+- Omni Archive (https://omni.zulenka.com)
+-- Forum: The Omniverse (https://omni.zulenka.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=4)
+--- Forum: The Endless Dunes (https://omni.zulenka.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=15)
+--- Thread: The King and his merry men (/showthread.php?tid=5835)
RE: The King and his merry men - Serraph Quarrere - 04-08-2018
Preparations took longer than the Arrancar would hope, or perhaps time flowed faster than he'd anticipated. Time was a fickle thing here in the sands or anywhere for that matter. He still felt well rested and yet here the sun was setting. He'd glance out into the camp yard, observing the civilians and their efforts. They were learning to use whatever weaponry they could find. There was a high chance they could be attacked if they marched in with only Serraph able to fight back. He couldn't protect them all. They would have to be able to defend themselves.
Therefore, Serraph had anyone with military experience step forward, bandit, guard, or otherwise. They all suffered here, he wouldn't discriminate their freedom. After all, the former bandits in the group were more than willing to teach the others. As for weapons, they picked the bodies and storage containers for anything that could be used to slay a man. Tools seemed to be in abundance followed by spears and blades. A few old rifles were found but ammunition for such was low in supply. They'd have to use those sparingly. A few shields were found but others were able to be crafted together with the material they couldn't use anyhow.
Each experienced fighter was given a handful of civilians to teach the basics of warfare to. They'd learn how to use the weapon and shield they were given and march in ranks. Surely they wouldn't be completely proficient, but even this small amount of organization would be preferable to a simple mob. Serraph had instructed them to place those with broad shields within the rank and file slots surrounding the formation. Guns and projectile weapons were a danger, but it would seem shields in this beautiful world were more than capable to stopping them.
The Espada would sigh, his gloved hand closing the entrance to his tent. His eyes turned to the half eaten body before him sitting peacefully in a puddle of crimson that pooled at his knees. Serraph's face was stained red by his rather messy meal. Serraph's former really did eat a lot prior to his death. How could he had fit so much in such a frail frame? The Omniverse held many mysteries it seemed. Serraph's silver, crestfallen eyes stared at the body. Its taste had been fairly nonexistent and what was there wasn't very savory to him. The former man was a sack full of disappointment.
His newly born Fracciones had scouted ahead, finding an ideal path for the civilians and perhaps identify any threats lining their way. From what he understood from the civilians, the safest place for them to take shelter was indeed the King's palace. Finding it wouldn't be too terribly hard. One would only need to just barely glance at the city to see its golden splendor. This Gilgamesh sure indeed enjoy his gold. The Espada would sigh and stand to exit his tent, his grip tight around his blade's scabbard.
The sky was already darkened. The soft orange and purple hues stretched across the horizon as the unforgiving sun dipped out of sight. The moon and its inciting light hung over head, dominating the sky with such beautiful stars. The boy stopped for a moment to bask in the light that only night could give. His papery flesh tensed then relaxed. His wound quivered as the sudden change in wind brushed over his tight bandage. A wave of dull pain ebbed from the deep would, a reminder of the importance of sustained caution until it healed. The bleeding had long since stopped and his strength had returned to him, but he shouldn't be fighting, not yet at least. His Fracciones would hopefully have cleared the way.
His hand clenched around the pale hair of the former Espada's detached head. His eyes of silver would gaze off into the city, waiting for the moment. Everyone else was ready as well with each man woman and child brandishing their weapons in earnest, unadulterated excitement. As the Espada and his company of armed civilians looked out into the dry city, pockets of resistance could be heard. Gunshots echoed over the buildings, breaking out over the dunes.
It would seem his wait was quite profitable indeed. From within the city a luminous ball of spiritual energy was fired up into the sky before exploding in a spectacular star patter. The blue light signaled that the area around the palace was safe. This was good and all but to be inspected. The king had returned and his guards had no doubt secured the perimeter around the palace. Another flare would be sent up, this one a bright lime hue. There were enemies but they had been dealt with. Serraph would assume this to be a small band of fleeing raiders. It was unfortunate that they'd been caught. Serraph could have used them for information. A blue flair would follow shortly after.
Serraph would step forward to the edge of the camp, his blade drawn and pointed towards heaven. A crimson mist would envelope his figure and emanate forth from his position. A small star of cardinal light concentrated itself upon the point of Libro, his blade, growing as its gravity drew in this mist. The small particles of his own spiritual power would swirl around this orb and pack down into it, causing it to grow in size until all of his spiritual mist had been devoured away. The orb would violently pack down, constricting and shrinking itself until not a sliver of crimson light could be seen. Serraph's eyes glowed in a radiant silver that pierced the darkness before him, casting its afterglow upon his wide smile.
"Cero~", he'd hum delightfully, releasing the restraints he had put onto this particular mass of power. A violent crimson bolt of Reiryoku would burst upwards into the night sky as far as the eye could see. It felt so wonderful to cast something as simple as a Cero again. As the jagged bolt soared through the night sky, he couldn't help but notice its draining effect on his body. The Cero seemed a bit stronger than he'd remember and its drainage on the Espada's body seemed much greater, similar to a Gran Rey's effect. Serraph knew he was quite a bit weaker here rather than home, but this was quite ludicrous. His smile tensed as he pointed the blade toward's the golden palace.
"Foreward! To Nippur!", he'd call, his command answered with a roar of acknowledgement. Home was right in front of them. Nothing would stop them from their return. Serraph stepped forward towards the great city, with the formation of rescued prisoners marching close behind him. His left hand clenched tightly around the former espada's head, keeping it close by his side.
All would see the face of the man who killed this traitor, even the traitor's former king.
RE: The King and his merry men - Jim Raynor - 04-10-2018
Jim had been driving for most of the afternoon. The sun slipped halfway down the horizon, bathing the sky in bright fushias and pinks, with a deep velvet hue swiftly crushing it against the long, distant line. It was getting to that time of day in the Endless Dunes where the climate was tolerable, even desirable. Jim rolled down the window of his squeaking utility truck and planted his elbow on the door, letting the cool air rush into the cabin and the smoke of his cigar trailing behind him. It was cool enough now that the sun had begun its descent that he wouldn't feel the boiling hot wind whip over his face but warm enough that the frigid desert night didn't ice his skin instantly. The rugged wheels tore sand into the air as the old vehicle struggled up a dune and down the other side. As he rolled down, Raynor could see what all the fuss had been about.
His soldiers had been scouting outside of the Town With No Name when they noticed a flurry of activity at what was thought a disused and abandoned town. Locals had informed Jim this place was once known as Nippur but it had been uninhabited since the terran commander had journeyed into the Omniverse. Sandstone walls ringed the structures within, ranging from humble homes and tent stalls to taller, more ornate buildings. Lantern lights were being lit as the night descended upon the sands, and even from his vantage point, Raynor could see the bustle of activity filling the busy town.
Sergeant Baxter wanted his commanding officer to take backup, or at least another soldier with him. Jim decided against it. Baxter’s reconnaissance had not turned up any violence, just people moving into the ruins of a once thriving town. They could be peaceful nomads who had finally found somewhere they could settle down and rest their heads instead of braving the deadly desert nights without shelter. They could also be a shady outfit looking to turn a profit or find a way to exploit the empty town for nefarious purposes, but that seemed less likely. Besides, it wasn’t like old Jimbo couldn’t defend himself.
Pressing firmly on the brakes, Jim brought the ute to a sliding stop. Gripping the cigar with his molars, Raynor jiggled the handle just right and bumped his shoulder into the door at the same time. It clicked open with a groan and the terran commander jumped into the sand. Although the sunlight no longer scorched it, there was still plenty of residual heat left in the dunes.
“Well well, what have we got here?” Jim said, staring at the gates of the sandstone walls as people ferried in. “Ain’t gonna win any beauty contests, but it doesn’t need to.”
Jim noticed a guard standing by the gates, his eyes stuck on Raynor since his beat-up vehicle skidded to a stop.
“Might not be friendly types though,” he said to himself. “Or maybe just not a trustin’ bunch. Can’t say I’d be any different in their shoes.” Jim looked over his shoulder and hit the ute with a fist. “Adjutant! We’re here.”
The CMC-400 armour, black as coal, leaned over the edge of the ute’s tray, the suspension sagging to the side. The visor opened to reveal a holographic depiction of a female android’s head, the light flickering. The armour hoisted itself off the tray and landed in a kneel, sending a tremor through the ground before standing.
It didn’t hurt to have a little security.
“What are your orders, commander?” the adjutant asked, piloting the CMC-400 armour as if a real human was nestled inside its ebony plates.
“Just keep your eyes peeled for trouble,” Jim said. “I’m hopin’ we won’t find ourselves any, but you never know. Don’t draw a weapon or shoot anyone without my sayin’ so.”
“Understood, commander.” The visor flipped down, revealing a white skull scratched onto orange glass.
Jim and the adjutant walked over to the gates. The AI’s shell drew glances from the guard, who approached them before they reached the passage through the sandstone walls. “What’s going on here?”
“Deputy Sheriff Jim Raynor, sir,” Jim introduced himself. “Visitin’ from the Town With No Name. Heard there was somethin’ goin’ on here and came to investigate. This is my AI, Adjutant.” Jim looked up at the skull visage atop the towering robotic suit. “She’s harmless. Promise.”
The guard looked them up and down. “Yeah? And what did you come to investigate?”
Jim shrugged. “Just bein’ a sticky-beak, I suppose. Place’s been emptier than a bar in Prohibition for a long time. Why’s people suddenly floodin’ in now?”
“The Golden King, Gilgamesh, has returned,” the guard said. “Nippur was his and he has returned to reclaim it. Those who once followed him have come back as well.”
“That a fact?” Jim said, glancing at the people pouring into the desert town. “Don’t suppose it’d be possible to meet this king now, would it? Might be nice to establish friendly relations.”
“Not just anyone can see him,” the guard said.
Jim took a long drag on his cigar and let the smoke leak out the spaces between his teeth. “What if I was a Prime? That make me more than ‘just anyone?’”
The guard scrutinised Jim. “Anyone could just say that.”
Raynor lifted his index finger and focused. A tiny pinprick of white light sparked in the space just above the tip. “This’d be omnilium. Only Primes can make this stuff. Can’t fake that.”
“All right,” the guard said, convinced. “Follow me if you want to meet Gilgamesh.”
“Come on, adjutant,” Jim said to his AI as it plodded after him. “Let’s go meet the king.”
RE: The King and his merry men - Shantotto - 04-11-2018
Shantotto felt everything shifting. the moderate temperature of the Nexus was gone and instantly replaced by a scorching heat. The dark fabric of her robes did exactly as she had expected and attracted the heat into them, the gold thread helped dissipate some of the heat but Shantotto already could feel sweat dripping off her brow. Despite the impression the messenger had made this was not what Shantotto had imagined, let alone expected. "For a place called the sands... this is looking more like a grasslands...." she said not caring to perfect the rhyme, rather she looked out over the sprawling landscape, seeing tree's scattered around along with lush tall yet dry grasses. The thing that worried Shantotto was the fact that if this area was in fact more like a savannah than a desert then... how bad would the actual desert be.
Without a single additional delay, Shantotto stepped forward waddling herself step by step, it was no little irritation that the grasses were taller than her, yet the one positive so far she had seen in the few hellish seconds she had been in this hellscape, was that the grasses helped shield her from the sun.
Taking little time to think about it she focused her hand around her orb of Omnillium and began focusing, her goal, to create a backpack, filled with water food and other things she would need. like a tent, and a small warm sleeping bag, since not only was heat an issue in the desert, but so was hypothermia. It was a risk she had seen many an adventurer fall victim to.
The second order of business for Shantotto was to make a hat, It was something she hated to wear as it was so stereotypical of a mage to wear a hat. Still she donned the pointed black and gold hat, she modified the apparel to have a core of copper inlined with the gold thread to better regulate heat, far be it for her to be named a professor of all things magical and not know enough about thermal conductivity that she would get herself killed not by a foe, but by a climate.
Shantotto pulled her little device from her breast pocket once again checking her posting, there was a reply, but for some strange reason she couldn't read it. Disregarding the message for the time being she began her walk, It was still close to mid day so she still had plenty of time to make some distance up.
Given the nature of her short stature, Shantotto found it far easier to gather information when she needed to, in this case her goal was to find out a little more information regarding this new place. Her policy of never going into a situation without some form of plan was a keystone of who she was. She had not become the most powerful mage in the history of Vanadiel by simply being adept at a spell or two. No, Shantotto had been blessed with something far more important than magical talent. She had been born with a gifted mind and a desire to learn. That was the only advantage Shantotto have ever given herself over other people, but that desire to learn had led her along the path she now followed.
Her black leather and gold robes creaked ever so lightly as she stepped in the underbrush, the sounds of her movement were so similar to the sounds of the wind moving the brush that only those trained to notice the difference would be keen to know she was stalking around. Her focus on getting a location of where she needed to go, or at least some information for her to go off of.
She found her way to a pair of people talking, she couldn't make out much of the physical descriptions of the two, nor did she care. She overheard talks regarding a town literally called the... "Town with no name"
The pair of talkers didn't say anything that was much to go off of but now at least Shantotto had a location as well as a rumor of a group of primes headed that way.
Shantotto once more stood up as tall as she could with her two and a half foot height and waddled off leaving the pair wondering why the black mage had been eavesdropping on them. Neither said a word about it as they continued on their conversation.
She had got enough information to start planning, though she paused once more and pulled her journal out and took notes regarding the interaction with the pair. The notes were trivial but still worth making a note of, should she have need of it.
The dataverse device in her robe vibrated once more informing the black mage that she had received a reply to her posting.
Upon reading the message from the one called Banisher4lyfe Shantotto applauded herself in her head as she had already taken the path she needed or at least had started to. The message gave enough information on how to reach Nippur.
She sighed as she looked out over the expanse of the endless dunes, it was a three hour walk to reach Nippur, well three hours if one had an average gait. Shantotto estimated it would be a four hour walk for her given her short legs. Her backpack of survival gear might not be needed, despite this she didn't abandon it instead she set forth towards the town with no name. Shantotto wanted to break down the journey into three legs, segments if you would. To make the journey a little easier, from her past experiences even a few hours in the desert heat was enough to kill someone. She opened up her pack and swallowed a deep gulp of icy water from her waterskin before channeling her spell "Flood" and channeling it upwards to create a downpour of water upon a wide area. Her dark robe was quickly made heavy by the water as it moistened, relife filled Shantotto's face as the cooled water got rid of the discomfort from the heat in an instant.
Time dragged on as Shantotto walked, each step felt just ever so slightly heavier than the one the came before. Still she pressed onwards, until she had finished the first leg of her journey, the Town with no name stood not far before her. As per the instructions provided to her in her post she skirted the town, spending no more than a few moments to take her journal out and log the information she saw, as well as a small sketch of a map she had noted while walking. Once she had finished she continued along the second leg of her journey She laughed to herself as she pulled her journal out once more after leaving the down with no name in her dust, instead writing a small caption next to it on her map. "I have the perfect name for it.... Shithole" she thought with a wide grin before sliding the book into her robe once more. The sun had already dried her of the water she had doused herself in, in fact it had done so long ago.
Taking her waterskin out from her pack she once again took a long swig of the sweet and magicly cooled water. swallowing it and pouring a small bit on her forehead she looked out over the horizon as the shifting sands swireld, carried by the winds. Draining the last of the waterskin she pulled out a piece of jerky, and began to munch on the soft bird meat. The city of Nippur loomed in the distance, growing larger with each step. The architecture resembled the buildings and structures of old Aht Urgahn the desert city back in Vanadiel. Reaching what Shantotto assumed was the main gate she prepared to enter.
RE: The King and his merry men - Drake Oneir - 04-14-2018
"...you're totally full of shit." Vito finally snapped.
"Well then you should be glad I'm not shitting you." Drake responded.
"That...doesn't make sense."
"Neither does your face."
...
"Ice this prime rib." the bandit leader snapped, rewarded with the popping sounds of firing pins locking into place. Drake rose a challenging eyebrow at the gunmen as they took aim.
"Can I just say one thing?" the smuggler asked, stubbing out his cigarette on the limp sleeve of his jacket. Vito rolled her eyes in the corner, hungrily eyeing a bag of heroin. She sighed.
"You gonna tell me to watch my back? Prepare for fire and fury?" she boomed, a deep chuckle looming at the edge of her voice.
"Nah."
"Oh...well then yeah. Go ahead." Vito said, leaning against a small bedstand. Drake nodded, but didn't make any sudden movements.
"You know, I'm sorry about the comment about your face. You're actually quite a beautiful lady." Drake said, turning around from where he was seated and flashing a bright grin at the dusky bandit queen. Vito paused for a moment before busting out a single, harsh laugh.
"Flattery ain't gonna do you nothin' cuz. They been callin' me Schnitzel since I was nine! Kill 'im." Vito said, jabbing an accusatory hand at Drake. This time, Drake seemed genuinely concerned, and rose to his feet.
"Whoa whoa whoa..." he said in a totally false, wavering tone, "...just...hear me out...UNH!" Drake said, tapping a few of his fingers together. The cybermatic command sent a signal to his datavice to start booming out a series of electronic beats and thumps. Vito and her hooded guardsmen looked on in genuine shock as Drake began to dance.
"Dont. Have. To. Be. Beeeuuhuutifuhull..." he sand softly, sliding over to where Vito was standing. He shucked his jacket in the process, revealing his scraggly torso and jagged stump of a right arm.
"...to turn meh ahwn." he finished with a wink, spinning in place and strutting back towards Vito's bed. The gunmen looked to Vito for guidance, but the woman was too taken in by the shameless, horrifying display to give them specific instructions. Drake ran a scandalous hand down his chest to his crutch, and plucked at it with a slight gyration.
"I just need yo body behebeh...from dusk. Til. Dawn." he continued, somehow managing to whip his belt, katana and all, out towards the door in a single, graceful yank. Everyone else was too dumbstruck to bother writing their reactions. Don't worry about it.
"You just leave it all up to me, I'm gonna show you what it's all..." the scrawny man squeaked, sidling up to the increasingly winded woman. He nestled up to her in a rather contemptuous fashion before dragging her back towards the pile of sweaty blankets on the ground. Was it getting warm in here? Vito was feeling warm.
"DON'T HAVE TO BE RICH, TO BE MAH GURL." Drake yelped, tearing his shirt clean off.
"DON'T HAVE TO BE COOL TO RULE MY WORLD." he screamed, ditching his pants in similar fashion. Did he always wear tear-away slacks? Who the fuck knows. He trotted away from the stunned woman, around to the other side of her improvised desk-map.
"Ain't no parti-cla sign I'm more compatible with..." he whispered, hiking a hairy leg up on to the edge of his desk. He wrapped a thumb into the elastic of his lovingly bleached briefs. Drake continued in a whisper.
"I just need your extra time, and your..." he said, winking at the round-eyed hulk of a she-warrior. The underpants came off.
"KISS!"
With this final incarnadine ululation, Drake pressed the detonation sequence into his hand while kicking the entirety of the desk onto its side. Two seconds passed, during which time the buck-ass naked smuggler ducked behind the sold metal platform and the explosives within the hilt of katana exploded. Vito and the two guards were killed instantly, and Drake was sent flying into the wall of packaged MREs and potable water with a terrific whump. It took about twenty seconds for him to figure out which way his ass was supposed to be pointing before he stood up and blinked heavily.
Fire engulfed the far end of the room, and without thinking twice, Drake dove for his previously discarded satchel bag and dug his plasma derringer out of it. It had been a long time since he'd strip-teased his way out of an execution. He was just glad he still had all of the lessons of seduction that Prince had taught him. Unfortunately, the only current exit out of the room was on fire which left him little recourse.
Drake yanked one of the twenty gallon jugs of water off of the supply pallets and doused himself in the startlingly cold liquid. He steeled himself for exactly half a heartbeat before charging, bare skinned and glistening through the rolling carpet of orange pain. Granted, his cybernetic legs saved him from the worst of the pain, but he was suddenly wishing he had been in the habit of shaving his pubes, because they ignited almost instantly.
As he burst out into the hallway and capped the first dumbass he saw, his adrenaline soaked brain tried to formulate a situational pun based around the idiomatic humor that his fiery pubic hair could be compared to a burning bush, similar to a story in the Christian Bible. But, being as the situation was a tad unscripted, even by Drake's standards, the best he could manage was
"MY PANTS WAS MOSES!"
Before streaking off down the hallway at full tilt.
Oh we're not done yet. Not by a long shot.
RE: The King and his merry men - Shantotto - 04-16-2018
Shantotto gazed up at the towering walls of Nippur, the coloration of the walls was seemingly reminiscent of an age bygone. At one time it seemed that the walls themselves glimmered in the overbearing sunlight. Even in the current state of disrepair Shantotto could see very intricate artwork carved into the walls. The actual city itself was appalling, the living state of the people was horrendous, barely clothed civilians wandered the streets carrying stone too and from their resting places. It was all too apparent that the people of Nippur had fallen upon hard times. In the distance Shantotto could see a towering palace, its milky colored walls stood out over the rest of the city's sandstone coloration. Shantotto could barely make out in the distance a large hospital. Thinking back to her messages with Banisher4lyfe she realized why such a structure was the only one in a state of good repair, the building was very important to the people here. She waddled along looking at each person she passed, the people seemed so downtrodden that even as she glanced at them she received only empty stares in return. She was very clearly needed by this city.
There were very few guards walking the broken down streets, more than once Shantotto had to move out the way to avoid stepping in human waste. She knew that the person, this “king” she was to seek out would more than likely be in the towering palace, so Shantotto made her way towards it. There were primes and other people carrying each other towards the hospital. “At least they assist each other, it would be a shame if no one lifted a hand to help their brother.” She muttered under her breath as she walked up the ramplike road leading to the palace, even the palace looked like it had seen better days as she got a closer look at it, the minarets were damaged, blocks were shattered as if struck by projectiles from siege weapons. “Hmmm” She though as she pulled her journal out and began to draw what she saw, quickly finishing and hiding it away once more. The more Shantotto saw of the people, the more inclined she was to help them. Those light brown eyes saw children standing, hungry, rib bones showing under their tattered shirts. Shantotto’s resolve was stronger than ever. Two guards and a door stood between her and the ruler of this domain as she strode up to the doorway, the guards opened the doors before her as the took her and sized her up. She was used to this, most meatheaded warriors had a tendency to do this to her, tho Shantotto knew she would have no issue destroying them down to a cellular level. The throne room before her was is just the same state as the rest of the city, if not worse, skeletons littered the floor as people rushed around cleaning the human remains up. The battle that had taken place here was clearly not forgotten be those still here. At the end of the long but tattered carpet was a raised dais where a blond haired man clad in gold armor and what she could easily interpret as a hundred yard stare sat upon a blocky shaped throne, behind him more glyphs were etched into the wall, crumbled and tarnished gold was easily visible as we're broken slabs of lapiz. There were several people, warriors of different kinds standing around him, some vying for his attention others seeming to be on the guard against apparent threats. Shantotto didn't have time to waste so she bypassed most of them and stood before the one clad in gold offering up a small phase of salutation. “Good day I say.”
RE: The King and his merry men - Serraph Quarrere - 04-18-2018
The flares stayed in place for a decent amount of time, long enough for Serraph and the rest of the entourage to somewhat calculate a proper route to their destination. Their march from their camp wasn't close to elegant. Civilians would trip and slide through formation, unintentionally breaking the ranks in process. The rather rectangular formation would be bent and misshaped. People would scramble to get back in their positions as their group leaders called them back with the thumping of weapons upon shields. Serraph wouldn't have to worry about this ill tasting show for much longer as the ground itself became a bit more on the level side of things. His eyes of silver glanced at the broken segments of defensive walling, its crumbling stone structure scarred with bullet holes and scorch marks.
"The defenders must have fought hard to keep out the hordes. No doubt they had run dry in the ways of supplies.", the small Arrancar mused, his right thumb brushing across his chin. His eyes scanned over the tops of the various ruined buildings, keeping aware of anything that may be amiss. The town was a big one, but this road was a straight shot towards the palace gates. Even from here the group could see various gaurds making their rounds as well as various other individuals entering and leaving the palace gates quite frequently.
As he continued along his path, his tense demeanor would lax. One by one his few followers would rejoin him, leaping from atop various scouting positions within dark alleyways and rooftops over looking this stretch of road.
"The way is clear, My Lord. ", The Glutton would speak ever so nonchalantly. Serraph's eyes would glance in his direction. The bulbous belly of his seemed to have grown two sizes since first awakening as an Arrancar. Serraph would have to keep a harder leash on him in the future.
"I see. I also see you're quite the messy eater. Something tells me you didn't send the right signal, Glutton.", Serraph spat at the man, his eyes returning the the roadway ahead of him. "I believe the words I spoke were, 'Do not reveal yourself to any possible enemy. Report using your flares.'"
"I underst-"
"I believe you signaled an 'All Clear'. I assume you did this after the fact.", Serraph would interrupt, his right open hand raising to signal the formation behind him to stop. The smaller Arrancar would turn towards the Glutton and step towards him, his eyes of silver looking up at his taller servant. "You are my Fracciones now. Soon I will speak to the king of this land regarding the men and women I saved. It would be a grave shame If I were to tell him that my own Fracciones helped devour his subjects. I can afford to be executed for the mistakes of my own servants. How about yourself?", He'd growl, placing an open palm on the larger man's chest.
"Lord Serr-", he'd stammer, his body fat grotesquely quaking with each movement no matter how mild. Disgusting.
"The signal you sent could have been a mistake. Did you take into account that perhaps others were watching you? You just might have made any future efforts that more difficult.", He'd sigh, taking a step from the man to approach the contingent of guards standing watch by the golden gates of the palace.
Perhaps moving so casually with a severed head in the apparent young man's grip wasn't the best of actions to perform. A pair of guards broke off to approach the Espada, their hands gripping their blade's velvet hilts. Their golden armor gleamed in the moonlight providing an inciting yet somewhat menacing appearance to their regal armor. They surely looked the part they played.
"Who are you, boy? What are those people you've brought with you?", he'd shout, keeping a reasonable distance from the Arrancar.
"Oh. These people?", Serraph would say with a tilt of his head, pointing his free hand back at the rather loose formation behind him. "I seemed to have found them on the outskirts of the city. Some may need care and medical attention. I suggest you go check for yourself."
The guard would look from Serraph to the people and then back to the boy. He'd nod and rush forward, his hand now away from his weapon. Serraph didn't wait for him to return, he'd have his hands full with that crowd of people. He'd move to the other guards his followers walking close behind him. He took a single look at the closer one's stalwart demeanor and stone-faced... face and giggled lightheartedly. With the responsibility of a couple of hundred civilians out of his hands he could have a bit of fun. The young man would stroll up to the nearest guard and rapped his knuckles upon his Golden laced vambrace, his face feigning a look of worry and distraught.
"E-excuse me... m-m-mister?" The young man would stutter, his left arm curling around his back to conceal the severed head of his former. "I n-need to see K-King Gilgamesh. C-can I go?"
The guard looked down upon in calm frustration but shook his head. "The good king is currently seeing all primes within the boundaries of his territory. We can feed you and provide shelter, but we cannot allow just anybody to look upon his golden Visage."
"I-I am a prime...", Serraph would look down in a downtrodden nature, his head tilted in a slight, depressed nature. His gut would tighten, his breath halting to keep the laughter from bursting through his clenched jaw.
"Um... yes. You may pass. My colleague here will escort you to the throne room."
Serraph would nod, allowing himself a soft giggle as he was led through the front doors of the palace. Upon the face of the radiant doors ancient histories were carved. Serraph lacked the proper context to decipher which image represented what but it seemed to loosely follow the legend of Gilgemesh up to his inclusion here in this wonderful world. A few images he could assume such as an image depicting two figures setting out on a hardy journey, Gilgemesh's journey with Enkidu.
"Curious", he'd think to himself as he stepped within the confines of the palace, his way lit by dimly flaring lamps. He'd have to inquire on that particular character's whereabouts when the opportunity represents itself.
RE: The King and his merry men - Victor Wolfe - 04-18-2018
Meeting the shinobi again had brought a warmth to Victors icy heart, the fire in the boys eyes as he sought to finish what he had started all those years ago helping to stoak the flames inside the assassin, the Golden Lion would rise again, and its roar would send shockwaves across the entire region, no the entire Omniverse. No longer would they be viewed as a regional bit player feasting on scraps like hyenas, with everyone so passionate and working towards the same goal the light of hope that had been extinguished for so long shone brightly, They had a lot of rebuilding to do but after that, the world would be their oyster. Not one to be upstaged the blonde decided to dedicate himself to the New Babylonian dream as much as he could.
After wishing his Ninja brother in arms the best of luck in his endeavours he had asked Erik to work out some of the logistics for their radio plan. After all, primes could just summon the radios as they where needed but the secondaries of Nippur seemed to need a morale boost, they suffered most in the atrocities that followed the battle of Nippur, and getting them back to work was a good start to rebuilding that shattered spirit, of course the currency wasn't much use in a resource-scarce environment like this, thus Victor had formulated the plan that those that work would be paid in extra rations summoned by the primes of the Diplomatic branch. Thus they would be doing meaningful work for meaningful gain, after all, it doesn't matter how much gold you have, if there is no food it has no value to their people. Erik seemed nervous about the mission but the assassin in an unusually positive mood reassured him.
"I wouldn't give you such an important task if I did not think you were capable of it, just act like the noblemen you are and things will go well, you have this," he said confidently as he walked towards the palace again, climbing the steps the cool wind of the desert night air ruffling through his hair, looking back over the city he could already see small signs of improvment, people moving in and out of the hospital, as well as citizens heading towards the palace halls to get rations. Things were looking up. He also noticed some odd looking individuals heading towards the palace. Probably more primes heading the message the guards where delivering, I guess they get to eat today Victor chuckled to himself as he reached the entrance to the throne room. focusing for a second Victor summoned something red and round, his left hand filled as he scrolled through the mp3 list on his dataverse device. One song standing out in particular. A little piece of heaven by Avenged Sevenfold? Well, we would of course love to dish out seven times damage to our enemies as they did to us, so that is fitting, and Nippur is a little piece of heaven in this hell hole of a desert, maybe I should give it a listen just in case? No, it will be fine, The Lord thought for a second as he looked at the time frame for the song, skipping past the long intro to roughly where the lyrics started he hit play as he entered the room.
The song started out strange, instruments that sounded almost demonic, but energetic mixed with violins, and the lyrics painted it as a love story, but as Victor walked towards the throne the song took a very dark turn, a murder and necrophilia turn Gil's patience clearly strained as Victor nervously laughed
"Why must you play this distasteful music?" The King asked, his voice clearly a little angry. Victor raised his hands.
"To be fair with a name like a little piece of heaven I thought this song would be more, happy and about nice places, not... whatever the common folk call this," he said as he stopped the music and added it to his personal playlist for later listening. Something about sleeping with a dead girl making him nostalgic.
"I also bring a gift and some very unexpected but pleasant news sire!" Victor said as he gave a deep and respectful bow before raising his head and softly throwing the object in his hand in an arc, the king catching it easily the spheroid now clearly revealed as an apple, its skin shiny in the light of the throne room
"You have had a lot of meetings so far my lord and many more to come by the looks of things, and you didn't seem to summon any new maids so I thought you might like a snack, as for the message, it would seem that the prodigal son of Nippur has returned, and promises that when he next returns to meet you he will be bringing an end to the raids on Nippur, Baron Deathchews head, and the kus kusa... the Weeb blade " Before Gilgamesh could respond a tiny humanoid creature burst into the throne room, annoyed by this Victor's hands drifted towards the notch in his belt that he usually kept his banishment syringes causing death glares from the King, Victors hand driffting back into view as he walked over to the side of the throne to observe their new guest. The assassin and Lord took a seat on the stair next to the throne allowing him to be below the King but still higher than the new primes in the room.
RE: The King and his merry men - Erik Vrell - 04-20-2018
“You've got this…” Erik said to himself as he watched Victor enter the palace, the assassin’s words echoing in his head. The psychic fidgeted with his badge as he approached the crowd of secondaries idly chattering amongst themselves outside the palace. He had no idea how to command a crowd like this, the most he’d ever been put in charge of was half a dozen mindbreakers on a witch hunt. Even then, his brothers had been within a mental shout if things got out of hand.
Nervously, Erik rose up the steps of the palace before turning to address the crowd, his voice catching in his throat as he opened his mouth. While his nerves were nowhere near as bad as they were in his audience with Gilgamesh, his heart was still trying its best to pound it's way out of his ribcage.
‘Just relax.’ Erik thought to himself. ‘Your audience went well, there's no reason to think this won't.’ Unfortunately, reason did little to steady the psychic’s nerves. Struggling for inspiration, Erik’s mind wandered back to home, specifically to the commanding voice of his father addressing an assembly of mindbreakers before a witch hunt.
‘Come on, just like father…’ He mumbled to himself.
“Attention!” Erik cried, his voice firm but not harsh. “On behalf of Lord Victor, I, Nobleman Erik Vrell, come bearing an announcement.” As he stated his status, he made an effort to display his golden lion badge to the crowd, confirming that he was, indeed, a noble.
“You will assist in the distribution of radios to the citizens of Nippur, so that you may hear the glorious declarations of King Gilgamesh! Compliance is not mandatory, but those who do will be rewarded with extra rations.” If the crowd was not paying listening before, the mention of extra rations caught their attention. A murmur ran through the crowd as Erik stepped down from the palace steps and pushed through the crowd towards the bazaar, producing his omnillium from inside his robes as he did so. Arriving at an empty bazaar stall, Erik got to work summoning the necessary materials.
At first he began summoning radios for the people to distribute. Once he had summoned enough radios that every one of the volunteers had left to give them out, he started summoning a stack of paper tickets. Each one had the same message marked on it.
“This citizen is entitled to an extra portion of rations, as decreed by Lord Victor of the diplomacy bureau.”
Once he had a full stack of notes, Erik got back to summoning radios as the workers were starting to return. While summoning, Erik’s thoughts drifted slightly to the idea that the workers might not be doing their jobs. How could he be sure they weren't just dumping the radios out of sight? The psychic soon dismissed the thought when he saw the looks on the citizen’s faces. Despite their weariness, the was a glimmer of hope and joy in the eyes of the tired people. It looked to Erik like some proper, and admittedly easy, work was good for their spirits.
Erik summoned tirelessly for what seemed like hours, and most likely was, although sometimes it was hard to tell in the Omniverse. Finally, a worker returned to Erik with a radio still in hand.
“Everyone’s been given a radio.” He said as he laid the radio onto the table Erik was sitting behind. As he laid it down, his eyes caught on Erik’s badge and he remembered the psychic’s status. “Oh, I'm sorry, nobleman…”
“Erik. Erik Vrell.”
“Nobleman Erik.”
The psychic gave a nod to the man, before turning to the pile of tickets beside him.
“Just show them this when you collect your rations.” Erik told the man. “You’ll get as much as you need.”
“Thank you.” The man said eagerly, grinning as he took the ticket and disappeared into the thinning crowds of the bazaar, presumably home to his family.
Slowly, the workers Erik had organised trickled back to the bazaar, returning their surplus radios and getting a ticket for extra rations in return. After a number of workers had received their tickets and left, no workers had returned to Erik for a while. Just as he moved to start packing up, another worker rounded the corner and came up to the table.
“Are you the last one?” Erik asked as he took her radio and handed her a ticket. The woman nodded as she happily took the ticket, clutching it as if it might fly away if she didn't hold on tight enough. As she turned to leave, she hesitated, before turning back to Erik.
“When will you start broadcasting?” She asked. Erik paused for a moment, not quite sure himself of when broadcasting would begin. Before they could do that they needed to construct radio towers, and they needed someone and somewhere to host the show.
“Soon.” Erik said after a long moment of thought. The woman looked a little unsure of his estimation, but shrugged it off and went back to focusing on her ration ticket as she merged into the crowd. With the last worker gone, Erik turned to the pile of unclaimed radios and ration tickets beside him.
“Looks like I got a bit overzealous…” Erik murmured to himself as he started extracting the Omnillium back from the piles. Despite not having moved from the table, the psychic was exhausted. Summoning for hours at a time really took a lot out of you. After he had finally reabsorbed all of the radios and tickets, Erik rubbed his eyes before reclining back in his chair.
“By the Gods, I'm tired…” He yawned as he stretched his arms out, trying to loosen up his stiff back. Cracking the stiffness out of his back, Erik’s eyes wandered over to the palace as he settled into his chair.
“I should tell Victor I'm done…” He thought to himself. “Not yet, though, I'll rest a little while longer.” The psychic leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, listening to the thinned out crowds moving through the bazaar, chattering excitedly about Gilgamesh’s return and their new radios to hear his decrees.
“I wonder how the other meetings are going…” Erik wondered idly, blissfully unaware of the clashing of egos that had occurred while he was working.
RE: The King and his merry men - Drake Oneir - 04-21-2018
The sound of air-driven pistons echoed down the damp hallways of the irrigation plant. There came an abrupt crack-thud as Drake delivered a spinning wheel kick to some junkie's neck. The dumb kid went slumping to the ground, and under normal circumstances, Drake may have been concerned he'd killed the guy. As it was, he was naked, armed with a five-shot pistol inside the headquarters of a chaotic bandit-cult that was starting to catch on fire. Drake glanced up at the dormant fire-suppression systems overhead and snorted softly. There was no way in hell that those were still operating, naturally. Although, it wasn't a total loss.
Drake liked the idea of claiming that he had burned down a water-treatment plant. That didn't solve his problems, though. Focus man!
There was really only one thing preventing him from just jumping out the nearest window and dashing off into the night. He glanced down at his nuts. Okay maybe a few things, but chief among them was the thought that he'd be living that sister's dumb kid brother vulnerable and potentially burned-alive in this place. Then again, he wasn't exactly a hero and didn't like the idea of sticking around bandit-town to rescue some kid. Decisions...decisions.
Okay, so the problem was that the building was on fire and the kid might be trapped inside. The aggravation to that problem was that the fire sprinklers weren't working, BUT, they were in a goddamn pumping substation. The entire building was full of water mains and sewage outflows that could put out some dumb old fire ten times over. Vito had mentioned that they'd rigged the entire place to ruin the plumbing infrastructure, but Drake himself had said that this kind of thing could be Prime-fixed in less than a day.
Clearly the solution here was to blow the place up MORE to put out the fire. Yes. That was the plan. Now I COULD write about how Drake managed to pull this off, with all of his cunning and nudity, but the reality of the situation is that Aaron's kids are waking up from their nap and he just wants this goddamn scene to end. So...we're just gonna skip ahead to the–
SKABOOSHH
Drake was thrown to the ground as he dashed out of the main circulation concourse. The force of the explosives shook the entire building, and forced him to loosen his grip on his trusty plasma weapon. The itsy bitsy gun clanked and clinked as it fell off of the gantry and into the bowels of the pumping substation far below. The smuggler could already hear water rushing throughout the hallways, washing away every last trace of tiamat's temples and the heavy narcotic paraphernalia. Hissing prosthetics propelled him up the sub-basement steps as filty water cascaded down the flight of stairs. The only thing missing from this situation was a wailing klaxon in the background, but this place had a pretty tight budget.
Praying to the generosity of an uncaring universe, Drake Oneir tapped in the calling signal for his trusty SkyBike, knowing for a fact that it was still located on Tier 3 of Coruscant. As he reach the ground floor, however, his beloved flying motorcycle burst through the stucco wall in an explosion of dust and mortar. Drake skidded to a halt on the flooded linoleum floors and launched himself into the darkened room where the high-tech ride was waiting. In the darkness though, as he was about to load his bare ass onto the whirring bike, he heard a sniffling and a shiverring off to his right. There, in the damp debris of the collapsing building, sat the dumbass little boy who had been beating up his sister.
The Nippur kid stared up at this tall, lanky, naked guy with robot legs and a missing arm, and his eyes went absolutely huge. Drake wordlessly plucked the pathetic little lad out of the dirt and threw him in the back seat in one fluid motion. See by this point, if you haven't picked up on the fact that Drake's single arm is fucking JACKED, you're stupid. Anyway, he vaulted into the pilot's seat of the SkyBike and sped off into the night, just as the rain was starting to come down.
Oh yeah. That was awful convenient. But we'll have to wrap this up later.
RE: The King and his merry men - Gilgamesh - 04-23-2018
The small creature burst into the door, ignoring all of the guards that had attempted to stop her on the way to the throne room. Her short stubby legs waddled up to the feet of the stairs and she crossed her arms before greeting the King. The contrast between her assertive nature and her minuscule demeanor brought a smile to the King’s face. Yet, there was something familiar about this foreign being. Although the creature’s origin remained unknown like many of the beings of the Omniverse, Gilgamesh could easily sniff out a Magus a mile away.
“What do you desire little Magus? Who are you to storm my palace?” Gilgamesh raised a brow as he spoke.
The tarutaru tapped her feet clearly upset but his somewhat demeaning remark, “Ohohohoho oh forgive me for being so bold, but it would seem I am here to see you, the one in gold." Shantotto took a quick look around to see the disparaged throne room before speaking again, this time with a little more sass in her voice, “It would seem this place is ruled by a mongrel.. a dog, the people outside live worse than a hog.” A playful twinkle sparkled in her eye, complimented with a satisfied smug on her face.
Gilgamesh frowned, why must primes think they are worthy enough to speak to him in such a manner? The Magus was quickly testing his patience and his urge to slaughter her grew by the minute. Before more banter could be exchanged, a loud knock reverberated through the throne room. One of Gilgamesh’s guards peeked his head in through the door. He took note that the King was currently speaking with a prime and decided to stay silent. His head, however, remained unwelcome in the King’s field of vision.
“Yes? You may speak up.” Gil’s voice was clearly agitated. The guard stuttered as he spoke, causing Victor to roll his eyes and groan. Victor turned to the King and whispered to him, “Are all your guards such bumbling messes?”
“M-my liege. There are two other primes to see you sire. Shall I tell them to wait?” The guard looked up at Gilgamesh like a lost puppy. Gilgamesh rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting out an irritated sigh. He is going to murder a mongrel if people don’t begin behaving as properly in your station. Gilgamesh rose his head and made eye contact with the guard, “Go ahead and let them in,” he spoke in a defeated tone.
The guard’s head quickly retracted, shutting the door for a brief second before swinging upon again. Three figures walked into the throne room, one of them was a very familiar traitor who had abandoned his post as a prime, while the other was fully covered in what seemed to be combat armor along with a gruff man. The group noticed the small Tarutaru and walked up to be by her side.
“You all should recognize me as King Gilgamesh!” Gilgamesh outstretched his hands in a grandeur fashion, trying to preserve some of his pride. Letting his booming voice resonate a bit, he brought down his hands to the cold touch of his throne. Still peeved by the small magus’ comments, he pointed to the man who seemed to be the leader of the metallic soldier. “You there. What is your name and purpose here?” The gruff man confidently took a step forward, before giving Gilgamesh a respectful nod. This earned a smile on Gilgamesh’s face, the man was off to a good start at least.
“The names Raynor, Jim Raynor. I’m a deputy over there in the Town with No Name and I’m just checking out the place. I just want to make sure you folk are friendly.” The man shifted his weight onto one leg and his eyes scanned Gilgamesh. The combat suit behind him shifted mechanically, its joints creaking as it moved.
Gil gave Jim a polite smile before speaking with authority, “We will have no problems with The Town with No Name.’ He outstretched his hand, pointing to the assassin behind him, “ If you wish to discuss anything further, you will speak to Victor. As you can see, I have a lot to do just restoring my Kingdom.” The King’s shooed Raynor, his attention already shifted to one of the other primes. Victor, sitting beside the throne, jumped onto his feet, twisting his torso, letting out a few cracks from his vertebrae. Quickly turning to the King, Victor flourished him arm, before bowing to Gilgamesh.
“As you wish my King,” Victor spoke before he began to walk down the steps and exit the throne room, beckoning Jim and the adjutant to follow him. Waiting for the door the creak shut, he turned his attention to the traitor. He squinted his eyes and leaned forward, letting his sour mood permeate through the air.
“It has been a long time, Serraph,” he said curtly. “What makes you think that you can show your face around here again.” The espada slightly squirmed under Gil’s stare before gathering his courage and speaking up. Taking a deep breath and puffing out his chest, Serraph began to speak.
‘I am not the same filthy hollow that had betrayed his former master,” Serraph’s demeanor became much more confident, maintaining eye contact with the hostile King. One of the Espada’s arms reached from behind his back, before swiftly retrieving something. The gorey head of the former Serraph was presented, the head looking hollow and sunken with dried blood decorating it. Intrigued, Gilgamesh’s frown turned into a satisfied smirk and he raised an eyebrow.
Holding the outstretched head as if it were a prize, Serraph gained more confidence as he continued to speak. “I have slain the traitor and brought his captives back to the protection of this city.”
“Why?” Gilgamesh probed the prime. Serraph was startled for a bit, he thought his reasons were obvious at this point. He paused to collect his thoughts before carefully speaking.
“This thing had betrayed both it’s master, both new and old and is unworthy of the name Serraph.” His voice seemed disgusted by his former self’s actions. “So I relieved him of it and have taken his vows from him. I now only wish to serve to serve the Legendary King Gilgamesh in his stead.”
These words were music to the Golden King’s ears, his already large ego was glad to be fed. His demeanor towards Serraph turned from that of disgust to a bit of admiration. “Very well, consider your sword added to my ranks. You have good intuition of what my city needs. Your only mission is to help it as you see fit. Do not disappoint me.”
A smile grew on the Espada’s face before he wholeheartedly bowed before Gilgamesh. “I am grateful for the opportunity my Liege. I will do my best to please you.” Serraph rose up before excitedly exiting the room.
“Now that just leaves me and you little mage. What do you want?” Gilgamesh finally turned his attention to Shantotto, his mood lifted from the previous subservient prime.
“My name is Doctor Belle Shantotto, mage of the first class, I admit it is interesting, the people youve been able to amass. Though let it be known I am concerned for your people, it is my duty to protect those that are feeble.” The small mage frowned as she teetered in front of the King. “The more time which is wasted, the more life dwindles, that which is sacred.”
Gilgamesh nodded and spoke matter of factly, “I will not turn down aid to my city, especially that from a prime.” He looked to his left, a cracked window with an overview of the city. “The young prime who had just left, if you could assist him in aiding the city, I would be in your debt.”
Shantotto laughed before speaking, “Helping another would be quite the breeze, I will do anything to rid this city’s disease” Gilgamesh smiled at her response, while the mage may take too much pride in herself, he will admire her tenacity.
“As the King of Nippur, I show gratitude to you Shantotto.” He nodded his head at Shantotto, giving her an earnest smile. She responded by giving a nod back to the King before wobbling her little legs out of the throne room, leaving Gilgamesh to his own devices.
RE: The King and his merry men - James Knight - 04-23-2018
After what amounted to an uneventful - and uninteresting trek, Warren Zimmer had made his way to the city of Nippur. His minions had been dispatched to look around the Endless Dunes and make a map of the place so that he could browse it at his leisure down the line. For now he had more important matters to deal with than dealing with people that he didn't want to be around. What he was going to deal with now was of the utmost importance, something that he honestly knew that he was going to need. He'd been exiled, persecuted, left alone with no defense. When he thought about what Yandere did, it made him more than a little tense. Entering the throne room once he managed to make his way, Warren politely bowed before the king of Nippur, which was the capital of New Babylon.
"Hello your Majesty," was politely stated by Warren Zimmer. "My name is Warren Zimmer, and I've come to request a favor from you. Well more of permission, to be exact. Permission to build a settlement near Nippur, but far enough away that it will not encroach on your domain. I would be willing to warn you if any threats come your way, in return for a favor, should an unwanted individual show up, and attempt to evict me from the new home that I shall be creating," stated Warren Zimmer.
Being polite was not an easy task for the Quarterback of Chaos. With as much as he had go wrong for him in the past few days, he was ready to deal with someone in a more brutal manner than what one might be used to. Of course, Warren's month had not been good. First there was the matter of getting impaled through the chest by a weeb. The event alone had nearly shattered all of his self confidence. Afterwards, he had been essentially depressed. In a way he still was depressed, but he was working through it. In order to be the level of villain he wanted to be he could not afford to give into the negative emotions that surged through his body.
RE: The King and his merry men - Gilgamesh - 04-24-2018
Gilgamesh frowned as the second prime burst into his throne room unannounced. Was this to be a reoccuring theme for the rest of the night. The pale moonlight served as a sort of spotlight for the King, making him especially bright in the torchlit room. Gilgamesh shot him a dirty look before speaking. His lips curled in disgust and he leaned back in his chair, closed off from what Warren was saying.
“Now why would I do that? Any threat to my Kingdom will be swiftly dealt with on its own. Although I suppose the ease of you reaching me would demonstrate otherwise,” Gilgamesh’s voice was filled with contempt and bitterness. Soon he will possess enough forces to prevent just anyone from barging in and seeing him.
Warren’s face faltered a bit, his polite demeanor slightly shifting to that of a desperate animal. “Do you know what it is like to be impaled? It is the most painful thing I can imagine.” Warren cast his eyes to the side, biting his lip as he spoke. It seemed the man had some shame instilling in him. “You have to let me settle near you and you have to arm me!” Warren spoke with sense of urgency as he spoke, as if he was running out of time.
Gilgamesh felt a burning sensation of his breast, his mark of Diablo glowing underneath his armor. It was all too fresh, sending the Golden King into a rampage. He slammed his fist upon the arm of his throne, “ I have to rule this Kingdom. I have to rebuild this city. I do not have time for your demands.” His blood-red eyes beat down upon Warren’s toned figure, with a day’s worth of ire backing them. Pulling the cord on the conversation, Gilgamesh abruptly stood up, “ We are done here.” Gilgamesh began to descend the stairs, each of the torches extinguished with every step down.
Warren stood there speechless, in disbelief that Gilgamesh had such a short temper. Gil brushed past the Quarterback and shoved open the large, ornate doors of the throne room. The rusted hinges groaned slowly underneath the pressure before giving in entirely.
“Wait. You can’t do this?!” Warren screamed after the King, unhappy with how the meeting had ended.
“ENOUGH!” A golden portal opened behind Gilgamesh, letting the tip of a sword peek out. Giving Warren no time for any reaction, the blade shot out. Within seconds the foreign, purple blade was embedded into the quarterback’s thigh, pulsating with warm purple flames. Warren clutched his leg as he fell to his knees, glaring at the arrogant King. Gilgamesh paused at the door, his back turned to Warren.
“You may take that sword. I do not want your blood to taint my collection. You also may build your quarters wherever you please, as long as it is not within my city walls.” His voice quivered with rage, taking deep breaths in between words to soothe himself. “And in the meantime, enjoy your stay in my glorious city.” His voice was thick in sarcasm before he shut the door on Warren, leaving the prime in darkness.
As the doors shut behind him, Gilgamesh turned immediately to walk up the stairs and immediately sought for his bedroom. He took notice of a few women who had been sweeping the floors, their children running around the hall, giggling as they were playing. They had large piles of shards of glass and debris in front of them, sweat dripping down their faces. One of the mom’s wiped her brow, taking pause to look up, before being startled upon seeing the Golden King. The woman immediately fell to her knees and hushed her child’s name to come next to her.
The other mom followed suit, however her child did not respond to her calls. Her kid was a small boy, probably no older than four or five. He was preoccupied with riding his pretend horse, nothing more than a stick, around the hall. The child, unlike his mother, was not faltered when he saw Gilgamesh, riding up to the King. His mother grew more frantic and called his name “Jeremy” more urgently, yet the boy responded by tugging on Gilgamesh’s golden armor. Gilgamesh got onto his knees, now eye level with the boy. The child gave Gilgamesh a great big smile and whacked his tiny fist onto Gilgamesh’s nose before giggling and running away. His mother let out a gasp and grabbed the child.
Gilgamesh stood up, smiling kindly at the mother before him. Slowly walking up to her, she spoke quickly, “I am so sorry my King Gilgamesh, my son is young and he knows not of your glory and-” Gilgamesh cut her off before she could continue.
“It is good to see loyal subjects as yourselves being well fed and entertained.” Gilgamesh outstretched his hand, letting the rainbow colored Omnilium flow into his hand, eventually taking shape into that of a platter of sandwiches. “Take this. You should rest. It is getting late.” Gilgamesh gave her a departing smile before heading off into his chambers, which was significantly cleaner than before. The tattered bed was now made and there proved to be no gore nor glass. Gilgamesh let his golden armor fall off of him before collapsing onto the bed and letting his consciousness fade.
RE: The King and his merry men - Victor Wolfe - 04-24-2018
Happy to have something to do and wanting to get out of the firing line of the Kings building annoyance the assassin lead the stranger in the mechanical armour through the halls of the castle, work to repair its former glory already showing results as many of the cabinets had been repaired, and much of the blood and bile cleaned from the walls immediately around the throne room. As they walked through the signs of the chaos that had overrun their capital could still be seen, the chippings from broken wood, still littering the floor, and stains that had not been completely scrubbed. Passing the dining hall he had explored earlier he turned and scanned the room past its open door, the room now filled with the unmistakable stench of decay, lines of bodies with sheets over them, some people from the town below with tears in their eyes as they attempted to identify their relatives and friends, Victor didn't count all the dead but there was more than he had hoped.
Passing the temporary morgue they reached a smaller room, Victor had noticed it earlier as one of the few rooms to still have a table and some chairs, a window looking out to the desert night, and a nice breeze making it one of the cooler rooms in the palace, the assassin would need to request that this would be the official meeting place for diplomatic talks.
Taking a seat on one of the chairs Victor focused for a few seconds, summoning up a large sheet of parchment, an ink quill and inkpot and finally a small round tube containing a seal in the shape of a Lion's head, a dagger crossing over it from the hilt at the mouth and blade extending into the mane.
"Sorry about all this, we where not exactly prepared to receive guests yet, I am however very pleased that you decided to pay us a visit, it saves us here at Nippur a lot of time heading over to do that same, and takes some threat of attack off our minds" The Lord proceeded to write up a very basic outline of a treaty before putting the quill down as he leaned back and examined the man in front of him. He seemed to be more of a soldier than a diplomat, but he had come into possibly hostile territory just to try and get some guarantees of peace for the people he was sworn to protect, it was something Victor could respect, and a peaceful co-existence with one of their neighbours in this Desert would be a great first step in securing their city from more attacks and raids.
Overall Victor was in a very pleasant mood and willing to do business with the deputy, although he didn't know how much a deputy of the town with no name could actually promise, it was worth a try at least, and a few ideas on what sort of things could go into this treaty flooded the mind of the assassin.
"So Mr Reynor, as you heard from his Majesty King Gilgamesh, the town with no name shall have no trouble from us, we are not exactly in a position to attack anyone, however with our recovery looking like it will be quicker than one might expect I am willing to put it in official writing that the Kingdom of Nippur will not attack the town with no name unless attacked first. I am sure there are things that the town with no name would like as benefits from this alliance, and so long as they are reasonable I am willing to put them into this" he signalled to the parchment on the desk between them.
"I do have a proposal that may interest your town as the first matter of business, you see Nippur at the height of its power was a little too... soft on its guards, so when things actually got real serious blunders where made, and as we are both men who have seen combat I think we can both agree that real experience is the most invaluable thing for a guard or soldier. So I propose this, the head of the Nippurian guards could build a base in or very close to the town with no name, our guards could help out with the policing of the town with no name and gain invaluable experience in a rougher place. Of course I realise that you may not be the person who can give us permission for such a project but I do want to hear your opinions on the idea, for in my opinion, it would make for a very strong and beneficial alliance in this otherwise cutthroat world" The assassin smiled as he awaited a response from the space marine.
RE: The King and his merry men - Jim Raynor - 04-24-2018
Jim listened to the words of King Gilgamesh's diplomat, introduced as Victor. He spoke calmly and pleasantly in a measured tone that Jim was used to hearing from seasoned officers of state. Having met Gilgamesh and seen the ruins of his town, he knew this place had not been peaceful in the past, nor was it likely to stay that way. Not that it mattered; the Town With No Name had its fair share of chaos, only attracting it because of their remote location. Still, it concerned the terran commander how many bodies had been piled up in their makeshift mortuary. What had actually transpired here?
Raynor pulled out a chair and slouched onto it. The chilly evening breeze wafted through the windows, raising goosebumps on his exposed forearms. The adjutant stood motionless behind him in the customised marine armour, a giant black golem ready for the next set of orders.
"I appreciate the kind tone, Victor," Jim said. "As you guessed, I'm the deputy sheriff, but I got enough clout to know what's good for the town and what ain't. 'Course, I'll have to get the final say-so from the sheriff, but we can draw up a draft to present to him."
Victor nodded. "Good. So, what do you say to my proposal?"
Jim reached over his shoulder and scratched at the back of his neck. "Ain't one to turn down guard support. Would do me and mine a world of good to have more boots on the ground. The raider's ain't gettin' less, I can tell ya that much. Town ain't all that big so the barracks'd have to go outside, but don't have to be too far out."
"Oh, and I know you ain't in this position right now, but I can see Nippur wasn't exactly some tiny hole. When you're back to full strength, my people would really appreciate it if we could arrange some sorta supply route. Town don't get much in the way of the essentials. Draggin' in food and water is enough to bring out the raiders and the vultures. If you can spare it, my people'd be mighty thankful. 'Course, that's not till you take care of your own first, and you have leftovers you're willin' to spare."
Jim saw Victor opening his mouth to speak, but he cut him off as an errant but important thought rose to the forefront of his mind. "And with your guards? Obviously ultimately under your command, but when they're watchin' the town, they need to listen to my orders, or the sheriff's. Can't have divided leadership when the bandits are knockin' on the front doors. If we can agree on all that, plus our non-aggression pact, I think we might have a deal."
RE: The King and his merry men - Victor Wolfe - 04-25-2018
the diplomat grinned, joy that the meeting had gone even smoother than expected, the guard barracks would allow quicker and better training for their troops, and would also allow them to help protect any trade routes that headed in the general direction, helping to protect the citizens of the town as well as providing them aid once Nippurs economy was up and running would also help to repair their tarnished public image, no longer would they be the banish happy despots, but a noble and benign kingdom.
"well, of course, we shall have our commander of the guard there but in combat situations, I shall inform him that deputies and the sheriff are higher on the chain of command, after all, you people know the lay of the land better, and the tactics to use. We would just ask that you treat the guards we station there on the same level as your own men, rumours of Nippurian guards being used as cannon fodder to fight off bandits would not lead to a long-term agreement working for either of us" Victor said confidently, a slight edge of warning to his voice, quickly fading as he returned to his happy go lucky self. Picking up the quill he began to write out the official treaty in more detail, adding that the Town with no name would all Nippurian guards to be trained and stationed near their premise. Moving on to the next section he wrote that once the Nippurian economy was back on its feet they would take responsibility to supply the town with the essentials that they may miss in the day to day life.
"As for how the supply route will be managed as one of our larger civic projects I would like for us to eventually extend the train line out of the town with no name, it would provide easy movement and transportation of goods, but that will have to wait until we have some more primes free to take part in building such a large infrastructure project" as Victor made small talk and outlined some possible plans for the future he finished drawing up New Babylons first official treaty, focusing Omnilium again he made an identical copy next to the first.
"One for us to keep and one for you to take if you need the sheriffs signature then have him sign the one that you have and send a copy back, for now, your signature will do, as from this brief conversation you seem like a man who honours his agreements" The Lord said as with a flick of his wrist he signed both documents, placing a dollop of hot wax onto each of the contracts, and pressing his new seal into them, leaving the mark of the diplomatic branch of Nippur on both. Offering the quill to the deputy Victor smiled.
"Our deal is just a signature away, once its all official I would like to have a picture taken shaking your hand and holding up one of the treaties, post it on the dataverse, let it be known to the whole Omniverse that Nippur and the town with no name are helping each other make the dunes a better place if that is OK with you?"
RE: The King and his merry men - Drake Oneir - 04-25-2018
And it was in that smug moment that the doors to the negotiation room flew open with an immense bang. Victor and Jimmy boy were immediately on their feet, weapons drawn, but relaxed in dim bewilderment as they saw the soggy, half-naked amputee standing in the doorway.
"Oh shit." Drake said, blinking slowly. He waved to Victor and the immense biker dude at the far side of the negotiation.
"Sorry Vickie, didn't know you were in a meeting. Uh, here. Can you give this to His Majesty when he wakes up? It's information and stuff." Drake said, yawning loudly as he walked over to the table and put down a small stack of damp papers. The smuggler was dressed only in a small pair of khaki shorts, which appeared to be too small for him.
"I found a little bandit-cult-enclave thing over by the water treatment plant. I killed them all, but the place got...demolished in the process. I'll fix it tomorrow." Drake said, plucking a small cigarette out of his satchel. He plugged it into his lips and blinked.
"Need a light?" Jim asked, pulling an oversized lighter that had been tucked into his belt. Drake nodded graciously and quickly stepped over to accept the offered flame. He rolled another cig across the table towards the cowboy before taking a very long drag.
"Oh, congrats on your lordship, Your Lordship." Drake said, giving Victor a single, hardy slap on the back as he abruptly exited the room. The nearly bare smuggler sat down on one of the dusty fainting couches that lined the edges of the throne room. He was about to start summoning a new outfit when he heard a small grunt. Looking to his left, Drake noticed the hunched form of an oddly dressed man who appeared to have a sword sticking out of his leg. Drake paused.
"Oh shit. You're Warren Zimmer." Drake said, a grin splitting his face from ear to ear.
RE: The King and his merry men - Drake Oneir - 04-25-2018
The shadowed figure at the far end of the hall stood up abruptly. What Drake initially had thought was sword turned out to be a Swiffer® WetJet, and the person was actually some rando who was just cleaning the marble floors.
"What? Ma name's Pete." the dude asked, wiping a small rag over his face.
Drake stared at the man for a moment.
"Nevermin, I'm just trippin'." he murmured, before standing up from his seat. He went over to the main doorway of the throne room, and stood in front of its mahogany and gold glory. He could feel the eyes the eyes of Pete the Janitor burning into his back. Drake pulled at the door. It didn't budge. He pulled harder, and it jostled within its frame.
...
Drake pushed, and the door swung open with an extremely loud groaning sound. The smuggler swiftly exited the throne room. That wasn't awkward. What's awkward? You're awkward, that's what. Fuck off.
RE: The King and his merry men - The Emperor of Mankind - 04-26-2018
The Emperor was snapped out of his daze by the bandit falling off his empty arm rest onto the soft sand of the desert, waking up and screaming a battle cry before being knocked out again by a bucket. Unfortunately this kicked up the sand and it flew into ribcage.
“Ew, I hate sand. It’s rough and it’s coarse and it gets everywhere.
…
I can already tell this is going to end badly.”
He slowly made his way towards the palace, ignoring families with children hiding behind their mothers at the sight of him. It was… strange to not have people praising your very name as soon as you arrived but The Emperor learn to deal with it. He slowly made his way up the stairs, his throne leaning backwards as it tried to gain purchase on each thin piece of marble and failed. He found his way up to the stairs where two guards were stopping him from entering.
“It’s best you don’t come in here, King Gilgamesh is sleeping and the last time someone interrupted him… well let’s just say it’s not a story the gravestones would tell you.”
“Ironic, he could save others from bad jokes but not himself.”
“What?”
“What? Anyway, should I just wait outside while I wait for Gilgamesh to wake up?”
“First of all it’s King Gilgamesh and secondly, yeah why not. I’ll, uh, tell him that you’re outside when he wakes up.”
The Emperor slowly made his way to a corner, moving down onto the hard floor below and staying completely still, watching and waiting until Gilgamesh woke up.
RE: The King and his merry men - Shay Cormac - 04-26-2018
Both the holy warrior and the former knew that if there met any opposition to their plans, it would surface on the outskirts of the city. It made the most sense; either all of the grave robbers and thugs were planted firmly in the grounds of the palace, or on the borders to continue looting and hide off from any competition roaming in the shadows.
"So," a distinctly Scottish voice mumbled, masked by the easily-felt winds of the elevated rooftop in which both Alexander and Shay stayed, "this scum bucket is what yer worried about? I can't complain; I don't know this city as well as ye do, but still!"
Shay's helmet was placed firmly upon his head at this moment, and he did not flinch at the question. It was understandable; why not go to the palace instead of what looked to be a half-stable tavern; bright torch lights gleaming from the poorly maintained windows, faint sounds of the medieval equivalent of clubbing, the occasional gasp or scream of terror among shards of broken glass flying across the room. The Templar didn't know for sure, but he had enough evidence to suspect this would be where a large chunk of this bandit problem had it's source, or was at least encouraged.
"Aye," the Irishman replied, "I only saw this place in a few passing glances while it wasn't infested by petty thieves, but based on my previous bouts of drinking, I can safely tell you that there is no better place to wring the necks of crooks for confiscated information."
"Fair point! Can't just waltz in through th' door though. Unless we had to..."
"No need," Shay interjected, not wanting to deal with Alexander's rather sinister implications much longer. A bead of sweat formed in his brow at the thought; hopefully the Templar could avoid the honestly inevitable massacre that was to happen below, but... He knew it was unlikely. The privateer continued with some semblance of a plan, as almost redundant as it was.
"I'll go in, you hold out on me unless I get tossed out the wooden door or their lackeys hop in after me to stab my lungs out. Deal?"
"Usually I'd offer to go in first, but I think I can handle the tension, Cormac! Don't keep a lad waitin' though, ya hear?"
"Deal it is, then."
Soon after the dialogue between the two men was exchanged, the Templar stood himself upright. The familiar feeling of his muscles tensing as the wind pushed at his back on the edge of a building became present; being in the middle of a city within a mostly barren desert didn't change that at all. Good for him though, for Shay was well used to it.
Breathing in, Shay could quite literally feel his armor bogging him downwards as he descended the building in which he previously stood. To his pleasant surprise, the cuirasser plate armor still granted him enough mobility to grasp his hands around a windowsill previously below him with relative ease. It didn't take the Templar very long at all to land himself upon the dusty floors of Nippur. A muffled thud could be heard as he fell, looking forward as the privateer pushed himself upright from the ground.
Looking back whence he came, Shay could vaguely see Alexander giving him a nod from the little perch he created on the edge of the admittedly rubbish structure. The armored man couldn't help but nod back. Gazing upon the tavern in front of him, the man sighed as he noted there wasn't a single opportunity from around the building to perhaps approach this problem a tad more discreetly. Not a single window or door on anything beyond the front of the building, nor was there any way to enter at a vertical angle. Then again, Shay thought, there might not be much need to.
Breathing out, Shay Cormac took confident strides forward, noticing the noise his steel armor made as he walked. Yeah, being subtle was definitely going to be a bad idea.
Walking towards the tavern in front of him, the Templar had heard the distant yet distinct stamping of feet on the road he walked. Tensing up nearly immediately, the man looked to his right, squinting as he analyzed the dusty pathway before him. Quickly, Shay spotted a figure seeming to speed towards the man at a relatively moderate pace. Breathing in once more, Shay froze himself, clenching his fists as he prepared for whatever it is that was coming for him. Waiting.
As the figure approached, it made itself more clear. A male, much smaller than the armored privateer, ran up to the man, in a very obvious haste considering how breathless and ridden with sweat he was. Shay still didn't move an inch, looking at the man almost expecting to either get shot or stabbed if he had moved a muscle. Either way, Shay's worries were generally unfounded, as upon closer inspection of the man, he was more akin to a young adult; pampered and about as scrawny as a homeless drunkard. Still, he wore some manner of armor, vaguely Mesopotamian in it's aesthetic, yet holding no weapon.
The 'boy' spoke almost immediately as he came close to the man.
"Ah... Are you... Shay Patrick Cormac?" he exhaled, wheezing as he did so.
Shay loosened up now, replying hesitantly. "Yes."
"Great! I've got... a message," the bearer of news finished, "from the king."
Shay's heart stopped momentarily. There was absolutely no mistaking what this boy could have meant, but alas, Shay had to inquire further.
After all, what could have possibly happened to the man after such an absence?
"King? Gilgamesh?!" The privateer almost shouted, taking a half-step forward as he did so. Eyes widened, the man listened.
"Mhm!" The smaller one replied, finishing on a less enthusiastic note, "he's residing at the palace as we speak."
Shay shook his head. The palace? He pondered, weren't we just there a second ago?
On the thought of 'we,' the Templar looked upwards at where Alexander previously was, about to bark towards the priest that the tavern they were about to clear was worth waiting on for a matter like this.
Yet, as Shay looked up for a brief moment, he could already sense the man wasn't there.
A moment of silence fell upon the two New Babylonian soldiers. Shay tensed up again, wondering where and why that man had decided to ditch him, but came to no conclusion; the overbearing realization that Gilgamesh was apparently back was too much on his brain. The Templar broke out of his tiny trance, shaking his head again.
"We need to go, then. Take me to him, please," Shay requested with a sense of urgency, already breaking into a jog and grasping at the boy's arm, a bit aggressively so.
"A-ah, very well!" The rather tiny guard choked up, rolling his head in increasing disappointment knowing he had to break into a full sprint again just to get back to the palace.
Usually, the Templar would find himself leaping across building tops to shortcut towards his destination, but he wasn't willing to drag this kid along that ride just yet. After all, it was a pain and a half getting Agnès to get past her fear of heights...
As he ran, Shay's heart seemed to drop down to his gut as he thought of such a thing. Another thought crossed his mind, the rest of the world seeming to fade away from him.
If Gilgamesh is back, maybe she's...
...
"M-Mister Cormac! Please hold, I beg..."
The armored privateer snapped back into reality at that point, realizing he was at least eight or so entire meters in front of the man he previously requested to escort him.
"Ah, apologies!" Shay shouted, forcing a smile as he slowed.
The Templar didn't much mind either, considering they were finally at the fortification that supposedly held the king of New Babylon. A sense of purpose filled the man as he saw guardsmen around the area, though it was a rather small pleasure for him in comparison to the idea that he'd finally get some form of help at such a time.
"Here... sir..." The small messenger attempted to enunciate, Shay already starting to jog into the palace grounds with no hesitation. Well, actually one; the Templar had to give the courtesy to thank him.
"I'll take it from here, much obliged sir!"
So he did; the man met no resistance as he entered the grounds of Gilgamesh. The guards had known, and his coming was welcome. The Templar enforcer had noted the freshening of the air upon entering the building itself. Perhaps it was just a rejuvenating feeling going over him; in reality, it hadn't been more than what seemed to be a few months, but by the looks of things, he was absent for much, much longer.
Shay Cormac groaned as he searched for the throne room, straining his head past his emotional response to the situation he walked himself into. Picking up his pace, Shay was at least satisfied by the clacking of his boots as he strode across the halls.
The man heard many voices as he walked past each and every door, guardsmen of New Babylon passing by as he did so. None of them phased him, except one in particular. It was definitely a familiar voice, and perhaps soothing if he didn't immediately recognize who it was.
Shay turned his head, looking into one of the rooms as he saw Victor Wolfe conversing with two Primes, or so Shay assumed. The Templar didn't bother to look at the others; he could greet them in a moment.
"Victor!" Shay shouted, grasping at the diplomat's attention nearly immediately.
RE: The King and his merry men - Ahana Varma - 04-27-2018
Walking through the streets, it’s easy to see that the king is going to have his work cut out for him getting this place back into working order. Many of the citizens here—what few of them there are who’ll even dare to leave their homes with a stranger in their midst, that is—are clearly malnourished, if not outright starving-to-death, and I can spot plenty with the same haunted look in their eyes as the female gate guard… though these people make no effort to conceal their misery.
They lost everything when their king was banished, and though he may now have returned, that will by no means undo all that they have endured. There will no doubt be those amongst them who blame him for their circumstances… whether rightly or wrongly, I can’t really say, but even if this Gilgamesh turns out to be just as gentle and peace-loving as one of the rajas who ruled my people in my own world, there can always be arguments made to lay the fault of any disaster at the feet of a monarch, no matter how well-intentioned their actions may be.
Still, despite that, as we head further into Nippur I begin to get the feeling that the people we pass are growing more optimistic. The closer we get to the palace, the more numerous and more enthusiastic the citizens become. That’s not to say that they’re necessarily any fitter or more well-off than those on the outskirts, but these ones seem more willing to try and be positive… I imagine that these must be those who have managed to retain their faith in the god-king, despite his absence. At first there are just small smiles and hushed conversations, but as we keep walking—my guide not bothering to remove his hand from my waist—they just seem to get cheerier.
And then I begin to notice something else which links many of them. A whole lot of the citizens are, for some reason, carrying odd-looking boxes that I don’t recognise at all. Figuring that this handsy soldier might as well tell me something useful, I gesture towards a few of those with them, “What are those things?”
“Uh...”
He looks like he’s about to say ‘people’, or some other dumb thing, so I figure I had best elaborate, “The black, box-shaped objects that everyone around here seems to have?”
I’m not exaggerating. We’ve turned a corner into another street—one which I could almost describe as bustling with activity; it’s certainly a far cry from the mostly vacant hovels of the outer edges of the city… even if the people and the architecture are still in no better condition, everyone is certainly more cheerful… and present in much larger numbers.
“Oh, those. Diplomatic Bureau toys. I left mine back by the gate, actually… hmm… no one better steal it while I’m gone.” the man trails off, lost in thought and utterly ignorant of the fact that his answer was completely uninformative.
“Okay, and these ‘toys’ do what, exactly?” I press, trying to get something useful out of him. I don’t know if it’ll help at all, but I lean into his side some more, smile, and stare up at him imploringly. He grins back and holds me tighter.
Soooo tempted to stab him right now.
He replies, though, so I guess all is going as planned, “They’re called radios. They… uh… transmit sound, somehow. They gotta be magic, I guess. Anyway, the king’s gonna use them to make his announcements and stuff. It’s real important that every family has at least one, so that everyone can hear his words... so according to the guy who gave me mine, seems the Bureau were handing out food tickets to anyone willing to give out their radios for them.”
“Huh. Well, I guess that makes sense.” ‘food tickets’ don’t exactly sound like the sort of currency I’d expect from a first world nation… but the king has only just returned from the depths of hell… it’ll probably take them a little while to get everything up and running, so I guess I shouldn’t set my expectations too high for the time being.
We walk a little further in silence, before coming across a pair of youths who seem to be intent on dashing to pieces some sort of stone idol lying at the end of a narrow, dead end street. I expect my guide to do something about it, since his job is presumably to keep the peace, what with being a guard and all... so I’m surprised when he just smirks and watches as they smash the little shrine, bit by bit, with rocks they're holding; broken masonry from the crumbling sandstone houses, by the looks of it.
My soldier shows no inclination of wanting to leave before they’re finished… it’s almost as if he intends to watch over them, in case anyone else should come along to disrupt their vandalism, so that he’ll be here to step in in support of them, should the need arise. I take a closer look at the little structure they’re demolishing and notice that some lines carved into its face, which I had originally taken to be just a random, arcane pattern or religious symbol actually looks a lot like the open-mouthed head of a snake. It’s still meaningless to me, of course, so I ask my guide about it, who then informs me that the shrine is one of many such idols that have sprung up around the city, belonging to a group which he calls ‘Tiamat Cultists’. Apparently, they worship a snake deity. I then make the mistake of asking what’s so wrong with that.
I realise my error the moment the words leave my mouth; his expression of revulsion makes it perfectly clear. His muscles tense up and for a moment I’m sure he’s going to shove me away. He doesn’t do so, though, even if his visage does remain sour. It could be because he realises that his king places a high value on recruiting Primes to his cause—as evinced by his desire to meet with all of them in Nippur—or perhaps he’s being generous because I’m new to the city… or, maybe the most likely reason given his ‘hands-on’ attitude to guiding me to the palace, he’s just a pervert and has rightly surmised that I’ll be less likely to sleep with him if he throws me to the ground.
He turns away from me and spits on the dusty road, his empty hand clenching so tightly into a fist that his knuckles turn white despite the tanned olive hue of his skin. The fingers of his other hand, the one on my waist, tighten as well, causing small, golden flames to flicker across my skin where they touch me… were it not for my Protections, the brute might actually be causing a bruise to form there.
“The god-king clawed his way out of the Underverse itself for our sakes… he did something that not even Diablo, one of the oldest and toughest Primes there are, ever managed, for this city. We can’t even imagine what he must've gone through down there. Worshipping some heretic god like that is… is… blasphemy. Worse, even. It’s just wrong. It's sick… an insult to the king.” he speaks through jaws clenched as tightly as his fist. He was content at first to simply take pride in his countrymen’s desire to desecrate a ‘heretical’ shrine, but now that I’ve set him off, he looks ready to join in with their fun.
I need to make up for my blunder, though, since I don’t know how much the god-king takes counsel from his people; if he asks this man for any observations on my character and the soldier should happen to remark on the fact that I see nothing wrong with freedom of religion, he may take that as a personal slight. I cast my eyes downward, doing my best to appear sad and repentant, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. You’re right, of course, I should have thought before I opened my mouth.”
He relaxes, for the most part, even if he does seem a little tense still, and he smiles down at me, apparently pleased by the act, “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.”
“Thank you.” I lean my head against his armoured chest, my eyes closed, feeling that the impression of contrition I’m trying to convey could use some reinforcing.
For a few moments he says nothing and we remain like this, then he speaks up, “Well, they’re done now, we’d best head on. The king will want to see you, Prime.”
“Ahana.” I say, figuring this should make for as good a time as any to introduce myself, “my name is Ahana.”
I look up, finding him smirking down at me, “Namtar.”
I smile back, and we head off. By this point, the sun has already fallen quite a way through the sky, as the afternoon—most of which I managed to nap through as my cart drove across the Dunes—gives way to evening. Before we reach the palace, though, there is still one more landmark worthy of comment which we pass.
A large building with a big, golden cross on the front wall, just above its doors. According to my guide, Gilgamesh himself summoned this place—this hospital—to tend to the sick and injured of his city, just shortly after returning from his tour of hell. It’s impressive, I must admit. I can hardly imagine how much Omnilium Gilgamesh must have gathered in his time in the Omniverse to have so easily manifested such a building, when I was barely even able to create so much as a tent. Looking up at it is certainly humbling, to say the least.
This part of Nippur is easily the busiest we’ve passed through so far, with all the very sick and severely injured being rushed into the building for treatment, whilst those with less serious ailments crowd around the entrance, waiting for admittance. Though the medics of the city—most notably the humanitarian group known as the Golden Cross, who did their best to care for Nippur’s people in its sovereign’s absence—will undoubtedly be pleased to have such fine facilities with which to treat their patients, not even such a grand building as this can treat everyone overnight.
Before long, we move on again—with my soldier, Namtar, finally releasing me from his clutches, presumably not wanting to risk being seen acting in such a casual manner by his king—and soon we arrive at the gates to the palace of Gilgamesh…
Only to be told that we’re too late.
“I’m sorry.” says the leftmost of the two muscular, dark-haired young men who stand stiffly before us, barring our way with their spears crossed in an ‘X’ shape in front of the doorway, “We mean no offence, Lady Prime, and know that the king requested the presence of any of your kind within city limits, however the hour grows late and he has had to retire for the night. It would not be proper for us to disturb him from his rest.”
“Of course, I understand.” I smile brightly at them as I speak, concealing the slight, irrational twinge of impatience which I feel at being made to wait, despite the perfectly reasonable explanation for it, “Even a divine man must sleep sometimes, after all. May I wait here so that I can meet with him early tomorrow?”
The pair look a little uncomfortable at this request, and this time it is the other guard who responds, “I’m sorry, but we can’t allow unauthorised visitors into the palace whilst our king is asleep… you could wait outside, of course, but the nights in the Dunes get very cold, so I wouldn't really advise it.”
I glance about, taking in the sight of the poorly maintained, barely functioning city, on the off chance that there might be an inn around here somewhere… nope. Doesn't look like it. I do spot something strange, though… sitting by one corner of the palace is an odd statue which I had missed on my approach, as a result of the darkness now overtaking the sky… it had seemed at the time just like another piece of the architecture, but now that I get a better look, I can tell that it isn't simply a mere block of carved stone, but rather an exquisitely forged throne of what looks like it must be pure gold—though, admittedly, with the low level of light it is hard to be certain, even for one such as I, so accustomed to the use of that metal in my own magic—upon which rests an actual human skeleton.
As it hasn't been torn down by loyalists, despite being erected so close to the palace, I can only imagine that it must be some grisly monument to the fall of the city-state’s king. It is hardly something I would have expected to see, but I've come across many unusual idols and icons of various religions in my life, so even one as grim and dark as this isn't about to phase me.
“Of course, I understand. I’ll try to find somewhere more suitable to stay for the night… but, say, if I may ask, what is that statue?” I could see it as having been constructed as a sort of elaborate grave marker after the god-king’s banishment, most likely by a Prime with an overabundance of Omnilium, but it would seem a little odd to me for Gilgamesh to leave it there after his return… I'm sure I wouldn't like a constant reminder of my biggest failure sitting right out outside my home, to remind not only myself but everyone who ever entered that I had been defeated before.
“Statue?” the guard on my right, following my gaze to the corner, as do the two other Nippurians. When he speaks next, his voice contains a strange undertone of amusement mixed with pride, “That's no statue… it's a Prime.”
Just then, before his words have had even a moment to sink in, a bright red light flashes from the thing’s right eye socket, as if it had just opened an eye to cast its baleful glare upon us. Embarrassingly, I gasp and take a step backwards before I can manage to compose myself and present a less craven response. I quickly straighten up and endeavour to conceal my shock, but of course by now the damage is done. This Prime—who will surely be meeting the god-king as well—and all three of these men, must surely have already noticed my fear… should any of them think to mention it to their monarch, that will hardly reflect well on me.
I can't say I've surprised myself by acting in such a manner, though. Even back home, before I lost my indestructibility at the hands of Omni, there were several magi I could not have hoped to defeat amongst the forces of Bhalaee—my homeland—and I am sure none of them could have been close to the level of power one would need to circumvent death. To become a lich, such as this Prime before me would seem to be, would require unfathomable strength… according to our legends, the last time such a being arose, it conquered the entire continent in a matter of months and then ruled for almost a millennium before a band of heroes were finally able to slay it, at the cost of almost all of their lives.
I can now completely understand the pride in the guard's tone; if even an entity such as this would come to pay its obeisance to the god-king, then Gilgamesh must truly be someone of awe-inspiring power.
“Don't worry.” Namtar places a comforting hand on my shoulder and gives a reassuring smile, “We’re all on the same side here, even if that thing does look a bit creepy, it won't hurt you. Now, come on.”
He moves his hand to my back and begins guiding me away. Given that he clearly thinks I'm spooked by the creature’s appearance, I suppose that whatever world he hails from must not have had liches… or perhaps he was simply never educated well enough to learn of them... even though I've never had the power to feel the auras of other magi, as some magic-users can, I am sure that if I could, I would be truly petrified by this thing's might.
As I am led off, I glance back one last time, to find that it has turned its head towards me, that cyclopean, crimson eye tracking my retreat as it observes me coolly from the lofty heights of its throne, in utter silence… though it lacks any sort of expression, I am nevertheless given the impression of one peering with mild distaste down upon a tiny bug, moments before grinding it beneath their heel. My mouth suddenly bone dry, I snap my head quickly back around, not wishing to do anything more to attract its ire… not even accidentally look at it in the wrong way. I fight down a shiver which has absolutely nothing to do with the rapidly falling desert temperatures.
It's only after we’ve put a few streets between us and the palace that it occurs to me that I don't actually know where we're headed. When I ask, Namtar gives me what he probably imagines to be a charming smile, but which is actually much closer to a perverse leer, and offers to let me stay the night at his place… it's hardly difficult to tell what he's after. I do consider trying to extricate myself from this situation—I hadn't really planned on interacting with him at all after my meeting with the king, unless absolutely necessary, so I certainly hadn't seriously considered this possibility—but I ultimately opt not to. Frankly, I could do with something to take my mind off that ancient, decrepit creature with its unblinking, shining eye that seemed to almost be penetrating enough to stare into the very deepest depths of my soul...
And to be totally honest, for a guy who probably has about twenty years on me, perhaps even more, Namtar is still impressively muscled. I've certainly lain with worse over the years… even if his mental acuity does leave a lot to be desired, it's not like I'm looking to him for wit and wisdom.
So I accept his offer and thank him politely, not letting on that I can see through his transparent charade of kindness. We have to backtrack a bit further from the palace, back towards to the gate through which I entered the city, then take a few side-streets to reach the rundown old sandstone slum he calls home. When we do arrive, though, someone else is already there, waiting.
“Mylitta?” Namtar asks, his tone surprised. His partner on gate duty stands before us, scowling. She raises her right hand, holding something up.
“You forgot this.” the words sound like an accusation and her eyes drift over me, her expression scornful. She's clearly realised why I'm here, and either comes from a culture with some sort of stigma against sex outside of marriage… or perhaps she's just looking down me for my low standards in men… in which case I guess I can't really object to her assessment of me.
The item she proffers is one of those black ‘radio' boxes. Namtar winces, “Ah. Yeah. I was gonna come back for it after taking her, uh, Ahana, I mean, to see the king, but then he was sleeping, and she had nowhere to stay, so we, I mean, so I offered-”
“To let her share your bed.” the guardswoman’s words are as blunt and to the point as her tone is icy.
The grizzled veteran freezes up for a moment, then slowly turns to face me, a poorly concealed expression of dread on his rugged features. He's clearly expecting me to be horrified by the suggestion and totally unaware of his intentions towards me. It's all I can do not to laugh out loud. I manage to force my face into something more closely resembling a genial smile than an outright smirk.
It seems to take him a couple seconds to piece together why exactly I’m not agast by his manipulative scheming, but upon realising that I’m completely fine with his intentions towards me, he relaxes and grins broadly… at least for a moment, until Mylitta coughs and he remembers her and whirls back, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left it. And thank you for bringing it here, it means a lot.”
She strides forward until their golden breastplates strike one another with a discordant clang. She's taller than I am, but still has to look up slightly to glare into his eyes. Despite this, and the fact that he's far broader than she is, and likely her superior as well, assuming the Nippurian military believes in the seniority of age, she shows not the slightest hesitation in chastising him. I decide that I like her, regardless of how unimpressed she may be with me.
“I'm not doing it for you,” she snarls, her eyes narrowed to angry slits, “These radios were given out by the Diplomatic Bureau on behalf of our king. Do you realise what that means, you clueless oaf? This is a gift to you from Gilgamesh himself, and you left it lying like some piece of trash.”
“I- I-” his face pales and he shakes his head, wanting to refute her accusation but unable to find the words to do so, clearly not having thought of it in that way himself. Normally I'd likely be content to stand back and smirk at his discomfort, but between my renewed mortality, the harrowing encounter with the crimson-eyed lich, and my need to rely on Namtar for a place to stay that isn't just a tent, I'm feeling a little more willing to act considerate than usual, so I place my hands gently on his big arm and lean my head into it, the top of my skull reaching to just about the level of his shoulders.
“Do you think that just because everyone was given one of these that that makes them worthless? Is that it?” Mylitta barely spares me a derisive glance before her gaze flicks back to her foolish comrade.
“No! No, of course not!” his head-shaking is much more emphatic now.
“You had better not. Listen, I’ll refrain from mentioning this to anyone just this once, Namtar… but if I ever catch you disrespecting the god-king again, I swear I’ll cut you down myself before anyone else gets a chance. Am I clear?” she growls.
“Yes.” he nods, his voice almost a whisper. When I first met them outside of Nippur’s gates, I would have been willing to bet a lot of money that the much bulkier veteran could have easily overpowered his shorter, leaner, less experienced ally, but right now, I'm not so sure… in fact, given how disgusted he seemed earlier by the very thought of another religion competing with Gilgamesh for the people’s worship, as well as his utterly disheartened attitude right now, I'm not even certain Namtar could bring himself to fight back if a would-be killer could convince him that he had somehow dishonoured his king.
She presses the radio into his left hand, since I'm still hanging onto his right arm, then turns to go without another word. We stand there in silence for a couple minutes, as Mr Muscles stares vacantly after the departing guardswoman, no doubt lost in a storm of self-loathing. Whatever other character deficiencies he may have, I think it should be safe to say that disloyalty isn't one of them.
“Oh… I'm sorry, I’ve kept you out here in the cold.” he says at last, when he comes to his senses enough to realise that the temperature has dropped almost to zero degrees... though his tone does still sound a little distant. He leads me inside, through a rickety, cracked wooden door that looks as if it could break apart at any moment, into a fairly wide, sandstone room which seems to comprise the entirety of his dwelling. There's a bed in rather shabby condition up against the back wall, in the right-hand corner of the house, large enough for even a man of Namtar’s size, but not really having the breadth for two people, unless they were lying practically on top of one another… which is no doubt his intention. By the foot of the bed is a chamberpot, though judging by the lack of foul odours, I can assume that it must be empty. Beyond that is an empty wooden tub, which is presumably used for bathing. Finally, leaning against the left wall are two wooden chests, one large, one small, which I'd imagine contain all of his belongings.
To the left of the door, which is on the right side of the building’s front, is a small window, with no glass… or any curtain or wooden shutter of any kind… whether it may have been better at one point or another I really can't say, as it is, though, it hardly seems as if this place offers much in the way of privacy.
Namtar closes the door and wanders over to his chests, kneeling to set the radio gently down on top of the larger one and sighing softly to himself. I walk up behind him and begin undoing the straps that hold his breastplate in place. I have no idea whether he'll want to continue with his original plan or not; Mylitta’s ranting may well have put him off the idea completely. Either way, though, I doubt he'll be too keen on sleeping in his armour.
For a few moments he doesn't react, simply stares at the black radio, but after I've removed the golden plate and set it aside, moving on to the sleeveless tunic he wears beneath without a word, the soldier surges to his feet and slams me against the wall—between window and door—with enough force that I wouldn't be surprised if my Protections were activated. If so, though, he must be too preoccupied to notice, as he doesn't hesitate to begin kissing me, roughly, hungrily… and he certainly doesn't stop to make mention of any golden flames that may have flickered around me for an instant.
I return the kiss with as much enthusiasm as he demonstrates, just as eager to distract myself from the memory of the cold, cruel gaze of that undead horror as he is keen to put off thinking about his perceived failure to live up to his king’s expectations. Our hands roam across one another's bodies, clawing at clothes as we each attempt to disrobe the other as quickly as humanly possible…
***
I yawn, then push aside the arm Namtar has draped over me, along with the sheets, and slide out of his bed, before slowly stretching my body with a slight groan. It may not have been the best bed I’ve ever lain in, with its straw-stuffed mattress and pillow, but it was still better than plenty of other nights I've spent on the road… not least because of the company. The Nippurian guardsman may have all the wit of a turnip, but as I found out all too well, those great muscles of his certainly aren't just for show… and his age does seem to have left him with plenty of experience to draw upon. It was a good night. After which, I'm now feeling a lot more positive about my upcoming meeting with Gilgamesh. No matter how grand his other allies, or how badly weakened I may be… it should still be in his interests to take me into his employ, as I am still a Prime. And therefore, presumably, as Namtar said the other day, I shouldn't really have anything to fear from the lich; what kind of a king would approve of his elite forces pointlessly murdering each other, after all?
I hear the mattress shifting behind me and turn, then smirk. The soldier is awake, though rather than getting out of bed after me, he seems content to prop himself up on one elbow and stare at my body. Turning away from him, I walk over to his bathtub and hold a hand above it, palm downwards, and before long a small orb of Omnilium drops from the centre of my hand into the wooden vessel, then slowly grows to fill it as I focus on what I desire.
I pay no heed to the window behind me as I work on my summoning, not bothering to cover myself up or to look for a way to block it. Neither of us spared a thought for that last night, and given the racket we mere making, any voyeuristic neighbours would have had plenty of opportunity to notice what was going on and take a look, so it seems a little silly to worry about it now.
Several minutes of concentration later, the kaleidoscopic luminescence fades, to reveal the bath almost filled to the brim with scalding-hot water. Like hell I'm going to bother to walk to wherever it is that the nearest well can be found, then… do whatever it is people here do to prepare baths. This house at least doesn't seem to have any plumbing or heating, so I can only assume that Namtar would ordinarily use cold water to bathe… or lukewarm water, I guess, depending on the time of day, since it'll obviously heat up a bit as the sun rises.
“Uh, you don't think that'll be a bit- hey, wait!” he sits bolt upright as I climb into the almost-boiling water and plop myself down with a splash that sends some liquid overflowing onto his floor. It'll dry off soon, as the temperature rises.
“What the…?”
I grin at the shock painted clearly on his face. Everywhere that the water touches my skin, golden flames covers my body. In the cases of little droplets that have splashed on my face and shoulders, the tiny fires die quickly as the liquid cools to a point at which a normal person could touch it without being harmed. Beneath the water, though, my whole body is wreathed in radiant tongues of flame. Namtar’s mouth hangs slightly ajar.
“We Primes were all chosen by Omni for some reason, right? In my case, I specialise in… self-preservation.” still grinning, and feeling a little smug, I lift an immolated arm out of the water to give him a better look at my fire, “These are the Fires that Consume All Harm; my ‘Protections of the Golden Conflagration’. Or just ‘Protections', for short. They activate automatically to keep me safe whenever I come into contact with anything harmful. Neat, huh?”
I refrain from mentioning to him that I used to be far stronger before coming here. I don't know exactly why Omni chose to weaken me like this, but I don't see any reason to make my unfortunate circumstances public.
“Oh. Yeah. Totally… but… uh… do you always take baths like that...? It kinda seems like being on fire would make it pretty hard to wash yourself.”
“Nah, it's fine. I choose what the magic protects, so I can keep my body and clothes from being damaged, while leaving any grime that I pick up vulnerable… and with water this hot, it really doesn't take much effort to get clean… though, that said… no, I don't often heat my baths this much. I just figured that you might fancy washing yourself too, and since this little basin of yours is clearly too small for the pair of us, you'd need to wait until I'm done, so I made it hot enough that it'll still be warm for you.” I don't add that I also just felt like showing off my power.
“Huh. That makes sense. Thanks.”
He doesn't realise—or if he does, then he opts not to point out—that, being a Prime, I could easily just summon him fresh water after I'm done here by expending a little more Omnilium, so I actually could totally have taken a normal bath if I’d wanted to… my excuse for doing it this way really is paper-thin. Luckily, Namtar is almost certainly not smart enough to pick up on that.
Once I'm finished and the water has cooled enough, I get out to let him have a turn whilst I dress myself. After that, and after he's gotten ready as well, we head off to try the palace once again. This time around, I'm not remotely bothered when he slips a hand around my waist. Whilst I hold no particular affection for the big man, I could easily see myself enjoying his company again should I end up with no better way of entertaining myself than simple, carnal pleasures.
The city already seems a little more lively than the previous day, somehow, as if the sense of optimism instilled by the king’s return is a contagion, spreading from person to person, its symptoms strengthening all the while. As we saunter through the streets, I pick up some scattered words from the conversations of those we pass, and several groups of citizens seem to be discussing the same recent events; something about a would-be assassin, a new guard captain, and something called ‘the Black Order’. I don't hear enough to really get a firm grasp on what has happened, but it sounds like another of the Primes recruited by the ruler of Nippur is already making a name for himself. No surprise there; after meeting the lich, I'm expecting most if not all of them to be something akin to heroes out of legend… likely far beyond my ability to combat even at my most powerful. I may have managed to relax enough to accept that it ought to be possible for me to enter the presence of these great magi without being summarily executed simply for having the audacity to approach them without being called for, but there's no doubt in my mind that I will be right at the bottom of the pecking order.
When we reach the palace, with Namtar once again dropping his hand from my waist on the approach, as well as standing straighter, trying to appear as professional as he can possibly manage, I am relieved to see that the enthroned undead no longer sits outside. Though whether it has left completely or somehow moved its vast chair within the building, so that it can remain seated whilst it converses with his majesty, I have no way of knowing. I do consider asking one of the guards stationed by the building's entrance (they’re a different pair from those with whom I spoke the previous night, though once again both are male; it would seem that in this city's culture, soldering is much more commonly done by the men than the women… it's unfortunate, but not shocking; gender-disparities in certain areas of employment are a weakness I'm familiar with from some of the less open-minded city-states I've encountered back on my own world) but I quickly push the thought from my mind; there is no point in seeking to find that out. What would I do differently if I was told that it was still in there? Leave and come back later, this time without the excuse of having to find somewhere to sleep? Not only would that look terribly cowardly, but it could well be taken as a personal insult by Gilgamesh, if he were to interpret my leaving as meaning that I considered my time too valuable to spend waiting in line for an audience with him.
So no, knowing the lich’s situation would make no difference to my actions at all. Once we reach the foot of the steps leading up to the palace, my guide comes to a halt, “I've done my duty by bringing you here, so I'd better get back to work now.”
“Of course.” I give him a smile and a nod, playing along with his act of professionalism, “Thank you for your assistance, soldier.”
Then, shoulders squared and head held high, I stride past the pair of spear-armed guardsmen who stand rigidly to attention on either side of the doorway, and enter the god-king’s palace...