
The people of Shara had generally decided that it was a freak phenomena that would be passing sooner-or-later on its own.
They were wrong, but that's another part of our story.
Earthquakes happened. The reasons they happened were widely debated, whether something to do with Ishtar, Cyllyl, the approach of Sikkar, or even a few crazy alchemist theories about slabs of rock or somebody's dishes getting ground together. The alchemists were always a little odd when it came to offering explanations of how the world worked, but most people had learned to ignore them.
Regardless of the reason for it, earthquakes did happen, and when they happened, they were rarely alone. There were always aftershocks, and there could even (and would often) be several of them. Those usually only lasted for a few days afterward, but the duration varied a bit, and it was only a matter of time before there was an earthquake that sent aftershocks out for longer time than most people were used to, right?
Two weeks had passed now, and eyebrows were beginning to be raised. Not only were there still aftershocks, but some even claimed that there were more of them and that they were getting bigger.
These claims about increases in the intensity and regularity of the quakes could not be confirmed yet. No one had bothered to time them, and the times were too infrequent to draw any definite conclusions from them if somebody had. Also, none of the earthquakes had been strong enough to do more than knock a few stacks of parchment over or rearrange the items on somebody's shelves. Whatever was going on, it was nothing the people of Shara couldn't just sit out. It wasn't hurting anything, and no earthquakes could keep on coming forever, right?
On Raji today, few hold any belief that the earthquakes are some sort of passing phenomena. There are also few who still question the origins of such tremblings. Even the alchemists have finally admitted they were wrong.
When our story takes place, however, it is still long before the resolution of such issues, and each person was entitled to his or her own theories on the matter. Nihan, for example, was convinced that the blame for all earthquakes rested rightfully on the Imam.
And she was pretty sure he was cheating. --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": A Failed Test ---------------------
Part Four: A Passing Grade
Nihan was already off balance from the over-extended lunge, and the sudden tremor only added to her feeling of disorientation. The Imam gave her wrist an extra tug, pulling her just a little more out of position, and closed with her, wooden daggers cutting the air.
He threw himself right at her, moving under her extended arm and coming up behind her in his attack. As he passed, his left handed dagger struck her squarely in the middle of the chest- a hard jab at the bottom end of the sternum. Had the blow been sufficiently strong, it might have caused an irregular heartbeat, sending her into cardiac arrest on the spot. Nihan did not have time to fully contemplate this as his right hand gave an underhanded jab to her side, a blow that would have ruptured a kidney in an actual fight.
He came out behind her to her right. She expected him to stop there, but he did not. Before she had even begun to regain her balance, she felt one of the daggers jam into the left side of her upper leg. That was either a hamstring shot or a stab into the hip, she didn't have time to determine which. It was followed fluently by a down stroke with the other weapon between her shoulder blade and her backbone.
Huja came out to the rear of her at the left. Okay, he had made his point. She was no match for him. Did he really have to demonstrate by murdering her so thoroughly? She had scarcely begun to think this when she felt the blows continue.
This one hurt. Not nearly as much as it would have if the strike had been made with a real dagger, but it hurt nonetheless. She knew he was supposed to hit hard. It was part of their training: conditioning to receive blows. That way when they were struck in an actual combat situation, they wouldn't hesitate as much, and they'd be ready to ignore their wounds and keep on fighting regardless. Still, she felt tears well up as the fake dagger descended, landing hard, point down, in the groove between her shoulder blade and her collar bone.
Huja had made a hooking gesture with his hand as he moved in order to land the shot without Nihan's wing interfering. He spun outward ending in front of her and giving her a playful slap across the neck with the remaining dagger.
The female anakim staggered. Tears came, now not only from the pain of the blows, but because she knew that she was beaten as well. Surely, if she were better trained, she wouldn't have fallen for such painstakingly deadly maneuver. She fought the tears back, but the Imam did not even pause to examine her expression. He turned away, shelving the daggers.
"That will be all," he said.
His expression had been blank and unreadable as always, but Nihan already knew what he was thinking. She had failed. She would be sent back to training now, and when she was ready, she would be assigned to a less noteworthy instructor. "I'm sorry," was all she could manage to say.
"There's no need to apologize," the Imam said. He went over to the filing cabinet again and retrieved her file before making a few marks in it and then signing something. Nihan turned away. She had lost more than a master. He ambitions had gone beyond that. She was beaten, she was disgraced, and she was heartbroken, but she did not want him to see her crying about it.
"I have no immediate assignments for you," Huja said. Nihan nodded to herself. At least he was breaking it to her easily. "You are on leave to do what you wish for the time being. Travel where you will, train yourself, and make sure you report back to the guild regularly." Wait. . . what? "If you have need of me to answer questions or offer personal advice or assistance, just contact one of the Dais. If I need you for any reason, word will reach you likewise." Nihan blinked away tears in confusion. That didn't sound like- He couldn't mean-
"But sir," she interrupted, "I mean, my most holy Imam, I thought- I mean, I-" She stammered for a moment, trying to place her words together. "I lost. I failed your test. How. . . ?"
She thought she caught the smallest trace of a grin in Huja's expression as he watched her stammer for a moment, but she may have simply imagined it. "Cyllyl might have beaten me," the Imam said, "I would never expect that much of a mustajib."
Nihan was speechless. What exactly had he been testing then?
"If there is nothing else. . ." Huja began. Nihan shook her head. "Very well," he concluded, "I look forward to seeing your potential." He turned quietly and strolled on out of the room.
For a time, Nihan stood there, dumfounded. At last, she whispered after her long departed master, uttering the only words she could think of:
"Thank you." --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Pure Motives. ---------------------
Part Five: Aspirations
Nihan sat alone in the room for a long time. So that was it. She had graduated from the first stage of her training and gotten apprenticed to the Imam. Her plans were working out perfectly.
She sank to the ground in relief. A few tears still stained her face from when she thought she had failed. She wiped them away hurriedly. She had succeeded, and there was no more use for her tears if there ever had been.
She thought of the Imam.
So many things still confused her about him. Had he truly not recognized her? And if he had recognized her, why had he pretended to have not? There had been no one around in the end, no one to acknowledge that recognition but her, yet he had still hidden it. Was he afraid of her knowing that he knew? Did he somehow expect her to have forgotten?
Parts of her body were still sore from the blows he had dealt in her testing. What was the point of that? She had already seen she could not hit him. It did nothing to further emphasize his ability to destroy her in return.
Yet it had done something. Feeling those blows land and having that keen sense of what they could have done gave her an acute understanding of her own mortality. She understood just how weak she was. Death was a permanent thing, and she mustn't go trifling with it needlessly.
She wondered if the lesson had been intended or if he was just showing off, trying to teach her humility perhaps. Intended or not, the lesson had been learned, though that of humility not quite so much. "Cyllyl could have beaten me. . ."
Yes, but Cyllyl has not yet bedded you that I know of.
She closed her eyes. Other memories of her new master came to her. A dark room, the rustle of sheets, the warmth and press of his body against hers. . . A part of her feared that. It feared the way she had felt and the sense of urgency and loss of control that had taken her with it, but a far larger part of her reveled in it.
He had been with many other women that way, surely. The way he was, and the sureness and the dexterity with which he acted spoke clearly of it. None of those others had mattered to him, however, and it was likely that Nihan was no different. Not yet, at least.
A small, secretive smile broke across her features. The door opened.
"Ah, you're still here," came a faint voice. A small atomy woman came sailing in through the opening and closed the door behind her. It was Naomi, the First Ward. "Good, good," she said, "that will save me the effort of tracking you."
The pixie buzzed across the room and over to the filing cabinet. She opened the middle drawer and Nihan was surprised to find it filled not with papers, but with small, wrapped packages. "These are your supplies," she said, lifting a bundle free with some effort and tossing it toward the mustajib. "They're already fitted to you. Your master can show you how to apply the tattoo if you need help with it."
The bundle landed with a plunk in front of her, and Naomi kicked the cabinet shut. "Now take it and get out," she snapped, "I have work to do." First Wards have a long reputation of being snippy.
Minutes later, Nihan walked alone down a less-crowded hallway of the Hand guild. She held the package of supplies hugged closely to her full chest. Her eyes were closed. Thoughts and imaginations of the Imam drifted through her mind, and already she was plotting on how she would make them a reality.
Nihan was not obsessed. She was no nymphomaniac or stalker. That much should be made clear before the readers take it upon themselves to draw any such erroneous conclusions. She was simply smitten, like a young fan girl at the performance of her favorite bard, but Nihan was hardly so naive.
The Imam sought an heir and she was determined to be the one to provide it for him. The events of two weeks previous would be repeated, not just once but for always. He would be hers, and she would be his, and her son would be an Imam, every bit as wise and as mighty as his father was.
She hugged the package a bit tighter and continued on down the hallway, still smiling. --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Preparations. ---------------------
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Kereth
Storymaster
Because 'stabbity, stabbity, stabbity' is a punchline.
Posts: 222
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Post by Kereth on Aug 17, 2006 12:23:38 GMT -5
Chapter Four: The Alchemist Part One: Dramatic Entrance
Huja stode into the room. His was a commanding presence, one that could not be overlooked when he wished to make an impression, but it was also one that, more often then not, went completely unnoticed. Such was the dual nature of an Imam. At this moment, Huja was going for commanding. Unfortunately, it was a mostly wasted effect. He found the room to be disappointingly empty.
To say that it was completely empty would be quite untrue. In fact, the room was already quite full, owing primarily to the large, sturdy table that took up the majority of the space on its own. At the far end of the table sat four figures of varying statures: the prophet and the Dais. A seat was left in the middle of them, awaiting the Imam himself.
Not wasting any time on ceremony, Huja lighted upon the table and stepped across it. He moved past an assortment of rocks and plants that had been left as a centerpiece, probably by Khalid. Huja could only speculate about what antics the prophet had arranged with those implements. The antics would be revealed on their own before very long and at the expense of their guest as well, no doubt. Best to let Khalid have his fun. Maybe he would surprise them.
The Imam reached his destination and hopped down from the table. He gave the others an appraising look before speaking.
"Has Sadam arrived though the rift yet?" he asked.
The Dais hesitated, then shook their heads. "He will not be coming through the Core Rift," Nusrat said carefully. She was typically hesitant to assert herself like this. Being the newest of the Dais, she was not yet fully comfortable with her position. She spent her time in the training and instructing of less experienced Hands (in whose presence she felt significantly more at ease). Huja gave her a speculative glance.
"And why isn't he?" he asked. Nusrat averted her gaze, looking uncertain. She was a tall arcanus and still appeared quite feminine, even to other races, despite the characteristic baldness of her people. Salem's voice cut in, answering the question and sounding exceptionally annoyed as he did so.
"They say it's broken," he muttered, "The Alchemists do. As if a centuries-old transportation system could simply go down for maintenance now and then."
"Not without reason," snapped Naomi's tiny voice from her seat, a seat that was actually positioned on top of the table rather than beside it. Her tone was irritable as a rule, rather than as an exception. "There have been all sorts of reports over the last week or two. People have been going into the rift and coming out in entirely different locations than they intended. They're still trying to locate some of them. I'm starting to suspect some of those aren't going to be coming out at all."
"So how will Sadam be getting here?" asked Huja, steering the conversation back to where he intended it. "Is he walking? Flying? When can we expect him?"
"He should be coming by boat," Noami squeaked, "And he should be getting here any moment now."
As if on cue, the door came open. "Indeed," said a deep, booming voice from across the chamber.
The five figures were already looking at the opening. A lanky arcanus stood there, grinning at them. The grin was not returned. This was not the guildmaster, merely one of his assistants. He stepped forward, moving to the corner of the room. A jinn followed him, then another jinn, female this time. An atomy rode on the second jinn's shoulder. Each moved to form a line along the far wall, making it clear that they served only as an entourage to the man who be following. A suula surged through the doorway after them, its form rippled and pulsed, sending an orange-yellow glow across the chamber. It moved to the side with the others and a single, final figured stepped through the doorway, silhouetted by the light beyond.
It was a large figure, not unduly tall but massive in its bulk. Its steps sounded hard and deep against the stone floor. A heavy cloak obscured its features, but it would not remain so for long. Thick, burly arms rose from the depths. From the sleeves, hard, gray fingers extended, taking hold of the sides of the hood, pulling it back, revealing the cloaks occupant to the light.
Before them, proudly resting upon a pedestal-stone neck, was the man they had been waiting for, the alchemist guildmaster, the lord of the elements: Sadam, the atomy. --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": An Intimidating Figure ---------------------
Part Two: A Question of Stature
Sadam fluttered down from the vacant shoulders of his stone golem, alighting on the table in what he must have been sure was a suitably dramatic pose. Given the size of the table, however, and the diminutive size of the the atomy in question, the persons for whom the drama was intended were hard pressed to tell what the pose actually was, or they would have been, if had they actually cared to begin with.
The fact that the pose was so difficult to discern, coupled with the fact it was being performed by an atomy, did enough to downplay the drama of the situation on its own. The fact that the stone golem in question chose this moment to collapse to the floor, and actually break in half in the process, was just insult upon injury to the performance.
A high-pitched growl could be heard, squeaking across the room. It held for a moment, and when nobody made any movement for him to direct his aggression at, the growl's originator picked out a target on his own.
"What was that?!" Sadam shouted in his thoroughly not- intimidating squeal of a voice. He shot into the air, turning to face his entourage.
The entourage members themselves were very new to this sort of thing. This was not unsurprising as Sadam was known to fire and replace his assistants regularly, generally after something exploded somewhere near or in his office while he was working. As his office was located in the alchemist guild, and as a great many of these explosions were his own fault, new assistants were brought on at understandably accelerated rate. Being a former assistant to the guildmaster was a bit of a mark of status among alchemists, if an exceedingly common one. Sadam went through them so fast that he had been known many times to rehire assistants that he had just fired days earlier without having the slightest notion that he had done so. None of these recruits seemed to be among those rehired, however, and their expressions spoke of this fact clearly. A few clueless glances were exchanged before the female jinn finally responded.
"Your golem broke, sir," she said.
"I can see that!" Sadam snapped, "Shoddy workmanship! I'm embarrassed to call this golem's maker a fellow alchemist in any respect! Now which of you was it?"
More hesitation, then the arcanus spoke. "That would be you, sir," he said, "I saw you working on it before we got on the boat."
In a flash, the atomy was in his face, presumably glaring. The arcanus leaned his head back, sensing an invasion of his personal space, while he tried to focus on his employer.
"If it's any help," the suula commented, "it lasted a whole lot longer than any of my golems ever do."
Sadam gave an exhasperated squeak that might have been a sigh or a cry of aggravation. He turned away, fluttering back over to the table. "Good help is so hard to find these days," he chittered.
The state of the five spectators to this event was a bit varied. Nusrat was looking genuinely embarrassed for the poor creature. Naomi was grinning sadistically. Khalid was having the time of his life. Salem looked as though he might roll his eyes at any moment. Huja was simply waiting.
"You'd think I'd get more respect, wouldn't you?" Sadam continued, "I mean, I'm the alchemist guildmaster! I'm the most pow- one of the most powerful people on this stinking planet! Why doesn't anyone fear me?"
"At eight inches tall, you cut a really pathetic figure," Khalid pointed out, "Even for an atomy."
"Thank you," Sadam spat sarcastically, rising into the air again, "Mr. Hand, but we're not here to be talking about my height, now are we?"
"Ah excellent," said Huja at last, "I was hoping there was something more to this than matters of appearance." He leaned forward and everyone else in the room but Sadam straightened their posture without thinking. "So tell me, oh mighty alchemist," he said, "What exactly are you here for?" --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Not Taken Seriously ---------------------
Part Three: Jest
"What. . . exactly. . . ?" the alchemist repeated the words absently, wholly misplacing his train of thought. "Oh yes!" his expression brightened immediately, "Widespread death and destruction! Now I remember!"
Sadam looked very pleased with himself, but the expressions he received back were skeptical at best. "Come again?" Naomi asked.
"Oh don't you go giving me that look," Sadam pouted at her, "You heard what I said exactly! I'm here to talk about upcoming widespread death and destruction! I don't expect you to buy into the idea right at first, of course, but if you allow to explain how it works, the signs are quite unmistakable. We just need to work together and-"
Huja cut him off with a gesture. "Alright, first things first, perhaps you should start by explaining to us exactly WHY you want to cause death and destruction."
"I- what?" the alchemist blinked his minuscule eyes, "You think-? Oh no no no, I'm not the one causing it at all. We're here to prevent the problem!"
"So tell us who it is so we can kill them and be done with it," Naomi muttered.
Sadam made a sound like the last bits of air leaving a balloon, probably another sigh. "It's not a person, it's a phenomena," he said.
"So a suula then?" Khalid quipped, though the misunderstanding was obviously intentional this time. The alchemist seemed to be glaring at him. Khalid smiled back sweetly.
"The elemental balance is off," Sadam said, "way off, and I want to know why."
"Because your scale is broken, most likely," Khalid suggested, "Either that or the person using it had spent too much time at your brewery." Sadam clearly didn't appreciate the comments tried to ignore them anyway.
"You've had earthquakes here, no doubt," the alchemist continued, "Everyone else has too. This isn't normal at all. No amount of shifting in the tectonic plates could ever cause this much activity in so short a time."
"What if he borrowed my plates?" Khalid asked, "Or used bowls?"
Khalid's intention had been to aggravate the alchemist, and it seemed to be working beautifully. Everyone had their buttons and Khalid knew just where to find these ones. The atomy's body clenched, and he made a movement at the air like he was trying to strangle something. He spun, shouting the remainder of his arguments at the overly amused jinn. "The energy storms are out of control!" he shrieked, "They end with way too many new suula one day and the following with day nothing at all! Freak shifts have been occurring in the tides! Major air currents are actually starting to change! The core transport is on the blitz! Do you have any idea what this could all be leading to? Do you?" He spat out the last of it just inches from his antagonizer's face. Khalid hesitated dramatically, and then his expression became one of awestruck comprehension.
"Why, yes!" he said, "I do!" Sadam looked doubtful. "It's all coming together now," the jinn continued, rising from his seat and hovering out over the middle of the table, "The elements are out of balance! Of course! Why didn't we see it before?" He turned to face his fellow Hands. "It's only a matter of time before we see fire being carried on the wind, before lightning begins spewing from men's swords. . . why the Elysium plains could be turning to acid any day now!"
Sadam was a bit taken aback. "Er. . . that's not exactly what I. . ."
"Oh, but the greatest of all calamaties," Khalid said, picking up a rock from his centerpiece for emphasis, "The sign that the end has truly come upon us. . ." He gazed into the rock, looking distant. ". . .will be when men begin squeezing water from stones."
His face took on a overplayed expression of pain and determination, and he clenched the rock tightly between his fingers. It compressed easily, and water splattered out onto the table.
Khalid opened his hand and looked down at the puddle, then at the rock, then at the alchemist. His face was plastered with a paper- thin visage of shock and innocence. "Oops," he said.
For a long moment, Sadam just stared at the Hand prophet. Khalid stared back at him patiently.
"Fine," the small figure whispered, "Let your planet crumble."
Sadam shot past the Jinn heading straight for the door. "Get out!" he snapped at his subordinates. They hastened to comply. The mass of them was halfway out the door, and their leader was partway through casting featherweight on the remains of his stone golem when Huja finally spoke.
"No," he said. The Imam stood. He looked first at the alchemist guildmaster, then shot a poker-faced glance at Khalid. "I agree with Sadam," he said, "Everyone get out. I want to speak with the atomy alone." --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Pleasantries and small talk. ---------------------
Part Four: Small Talk
The steel-banded door closed and locked with a click.
The room was quiet as atomy and anakim watched each other with veiled expressions. Their entourages had departed. Each stood alone now, and stand they did. The alchemist leader remained at attention on the table. His eyes bore into the leader of the Hands with unflinching determination. The Hand leader stood by his chair as he had begun and returned the other's gaze passively.
Both leaders held a healthy respect for the other. It was a respect more visible when their quibbling subordinates had been removed from the situation. While the atomy may have been bad at appearances, his skills were beyond question. The golem that broken down with such inopportune timing had been raised and animated in under a minute, and the enchantments had stayed in affect for nearly a whole day. The alchemist's spells were destructive, his marksmanship was unsurpassed, and he had been known to form whole armies of these golems in a matter of hours.
An army of golems, on the other hand, was useless if its master was dead with a knife in his back, and spells and shooting did nothing against an opponent who wasn't seen until it was too late.
"Have a seat," Huja said. He gestured to a small chair that had been set up at the far end of the table in anticipation of the alchemist's arrival.
"I prefer to stand, if it's all the same to you," Sadam said, not giving the chair so much as a backward glance.
"Then I shall do the same," Huja said.
Neither moved. The silence resumed. The room was vacant. If the Imam had desired, it could have been bustling with senior Hands lurking in the shadows, and his guest would never have known the difference. Huja was extending a hand of trust by having it actually be empty. Sadam was returning the hand believing that it really was.
"So what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?" Sadam asked at length.
Huja told him everything. --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": The plan is revealed. ---------------------
Part Five: Orders
The door opened. Imam and Master Alchemist stepped out into the hallway. The waiting subordinates turned their heads in unison to face their respective leaders.
"Thank you again, my Lord Imam," Sadam was saying as he fluttered through the air, "Your insights have been most helpful."
"As have yours, my small friend," said Huja, "I trust I'll be hearing from you the moment you discover anything?"
"You shall," Sadam said, "Now get up!" He snapped the last bit at the remains of his golem which immediately quivered and righted itself. His escort had repaired it while he waited.
A few pleasantries were exchanged before Sadam marched his group down the hall and out of the cathedral in which it was situated, shouting at them the whole way and issuing threats of terminated employment until his squeaky voice faded off in the distance.
"It was a painted sponge," Khalid offered when the outsiders were gone at last.
"I wasn't going to ask," Huja said.
"No one ever does," said Khalid with a sigh.
Huja ignored him, turning to his Dais. "Naomi," he said, "I want messengers sent out everywhere. Make sure we get in contact with every official from every government or organization we can find. Leave nobody out. Let them all know that I wish to meet with them here personally. It is urgent, so I'll speak with them as they arrive. Keep additional runners on hand to ferry messages back and forth to various regions as necessary. You know the routine. If anyone refuses to show up, they face the wrath of Cyllyl: dispose of them and bring me somebody who will listen in their place." He inclined his head slightly to the right, the side towards his tattoo, indicating that he was finished speaking and meant for her to act immediately. Naomi gave a curt nod, a quick bow and slipped away. Huja turned to Salem without missing a beat.
"Salem," he said, "monitor the situation around the guild carefully. I want you to have people checking the timing on these earthquakes and measuring their intensity any way you can. Keep it quiet. We don't want to raise an alarm just yet. Any irregularities or developments that you find are to be reported straight to me. Any Hands who discover them must take an oath of silence, and no one else is to be informed, not even your fellow Dais. Also keep a watch out for cave ins while you're at it. No point in losing half the guildhall to a quake simply from being unprepared." Another tilt to the right. Another nod and a bow. Salem vanished.
"Nusrat," Huja said, then paused at last, "Train them well for me, will you? Cyllyl knows we may be needing some of their talent before long." He paused again, then tilted.
Nusrat nodded, giving him a smile. "It shall be done, my Lord Imam," she said. She bowed and disappeared into the shadows.
"As for you," Huja said, rounding on the prophet. His tone was far less businesslike and a lot more ominous than it had been with the Dais. "We're going to need to have a little chat."
Khalid hesitated. It had to be his imagination. It was impossible, but. . . did Huja actually look angry? --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": A friendly chit-chat and some tea. ---------------------
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Kereth
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Because 'stabbity, stabbity, stabbity' is a punchline.
Posts: 222
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Post by Kereth on Aug 17, 2006 12:27:48 GMT -5
Chapter Five: The Ninth Degree Part One: Kind Words
All Hands wear a tattoo. It indicates who they are, so they may be readily identified by other members of the guild. As with other things, it might seem out of place for an organization that puts so much stress on stealth and secrecy to bear a token that identifies its members so readily. Those who assume this is the case do so in error. All outside the guild know that the symbol of an open hand crossed with a black rose upon the neck is an indication of membership in the Hand guild. Many of those, however, are led to the faulty assumption that anyone not wearing a tattoo, therefore, must not be a member of that guild. It is a mistake that can cost them dearly, for in accordance with the oldest tradition of the Hands, these tattoos are removable.
Leaders in the Hand of the Black Rose, including the Imam (Huja), Mullah (Khalid), and Mentor (Nusrat), have a special tattoo that they wear instead to indicate their position. It is a tattoo not of an open hand, but of a clenched fist.
It was such a tattoo at this time that Huja removed forcibly from the neck of his prophet. It was with a strike that was so quick and so violent that it not only completely removed the tattoo, but left a sting and a new hand print in its place.
Khalid looked stunned by the gesture. A palm came up to rub his green neck absently.
They were meeting in Huja's private quarters. It was remarkably bare and very well kept. A few chests of personal effects and equipment sat at one side, next to a counter and an area for preparing food or doing paperwork. A wide, double bed sat to the other side where the Imam slept and (on rare occasions) performed other duties. The middle of the room was open with a dark, tiled floor and walls woven of black rose thorns. In total, the room measured about eighteen feet by thirty, not too large, but roomy enough to move around in.
Huja was taking advantage of that room right now, pacing around the disconcerted Mullah.
"Don't ever do that again," Huja said flatly.
"Do what?" Khalid asked, "Mess with the atomy?"
"Sadam is the leader of the alchemist guild," Huja said, "He may be small, but he is a powerful man and an important ally. He was also our guest, and I would not have him treated with such discourtesy."
"It's never bothered you before," Khalid pouted. His neck still stung from the slap. "What was wrong with this time?"
"It's never actually interfered with the meeting before," Huja said, "It was good spirited and Sadam has generally understood it that way. You crossed lines today that I would not have crossed and will not allow you to be crossing again."
"Well, I didn't know," Khalid began, intending to continue, but the sentence never got finished.
"You knew everything!" Huja snapped. He stepped around to face the jinn directly. "You knew about your vision! You knew about its interpretation and the inevitable ruin that is upon us! You knew better than anyone in there just how plausible Sadam's arguments were! You know perfectly well that we cannot to afford to ignore such insights when they are presented to us! You know perfectly well how many lives are at stake now in some sort of catastrophic phenomena that we can't even begin to understand yet!
"Well, I-"
"You had to make the jokes anyway," Huja said. His tone was cold and his expression reflected that. He raised one hand, holding up Khalid's tattoo. "You have not been trained as a Hand," he said, "and you have never really been one. You are the prophet and have been respected as such. We have never required the total absence of levity from you before that we expect of our other members, but I am asking that you move closer to it now."
He lowered the tattoo and in its place raised a small, glass vial. "Your duty is to provide us with the visions of Cyllyl," he said, "and for the time being that will be all I want you to be doing." He thrust the vial into Khalid's hands. "It is hashish," he said, "drink it. There is more in the chest over there when it wears off."
Khalid was speechless, looking down at the vial then over to where Huja had indicated the chest. "Let me know what you see," the Imam said as he turned to leave the room, "and stay out of my way otherwise." --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Khalid's Visions ---------------------
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Kereth
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Because 'stabbity, stabbity, stabbity' is a punchline.
Posts: 222
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Post by Kereth on Aug 17, 2006 12:29:48 GMT -5
Chapter Five: The Ninth Degree Part Two: Duty of One
In the religion of the Hand, there are nine levels or degrees to which an agent of Cyllyl may progress. The first is obtained when a Hand completes their trial period as a Fidai. From there they may progress through the degrees at whatever pace they can manage and are interested in doing so. Each degree encompasses a new level of spiritual enlightenment, a new understanding of true Reason. The lesser degrees entail outward ordinances and overt religious practices, while the higher degrees stress greater power and wisdom and the gradual abandonment of the aforementioned practices as they are no longer necessary to achieve understanding.
The highest of these degrees, the Ninth, is one in which the hand abandons all trust in other deity and achieves a state of perfect unity of thought and action. At this heightened state of clarity, prayer and inspiration become no longer necessary, and in any given situation, the will of Cyllyl becomes purely self-evident through the application of Her superior judgment.
At any time among the members of the Hand of the Black Rose, there may only be one who has achieved this highest degree: only one to whom the Divine Light has passed, carried in the blood of that agent's forbearer. It is the duty of that one to put aside all influences of emotion, morality, and similar, lesser judgments and embrace Reason in her entirety. It is the duty of that one to administer the will of the Divine in all her doings. It is the duty of that one to guide her Hand. He is their leader, the exalted scholar, and the Imam.
During this time, that agent was Huja. He was the Imam, the Ninth Degree, and he could not allow personal feelings to cloud his judgment in anything. What he had done with Khalid had been the right thing to do. There was no time to foster his relationship or to counsel the Mullah in the way he must behave. The injuries that could be caused by his actions were too far reaching to be allowed at this time. Huja's anger had been prepared, calculated. Khalid would behave as he must for now. That was all the Imam expected or desired.
The Imam stepped through a hidden passage near the rear of the cathedral and down into the guild itself. A few guards bowed, muttering obeisance. The Imam ignored them, focusing his thoughts inward. There was planning to do, much, much planning: he could not afford any distractions.
The ground trembled as he progressed, moving from one passageway to the next, oblivious to what his destination might be. Everything was being handled without him now, but it was left to him to discover the cause of all the trouble and deal with it.
Logic did little without the proper data. It was data that could be collected. It was data that would present itself in time. He would have to wait for that data, and he would have to be ready. When it came, he would act with all speed- that was what the servants of Cyllyl were best at: acting quickly- but he must remain focused to do so.
No distractions, he thought, no distractions.
He strode into an empty storage room at the side of one of the passageways where he would be out of the way of passing subordinates. It would be easier to think if they did not have to keep acknowledging him like that.
He was not aware of the door slipping gracefully shut behind him. He noticed nothing of the occurrence until it locked with that telltale click.
He spun, assessing the situation instinctively. Something moved in the shadows. "Who's there?" he demanded.
"Oh, I'm sorry, my Lord Imam," said an all-too-familiar, feminine voice, "I didn't hear you come in. Just a moment, I'll get it unlocked for you straight away." --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": An explosive mistake. ---------------------
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Kereth
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Because 'stabbity, stabbity, stabbity' is a punchline.
Posts: 222
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Post by Kereth on Aug 17, 2006 12:37:31 GMT -5
Chapter Five: The Ninth Degree Part Three: Accidents Happen
Moments later, Nihan Bath-Asher stepped into view and knelt before the now-locked doorway.
"No, allow me," said Huja immediately stepping forward. It was not that he had particular doubts about his apprentice's lock picking abilities, but he knew from personal experience that every door in the Hand guild bore a powerful booby trap. If Nihan were so unfortunate as to set it off, magical energies would engulf the room, causing nigh-fatal injuries to everyone within. Unfortunately, these concerns did not register fast enough with his apprentice and his protest was cut off quickly by a loud snap emanating from the lock.
"Oops."
Huja froze for a moment, but nothing happened.
"Alright," he asked, "What happened?"
Nihan turned, proffering her set of lock picks. The tension wrench was missing, and her primary pick had been broken cleanly in half. Huja knew what that meant. She had failed to pick the lock and had been so careless that the mechanism had actually closed over her pick and broken it. A piece was still stuck in the door and the tension wrench was lodged in place, sticking out from the keyhole. There would be no picking that lock now. There would also be no opening it with a key, had one existed. (Supply closets like this were rarely actually used, and when a Hand wanted access, they were expected to be able to disarm the trap and pick the lock on their own. Many of the doors had never even had keys made for them, and those that did had probably never had the keys used, and it was doubtful that anybody still knew where those keys were.)
Huja gave a faint sigh. Nihan shrugged, tossing the ruined picks onto a nearby shelf. "Sorry about that," she said, though she didn't sound particularly repentant.
"It happens," Huja said, "You just need more practice." So much for having a quiet place to think. Sorry, indeed! She was lucky not to have blown them both up! As a rule, Huja carried two sets of lock picks and a small magnifying lens for helping him disarm booby traps, but that would do him no good now that the door was jammed. Had it actually been a question of equipment, they were in a supply closet: Huja could plainly see a box of spare picks sitting open in a corner of one of the shelves. Doubtless, his apprentice had borrowed her pair from there, and he could have done so as well, if there had been any hope for that.
As it was, however, there was no hope for such an escape. They would have to wait until their absence was noticed or they could get the attention of a passing member of the guild. Even then, it would be several hours before the door could be safely dismantled and the occupants freed. Until then. . .
"I guess we're trapped here together," Nihan said, stepping closer to her master- too close for his own comfort, in fact. "Alone," she added significantly.
"So it would seem," agreed Huja with a strange sense of foreboding, "So it would seem. . ." --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": No plans. No propositions. ---------------------
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Kereth
Storymaster
Because 'stabbity, stabbity, stabbity' is a punchline.
Posts: 222
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Post by Kereth on Aug 17, 2006 13:15:58 GMT -5
Chapter Five: The Ninth Degree Part Four: Preliminary Seduction
Nihan smiled and gave a little sleepy 'mmm' sound. Her eyelids drooped to a half-lidded positionb and she stepped just a little closer to the Imam, very close. She was not so close as to be pressed up against him, but neither could she still be said to be merely invading his personal space. Her body brushed up against his lightly, keeping back so the touch might seem no more than a tickle. "So..." she began and thought to herself, phase one.
"A few weeks ago, I recall having the pleasure," she said, putting extra emphasis on the last word, "of serving as something other than an apprentice for you for a short while."
"Indeed," Huja said, holding his ground as she advanced on him. The effect of this advance were both calculated and immediate. As she spoke, memories of the previous encounter came flooding back to him, exciting him. The touch of her body against his was soft and delicate and only served to accent the effect of the memories she invoked. She was a bit shorter than he, and as he looked down, he couldn't help but notice the way the collar of her shirt had been cut low, allowing him to gaze deep down into her bosom.
Warning signals went off in the Imam's mind. The sights and sensations and thoughts she presented him with were not those of the path of Cyllyl. They were not thoughts conducive to Reason: rather, they threatened to override it.
"You know," Nihan continued. She brought her hands around, letting the tips of her fingers graze delicately along her master's sides. She leaned closer to him as she spoke. "I rather enjoyed it."
Huja could feel the heat of her breath near his face and could see more easily down into her bosom as she advanced. He felt the caress of her hands and her body. Her wings spread out a little, invitingly. He made no move. He said nothing.
More warnings. By Cyllyl, he was not in a good position here.
For a few moments, she didn't say anything either. She just stood there, standing close to him, stroking him gently with her body and her fingertips, letting him think of what she had to offer here, letting the desire build within him.
"Perhaps," she said at length, leaning into him more fully, keeping her voice light and breathless, "since we seem to be trapped here anyway, you might be persuaded to try it again?"
Huja hesitated. The desire was strong within him, but he could not allow it to take control. Cyllyl would not have it so. Reason was paramount. She pressed closer, and he could feel the warmth and the tenderness of her body as she held it against him. Yearning seized him, yearning that was only natural to him or a male of any species, yearning that was challenging his Reason.
"I'm afraid not," he said slowly. His voice was level and composed, but Nihan could see turmoil buried deeper within his eyes. "I explained to you my policy before. I do such things only to produce an heir and not to form any emotional attachments. To maintain this, I only allow myself to perform such acts once and only once with each woman who will volunteer to assist. It is not Cyllyl's will that I should perform such acts with you again."
If Huja had been expecting her to accept this explanation and desist, he was sorely mistaken. "Perhaps that's true," she said, wrapping her arms around her captive Imam, "Perhaps. Reason dictates it after all, but perhaps," she paused for emphasis and her lips curled up into a gentle, mischievous smile, "Perhaps I have a better idea." --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": A decision is made. ---------------------
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Kereth
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Because 'stabbity, stabbity, stabbity' is a punchline.
Posts: 222
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Post by Kereth on Aug 17, 2006 13:23:25 GMT -5
Chapter Five: The Ninth Degree Part Five: Reason
The Imam wavered for a moment. The body of his apprentice was soft and warm as it pressed up against him, putting pressure in all the right places and making it very difficult for him to concentrate.
Indeed, the application of pressure was so precise, and with such a calculated effort to arouse him, that Huja rather suspected that his apprentice had been paying more attention to her anatomy lessons than she had been to those in lock picking. Given that she had only been admitted into his apprenticeship earlier that day, however, her having knowledge of either skill was impressive, as was her being so quick to take the action she did surprising. Then again, he thought wryly, that was what the servants of Cyllyl were best at: acting quickly.
Nihan gave a gentle 'mmm. . .' and squeezed the Imam closer against her, pressing with her body just right so as to force his attention back onto her inexorably. She could feel him tense ever- so-slightly at this pressure before forcing himself to relax. She rested her head against his chest, smiling to herself triumphantly.
"I was just thinking," she said in a soft, sleepy voice, keeping up a steady, rhythmic, almost unnoticeable press-and-release with her body, "that maybe the reason you haven't produced an heir is because you haven't been trying enough times with the same woman."
Huja tried to consider this, but he felt her body ripple against him, shattering any possible chain of thought. His pulse was racing at the feel of her and his breathing was becoming increasingly deep and difficult to regulate.
"And you know," she said, turning her face back up to his and giving him a firm, suggesting squeeze, "Seven is the holiest number, is it not?" She lifted up on her tip-toes, moving her face close to his and letting her body slide along him. She could feel the way her clothing dragged down a little and knew he was aware of it too. Her already low-cut top became gradually more risque. "And perhaps," she added with another carefully-aimed increase in pressure, "seven times seven would be holier still. . ."
She moved her face close to his, lips barely parted and daring him to kiss her. He could feel her, all of her, and it sent shocks of excitement running through his body. Vainly, he struggled to make sense of her arguments. They seemed surprisingly valid. Seven was the holiest number, after all. Perhaps it was Cyllyl's will that her godservant could only be conceived after a more holy-numbered attempt at conception. And seven times seven? Surely this was holiness upon holiness, an ultimate pleasing offering to the Divine to invoke her gratitude. . .
Or was that not his logic speaking?
Huja's eyes were fixed on his apprentice, yet distant and unfocused. She was right there, willing, even eager. It would be so easy, so very easy. . . All he had to do was lean forward and kiss her, barely the width of a finger away, and the rest would take care of itself. . .
But was he sure?
He couldn't be, of course. There was too much influencing his judgment. She was a very attractive girl, beautiful in fact, and she would become even more attractive as he proceeded, but that attraction was not a force of Reason, and so long as she was here, clouding him, he could never be sure what decision was the right one. He had to get away from her for a time to consider things, but he was trapped. She had jammed the door on accident: very convenient for her, as it happened, and especially that she had not blown them both up in the process.
His gaze came into sharper focus. No. It was too convenient. She rubbed against him, sensing his distraction, but the realization made him too focused to allow himself to be set aside so easily. He managed a glance past her toward the door. A tension wrench extended from the keyhole, sure enough, but it hung at the wrong angle. Closer examination of the picks would no doubt reveal that they had not broken quite like the lock would have caused them to.
Huja looked down at his would-be seductress. Strong arms lifted her away from him and he gave her a small kiss on the forehead. "I will have to consider it carefully," he told her.
Nihan blinked in confusion, and the Imam stepped past her, pulling lock picks and a lens from a pocket somewhere. He stooped before the lock, and moments later there was a click, and the door fell open quietly.
"Good day to you, Miss Bath-Asher," he said and vanished. --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Peace and Quiet ---------------------
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Kereth
Storymaster
Because 'stabbity, stabbity, stabbity' is a punchline.
Posts: 222
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Post by Kereth on Aug 18, 2006 12:06:03 GMT -5
Chapter Six: The Philosopher Part One: Distractions
There was a knock at the door, and Sadam thought how it was a pity that such acts did not carry the death penalty in any conveniently accessible society.
"What is it?" he snapped at the door, not opening it.
"Uh," the voice began, muffled through the wooden wall of the cabin, "We seem to have a bit of a situation. We-"
"Then you can handle it yourself!" Sadam snapped again, "I told you I'm not to be disturbed! Now get back up there and deal with it, or I assure you that whatever situation you have up there will seem inconsequential compared to the one you'll have down here!"
"Uh, y- yes sir!" the voice said. It sounded hesitant and rushed. There was a brief pause, then whoever it was could be heard retreating up the steps toward the deck of the ship to deal with whatever situation had caused them to come down below in the first place.
Sadam sighed, turning his thoughts back to their task. It was an issue he had turned over in his mind time and again since the start of their voyage back to the Alchemist Guild, but it was still one he needed resolution to. Details of the Mullah's dream, as Huja had related it to him, repeated themselves over and over in his mind.
The people had fallen. They had not burned up or frozen or disintegrated or anything else but had simply fallen. Did that suggest a lapse in the stone element? A surge of cloud perhaps? Ordinarily, death by excessive cloud elemental energy involved getting one's brains fried out in a most entertaining fashion, but the cloud element was also the one most associated with air. If the stone elementals had been overbalanced by an increased number of cloud elementals, that might cause the earth to behave just as air did or perhaps become air itself. Still, the vision had not been intended to be interpreted by an alchemist, so it would invariably use whatever imagery was most familiar to the audience, right?
One way or the other, Sadam had been prominent in the dream, so something he did would be critical in seeing events to their safe resolution, and even if it wasn't, he could not afford to risk a bet on that and sit idly while his world crumbled around him, trusting its fate to the Hands. If he was meant to help somehow, he must understand the cause of the problem. It was his gift to do that, to analyze the forces involved in this oncoming calamity in a way no one else could. That was what alchemists were best at.
There was shouting topside and sounds of a of commotion. "Morons," muttered the disgruntled atomy. He hoped for their sakes they got whatever it was straightened up quickly. The noise was making it difficult to concentrate.
So. . . elementals. . . If the elemental balance was truly off, how was it off and why? The lapse in the stone element was a likely explanation, given the details of the vision, but it would take many tests to confirm it, and once they did, it was still a long road to figuring out the cause. And yet the whole planet was made of stone, wasn't it? It was the most stable element! It wasn't like something could remove all that rock from the planet, without-
Something exploded above deck. The shock waves surged through the craft, cutting off Sadam's line of reasoning permanently. That's it! he decided, Heads will roll for this if they haven't already! And if they already have, then somebody else's will roll to replace them!
Without another thought about dreams or balances, Sadam grabbed his thunderstick and pouch of components, blasted the door open and stormed out into the early morning smell of the salty sea air, mingled with more than a hint of gunpowder. --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": A quiet, peaceful day on the open sea. ---------------------
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Kereth
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Because 'stabbity, stabbity, stabbity' is a punchline.
Posts: 222
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Post by Kereth on Aug 18, 2006 12:06:49 GMT -5
Chapter Six: The Philosopher Part Two: Initial Skirmish
"Fire!" came the order again. The Alchemist's entourage was lined up along the starboard side of the boat, thundersticks in hand, crouching behind the railing as they formed a firing squad across the deck. At the sound of the order, the weapons went off in a volley, accompanied by a few magic missiles, aiming directly for the approaching craft.
That was how things had been, at least. By the time Sadam had surfaced, the whole deck of the ship was in a short-lived chaos.
The smaller craft had pulled up along side the Alchemists' boat, latching on, and with a combination of grappling hooks and planks, two ettins and an arcanus had climbed on board, plowing through the alchemists like demons or dervishes gone mad.
Before they had even cleared the railing, two atomies, a jinn, an anakim, and a suula had already set down on the craft from above. Sadam came forth just in time to witness a pair of straw golems being dismembered by the attackers before being showered in a cloud of their components.
"What is the meaning of this?" the guildmaster shouted, but there was, of course, no reply. The answer was obvious enough anyway: pirates. Good ones too, by the look of things. Half his crew already lay dead across the ship, and Sadam doubted very much whether the rest would last him much longer.
An atomy dressed in ragged attire came screaming out of the sky, heading for Sadam, twirling a scimitar around over his head. Sadam didn't even look the atomy's direction as he rested his thunderstick on his hip and sent a couple of rounds skyward. The screaming halted abruptly and his attacker's lifeless body fell tumbling past him a moment later.
Well, this won't do at all, Sadam thought. He muttered an incantation and fired a flame arrow at one of the ettins, blasting its second head clean off. The creature staggered for a moment, then dropped. Sadam wondered briefly if it was the shock that made that work or if some ettins just had so little brain in each head that they required both of them just to keep their hearts beating.
He turned his attention to the rest of the fight, just in time to see the last of his men be lacerated by the whirling blades of the arcanus. With his flame arrow, the remaining pirates could hardly help but notice him, and they turned in unison, charging to eliminate this last remaining defender.
Sadam swore in Seelie and shot back down the stairs with the pirates right on his heels. He zipped past his room and through a hatch farther on. He slammed a door shut behind him and locked it, stopping to examine his surroundings. There was nothing but rocks in here, ballast for the ship.
A heavy blow landed against the door. "Come on out, you little bug," said an unintelligent sounding voice, presumably the remaining ettin, and, "Come on out, you little bug," again, confirming its identity.
Blows began raining down on the door and cracks could be seen forming along its surface.
"I'll be out in a minute!" Sadam called and hastily got to work. --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Sadam proposes a trade: his life for some shiny, magic rocks. ---------------------
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Kereth
Storymaster
Because 'stabbity, stabbity, stabbity' is a punchline.
Posts: 222
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Post by Kereth on Aug 18, 2006 12:07:39 GMT -5
Chapter Six: The Philosopher Part Three: Arr, Matey! Arr, Matey!
"I'll be out in a minute!" called a shrill, atomy voice from the other side of the door. This caused Avast (the ettin attempting to force entry into the room) and Avast-Ye (his other head) to hesitate briefly. Captain Ali always used that phrase when he was using the poop deck and wanted someone to wait for him to get finish before they tried to come in. Avast and Ye had seen him get very angry when the person attempting to enter the room went ahead and knocked down the door anyway. They had lost one, maybe two shipmates that way already. (It had also been an ettin, so the number of people actually lost was difficult to define.)
"Well, uh, hurry up!" Avast called, uncertain of how to proceed. Ordinarily, since this wasn't the captain, Avast would have no trouble charging in anyway, but Captain Ali had made himself very clear last time: "When the person says, 'I'll be out in a minute' then wait, You Moron!" (Avast had figured out that "You" and "Moron" were Ali's personal pet names for the other ettin in question. He was always the clever head with such deductions.)
"Come on out, you little bug!" said Ye. Avast looked alarmed and slapped a hand over the other head's mouth. "Shut up!" he hissed at his second head, before calling back to the atomy, "Just ignore him! Take your time!" He followed this up with a very stern glance at Ye and added, "You heard the captain. . ."
It was at this moment that Captain Ali chose to come down the hall himself, a dazzling display of sharp blades and darkened, blue skin. He eyed his ettin subordinate. "Is he back here?" he asked.
"Shut up!" snapped Ye.
Avast gave Ye an alarmed look then quickly stated, "Yeah, he's here. He's right through this door." A thick thumb pointed to the cracked doorway.
"Knock it down then," Ali ordered. He called back down the hallway, and the other pirates began making their way into sight.
"Shut up!" snapped Ye again. "Uh, we can't, sir," Avast said, knocking skulls with Ye in the hope of silencing him, "He said he'll be out in a minute, so we have to wait."
Ali gave Avast a look that the ettin had great difficulty interpreting. Fortunately, he was spared the mental strain as the voice from beyond the door called out, "He quite right. I'll only be a minute more!"
"Oh, shut up, you!" Ali snapped back at the door, "Keep confusing them, and I'll have your entrails in a soup!"
"Just ignore him!" Ye called, "Take your time!"
"Thanks!" said the voice.
"Oh, get out of the way," said the captain, "I'll handle it."
"Shut up!" said Ye again. The captain gave him an irritated glare as Avast hastily made way. "Well, uh, hurry up," said Ye.
"Someone hit him for me," muttered Ali, readying his blades to start chopping down the door.
"You heard the captain. . ." Ye said, and the door exploded outward in a wave of animate stone. --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Pirates are no match for golems! ---------------------
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Kereth
Storymaster
Because 'stabbity, stabbity, stabbity' is a punchline.
Posts: 222
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Post by Kereth on Aug 18, 2006 12:08:29 GMT -5
Chapter Six: The Philosopher Part Four: A Losing Battle
The splinters of the door scattered through the air in a cloud, and a procession of stone golems, like a derailed freight train, clamored into the hall, driving the pirates back with their superior inertia. The pirates were taken by surprise and had already been forcibly ejected back onto the deck, exiting the stairway in a little geyser of tumbling, battered bodies, before they could regain their footing and bring weapons and magic to bear against their assailants.
Taking advantage of their momentum and the unbalanced position of the pirates, the unarmed golems charged headlong against their foes, boxing and grappling with the disoriented brigands. One by one, the stone juggernauts crashed against their opponents, sending them tumbling before them along the planks of the ship, but only so much damage can be dealt at once by an untrained construct swinging empty hands, and one by one, the pirates regained the upper hand, twirling swords and flinging magic and beating back the hastily built combatants.
Sadam rose back to the deck. The world was a fire-orange. The lights of the setting sun bathed the world in their traditional plasma-hues, and a familiar tingle ran through the Philosopher's tiny body.
Sunset, he thought, glamour hour.
It was a long held tradition among the atomy of Raji that they had once descended from another, grander people, known as the seelie, but that in the early years of the seelie, the members of the race had called upon the power of the seelie glamour and unwittingly banished themselves to several, distant worlds, where each had evolved in their own, distinct way. They would meet again, at the joining of the planets, and when they did so, they might not even be able to recognize one another, save for one detail: their common tongue. They would unite then and form the seelie court, and together rule the whole of their universe.
Arcanus, unfortunately, had a similar tradition about their origins. "Jotun" was the name of their parent people, and "gshift" was the power they claimed was responsible for the separation, but the atomy generally presumed they were copycats and couldn't come up with a decent legend by themselves. Typical mortals.
A hovering Jinn launched another electrical bolt down at the golem that was flailing its arms wildly below, trying to reach the flying foe. The golem cracked and exploded, sending bits of gravel spitting past Sadam, tearing him away from his thoughts.
He shook himself. Now was not the time for that. He must concentrate here. This battle was not to be won with glamour. The guildmaster brought his thunderstick around, laying down fire to distract and injure the opposition, hopefully giving his golems an opening to turn the tide.
It was useless. Golem after golem broke down and died. Finally, the alchemist put his thunderstick away as the last few constructs were defeated. He flew out into the center of the lower deck and landed there, taking a seat and opening his bag of equipment.
The pirates gathered round, encircling Sadam, but not attacking their diminutive nemesis, now more wary than before of the small creature's power.
"Give it up," Ali called at him, "You're outnumbered and surrounded. Fly on peacefully, and we might be persuaded to grant you quarter."
From his pack, Sadam withdrew a perfect, blown-glass sphere. --------------------- Next time, on "Not Only Raji...": Sadam surrenders. ---------------------
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