04-07-2017, 12:51 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-07-2017, 07:33 PM by King Ghidorah.
Edit Reason: Missing words, word choice, general improvement to a post I rushed.
)
As I make my way inevitably down the valley, Harnburg Castle and the town that's grown around it looming larger as they draw near, I meet other travelers on the road. Many of them are farmers or tradesmen driving carts, heading to or from one village or another to sell their wares, procure supplies, or fulfill some petty obligation. For the most part I let them be, only stopping those who strike me as particularly intriguing. Unfortunately these roads are too busy and the terrain of the valley too open for me to conduct the sort of thorough interview I have so grown to enjoy - I'd rapidly end up with a large, unwanted audience, and the entire Harnburg experiment could easily end prematurely.
I speak with them briefly about their lives before letting them go, gleaning some small tidbits regarding seamstressing, and cattle, and mercenary pay-scales. Their survival is a farce, but my burgeoning curiosity outweighs my need for immediate, violent gratification.
At least, it does for now.
It's evening by the time I reach the valley floor. The area around the lake, including the smattering of pine forest and Harnbug Castle with its surrounding town, are in the flattest part of the entire valley, where the rolling, fertile hills finally meander their way down to the level of nearly-bare bedrock. As I approach the duchy's capitol from the North, the dirt road gives way in places to rusty stone where the thin topsoil has worn through. On my right, beyond the tall, straight trunks of the pines, I snatch glimpses of the lake, dark and black in the shadow of the cliffs, already abandoned by the setting sun. On my left, the ground is covered by moss and pale grasses. Ahead, a small stone bridge crosses a weeping stream which runs down out of the hills. Beyond it, some several hundred meters past, the the outskirts of the town cling to the lake-shore. In the near distance, I can see the turreted shape of Harnburg Castle rising above row upon row of thatched roofs, slate tiles and the silhouettes of brick chimneys; My glorious golden body is easily the brightest thing here.
I smile. The place is far from being a city, but its much larger than any of the surrounding villages. The bigger a population center is, the more nuance there is to its destruction, and the greater the range of unique accomplishments it represents - and of course, the impact on the rest of the society that raised it -
"Stop!"
Out of sheer surprise, I do, pausing halfway across the bridge. There were two voices just now, high and small, and speaking in perfect unison. I whip my head around, searching for their source, but I see nobody.
"Who 's there?" I demand.
"You must stop, King Ghidorah!"
I take another look around, more slowly this time, retreating back across the bridge and walking down to the bank of the stream.
"There is nothing that I 'must' do!" I declare, flexing my fingers as my anger rises, feeling the twitch of the lithe, corded muscles in my forearms. It's a gratifying sensation, filled with the potential to rip and tear. Although I still prefer my wings, having hands isn't nearly so terrible as I'd first believed.
The voices continue, accusing. "We know that you plan to destroy this place. You must stop! Return to the Nexus. Go to the Ashen Steppes, or the Endless Dunes. Leave Camelot alone!"
I look under the bridge. Nothing. There's nothing in the bushes either. Maybe they're in the trees? But then how do they sound so close?
"I'll do no such thing. And who are you to make demands of me? You know my name. You know my title. Do you know what that means? I'll do as I please little phantoms. 'Stopping' is not in my nature."
There's a pause. The air is very still this low in the valley. I can hear the faint sounds of the nearby town drifting in the quiet, and the lapping of the lake against the shoreline.
The twin voices speak again: "Then Mothra will destroy you."
An image flickers through my head, intruding upon my mind's eye - a creature, massive and powerful, but somehow fragile. It's three-lobed body is covered in a thick layer of fine white hair and its head is occupied almost entirely by a pair of twinkling compound eyes. At first I think that it has no legs, but then I notice the six spindly appendages clinging to its flanks. It's wings are, I will grudgingly admit, glorious, though rather than shining gold they swirl with a depth of color and vitality that's practically hypnotic (and oh, how I would love to watch them burn...!) It has a tiny, ridiculous beak, and two thin antennae.
I recognize this beast, this 'Mothra' - or at least, I recognize its tribe. Several planets have them. They are guardians of sorts, protectors, some would even say gods, though their actual potency varies wildly. One of them, in its larval form, fought beside the mighty saurian Warrior on the day of my first and only defeat; But for one of these overgrown insects to challenge me alone? Even limited to an imperfect, adolescent form I'm confident I can handle a single interfering moth.
I laugh long and loud. My cackling echoes out across the lake and reverberates off the distant cliffs. Within me, my astral wellspring crackles in time with my amusement and another cosmic kink un-knots. I manage to conceal the shock of it, showing only a vicious grin.
"Tell your master," I purr,"That if it truly believes it can, I would relish helping it fail."
The voices do not answer, and the road feels somehow emptier than it did a moment ago. Taking one last look around, wary of hidden watchers, I go once again to cross the bridge, resuming the final part of my journey towards the heart of Harnburg.
I speak with them briefly about their lives before letting them go, gleaning some small tidbits regarding seamstressing, and cattle, and mercenary pay-scales. Their survival is a farce, but my burgeoning curiosity outweighs my need for immediate, violent gratification.
At least, it does for now.
It's evening by the time I reach the valley floor. The area around the lake, including the smattering of pine forest and Harnbug Castle with its surrounding town, are in the flattest part of the entire valley, where the rolling, fertile hills finally meander their way down to the level of nearly-bare bedrock. As I approach the duchy's capitol from the North, the dirt road gives way in places to rusty stone where the thin topsoil has worn through. On my right, beyond the tall, straight trunks of the pines, I snatch glimpses of the lake, dark and black in the shadow of the cliffs, already abandoned by the setting sun. On my left, the ground is covered by moss and pale grasses. Ahead, a small stone bridge crosses a weeping stream which runs down out of the hills. Beyond it, some several hundred meters past, the the outskirts of the town cling to the lake-shore. In the near distance, I can see the turreted shape of Harnburg Castle rising above row upon row of thatched roofs, slate tiles and the silhouettes of brick chimneys; My glorious golden body is easily the brightest thing here.
I smile. The place is far from being a city, but its much larger than any of the surrounding villages. The bigger a population center is, the more nuance there is to its destruction, and the greater the range of unique accomplishments it represents - and of course, the impact on the rest of the society that raised it -
"Stop!"
Out of sheer surprise, I do, pausing halfway across the bridge. There were two voices just now, high and small, and speaking in perfect unison. I whip my head around, searching for their source, but I see nobody.
"Who 's there?" I demand.
"You must stop, King Ghidorah!"
I take another look around, more slowly this time, retreating back across the bridge and walking down to the bank of the stream.
"There is nothing that I 'must' do!" I declare, flexing my fingers as my anger rises, feeling the twitch of the lithe, corded muscles in my forearms. It's a gratifying sensation, filled with the potential to rip and tear. Although I still prefer my wings, having hands isn't nearly so terrible as I'd first believed.
The voices continue, accusing. "We know that you plan to destroy this place. You must stop! Return to the Nexus. Go to the Ashen Steppes, or the Endless Dunes. Leave Camelot alone!"
I look under the bridge. Nothing. There's nothing in the bushes either. Maybe they're in the trees? But then how do they sound so close?
"I'll do no such thing. And who are you to make demands of me? You know my name. You know my title. Do you know what that means? I'll do as I please little phantoms. 'Stopping' is not in my nature."
There's a pause. The air is very still this low in the valley. I can hear the faint sounds of the nearby town drifting in the quiet, and the lapping of the lake against the shoreline.
The twin voices speak again: "Then Mothra will destroy you."
An image flickers through my head, intruding upon my mind's eye - a creature, massive and powerful, but somehow fragile. It's three-lobed body is covered in a thick layer of fine white hair and its head is occupied almost entirely by a pair of twinkling compound eyes. At first I think that it has no legs, but then I notice the six spindly appendages clinging to its flanks. It's wings are, I will grudgingly admit, glorious, though rather than shining gold they swirl with a depth of color and vitality that's practically hypnotic (and oh, how I would love to watch them burn...!) It has a tiny, ridiculous beak, and two thin antennae.
I recognize this beast, this 'Mothra' - or at least, I recognize its tribe. Several planets have them. They are guardians of sorts, protectors, some would even say gods, though their actual potency varies wildly. One of them, in its larval form, fought beside the mighty saurian Warrior on the day of my first and only defeat; But for one of these overgrown insects to challenge me alone? Even limited to an imperfect, adolescent form I'm confident I can handle a single interfering moth.
I laugh long and loud. My cackling echoes out across the lake and reverberates off the distant cliffs. Within me, my astral wellspring crackles in time with my amusement and another cosmic kink un-knots. I manage to conceal the shock of it, showing only a vicious grin.
"Tell your master," I purr,"That if it truly believes it can, I would relish helping it fail."
The voices do not answer, and the road feels somehow emptier than it did a moment ago. Taking one last look around, wary of hidden watchers, I go once again to cross the bridge, resuming the final part of my journey towards the heart of Harnburg.