04-15-2016, 05:08 PM
Ratione was becoming more and more uneasy about these people. All of them had faces too much like his own, behaviors too much like his own, speech too much like his own. It was unnerving, to say the least, flying over miles of crops and gardens, farmhouses dotting here and there, workers tending their fields. It looked just like-
“Dete entrab industa. Trava sprite… ruer. Dete invaiser. Scruminuex sprite ruer-ay…”
Ratione landed for a fifth time, on stop of some dirt road, as the error message was read out, whipping his head all around to figure out what the on board computer could be reading.
“Qe-se?” He whispered to himself, “Nuien vuis sua-“
The whole suit of armor suddenly halted, visor locked on something that not even an intra-galactic warrior had experienced. A chunk of land had inexplicably been ripped from the ground, and was now hovering over the mountain fortress “Minas Tirith”.
“Qe-mothe…?” The island had escaped his vision before by blending in with the rest of the mountain and the fortress, but now the city that sat on top was clear as day. A few field-workers walked around the Novan, more confused by his reaction rather than his presence. One of them muttered something that sounded like annoyance before continuing on.
“Sprite ruer nuien. Cinve-admiv invaiser.”
“Do… silux…” The Furtumin found it hard to take his eyes away. On top of that, the closer he got to the mountain fortress, the bigger it seemed to get. Looking around it appeared to Ratione that the native species was considerably primitive, so how had they pulled off something like this?
After a minute or two of gawking, Ratione shook his head and took off again. However they had managed, it did not matter. The Furtumin needed to make contact if there was a local garrison, which there were no signs of. Not even a fleet in orbit, or a single ship. Perhaps he was on some uncharted planet, with strange glowing gates and floating cities. As he soared through the sky, bounding thirty meters at a time, the old man wondered as to the where the other apparent gates would have lead him.
The star was high in the sky when the Novan eventually found himself standing between two massive gates, the pair of giant wooden doors still dwarfed by colossal white-stone walls. Ratione figured he must have come in to this place known as “Camelot” halfway through the day, and was now yawning inside his helm. It was getting late, and he needed some rest. Hopefully this species had the concept of inns and restaurants.
Some guards stood at the gate, checking civilians as they passed through. Some had wagons, others only the clothes on their backs. Ratione was about to move right through, when suddenly several of the small garrison planted themselves right in front of him. Each one had a tall shield and pike, with very ornate, polished, and thick plate armor.
“Halt, sir! You need to pass inspection before entering the city!”
“Pare sote Novan. Paurette depla sua!” The Furtumin demanded, never breaking stride and forcing his mass straight unto e line. The guards threw up a small shield wall, pikes pointing out at him. The Novan kept walking forward, as if to wade right through, when suddenly the three guards in the middle quickly thrusted forward.
“Meria!!” Ratione shouted as suddenly he was thrown back. The spear points connected with his breastplate. The shock went through his torso, through super-condensed steel plates. He took a few steps back, throwing his hands forward, mind racing to figure out as to how at all they had managed to affect him with wooden pikes. His hand hovered over the hilt of his sword.
“Alright!” A single, taller man stood behind the formation, slipping off his helm. “You’re either going to let us inspect yer gear, or you’re going in the hole. If you continue these hostile actions, you will be engaged. Is that understood?”
The Novan cocked his head to the side as this was said, “…Qe…?”
“Sir, I don’t think he speaks common. He didn’t even react to any of our orders.” One of the men in the shield wall spoke up.
“That explains it. Hey!” When the armored man did not head his call, the officer stepped forward past the line. “Hey, look at me jackass!” Finally the prime turned its head to him. The guard held his hands up, palms open, the universal signal for “I’m not about to try and kill you”. The prime watched silently as the officer pointed at him, then to the over-sized bastard sword at his hip, then to his own arming sword. The officer undid his belt, sheath with blade coming off, and chucked it to the side. He then pointed at the prime and to his blade a second time.
A full three minutes went by, and everything was eerily still. Not even the line at the front gate continued moving through, everyone in the immediate vicinity watching and waiting. Despite the gathering crowd and the obvious hostility, the prime never reacted or moved, simply keeping an even gaze with the officer.
“Take. Your. Sword. Off.” The man spoke slowly, miming the same motion of removing his belt. While everyone else around was tense, the officer seemed strangely relaxed.
Ratione understood perfectly what they were demanding, but was reluctant to comply. He was currently ready to give all of the guards a crash course on Furtumin training, but a new part of him spoke against this built-in reaction. Somehow, with primitive weapons, they had managed to keep him at bay. The old man could still feel the pressure against his chest, left palm pressing against the plate.
The Novan reached to his belt’s center buckle, disengaging the lock. Two solid pieces of curved steel hooked together at the back by a swivel slammed to the ground along with a twenty pound blade and its sheath. The whole piece did not even bounce as it slammed into the road, a loud thunk echoing throughout the street. The civilians let out small gasps, and the guards’ jaws dropped slightly. Two of them broke from the shield wall and eased their way over to the Novan, who remained still as he watched them. Both grunted and had to exhale with each pull as they dragged away the belt and sheath. They had managed to push him back, but they did not seem to possess any sort of immense strength. After so easily handling the weight of his armor, Ratione expected just a single one of them to heft the belt without an issue.
“Alright, now that you’ve decided to listen, we’re going to take you in. We’ll treat you nice, so don’t try to hurt anyone.” The man that took off his helm walked closer now, standing at arm’s length away. He extended his arm forward, hand open. “We have a deal, prime?” Ratione’s right hand moved forward instinctively, massive armored palm and fingers clasping the guard’s forearm, making a point to be gentle. However this elicited a jolt from the guard, at first his seemingly ready to bolt. The shield wall tightened and the civilians took a step back, and the old man felt slightly awkward as he observed this reaction.
“…….”
“…….Ye…Ye-ah?”
It took a small moment before the guard realized the Novan was returning his gesture, thick and calloused fingers barely gripping the steel plate. Ratione pulled his hand back, and the man turned to address the others. At the utterance of the confirmation, his eyes widened for a split second. Ratione’s own were the size of dinner plates.
“It’s alright, just a new prime. Can’t speak common and doesn’t know how we do things ‘round here. Go back to your business!” The guard addressed the crowd, and after whatever command was issued it quickly dispersed. It seemed the buildings themselves exhaled.
Ratione watched as the clearing around him suddenly became much denser, then as the guard that took off its helm suddenly claspped a pair of cuffs on his wrists. The Novan lacked a reaction to this, still in a daze at his brief use of the foreign tongue. He threaded through the crowd as he was lead by the guards, mindful not to step on anyone’s feet. The drone of chatter and other noises of the city enveloped the Novan’s ears. He started thinking about… about how they were talking about him…
“So he can barely speak common, he’s new here, and he likely has no idea what’s going on.”
“Sir when he was speaking, we heard something that sounded like a name, “Novan”.”
“What makes you think that’s a name of anything?”
“Human. Roman. Gondorian. Elven. Dwarven.”
“I see your point. So then he’s either from somewhere named “Nov” or “Nova”, or something like that.”
“The language he’s speaking too, it’s…”
“Familiar. I know.”
“But this guy doesn’t look like he would know any human languages at all.”
“No, that’s the thing though, every other prime we’ve encountered could immediately understand us and be understood.” The officer turned back, making what he hoped was eye contact with the new prime. Its gaze was right on him, emotionless behind the glass visor. The old man gave him a steely glare before turning back. “I think it’s starting to come to him, though. If it is a “him”.”
“Sir, I think we might need to lock him up for now. Maybe a night in a cell will help him learn the status-quo.”
“Good thinking. First, though,” The officer looked back to the now three men that had the prime’s belt and sheath slung across their shoulders. “Let’s find somewhere to put that gear. He’s got some of that fancy power-armor some other primes come with. Pretty sure we could take him anyways, but I wanna be confident that he can’t do a thing.”
“Yessir.”
“Dete entrab industa. Trava sprite… ruer. Dete invaiser. Scruminuex sprite ruer-ay…”
Ratione landed for a fifth time, on stop of some dirt road, as the error message was read out, whipping his head all around to figure out what the on board computer could be reading.
“Qe-se?” He whispered to himself, “Nuien vuis sua-“
The whole suit of armor suddenly halted, visor locked on something that not even an intra-galactic warrior had experienced. A chunk of land had inexplicably been ripped from the ground, and was now hovering over the mountain fortress “Minas Tirith”.
“Qe-mothe…?” The island had escaped his vision before by blending in with the rest of the mountain and the fortress, but now the city that sat on top was clear as day. A few field-workers walked around the Novan, more confused by his reaction rather than his presence. One of them muttered something that sounded like annoyance before continuing on.
“Sprite ruer nuien. Cinve-admiv invaiser.”
“Do… silux…” The Furtumin found it hard to take his eyes away. On top of that, the closer he got to the mountain fortress, the bigger it seemed to get. Looking around it appeared to Ratione that the native species was considerably primitive, so how had they pulled off something like this?
After a minute or two of gawking, Ratione shook his head and took off again. However they had managed, it did not matter. The Furtumin needed to make contact if there was a local garrison, which there were no signs of. Not even a fleet in orbit, or a single ship. Perhaps he was on some uncharted planet, with strange glowing gates and floating cities. As he soared through the sky, bounding thirty meters at a time, the old man wondered as to the where the other apparent gates would have lead him.
***
The star was high in the sky when the Novan eventually found himself standing between two massive gates, the pair of giant wooden doors still dwarfed by colossal white-stone walls. Ratione figured he must have come in to this place known as “Camelot” halfway through the day, and was now yawning inside his helm. It was getting late, and he needed some rest. Hopefully this species had the concept of inns and restaurants.
Some guards stood at the gate, checking civilians as they passed through. Some had wagons, others only the clothes on their backs. Ratione was about to move right through, when suddenly several of the small garrison planted themselves right in front of him. Each one had a tall shield and pike, with very ornate, polished, and thick plate armor.
“Halt, sir! You need to pass inspection before entering the city!”
“Pare sote Novan. Paurette depla sua!” The Furtumin demanded, never breaking stride and forcing his mass straight unto e line. The guards threw up a small shield wall, pikes pointing out at him. The Novan kept walking forward, as if to wade right through, when suddenly the three guards in the middle quickly thrusted forward.
“Meria!!” Ratione shouted as suddenly he was thrown back. The spear points connected with his breastplate. The shock went through his torso, through super-condensed steel plates. He took a few steps back, throwing his hands forward, mind racing to figure out as to how at all they had managed to affect him with wooden pikes. His hand hovered over the hilt of his sword.
“Alright!” A single, taller man stood behind the formation, slipping off his helm. “You’re either going to let us inspect yer gear, or you’re going in the hole. If you continue these hostile actions, you will be engaged. Is that understood?”
The Novan cocked his head to the side as this was said, “…Qe…?”
***
“Sir, I don’t think he speaks common. He didn’t even react to any of our orders.” One of the men in the shield wall spoke up.
“That explains it. Hey!” When the armored man did not head his call, the officer stepped forward past the line. “Hey, look at me jackass!” Finally the prime turned its head to him. The guard held his hands up, palms open, the universal signal for “I’m not about to try and kill you”. The prime watched silently as the officer pointed at him, then to the over-sized bastard sword at his hip, then to his own arming sword. The officer undid his belt, sheath with blade coming off, and chucked it to the side. He then pointed at the prime and to his blade a second time.
A full three minutes went by, and everything was eerily still. Not even the line at the front gate continued moving through, everyone in the immediate vicinity watching and waiting. Despite the gathering crowd and the obvious hostility, the prime never reacted or moved, simply keeping an even gaze with the officer.
“Take. Your. Sword. Off.” The man spoke slowly, miming the same motion of removing his belt. While everyone else around was tense, the officer seemed strangely relaxed.
***
Ratione understood perfectly what they were demanding, but was reluctant to comply. He was currently ready to give all of the guards a crash course on Furtumin training, but a new part of him spoke against this built-in reaction. Somehow, with primitive weapons, they had managed to keep him at bay. The old man could still feel the pressure against his chest, left palm pressing against the plate.
The Novan reached to his belt’s center buckle, disengaging the lock. Two solid pieces of curved steel hooked together at the back by a swivel slammed to the ground along with a twenty pound blade and its sheath. The whole piece did not even bounce as it slammed into the road, a loud thunk echoing throughout the street. The civilians let out small gasps, and the guards’ jaws dropped slightly. Two of them broke from the shield wall and eased their way over to the Novan, who remained still as he watched them. Both grunted and had to exhale with each pull as they dragged away the belt and sheath. They had managed to push him back, but they did not seem to possess any sort of immense strength. After so easily handling the weight of his armor, Ratione expected just a single one of them to heft the belt without an issue.
“Alright, now that you’ve decided to listen, we’re going to take you in. We’ll treat you nice, so don’t try to hurt anyone.” The man that took off his helm walked closer now, standing at arm’s length away. He extended his arm forward, hand open. “We have a deal, prime?” Ratione’s right hand moved forward instinctively, massive armored palm and fingers clasping the guard’s forearm, making a point to be gentle. However this elicited a jolt from the guard, at first his seemingly ready to bolt. The shield wall tightened and the civilians took a step back, and the old man felt slightly awkward as he observed this reaction.
“…….”
“…….Ye…Ye-ah?”
It took a small moment before the guard realized the Novan was returning his gesture, thick and calloused fingers barely gripping the steel plate. Ratione pulled his hand back, and the man turned to address the others. At the utterance of the confirmation, his eyes widened for a split second. Ratione’s own were the size of dinner plates.
“It’s alright, just a new prime. Can’t speak common and doesn’t know how we do things ‘round here. Go back to your business!” The guard addressed the crowd, and after whatever command was issued it quickly dispersed. It seemed the buildings themselves exhaled.
Ratione watched as the clearing around him suddenly became much denser, then as the guard that took off its helm suddenly claspped a pair of cuffs on his wrists. The Novan lacked a reaction to this, still in a daze at his brief use of the foreign tongue. He threaded through the crowd as he was lead by the guards, mindful not to step on anyone’s feet. The drone of chatter and other noises of the city enveloped the Novan’s ears. He started thinking about… about how they were talking about him…
***
“So he can barely speak common, he’s new here, and he likely has no idea what’s going on.”
“Sir when he was speaking, we heard something that sounded like a name, “Novan”.”
“What makes you think that’s a name of anything?”
“Human. Roman. Gondorian. Elven. Dwarven.”
“I see your point. So then he’s either from somewhere named “Nov” or “Nova”, or something like that.”
“The language he’s speaking too, it’s…”
“Familiar. I know.”
“But this guy doesn’t look like he would know any human languages at all.”
“No, that’s the thing though, every other prime we’ve encountered could immediately understand us and be understood.” The officer turned back, making what he hoped was eye contact with the new prime. Its gaze was right on him, emotionless behind the glass visor. The old man gave him a steely glare before turning back. “I think it’s starting to come to him, though. If it is a “him”.”
“Sir, I think we might need to lock him up for now. Maybe a night in a cell will help him learn the status-quo.”
“Good thinking. First, though,” The officer looked back to the now three men that had the prime’s belt and sheath slung across their shoulders. “Let’s find somewhere to put that gear. He’s got some of that fancy power-armor some other primes come with. Pretty sure we could take him anyways, but I wanna be confident that he can’t do a thing.”
“Yessir.”
Quote:Translations in order of speaking:
[Detected unusual energy. Working mind… error. Detected impossibility. Searching mind errors…] "Unusual energy readings detected. Processing... Detected impossibility. Searching for bugs..."
[What-meaning?] "What do you mean?"
[Nothing vision self-] "I see nothing-"
[What-process…?] "How...?" (combination of "what" and "process/method" rather than single word for "how")
[Mind errors none. Not-acknowledging impossibility.] "Could not find any bugs. Refusing to process impossibility." (Cinve/cinv being a prefix to create the opposite of a word's original meaning.)
[Action, silence.] "Command, be silent."
[Speak kind Novan. Allow move self!] "Speak Novan. Let me through!"
"Our fear is our weapon."