09-10-2016, 10:32 PM
Ratione peered around the small room with short ceilings he was being guided into, ducking a full foot down and turning his body sideways so as to fit through the small door frame. Before him lay some sort of table where a man in light armor stood behind it and a small black box on the table-thing lay next to a feather and tiny black pot. Underneath him the floor had not changed from the cobblestone of the streets outside, albeit this stuff seemed smoother.
Further into the building was a series of long iron bars symmetrical to each other, or at least as symmetrical as whoever had put them in could have gotten the columns. In the middle there seemed to be a door with a lock on the outside only.
I’m in a prison. The old man thought to himself. A Furtumin in a prison. Not a first, but still not something to be okay with.
“Rohland.” The male that was escorting Ratione called over to the guard behind the desk, “We’ve got another new prime, thinks he’s above the law here.”
“Break him in?”
“Break him in.”
“Guy looks like he can handle one of the more rowdy cells.” The guard stepped from behind the counter, his body jerking up and down as he stepped. As he rounded around, Ratione could see the source of the limp was a wooden spoke where the guard’s left leg should have been.
“Where are we keeping the armor?”
“I s’pose not in the back like usual. I don’t think we’ve got a place to put it so it’s out of the way.”
“Well my men aren’t dragging it across town to the guard house.”
“No, didn’t think so.” The guard scratched the short fuzz on his chin. “He’s a funny lookin’ one though ain’t he?”
“I’ve seen worse. Why not throw all this shit out back?”
“You don’t think someone would try to steal this set?”
The three guards carrying the Novan’s belt came through the door at that moment, letting the whole bundle slam into the ground.
The guard’s eyes slammed shut and his arm came up as an improvised shield when bits of the cobblestone floor chipped off and flew at him, dust settling on his gambeson. He wiped his sleeve on his chest as blinked out some powder, “I don’t’ think someone’s gonna try and steal that set.”
One of the guards put his hands on his knees to stay standing up, the other two leaned against the front door frame, all with labored and exasperated breathing. “Sir…” one of them spat out, “…I’ve seen a lotta primes come through here with weapons, armor, machines way ahead of us…but this is unreal.”
“Can it, Sven.” The captain barked back. “Take five and get this belt and weapon-“ He turned to Rholand for a moment, who was chewing his lip.
“There’s an empty cell at the end of the hall.”
“The empty cell at the end of the hall, and then you’re gonna make sure our new guest here doesn’t try any shit while he gets the rest off.” Three “yessirs” were coughed out as the men went to sit against a wall further in. “Damned tower guards…” The captain grumbled to himself. “Just good for standin’ around and looking pretty.”
The Furtumin observed the scene with a strange satisfaction. He felt he was beginning to grow more comfortable around this race, its culture seemed pretty lax. Comfortable enough that he decided to remove his helmet. “Do, dellus bacir serourou.” A robotic voice gave a confirmation response, and several loud clacks let Ratione know that the pistons that kept his head from whipping back and forth had disengaged. The Novan put his hands at the base of his helmet’s face and the back of his head, gently tugging until the whole piece popped free. The inner padding slid off his skin and short hair, taking in a deep breath of real air as he did so. The chill of the building sat on him, the soldier just now realizing how damp and dreary the whole place felt.
It was then that the Furtumin realized the commander was staring at him, as well as all of the other men in the room. The old man’s head rotated to see each of their eyes, confirming all were on him. This elicited the otherwise intimidating figure to start rubbing off some dirt on the outside of his visor.
“What is it?” The words slipped out smoothly, causing the Novan to jerk. His whole body went stiff all of a sudden, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.
The guards, in contrast, had rather lack luster reactions. Most of them opening their eyes a bit more and slightly nodding, whilst the commander gave a sarcastic chuckle. “Looks like Omni’s magic is coming around.” Once more he held out his hand to prime, “Allow me to give you a proper introduction. My name is Galfa, captain of the guard in Minas Tirith, the city you’re in right now.” The prime returned the gesture the same way as before, grasping his forearm.
Galfa frowned. “Listen buddy I dunno how they do it where you’re from bu-“
“Mulcibus.” The prime suddenly blurted out, his eyes meeting the captain’s. “I am from Mulcibus.”
“….but… here we shake hands differently.” Galfa finished awkwardly, giving the prime the stink eye. “Now grab my hand like this-“ He moved the prime’s hand to his own, gripping the steel gauntlet firmly and moving it up and down slightly. “That’s how we shake hands here.”
Ratione’s eyes remained on his hand holding Galfa’s, repeating the motion a second time. Personally, he found touching another man’s hand to be much too… intimate, but he would rather respect the culture here than be an outcast.
“Alright, now. What are you wearing under all that armor? Something you’re fine with sleeping in?”
“Suaba.”
“English pal.”
“I will be fine.”
“Good. Now tell me, what is your name?”
“Homin Ratione.”
“Alright, Homin-“
“Niho.”
“What?”
“No, call me Ratione. Not homin.”
“So you prefer your surname?”
“….qe?”
“Nevermind. Ratione, first-“ Galfa removed himself from the grip of the prime, snapping his fingers to draw his attention to his face in order to make eye contact. “You’re gonna go to the back most cell and remove all armor and weapons you still have on you, and you’re not gonna try anything or we’ll skewer you like a pig. Understood?”
The prime cocked his oddly shaped head to the side, slanted eyes raising one eyebrow. “What is a “pig”?”
“We will stab you if you don’t listen.”
“Understood.”
“Men!” The captain barked at the three guards, who rushed over to the belt, hefting it onto their shoulders one more time. Rholand unlocked the gate, and the group of four filed in and walked single file down a row of cells. Most were empty, but two had at least five occupants in them.
Rholand locked the gate again, him and the captain watching from a distance. “Wonder if he could be of some use to us. Looks like he knows how to use a blade.”
“Why doesn’t he have one of those firearms though? Pretty much all of the primes that come through here with machines like that at least know of the technology.”
“With that kind of armor, does he really need one? I’ve seen one of those taken apart before too, as powerful as they are they are made of many small pieces that break easily on their own.”
“So perhaps he can’t use them? That would explain it.”
“So, still useful?”
Galfa scratched the hair on his chin. “Looks like we’re gonna have to teach him some stuff though. He doesn’t have a clue what’s going on.”
“Most primes don’t. In fact I’d wager not a single prime that’s come through has any clue as to what their new life is.”
“No, beyond that. He looks like he’s never seen any of this stuff before, but he’s so casual about things. As much as he doesn’t know what we are or what we do, he didn’t look the least bit surprised.”
“Give it time. When the truth comes down on him, no amount of “power armor” will keep it from crushing him.”
Novan Translations, in order:
[Action, relax helm locks.] Command, release locks on helmet.
[I will be fine.]
[No.]
Further into the building was a series of long iron bars symmetrical to each other, or at least as symmetrical as whoever had put them in could have gotten the columns. In the middle there seemed to be a door with a lock on the outside only.
I’m in a prison. The old man thought to himself. A Furtumin in a prison. Not a first, but still not something to be okay with.
“Rohland.” The male that was escorting Ratione called over to the guard behind the desk, “We’ve got another new prime, thinks he’s above the law here.”
“Break him in?”
“Break him in.”
“Guy looks like he can handle one of the more rowdy cells.” The guard stepped from behind the counter, his body jerking up and down as he stepped. As he rounded around, Ratione could see the source of the limp was a wooden spoke where the guard’s left leg should have been.
“Where are we keeping the armor?”
“I s’pose not in the back like usual. I don’t think we’ve got a place to put it so it’s out of the way.”
“Well my men aren’t dragging it across town to the guard house.”
“No, didn’t think so.” The guard scratched the short fuzz on his chin. “He’s a funny lookin’ one though ain’t he?”
“I’ve seen worse. Why not throw all this shit out back?”
“You don’t think someone would try to steal this set?”
The three guards carrying the Novan’s belt came through the door at that moment, letting the whole bundle slam into the ground.
The guard’s eyes slammed shut and his arm came up as an improvised shield when bits of the cobblestone floor chipped off and flew at him, dust settling on his gambeson. He wiped his sleeve on his chest as blinked out some powder, “I don’t’ think someone’s gonna try and steal that set.”
One of the guards put his hands on his knees to stay standing up, the other two leaned against the front door frame, all with labored and exasperated breathing. “Sir…” one of them spat out, “…I’ve seen a lotta primes come through here with weapons, armor, machines way ahead of us…but this is unreal.”
“Can it, Sven.” The captain barked back. “Take five and get this belt and weapon-“ He turned to Rholand for a moment, who was chewing his lip.
“There’s an empty cell at the end of the hall.”
“The empty cell at the end of the hall, and then you’re gonna make sure our new guest here doesn’t try any shit while he gets the rest off.” Three “yessirs” were coughed out as the men went to sit against a wall further in. “Damned tower guards…” The captain grumbled to himself. “Just good for standin’ around and looking pretty.”
The Furtumin observed the scene with a strange satisfaction. He felt he was beginning to grow more comfortable around this race, its culture seemed pretty lax. Comfortable enough that he decided to remove his helmet. “Do, dellus bacir serourou.” A robotic voice gave a confirmation response, and several loud clacks let Ratione know that the pistons that kept his head from whipping back and forth had disengaged. The Novan put his hands at the base of his helmet’s face and the back of his head, gently tugging until the whole piece popped free. The inner padding slid off his skin and short hair, taking in a deep breath of real air as he did so. The chill of the building sat on him, the soldier just now realizing how damp and dreary the whole place felt.
It was then that the Furtumin realized the commander was staring at him, as well as all of the other men in the room. The old man’s head rotated to see each of their eyes, confirming all were on him. This elicited the otherwise intimidating figure to start rubbing off some dirt on the outside of his visor.
“What is it?” The words slipped out smoothly, causing the Novan to jerk. His whole body went stiff all of a sudden, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.
The guards, in contrast, had rather lack luster reactions. Most of them opening their eyes a bit more and slightly nodding, whilst the commander gave a sarcastic chuckle. “Looks like Omni’s magic is coming around.” Once more he held out his hand to prime, “Allow me to give you a proper introduction. My name is Galfa, captain of the guard in Minas Tirith, the city you’re in right now.” The prime returned the gesture the same way as before, grasping his forearm.
Galfa frowned. “Listen buddy I dunno how they do it where you’re from bu-“
“Mulcibus.” The prime suddenly blurted out, his eyes meeting the captain’s. “I am from Mulcibus.”
“….but… here we shake hands differently.” Galfa finished awkwardly, giving the prime the stink eye. “Now grab my hand like this-“ He moved the prime’s hand to his own, gripping the steel gauntlet firmly and moving it up and down slightly. “That’s how we shake hands here.”
Ratione’s eyes remained on his hand holding Galfa’s, repeating the motion a second time. Personally, he found touching another man’s hand to be much too… intimate, but he would rather respect the culture here than be an outcast.
“Alright, now. What are you wearing under all that armor? Something you’re fine with sleeping in?”
“Suaba.”
“English pal.”
“I will be fine.”
“Good. Now tell me, what is your name?”
“Homin Ratione.”
“Alright, Homin-“
“Niho.”
“What?”
“No, call me Ratione. Not homin.”
“So you prefer your surname?”
“….qe?”
“Nevermind. Ratione, first-“ Galfa removed himself from the grip of the prime, snapping his fingers to draw his attention to his face in order to make eye contact. “You’re gonna go to the back most cell and remove all armor and weapons you still have on you, and you’re not gonna try anything or we’ll skewer you like a pig. Understood?”
The prime cocked his oddly shaped head to the side, slanted eyes raising one eyebrow. “What is a “pig”?”
“We will stab you if you don’t listen.”
“Understood.”
“Men!” The captain barked at the three guards, who rushed over to the belt, hefting it onto their shoulders one more time. Rholand unlocked the gate, and the group of four filed in and walked single file down a row of cells. Most were empty, but two had at least five occupants in them.
Rholand locked the gate again, him and the captain watching from a distance. “Wonder if he could be of some use to us. Looks like he knows how to use a blade.”
“Why doesn’t he have one of those firearms though? Pretty much all of the primes that come through here with machines like that at least know of the technology.”
“With that kind of armor, does he really need one? I’ve seen one of those taken apart before too, as powerful as they are they are made of many small pieces that break easily on their own.”
“So perhaps he can’t use them? That would explain it.”
“So, still useful?”
Galfa scratched the hair on his chin. “Looks like we’re gonna have to teach him some stuff though. He doesn’t have a clue what’s going on.”
“Most primes don’t. In fact I’d wager not a single prime that’s come through has any clue as to what their new life is.”
“No, beyond that. He looks like he’s never seen any of this stuff before, but he’s so casual about things. As much as he doesn’t know what we are or what we do, he didn’t look the least bit surprised.”
“Give it time. When the truth comes down on him, no amount of “power armor” will keep it from crushing him.”
Novan Translations, in order:
[Action, relax helm locks.] Command, release locks on helmet.
[I will be fine.]
[No.]
"Our fear is our weapon."