One of the Men

[homin-Ratione]

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.]

[homin-Ratione]

“Alright, do your thing.” Sven ordered the prime.
 
“I have question.” His accent was thick, somewhere between French and Italian.
 
“What’s that?”
 
“My armor, it is designed to be taken off by machines. If I disengage now, it all comes off in pieces, in big pile.” The Furtumin made stretched his arms and legs out to mime the motions of being handled by robotic arms.
 
The guard looked around the empty cell with the bare floor. “I don’t see how that’s a problem here.”
 
“Very hard to get back on.”
 
“Oh, well we can probably just use magic or something for that.”
 
“Magic?”
 
“I’ll explain later. Just get it off.”
 
The prime nodded, but mumbled something that sounded reluctant under his breath, before speaking into his helm again. “Do, dellus cutu-tura serourou.” A voice speaking in the same language replied, and Sven felt himself step back a bit as suddenly the entire suit of armor fell apart. At least twenty separate pieces all fell off from different points on Ratione’s body, some incredibly small while others, like the breastplate, put their own craters in the floor.
 
When the dust settled, before the guards stood a very alien figure. The prime’s heels were raised off the ground, the balls of his feet enlarged, like some kind of animal’s legs. Even without the armor he was still incredibly tall in comparison, with a thick build. However, it seemed the giant suit of plate armor had now been replaced with some kind of black jumpsuit beneath. There were thick pads that Sven assumed was some kind of leather armor at the shoulders, chest, gut, legs, arms, and even a collar.
 
The guard frowned, glaring at the prime. “All of the armor. Not just your plate. Get your padding and leather off too.” He held Ratione’s eyes firmly for a few minutes, before the alien looked down with an uncomfortable expression.
 
“This is my clothing.”
 
“Your clothing?”
 
“Yes. There is nothing else under it. Except for underwear.” Ratione shifted from foot to foot.
 
“Then strip that, too. Sit in your underwear.” Sven stepped up closer to the prime, grabbing him by the thick collar around his neck. The material felt soft, yet hard. Like something that was moldable but stiff when it sets. “You’re in a prison. Not an inn. Strip.”
 
The Novan stood there, eyeing down the man. For what felt like an hour the two kept each other’s gazes, while the two other guards simply watched with amusement.
 
“I said strip!”
 
“Niho.”
 
Sven’s fist was drawn back and thrown forward stiffly, with restraint, into the Ratione’s jaw. The prime’s head turned just a bit before absorbing the blow. Slowly, the Furtumin managed to crank his neck back into place, pushing against the guard’s arm.
 
“This ain’t a damn sleepover, prime! Get in yer skivvies!”
 
“And why should I listen to you?” The Novan brought his own knee up into the guard’s gut, right into the plate. Even still, Sven felt the air leave his lungs, scrambling backwards with a hand on his stomach. “Give me a reason, you-“ Ratione’s bark was cut short as a short sword was suddenly drawn up to his throat, one of the other guards gripping it in his right while keeping his hand up to his chest, palm open and ready.
 
Ratione could feel the cold steel cooling his head, remembering that he was not currently in a position to argue. He was a prisoner, and these men would not hesitate to lob off his head if he did not respect their wishes.
 
“Fine.” The Furtumin waited for the blade to be pulled away, before feeling for zippers at first his armpits, then his thighs, separating four pieces for the arms and legs from a main torso section. After that came his collar, followed by a minute of the prime squirming his way out of the main piece. Every part that Ratione removed, he handed off to one named Sven, where they were set in the corner in a haphazard pile. The Novan now stood with almost all of his skin showing, having kept his boot pieces on and a single black garment covering his crotch, upper thighs, and lower abdomen.
 
The guards, now seeing the rest of the prime’s skin, felt themselves a little uneasy at the appearance. It looked like the hide of some animal, leathery and stiff. Almost like a lizard.
 
“Alright.” Sven grabbed at the prime’s shoulder, shoving him out of the cell and back down the row. The two other guards brought out their blades as they opened one of the two other cells containing prisoners, which Ratione promptly stepped into before Sven could push him in.
 
“Now stay there while we decided what to do with your dumb ass.”

[homin-Ratione]

Ratione did not appreciate the eyes on him right then. Three of the five men in the box he now stood in stared at him, like some kind of object on display.
 
“’ey git freakier every year, don ‘ay?” One of them spat out, his accent butchering his words.
 
Ratione narrowed his brow, focusing on the man who made the comment. His hair was long, he was missing teeth, and he looked like someone who had been chewed up by the world before being spat out. “Excuse me?” He spat back, stepping forward and towering over the prisoner.
 
The man put his hands up, inching away from the prime. “Meant nothin’ by it, sir. Just an observation.” He put on a mischievous grin.
 
“Oh.” Ratione’s demeanor changed almost automatically, his stance calming and his expression turning to worry. “I apologize. I mistook your words for insult.” He gave the man a small nod.
 
All three of the prisoners that had been watching him widened their eyes in shock, looking at each other and wondering if the non-human was serious. “You mocking me, bud?”
 
“Mocking?”
 
“’At’s what I sed.”
 
“I do not know what that means.”
 
“Yeah, yer mockin’ me.” The man put his finger into the prime’s chest, gaining a burst of overconfidence all of a sudden. The prime’s eyes fell on where the appendage was making contact with his bare chest. “Listin ‘ere, prime, ya may be new ‘ere but there’s a way o’ showin’ resp-EAAGGH!”
 
Ratione had the man’s finger in his own hand, twisting up and around while staring down his assailant. “Do not touch me.”
 
“Fuckin’ let meh go mate!”
 
“Do not touch me then.”
 
“Fine ah won’t fuck wit ya just let me go!” The Furtumin complied, releasing the prisoner, who quickly squished himself against the other side of the cell as quickly as possible. “Fuckin’ crazy ass…” He began to mumble all sorts of insults under his breath. The other two men kept their distance from the prime.
 
Ratione decided that he had made a good enough point, and opted to sit in a corner of the cell opposite the man he had just dealt with. Gently he set his weight down into the floor, crossing his legs as he did so, and putting his eyes to the floor so he could stare at something that was not moving and think about things for a bit.
 
Stranger things still. What is this tongue I am speaking? Why do I know it so well? The Novan scratched his thin hair. Why do I suddenly have all these ideas in my head I’ve never had before? Concepts and images and words. What are these even?
 

***

 
“If we got him drilled on protocol and standards, we could use him.” Galfa commented to Rholand as he leaned his back against the front desk, the both of them observing how the new prime “communicated” with his fellow cellmates. “Looks like he’s already trained in martial arts, at least in some form or another.”
 
“He must have been something like a knight, way he walks, way he holds himself. Something high-ranking at the least.” Rholand added. “He’s cocky. Thinks people will just listen to him.”
 
“He’s done a fine job listening to me and the others so far… what gave you that idea?”
 
“I can just tell. He holds himself like he’s trying to be taller than everyone else. Bigger. Meaner.” Rholand finished writing something in his little black book of records. “Trying to let everyone know ‘hey, I’m top dog around here.’”
 
“Becoming the jailhouse warden has changed you, Rholand.” Galfa scoffed. “You never were so… direct back then.”
 
“No, it’s called getting old Galfa.” The guard slapped his book shut, holding up a wrinkly finger to the captain. “And I remember when you were a stiff little bastard, back in basic. Couldn’t think of something for yourself to save your life unless your commander gave you an order to do so.”
 
Galfa held his hands up in surrender. “Point taken. I’m gonna turn in for today, go and give the missus a big hug, see my kid for the first time this month.”
 
“Stop pulling all the shifts and sleeping at the guardhouse then. You’ve done your time, Galfa. Everyone here knows that. No one would say a thing if you said no for once.”
 
“I know, Rholand. It’s not them, it’s me.” Without another word the captain beckoned his men, and the squad left the building. Rholand leaned on his desk, gazing at the door for a long moment. Eventually, he found his stool, and decided to use the brick wall as a pillow for a cat nap.

[homin-Ratione]

I wish this helm could take pictures, Bonent. Sadly, the military decided we only needed the bare minimum.
 
Over the thick layer of dark clouds, high enough that frost formed on his visor, Ratione gazed at the rising star on the horizon. Rays of light washed over the storms below like a wave of bright gold. The folds and curves lit up like hills and valleys, like another land altogether.
 
I wish that I could show you this somehow. This small moment in time, falling through the sky. When I’m not stuck on ship I don’t want to be in, or some planet I don’t want to be on. Just falling, and looking at the stars or the sun. Just falling.
 
“Ratione.” His helm’s internal speaker crackled to life. “Ratione, do you copy.”
 
Against the wind rushing past his body at terminal velocity, the Furtumin reached for the small button on the side of his helm. “Solid copy, Tombetr-Um is green. All callsigns check in.”
 
“Tombetr-Xou is green and ready to kick some furry ass!”
 
“Tombetr-Bos is green and ready to shove my foot down your throat Gnifeu if you don’t shut yer trap and take this shit seriously!”
 
“Can it you two!” Ratione barked at his squadmates. “Call signs tuatre through xes report.”
 
“Tombetr-Tuatre green, Um.”
 
“Tombetr-Juinqe orange, sir, sorry but I must have come in at a bad angle.”
 
“What’s wrong Juinqe?”
 
“My instruments are going haywire. I can land this, but I’m gonna have to do deploy my chutes when we get under those storm clouds.”
 
“Solid copy Juinqe, we’ll see you at the after party. Tombetr-Xes, report.”
 
“Face is pr-pretty green sir.” A meek, sick voice came through to Ratione’s helm.
 
“Take it easy rookie, no need to be a badass on your first drop. Just leave the fighting to the men, alright?” This comment was returned with laughter on all other ends of the radio.
 
“With all due respect, Ratione, go fu-uck yourself.” This however was met by bellowing howls and shouts of approval from the whole squad.
 
“Rook’s got balls squad leader! Maybe that’s why he’s so sick, he’s being weighed down faster than the rest of us!”
 
“That’s not how falling works Gnif…” Tuatre retorted, which elicited Gnifeu to calling him a smartass.
 
“Alright men, radio silence, time to get serious!” Ratione barked over the radio, and everyone went silent on cue. “Remember, we’re dropping chin-deep into a literal shitstorm that’s blocking radio communication with orbital, so when we’re down there we’ll be all cold and alone without any way to get out of there in case, somehow, the enemy manages to become a threat.”
 
“Sir yes sir!”
 
“Alright, and the plan?”
 
“Present a five hundred page essay on why they made the biggest mistake of their lives pissing off the 33rd Roppium Battalion!”
 
“That’s what I like to hear, time to get mean boys!”
 
The blackness came up to Ratione faster than he had expected. All around him, the clouds swallowed his body whole. All he could hear was the thumping in his chest, his breathing, and the rumble of thunder and lightning all around him.
 
“Don’t mind us big guy.” He spoke softly to the storm. “Just passing through.”
 

***

 
“I call this move the ‘fuck you and the next three guys behind you’!”
 
Ratione turned around, holding a Sar-khun archer’s head in his palm as he squirmed and hopelessly scratched at the Furtumin’s arm. Suddenly, through the sea of footmen, the squad leader watched as four heavy infantrymen were sent soaring through the air at least ten meters. The bodies and their plate armor were crumpled all in the abdomens, guts either hanging from their mouths or nether regions.
 
“And whoever you happen to land on. But hey, who's counting?” Gnifeu rocketed into the air before slamming back down into a few light armored troops that had formed a meager shield wall.
 
Ratione closed his fist around the skull of the archer, brain matter and bits of white bone oozing through his fingers. His squad mates had sprinkled themselves on the battle field, drawing off the force of a few hundred thousand enemy soldiers from the small Novan garrison. About half a kilometer north of his position, they had managed to rally fast enough to throw up a shield wall in a narrow ravine cutting into the cliff side. There, Ratione could see the mesa where he had been told an outpost got bombarded by Sar-khun air support.
 
The squad leader looked down, back to the cluster of troops he had been dealing with. The Furtumin had managed to cut a small, oblong clearing amongst their ranks, a shield wall surrounding him. Suddenly, slipping in between the front line all around him, a full charge of footmen with axes and maces came through. All of them had large round shields on them, aiming to surround and trap the Novan. Behind them came a circle of pikemen, slowly lowering their long polearms as they descended.
 
“Smart.” Ratione spoke through his helmet’s external speakers, addressing the crowd. “You figured from the last ten guys that I squished that you really can’t take me on like a typical heavy infantryman.” The circle began to close, shrinking in circumference, the pike hedge becoming denser as it got closer. Ratione stood still, and waited.
 
Eventually, the pikes poked his armor plates, and each one of them was pulled back right before being lunged forward into his joints and visor. The Furtumin did only so much as to bring his hand up in front of the glass visor in front of his face, if to just prevent a scratch. The rest of the blows skipped off what seemed to be his “weak points.”
 
“Thing is.” Ratione raised his other hand to slap away the pike tips all around him, knocking them out of the hands of the footmen. “This isn’t a situation of victory or defeat. There’s no winning or losing. Right now, I’d hardly consider this a battle.” He reached forward into the shield wall, his hand batting aside the metal boards and wrapping its palm around a random Sar-khun throat.
 
The air itself seemed to stand still as the Novan brought his enemy up to his visor, staring directly into the whites of their eyes as they struggled to free themselves from the grip.
 
“This is me, informing you personally, because I guess you assholes didn’t get the memo.” He choke-slammed the soldier into the mud. “We are in charge in this galaxy!” He bellowed over the troops, meeting the eyes of each and every one, reveling in the fear he felt in the atmosphere. “We are Nova! We are Novans! And our word is law!” The Furtumin took a random stab at one of the other soldiers, his blade easily bashing the round shield aside and sinking deep through their armor and everything underneath.
 
This caused the shield wall to break, as now a circle of enraged Sar-khun, clearly not agreeing with the declaration of dominance, threw aside reason for the sake of being the one to bring down the Furtumin. Ratione felt himself suddenly weighed down by the mass of arms and bodies throwing themselves at him, pulling his suit into the ground with all their strength. Soldiers piled on top of each other to add more and more weight to the pile.
 
This resistance was futile.
 
“Command, burst!” Suddenly Ratione felt himself rocketing towards the dark sky, raindrops speckling his visor as looked upward. With the added mass his jump pack could only accelerate his suit around half the distance it usually did, and reaching peak altitude he still had a few stubborn Sar-khun hanging on tight to the armor.
 
His body was limp, how the Novan had been trained to react whenever his suit accelerated him. This was to avoid pulling muscles and breaking bones from the sudden jerk. So as he began descending, his limbs hung loosely about, slowly raising above his torso. Still at least five enemy soldiers were on him.
 
Ratione waited until his jump pack was aimed back downward, then gave a second burst command. Now he was moving very, very fast back down to the dirt where the group that had attempted to kill him earlier was waiting.
 
At the very last second, the Furtumin righted himself, thick boots slamming into the ground and knees bending to absorb the shock. Still, the sudden stop left him a little dizzy and a small headache began worming its way in.
 
I’m getting too cocky. He thought to himself, straightening his body and looking over the bodies that he had thrown into the dirt. Some were still alive, either crying out or feebly stifling screams as they cradled broken bones. Some had landed straight on their skulls, instantly severing their spinal cord connection. Some of them either twitched violently or subtly.
 
“Geeze…” Ratione put a hand on top of his helm and on his hip. “Some races never learn. You need to pound them into the ground a few times before they give up.”
 
“You will fall.” A strained voice, gurgling with blood in the back of the throat, managed to make his way into his helmet’s audio receivers. The Novan looked around for the source, focusing his senses on a Sar-khun pikeman that lay against the body of a comrade.
 
“You…” He began to wheeze and cough, spitting out bits of blood, bile, even a tooth. “Eh, heehhh, you will all pay… for this…”
 
With a few long strides Ratione was towering over the alien that inexplicably knew his own tongue. He could now see that the Sar-khun’s eyes were completely blacked over from blood, he must have received a nasty concussion.
 
“How?” The Furtumin crouched down in order to make his eyes level with that of his enemy. “Tell me how. We are the ones in charge here. Anyone that hopes to defy our rule will be met with the reality of the galaxy swiftly and without mercy.”
 
“Your… your arrogance.” A low chuckle managed to escape his muzzle, blood dripping from the jowls. “It will be your downfall…”
 
“I don’t think you get the picture here pal.” Despite his obvious blindness, Ratione’s gauntlet wrapped around the Sar-khun’s throat. He pulled the whole body closer to him, speaking in a low and hushed tone.
 
“This isn’t a war. This isn’t a fight. There’s no winner, no loser. There is just you listening to what we say or else we bring down our boot so hard it decimates your entire race. Get it through your thick, hairy skulls. We are gods to you.”
 
Despite the intensity of Ratione’s words, the soldier kept laughing. Laughing in the face of a god.
 

***

“…aaand one more question, if you had to fight in an arena for sex, would you?”
 
“I would never. That is disgusting.”
 
“Just a no is fine pal.” Rholand slapped his little black book shut again, and proceeded to limp back to the front gate.
 
“What is this for?” Ratione raised his voice a little so the old guard could hear him.
 
“Just a standard survey.” Rholand waved it off, “We do it for all the prisoners.”
 
“You are a strange species.”
 
“Yeah, we’re the weird ones.” The guard shut the gate behind him and locked it back up. “Okay Mr.Literal.” He continued on his way to his stool, mumbling something under his breath about something called a "website".
 
As the old man made his way back to the front desk, Ratione took back his spot in the corner of the cell, relaxing back into crossed legs. It had been a few hours since he had first sat there, and it felt nice to stand for a bit. His thighs and calves had begun to get sore, and now he leaned against the bars to relieve the pressure on them. How much longer was he even supposed to be in here? Were they just going to keep him locked up, or put him to work? He would have much rather preferred to do menial labor than just sit on a cold, hard floor for a day.
 
I wager that I should use this time to assess my situation. I’m on some foreign world where the laws of the physical world do not really apply. That, and I’m surrounded by a race that is eerily similar to my own in way too many respects. I’ve also managed to just suddenly know their tongue.
 
The Novan brought one hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. Or perhaps it would be best not to think about it too hard. Perhaps this is a fever dream, and my body is still back home. Sitting in an infirmary after reinforcements came, or perhaps the Sar-khun took me prisoner.
 
The though sent chills down Ratione’s spine, and he visibly shuttered.
 
Is this the “hell” I’ve heard so much about from other faiths?

[Doomguy]

“It’s always the bad boys I get stuck with, isn’t it?” Janna asked herself as sauntered through the cobblestone streets of Minas Tirith, unwavered by the occasional stare by the locals as the yordle headed towards her destination. When Captain Choprot had managed to worm his way into the pirate court of Blue Flame Island, she expected the giant green brute to send the crew into a tailspin of drunken debauchery. Something she admittedly partook in quite a bit herself. But after the vices of the pirate port had lost their novelty and the quartermaster found herself looking back towards the sea and what laid in it. Choprot seemed more interested in drinking his weight in grog, so Janna looked to the dataverse to find something to tickle her fancy.

Online dating had something of a bizarre allure to it: Meet random strangers, perhaps dangerous, go to places she has not seen before. It was the reason she had stuck to her job even after they pitched the Empire officer into the ocean. That this would involve less nights of waiting for the sounds of enemy cannons or roars from the deep could only make it better. But at the moment, it was a question of finding her mystery date.

“Well, if he didn’t want to play hard to find, he should have answered my email. I’d hope he appreciated the effort to track him down. Well, he doesn’t need to…” Janna let loose a laugh, causing a few passersby to give her a wider berth. If this was some lame joker’s prank or the moment of weakness for a wannabe cheater, then she would love to spread them a little misery. If it was something darker… well, that’s what the massive cannon of a gun that dangled from her back was for. She looked back down at the device she had been following, towards the government section of the massive castle she ventured through. She had always wanted to visit the magnificent city, but as she neared the local jail she figured it would not be explored how it should be today.

Rholand sat at his stool, little to expect that today would any different than the rest of his tenure as warden. Other than a small chuckle at some errant thought or the occasional glance to his prisoners, he was content to wait out his time for today.

Then there was a knock at the door.

No one knocks on the jail door.

The guard was left unsure if he should get up before the question was answered for him when it was opened, a blue goblin like creature walked in as shut it behind her. She confidently strode in, a gun bigger than she was on her back, and she looked to the head guard more like he was some punk that a man of his station.

“I’m looking for a Homin Ratione” Janna announced, which caught the man off guard. She saw it in that moment, that look of someone caught in a lie. He hid it pretty quickly, but the yordle had been around enough liars and cutthroats to know it when she saw it. Her earlier theory looked a bit more solid, even though it wasn’t exactly as she thought.

“What business do you have here?” Rholand responded, neither confirming nor denying that there was someone with that name here. But Janna was no fool. She thought about just being honest about why she was here, but if this meathead was going to be like this she wasn’t about to make it easy for him.

“I’m here to talk to him. That’s all you need to know”

“What makes you think-” Janna interrupted him when she hovered some gadget over his desk, and as it moved over his dataverse device it let out a loud “ding!” A toothy smile formed on the QM’s face as she looked the man square in the eyes

“Well either you’re him, or you’re going to have to explain how a man in jail managed to get a message out on the dataverse. On a dating site”

“...third cell on the left” he gave in, and nodded to the perplexed guard standing at the door separating them from the cells. The smile on Janna’s face dropped as she realized she’d have to do this in the middle of the prison itself.

“Hey, what if we want some privacy?” She more demanded than asked, but Rholand was not about to have his authority felled like that and merely shrugged.

“Tough, this isn’t a holiday home. You’ll just have to let everyone else watch”

Janna entertained the thought of shooting the desk out from under the warden, but instead walked through the rows of cells.

“Hey, you can’t bring that in there” One last word was given as warden pointed out the massive weapon on the woman’s back

“Then take it from me” And when no challenge was given, she strut further into the building.

At the cell, she looked at the candidates on offer. A few thugs and drunkards, ordinary in look if not in their chosen career. And sat on the other side was what looked like a tall human, were it not for his strange legs and thick skin. Sitting in his underwear. Some people are just cruel.

“Homin?” She asked to no one in particular, and the tall man’s head shot up.

“It’s Ratione” He answered, a bit of a resignation in his voice told Jana this was not the first time he’s had to make that correction. The pirate didn’t question it. This would be interesting, if nothing else.

“I’m Janna. I’m here because it looks like you’ve had a very long, bad day” The alien gave a strange look toward the yordle, who rested her arms on the bars as she leaned in and gave him a smile “So I’m going to give you a deal: I can stay for an hour or two and you’ll have someone to talk to that isn’t a smelly hobo” The comment caused one of the other inmates to shout something in protest, but he was promptly ignored “Or I could leave you with just the knowledge of how I found you. Well, fella, what’s your choice?”

[homin-Ratione]

“Yes.” Ratione replied almost immediately after the short, blue, fuzzy thing with a button nose and big hazel eyes finished her sentence. Was this some child, and if so why did she walk and talk with the confidence of a grown adult?
 
The Novan gave her one quick glance up and down her body. Her hips were wide, suggesting maturity. Perhaps she was simply some shorter race. Her attire was also much too… revealing for a younger girl, at least by most standards the Furtumin had come across. However, the most striking thing he found on her at the moment was the large, slender, metal contraption on her back that was longer than she was tall. It looked like some kind of piston, perhaps a tool? What kind of machine would require a device such as that?
 
It was also horribly inconsistent with the rest of the city around him, in terms of technical advancement. Perhaps she was a member of a space-faring race that was colonizing the planet. Perhaps the ones that got him here.
 
Janna held her head a bit back at the urgency of her date’s words, her smug grin being replaced with a raised eyebrow and mouth agape. “Wow, okay, that was, easy. I guess?”
 
“I would very much enjoy conversation with you, Janna.” Ratione held his hand out to the short girl. “As I have many questions of your world, and its people. If you would be willing to answer them.”
 
Janna paused at the gesture. Her demeanor teetered between caution and intrigue.
 
After a small moment, the yordle chose the latter, extending her own hand barely wrapping her fingers around the alien’s palm.
 
“You’re new here then, right? A new prime?” She could feel Ratione tense up a bit at that, and almost pull out of the hand shake.
 
“Yes. I arrived within the day.” The Furtumin decided it was the time to be forward again with his own culture, opting to grip Janna by the forearm and giving it a firm shake. “Though this is a strange… ‘place’. It seems that a lot of rules do not apply here.” He skootched forward in his spot, closer to the cell bars. His eyes fell on her small hands, inspecting their…. Smallness.
 
“Shoot, big guy.” The smug grin returned to the girl’s face as leaned back into the bars.
 
“Where am I.”
 
“Like, what this city is? ‘Cause it’s called Minas Tirith.”
 
“I am aware. And it resides in the territory of ‘Camelot’.”
 
“Not territory or country or anything like that, guy.” The yordel giggled. “Wow, I’m about to blow your mind, ain’t I?”
 
“Please do.”
 
Janna’s cheeks warmed just a tad at that, but it seemed the alien had no clue how suggestive it had sounded. “W-ell, you’re in a place called the ‘Omniverse’.”
 
“That’s the planet’s name?”
 
“Not… exactly…” One of her pointed ears twitched a bit. “We’re not really on a “planet”. Hell, I dunno what to call this place.” It was then that the yordle realized that her date’s eyes were looking just below her shoulder-line.
 
The girl snapped her fingers, “’Ay, eyes up here buddy.” Ratione’s eyes shot up to meet her own. When she looked into them, though, it was like he was looking straight through her. Janna could not put her tongue on it just then, but she had come across that look before. That thousand-yard-stare that some people had.
 
“Then what is this place?” Ratione failed to notice her ears pulling back a bit. How dense was this man?
 
“It’s… all sorts of places actually.” Janna decided to let that one slip. “I come from the Vasty Deep. It’s all ocean there. Here, it’s the city and then the plains outside, and the floating island. There’s a desert one, a jungle, a creepy one, a big-ass city one…” She put her chin in the palm of her hand and her gaze wandered as she worked on the rest of the thought.
 
“That’s impossible.” Ratione blurted out bluntly. “How can a world like this exist? Are all those gates I saw the how you get to these other places?”
 
“Yeah, that’s the Nexus. Everyone starts out there.” Her eyes went back to the alien, who’s own were now looking off to where she had. She smiled. Whatever place this guy came from, it had made him funny in the head.

[Doomguy]

The information seemed to really weigh down on Ratione, although his ability to comprehend it was a bit of a sticking point for the alien soldier. While Janna had brief moments of frustrations with this explanation, she could understand since she was once as as new to this land as he was now. It was never a conversation that happened. Choprot didn’t like using words with more than two syllables.She had assumed that Ratione was from a more “advanced” universe, but then there was only so much you could figure from someone’s underwear.

Well, you can tell a lot about a particular thing, but that’s not what Janna wanted to think about right now.

“Is there a way to escape this place?” The alien asked, his eyes closed as he pounded on what he had learned. This seemed so surreal, and only increasingly so. If it meant anything was beyond him, and his concern now was on the small creature ahead of him.

“Here? Yeah, these door hinges don’t look very tough” Janna’s interest perked as the idea of a prison break sparked the pirate in her. It was exciting, an action packed escape from inside the famed walled city of Camelot. Dodging guards and crossbow bolts. She was glad she had gone with date thing now “Just a little ‘pressure’ with big birtha here and-”

“I meant this “world’. Although I appreciate the offer” Ratione corrected, he stuck to the previous word more out of having something to compare it to even if it wasn’t the right one. The yordle’s posture drooped, both from her suggestion being shot down and the rather depressing answer she didn’t want to give.

“No. Not that anyone knows, anyway. A few crazy people try every once in awhile, but we don’t know if they’ve succeeded or just died” She answered with a little pout. Being the barer of bad news was never something she liked to do, even though she had to do it so often. She toughed it out, as she usually did, and changed the subject “But hey, you’re a prime! That means you're lucky”

The knight looked around at the stone and iron walls of the cell around him and then stared back at the quartermaster, with an unimpressed look that would have been funny if the man was not so serious. .

“Hey, you’re still relatively lucky” Janna pointed out. There was a brief silence, before Janna thought of something that might be more important: “So what about you? What were you like before you came here?” The man thought about the question, but a small smile across his face seemed to alive some of both of their worry. 

“I was a soldier, a Knight of my people. I had fought to advance the reach of my people, and defended them in their time of need.” Ratione told and reminisced on his past.

“I was an academy student” Janna replied. She wanted to see where this conversation went, even if it went nowhere “Studied mechanics. When I got pulled in, I was made the Quartermaster of the ship since I was the only one who need how to fix the guns”

“That is a position with a lot of responsibility, especially for someone so young” While it seemed like the stating the obvious, he was genuinely surprised at her rank, and perhaps respected that.

“Pff, young. I just look that way because Yordles are short and have big eyes” Not that Janna cared that much. She was proud to be so trusted by the captain. Even it that was more because the rest of the crew was so untrustworthy.

“But what are you going to do now?” Sh asked, and looked forward to the answer.

[homin-Ratione]

What are you going to do now?
 
The question, for some reason, sat in his mind. The Novan turned it over in his head again and again, simulating different responses.
 
A Knight of my people. Yes. That’s what I once was. Or at least, after a lot of blood was shed that didn’t need to be. I was a true Furtumin for a brief moment in time, wasn’t I?
 
Ratione felt a sense of pride build inside him. A pride he had not felt in a long time. A feeling that had long since abandoned his body, replaced by regret. Guilt.
 
Perhaps dying for his people, defending his homeland, perhaps that had reignited that small ember in his chest. That tiny flicker that had hung on through all of that first war. Then it had burst into a roaring flame at the climax of his final battle.
 
What was that roar he let out when he died? What was that sound? The cry of a people never to be contained again, never to be held down by the world by monsters. Never again.
 
But here he was. Contained. Held down.
 
“You said you had something that could break these locks?”
 
Janna paused for a moment, watching as the tall alien stood up and stretching his arms over his head.
 
Slowly, a wide grin spread across the yordle’s face. “You betcha pal!”
 
“Now here’s the pla-“
 
Without any sign of hesitation, the girl brought her strange tool to her arms, the object disproportionately large in her hands. After fitting some foam plugs in her large ears, Janna aimed the metal road, with a hollow opening at the front, at the lock, sliding back a bolt and pulling a trigger.
 
Click-clack-BOOM!
 
The device roared with an explosion of heat and energy and sound. The top of Ratione’s head chipped some dust off the ceiling as he jumped in his spot, eyes wide and pupils the size of pins. His ears started ringing like they had never before.
 
There was a second blast of sound, but the Novan barely reacted to it. All that was going through his head was a massive migraine and the fact that the guard was limping his way to the door. No doubt everyone in the damned city had heard that, but it would buy them a lot of time if the guardsmen had to figure out the source.
 
Ratione ripped his cage door open, taking a single stride to the second and throwing himself through. Right as Rholand got his fingers on the handle, the Furtumin was on him.
 
A long leg swept out the wooden one, the human collapsing to the ground and cursing. Ratione got on top of him, threading both his arms under the old man’s own, locking his fingers together at the back of the head. Lifting the whole body back up with ease, the Novan hauled the struggling guardsman back over to the cellblock. The other prisoners had remained in their cell, held there by Janna’s loud and terrifying contraption.
 
The Novan threw him in with the others, confident they would not dare attack a city guard for fear of a harsher sentence. Stepping back, his eyes still wide and his ears still carrying that long and sharp whine, he could barely make out a mumbling below him. He looked down to see Janna’s lips moving, but nothing came out of them.
 
“What?!”
 
“W… otta… out… now!”
 
“Q-qe meria?! What was that just now! What did you do!”
 
“I fired my rifle dumbass!”
 
“What in the galaxy is a rifle?!”
 
“It’s a gun! What the hell kina guns do you guys have?”
 
“We don’t have anything like that!”
 
“I thought you were an alien?! Like with space stuff!”
 
“Why would that mean we had something like that?”
 
“I dunno! Space people usually do!”
 
“I need to get my armor.” Ratione dropped the conversation, neither willing nor capable in the current moment to understand why a machine like that would ever need to exist. With a massive headache coming to climax, he made his way to the back of the cell block and where his jump suit and power armor lay in a heap.
 
Janna opted to stand guard as the Novan dressed himself first in the padded jumpsuit, then hefting each section of his armor. First his legs, then torso, then arms. The entire process without assistance took around twenty minutes to complete before all of the artificial tendons and energy-hydraulics linked up. Last came the helmet, which he slipped on with practiced ease, a HUD display temporarily popping up with a quick diagnostic’s check.
 
“I am starting to run out of power.” He broadcasted to his newfound ally, who turned around with a frustrated look.
 
“What does that thing run on, anyways?”
 
“Raw energy.”
 
“How do you get that?”
 
“I don’t know. Only the harvesting corporations know, and even then the knowledge is limited to the highest-ranking engineers and researchers.”
 
“So if that suit runs outta juice we’ll just use omnilium! No biggie!”
 
Ratione decided to ask about whatever that was later. Commanding the HUD display to clear with his voice, he stomped over the little blue woman.
 
“I am thinking that perhaps the city guard could be centering on our location by now.”
 
“Yeah. Got a plan?”
 
The Novan shook his head. “Beyond getting out of the city, no.”
 
“…..right. Well-“ She turned to face him, smiling with a mischievous glee, “Wudoo-we-do, big guy?”
 
The Novan let slip a tiny smirk himself, before scooping up the yordle in one of his arms. “Right now, you need to hang on tight.”
 
The yordle let out a yell, “Hey! Careful!” as she cradled the boom stick in her arms. She squirmed in the improvised seat. “Normally I’d put a bullet through your skull, but this isn’t normally.” Then she pointed a finger at the expressionless visor, “You don’t talk about this to anyone and you never try it again without my permission!”
 
“Understood.” Even as the tiny blue girl chastised the Novan, he made his way to the door, commanding his HUD to display a short range radar.
 
When it came up, there were two dots in the center, followed by a thick line and thin a barely visible fuzz beyond that line. This told Ratione that they were to meet some resistance the second he breached.
 
“Janna, I’m going to have to squeeze you tight with both arms.”
 
“Why?!”
 
“So you don’t shift around too much. We are going to be accelerating and decelerating rather quickly. Make sure you loosen up your body too so you do not hurt something.”
 
“Oh, right, okay uh…” The yordle shifted around as Ratione brought his other arm up to wrap around her, fixing her whole body in place. Janna wrapped both arms around her loud tool as it lay across the Novan’s chest.
 
The Furtumin put his should against the door, angling his body sideways so that the tool could fit through. He bent his knees and put his weight on the balls of his feet.
 
“Are we ready?”
 
“No.”
 
“Good, here we go!” At the utterance of the last word, Ratione grunted as he forced himself through the door. The entire thing came off its hinges, splinter on the spot where he dug his shoulder in and flying forward.
 
The second the Furtumin’s eyes and mind processed the half-circle of guards with large tower shields surrounding them, he gave a command to burst upward.

[Doomguy]

There was a brief moment of calm as the guards that encircled and approached the two jail breakers, pikes barred down on the Novan and the pirate yordle. As the quartermaster watched the spear hears near in agonizingly slow caution, in her mind she tried to decide what was worse: that her glorious career would end here despite surviving attack from deranged primes, eldritch abominations, and sadistic Empire cronies to be caught a foot out the door of a Camelot prison. Or that it would be while held like a blue, unruly teddy bear in the arms of a giant man in an armored alien who doesn’t even know what a gun is.

And in that next instant any further thought on the subject disappeared and scattered to the wind along with the Yordle’s breath as the two escapees hurled through the air.

The Furtumin took each stride with the same practiced precision as his training and experience on the field, a moment of confusion from his enemy as his foot slammed into the hard surface, in this case some administration building, and he was gone with another before resistance could figure out what had just landed and left in their midst. The only real difference was the screaming bundle in his arms.

Janna herself had transition from surprised terror to a thrilling glee as the two bounced from stone roof to stone roof. Their escape had now become an unguided roller coaster with only the occasional accurate arrow or bolt to worry about. As the two made one last hurl across the great walls of Minas Tirith, they landed onto the fields beyond with a great thud and ran off into the horizon.

“That was awesome!” the quartermaster yelled out as she wiggled her arms out of the space man’s grip so that she could at least move a bit “We were all “kaboosh” and then they were all “shwip shwip shwip” and how the hell does a mug like you getta nice setta booties like that and not know what a gun is?!” Her mouth was running than her brain was, a small feat since she was already thinking about how to make her own armor like the Novan’s.

“There are more pressing concerns at the moment. I am almost out of energy, and I would rather not have to abandon the suit” Understandably, Ratione was much more level headed and his concern was focused on not being punctured by primitive projectiles.

“Ah, don’t worry your lumpy head. We’ll find some Omnilium. And then you can buy me a drink for saving your sorry ass!” The Yordle gave a manic and high pitched laugh as the two disappeared into the horizon and out of arrow range.

[homin-Ratione]

“What is… Omnilium?” The Furtumin asked. “Is it an energy source? An apress?”

 
Janna cocked her head to look at her ride. “A what now?”
 
“A fluid, something that can be compressed into my suit’s mechanics.”
 
“So hydraulic fluid?”
 
“If it works then it works.”
 
“Oh we can just jack a car for that stuff! Or some construction site machines!” Janna put her thumb and forefinger to her mouth, “Ehh, but I dunno if there’s a lot of those in the Deeps…”
 
“Deeps?” Ratione kicked off the ground and soared over a small tool shed, landing back in a field full of crops that had green leaves and grew close to the ground in balls. As he charged through, mud and leaves were kicked up by the Novan’s massive steel boots. The suit of armor clumsily attempted to dodge the plants, but only crushing more in the process. Behind him, Ration could hear a farmer cry out in anguish.
 
“Yeah it’s the ‘verse with lots of ocean and islands and stuff, it’s where I hang out most of the time.” The yordle straightened up in her perch, putting one hand over her eyes and peering out to where her ride was headed. “You know where the gate is?”
 
“Yes, I remember my course for the most part.” As he jogged, the old man held out his arm a little and pointed towards a collection of stone ruins in the distance. “There was only the one guard, with a polearm, a spear. He will not be much issue.”
 
After a short while, the pair closed the distance. As expected a single man with his arm wrapped around a spear, kettle helm dipped forward, slouching against one of the monoliths. As the sound of power-armor thumping against the dirt grew in volume, he stirred from his cat nap, shaking slightly and standing up straight. The guard rubbed his eyes, blinking until his vision cleared up.
 
“Oi! Leavin’ so soon mate!” Ratione cocked his head a little as the man waved, taking a second to remember how he was the first to greet him out of the white void.
 
Ratione brought both his legs forward, stretching one out and bending the other as his body rotated sideways. His feet dug into the ground, and soon rock as he slowed down just in time to stop still in front of the guard.
 
Janna smacked her fist against his helm, then yelped and suckled her pinky finger. “Whath youth thtoppin’ for! He’th a guard, duthmbath!” She chastised the Novan through stuffed lips.
 
“No! This man was helpful! It is how I met you! He pointed me towards Minas Tirith!” Ratione stiffly threw a finger at the guard, who’s eyes widened.
 
“Well I was jus’ pointin’ ya in the right direction guy!” He chuckled, “Not much to et.” Then his face changed to one of suspicion, “Wait.. why ya’ ‘fraid o’ ta guards?”
 
There was a pause. A very drawn out, awkward pause. The yordle and the Novan stared at the human, and the human stared back.
 
“WellIwilljustleavenowthankyouagaingoodbye!” Ratione spoke a command in his native tongue, and Janna screeched as suddenly she had to hang on for dear life. The pair rocketed through the white void before them, leaving the guard alone and lacking explanation.
 
“…I’m getting stuck ‘ere again for another long time for letting ‘em go, ern’t I?” He sat there for a minute, leaning against his spear, but simply shrugged. “Ooohhh well! Tooo bad!” He scoffed with a slight smirk.