<![CDATA[Omni Archive - The Endless Dunes]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/ Thu, 06 Aug 2026 10:21:39 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Drake Oneir's Parts Unknown: Endless Dunes]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=4682 Thu, 05 Jul 2018 04:34:56 +0000 Drake Oneir]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=4682
Now, as Drake slugged back his third tumbler of Blue Flame Rum, he looked around with a pleasantly warm smile. The tables in the local cantina he had come to favor were all buzzing with patrons. There seemed to be a public consensus that no one was going to acknowledge the fact that all of Nippur's greatest warriors were on vacation in Dante's Abyss, right after putting the city back together. No...that couldn't possibly be a bad sign. Maybe it would have been better if Drake had been given any sort of authority before they all left, maybe he would feel better about the situation.

But, no, the CEO never gave a shit about the IT guy. To be very, very frank, Drake was scared shitless, which was why he was now getting handsomely plastered. The Rhythmless Grill was a good place for that, since the owners, staff, and bouncers were all members of the nomadic Fremen tribe. Well, barring Kagumoo, who was a Gerudo witch at work, and also a part-time dominatrix, from what Drake understood. The Grill was decorated in the skeletal remains of various desert creatures, all lit warmly by the flickering light of smokeless oil lamps. Large decanters and bottles of deeply nefarious, darkly colored liquors lined a granite steele that had been converted into a tap shelf. The local Dunes beer, gamey and stout, was cut here with a curious, sweet compound that the Fremen simply called 'Spice'.

For more hearty fair, there were biryanis, tagines of chicken, goat casseroles, roasted nuts, eggplant and squash dishes...really anything that was salty and fatty, and readily attainable in the arid agriculture of the Dunes. Drake loved all of it. Normally the stereo system played ambient yet assertive remixes of tribal drum and pipe songs, but the smuggler Prime was in the room for a taste of home. As such, the sandstone hall was currently echoing with a very loud remix that brought out something in the Nippurian nightlife that they had never felt before. Perhaps it was also the excessive libations in their bloodstreams, or the sense of jubilant, springtime safety, but there were definitely a few people making babies up against the wall in the room tonight. Kagumoo leaned heavily on the burnished ebony bar, letting her olive colored bosoms rest conspicuously close to the tip jar.

"Another one, Drakie?" she said in her husky, dry voice. A stray curl of shock-red hair was pulled back behind her pointed ear. Drake shook his head slowly, blowing out a breath of air that was probably somewhere around thirty-five proof.

"Nah sweetheart. Wha's m'tab?" Drake sighed, pulling out a heavy purse full of Gilgamesh's face. The golden coins spilled across the counter, and upon being informed of his dues, he pushed the requisite pile over to Kagumoo, and the rest of the pile towards the tip jar. It seemed like the witch wanted to chit chat, but Drake wasn't in the mood. Being a member of his generation, he signaled this by pulling out his Dataverse device and scrolling through social media.

Nippur's new social media site, BabbelON, was motoring along nicely. The Yandere kid was doing a good job on the technical end, working alongside with Monika and the rest of SW3. Tens of thousands of Gilgamesh's subjects had signed on to the website and lovingly spilled most of their live's most intimate secretes into Drake's servers. What the hell the Royal Guard planned on doing with it, Drake didn't know, but he was at least doing his damn job. That was more than New Babylon's bourgeoisie blood-athletes could claim. He should probably call Monika and check in, but it was still before five in the morning in Coruscant. What to do...]]>
Now, as Drake slugged back his third tumbler of Blue Flame Rum, he looked around with a pleasantly warm smile. The tables in the local cantina he had come to favor were all buzzing with patrons. There seemed to be a public consensus that no one was going to acknowledge the fact that all of Nippur's greatest warriors were on vacation in Dante's Abyss, right after putting the city back together. No...that couldn't possibly be a bad sign. Maybe it would have been better if Drake had been given any sort of authority before they all left, maybe he would feel better about the situation.

But, no, the CEO never gave a shit about the IT guy. To be very, very frank, Drake was scared shitless, which was why he was now getting handsomely plastered. The Rhythmless Grill was a good place for that, since the owners, staff, and bouncers were all members of the nomadic Fremen tribe. Well, barring Kagumoo, who was a Gerudo witch at work, and also a part-time dominatrix, from what Drake understood. The Grill was decorated in the skeletal remains of various desert creatures, all lit warmly by the flickering light of smokeless oil lamps. Large decanters and bottles of deeply nefarious, darkly colored liquors lined a granite steele that had been converted into a tap shelf. The local Dunes beer, gamey and stout, was cut here with a curious, sweet compound that the Fremen simply called 'Spice'.

For more hearty fair, there were biryanis, tagines of chicken, goat casseroles, roasted nuts, eggplant and squash dishes...really anything that was salty and fatty, and readily attainable in the arid agriculture of the Dunes. Drake loved all of it. Normally the stereo system played ambient yet assertive remixes of tribal drum and pipe songs, but the smuggler Prime was in the room for a taste of home. As such, the sandstone hall was currently echoing with a very loud remix that brought out something in the Nippurian nightlife that they had never felt before. Perhaps it was also the excessive libations in their bloodstreams, or the sense of jubilant, springtime safety, but there were definitely a few people making babies up against the wall in the room tonight. Kagumoo leaned heavily on the burnished ebony bar, letting her olive colored bosoms rest conspicuously close to the tip jar.

"Another one, Drakie?" she said in her husky, dry voice. A stray curl of shock-red hair was pulled back behind her pointed ear. Drake shook his head slowly, blowing out a breath of air that was probably somewhere around thirty-five proof.

"Nah sweetheart. Wha's m'tab?" Drake sighed, pulling out a heavy purse full of Gilgamesh's face. The golden coins spilled across the counter, and upon being informed of his dues, he pushed the requisite pile over to Kagumoo, and the rest of the pile towards the tip jar. It seemed like the witch wanted to chit chat, but Drake wasn't in the mood. Being a member of his generation, he signaled this by pulling out his Dataverse device and scrolling through social media.

Nippur's new social media site, BabbelON, was motoring along nicely. The Yandere kid was doing a good job on the technical end, working alongside with Monika and the rest of SW3. Tens of thousands of Gilgamesh's subjects had signed on to the website and lovingly spilled most of their live's most intimate secretes into Drake's servers. What the hell the Royal Guard planned on doing with it, Drake didn't know, but he was at least doing his damn job. That was more than New Babylon's bourgeoisie blood-athletes could claim. He should probably call Monika and check in, but it was still before five in the morning in Coruscant. What to do...]]> <![CDATA[[Semi-Open] Water In Dry Places]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7618 Thu, 28 Jun 2018 16:38:18 +0000 Talos Quinn]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7618 Semi-Open: Please message me if you'd like to play with me in Carrefore! I'm interested character interactions that will teach Talos about the world, especially mentoring or working together to bamboozle Stormtroopers.]

Carrefore felt like Morocco as written by Frank Herbert.

Talos spent her first fifteen minutes in the town evading the plainclothes agents from the Stormtrooper tower that had tailed her into the city. It is very hard to follow someone whose face and clothes change every time they turn a corner. The simplicity of evading them was refreshing, and left Talos feeling a little more equal to the world she found herself in.

Once she'd doffed her pursuers, she settled on a mask of a middle aged women in a navy djellaba with curious chrome embroidery--something she'd copied whole-cloth (pun intended) off of a woman near the gate. Talos didn't know enough about local culture to risk embellishing clothing yet.

When in a new and possibly dangerous city, her policy was always to look like someone not affluent enough to be worth robbing, but not poor enough to attract the hassle and abuse that beggars suffered. She also tended to become female. It was slightly more dangerous, for reprehensible reasons, but tended to put people at ease and make them more talkative. Gender stereotypes were tools that Talos enjoyed employing to her advantage, before playing rugby with people's assumptions.

It was night, but the streets were still active enough to give her a comfortable screen of humanity. The last North African city she'd visited had been Marrakech, and this place was reminiscent, but distinct in strange ways. There were street vendors, but in addition to clothes and food, people sold bits of magic and technological baubles, and there were mats displaying swords and guns laid out right next to the mats selling Tupperware and undershirts. People wore sidearms openly, some conventional some bogglingly futuristic. It all created the unnerving impression that violence was expected at any moment.

Talos sold her binoculars to a junk merchant who was packing up and examined the money. She surreptitiously forged more with magic while sitting next to a fountain, and set about haggling and gossiping with the remaining vendors.

She learned a number of words: Prime. Secondary. Coruscant. Psycho Raider. This last one she learned from a child who accompanied it with a lively puppet show that involved a bloody hockey mask.

Talos gave the child money to go away. She continued to explore, hunting for patches of activity as most of the city shut down for the night.]]> Semi-Open: Please message me if you'd like to play with me in Carrefore! I'm interested character interactions that will teach Talos about the world, especially mentoring or working together to bamboozle Stormtroopers.]

Carrefore felt like Morocco as written by Frank Herbert.

Talos spent her first fifteen minutes in the town evading the plainclothes agents from the Stormtrooper tower that had tailed her into the city. It is very hard to follow someone whose face and clothes change every time they turn a corner. The simplicity of evading them was refreshing, and left Talos feeling a little more equal to the world she found herself in.

Once she'd doffed her pursuers, she settled on a mask of a middle aged women in a navy djellaba with curious chrome embroidery--something she'd copied whole-cloth (pun intended) off of a woman near the gate. Talos didn't know enough about local culture to risk embellishing clothing yet.

When in a new and possibly dangerous city, her policy was always to look like someone not affluent enough to be worth robbing, but not poor enough to attract the hassle and abuse that beggars suffered. She also tended to become female. It was slightly more dangerous, for reprehensible reasons, but tended to put people at ease and make them more talkative. Gender stereotypes were tools that Talos enjoyed employing to her advantage, before playing rugby with people's assumptions.

It was night, but the streets were still active enough to give her a comfortable screen of humanity. The last North African city she'd visited had been Marrakech, and this place was reminiscent, but distinct in strange ways. There were street vendors, but in addition to clothes and food, people sold bits of magic and technological baubles, and there were mats displaying swords and guns laid out right next to the mats selling Tupperware and undershirts. People wore sidearms openly, some conventional some bogglingly futuristic. It all created the unnerving impression that violence was expected at any moment.

Talos sold her binoculars to a junk merchant who was packing up and examined the money. She surreptitiously forged more with magic while sitting next to a fountain, and set about haggling and gossiping with the remaining vendors.

She learned a number of words: Prime. Secondary. Coruscant. Psycho Raider. This last one she learned from a child who accompanied it with a lively puppet show that involved a bloody hockey mask.

Talos gave the child money to go away. She continued to explore, hunting for patches of activity as most of the city shut down for the night.]]> <![CDATA[Tabbing Out]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=2023 Sat, 23 Jun 2018 18:27:06 +0000 Dave Strider]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=2023
Sand seemed to envelop the world, just like the one he had been on before meeting all the children who had helped save his life and rebuild his prosperous town. Oh, his precious Can Town, how he missed it. Eventually, he would hope to rebuild it, but for now, he needed to find somewhere safe to build. It had been a while since he spotted the speck in the distance, which had gradually turned into a line, then the appearance of buildings. Along with his journey, he had come across a few dangerous bandits, but luckily his carapace was strong enough that after beating him into the sand a bit, they became bored and left him alone.

As he came closer to the town, not as many raiders seem to be hanging around, with the horizon free of stirring dust clouds from revving engines. The tension of relief increased with each step the wanderer took, the sash that seemed to hold some forgotten word blowing slightly in the wind. The wanderer's bandaged wrappings that he used for clothing were well worn, with many of them barely holding on by threads.

Soon the town became larger and larger until finally it crept out of the horizon and presented itself to the Wayward Vagabond. A long sigh erupted from the creature, his chest billowing before returning to its normal size. Now, to see if he can scrounge around for some supplies.

Many of the buildings here were made from wood, some of it rotting but others seeming to have been built more recently. Around the corner of a house, he spotted a strange woman who seemed to be wielding a yellow beam that came from a ring. This world puzzled him and never ceased to test his patience. The others who wandered beside him seemed nonchalant, wearing large hats and free-flowing clothing. Speaking of clothing, he may need to get himself some new garb.

Heading to the nearest shop, he flipped around his backpack to access its contents. It was a tragedy, having to use his town to supply his needs, but it had to be done. Though the counter was a bit high for his tastes, the Wayward Vagabond stretched up and sat his bag in front of the shopkeep and waved his hands around a bit.

"Eh, looking to trade? Well, le'see what ye got for me here." 

The shopkeeper dug through the bag, pulling out the remnants of Can Town, a mess of empty metal cans.

"Tab eh, never liked the stuff myself, but this here aluminum might getcha a pretty penny, not too often do we get metal that isn't almost completely rusted to the core. New around these parts?"

The mayor nodded before adding a shrug. 

"Ah, still the same old shit to ye then? Not too uncommon for this place, lots of wanderer's and the like. Most folks come from similar pasts."

The merchant tossed the cans into a corner of misshapen metal. 

"Alright, how about ye grab yourself some wrappings and get a can or two of food. It ain't gonna be much and the cans won't be as shiny as the ones you brought me, but it'll keep ye going."

The mayor nodded before bringing everything to the counter. Along with what the shopkeep suggested, he managed to snag another label from one of the bottles on a shelf.

"Mayo? Not sure what you're asking. An 'R'? Must mean something to ye I guess. Yeah, here I got a marker for ye."

Without much hesitation the Wayward Vagabond added an 'R' to the label, stuffing it into his pack for when he changed his clothes.
 
"Alright little fella, and tell you what, I'll throw in a little something extra for ye for not being an ass as soon as you walked in. Happens too often these days."

The mayor looked at the merchant with curiosity as he reached below from behind the counter. A slight clink was heard before the man presented a thin but tall pink can of the drink he valued most. The dark hands of the wanderer slapped together on his own cheeks in delight as he reached for the can of Tab.

"Figured ye would appreciate it, never really liked them sweet fizzy drinks so I kept it to throw at any dickheads that tried to haggle me. Put it to good use, eh?" The merchant joked. "If ye need to change I got a room to the side here ye can use." 

With a nod the Wayward Vagabond scuttled across the wooden floor, avoiding the shelves of glass and tin before getting some privacy. Soon he emerged, full with his new wrappings and label of "MAYO R" draped across his chest. It felt good to be able to take care of himself. As he left the shop, he opened his can of Tab, keeping his mouth wide open as cracked it open, turned it over and let the fizzy pink juice flow down his throat.

"Stay alive little buddy!" The shopkeep called out as the Mayor waved back, stepping back into the heat of the sun.

Now that he was resupplied, it was time to earn some more money. Can Town had supplied their mayor with enough to keep the hope alive that they could someday return to their former glory, but without some hard earned cash, the treasury was bound to go bankrupt. The Mayor waddled over to the sheriff's office, looking for small jobs that he could easily do. The large and weather bulletin board held up many papers, most being bounties for skulking criminals in the area.

The Mayor tapped his chin, was there anything that didn't require fighting? Some seemed to be tournaments, challenges, or something that involved violence. Then, in the midst of it all, something mundane.

Construction assistance needed within the Town with No Name. No experience required. Please meet a construction manager with your interest in the southeastern part of town.

Perfect. 

The Mayor crunched the can of Tab and stashes it away in his bag, readying himself. Today, he would help rebuild this town and use the experience to make the future Can Town even better than ever. Off then, Wayward Vagabond went, seeking this new experience.]]>
Sand seemed to envelop the world, just like the one he had been on before meeting all the children who had helped save his life and rebuild his prosperous town. Oh, his precious Can Town, how he missed it. Eventually, he would hope to rebuild it, but for now, he needed to find somewhere safe to build. It had been a while since he spotted the speck in the distance, which had gradually turned into a line, then the appearance of buildings. Along with his journey, he had come across a few dangerous bandits, but luckily his carapace was strong enough that after beating him into the sand a bit, they became bored and left him alone.

As he came closer to the town, not as many raiders seem to be hanging around, with the horizon free of stirring dust clouds from revving engines. The tension of relief increased with each step the wanderer took, the sash that seemed to hold some forgotten word blowing slightly in the wind. The wanderer's bandaged wrappings that he used for clothing were well worn, with many of them barely holding on by threads.

Soon the town became larger and larger until finally it crept out of the horizon and presented itself to the Wayward Vagabond. A long sigh erupted from the creature, his chest billowing before returning to its normal size. Now, to see if he can scrounge around for some supplies.

Many of the buildings here were made from wood, some of it rotting but others seeming to have been built more recently. Around the corner of a house, he spotted a strange woman who seemed to be wielding a yellow beam that came from a ring. This world puzzled him and never ceased to test his patience. The others who wandered beside him seemed nonchalant, wearing large hats and free-flowing clothing. Speaking of clothing, he may need to get himself some new garb.

Heading to the nearest shop, he flipped around his backpack to access its contents. It was a tragedy, having to use his town to supply his needs, but it had to be done. Though the counter was a bit high for his tastes, the Wayward Vagabond stretched up and sat his bag in front of the shopkeep and waved his hands around a bit.

"Eh, looking to trade? Well, le'see what ye got for me here." 

The shopkeeper dug through the bag, pulling out the remnants of Can Town, a mess of empty metal cans.

"Tab eh, never liked the stuff myself, but this here aluminum might getcha a pretty penny, not too often do we get metal that isn't almost completely rusted to the core. New around these parts?"

The mayor nodded before adding a shrug. 

"Ah, still the same old shit to ye then? Not too uncommon for this place, lots of wanderer's and the like. Most folks come from similar pasts."

The merchant tossed the cans into a corner of misshapen metal. 

"Alright, how about ye grab yourself some wrappings and get a can or two of food. It ain't gonna be much and the cans won't be as shiny as the ones you brought me, but it'll keep ye going."

The mayor nodded before bringing everything to the counter. Along with what the shopkeep suggested, he managed to snag another label from one of the bottles on a shelf.

"Mayo? Not sure what you're asking. An 'R'? Must mean something to ye I guess. Yeah, here I got a marker for ye."

Without much hesitation the Wayward Vagabond added an 'R' to the label, stuffing it into his pack for when he changed his clothes.
 
"Alright little fella, and tell you what, I'll throw in a little something extra for ye for not being an ass as soon as you walked in. Happens too often these days."

The mayor looked at the merchant with curiosity as he reached below from behind the counter. A slight clink was heard before the man presented a thin but tall pink can of the drink he valued most. The dark hands of the wanderer slapped together on his own cheeks in delight as he reached for the can of Tab.

"Figured ye would appreciate it, never really liked them sweet fizzy drinks so I kept it to throw at any dickheads that tried to haggle me. Put it to good use, eh?" The merchant joked. "If ye need to change I got a room to the side here ye can use." 

With a nod the Wayward Vagabond scuttled across the wooden floor, avoiding the shelves of glass and tin before getting some privacy. Soon he emerged, full with his new wrappings and label of "MAYO R" draped across his chest. It felt good to be able to take care of himself. As he left the shop, he opened his can of Tab, keeping his mouth wide open as cracked it open, turned it over and let the fizzy pink juice flow down his throat.

"Stay alive little buddy!" The shopkeep called out as the Mayor waved back, stepping back into the heat of the sun.

Now that he was resupplied, it was time to earn some more money. Can Town had supplied their mayor with enough to keep the hope alive that they could someday return to their former glory, but without some hard earned cash, the treasury was bound to go bankrupt. The Mayor waddled over to the sheriff's office, looking for small jobs that he could easily do. The large and weather bulletin board held up many papers, most being bounties for skulking criminals in the area.

The Mayor tapped his chin, was there anything that didn't require fighting? Some seemed to be tournaments, challenges, or something that involved violence. Then, in the midst of it all, something mundane.

Construction assistance needed within the Town with No Name. No experience required. Please meet a construction manager with your interest in the southeastern part of town.

Perfect. 

The Mayor crunched the can of Tab and stashes it away in his bag, readying himself. Today, he would help rebuild this town and use the experience to make the future Can Town even better than ever. Off then, Wayward Vagabond went, seeking this new experience.]]> <![CDATA[Arid Arrival]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7464 Wed, 06 Jun 2018 22:09:50 +0000 Kenpachi Zaraki]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7464 anything?”

The pink-haired pint hadn’t stopped talking since they’d left the two angry non-Hollows back at the fountain. “Nah,” he muttered, barely paying attention as he honed in on the stone archway, steadily growing on the white-on-white horizon. “Last thing I remember we were messing with those Quincies back in Soul Society. It’s pretty hazy.”

“So you don’t remember anything like they said? Some guy telling you where we are?” At this point Yachiru’s face was pressed so near to his that the tip of her nose was barely grazing his brow. “I can’t remember anything at all!”

The shaggy shinigami thought for a moment, squinting as if to block out the sun that didn’t exist. “I can sorta remember something, but it’s almost like part of it is missing.” He frowned, shaking his head. “I can remember something talking to me, but the rest is just darkness. Something about...Omni?”

“What’s an Omni?” his lieutenant returned, this time flat-out smooshing her nose into his temple.

“Dunno,” Zaraki answered, shrugging. “That’s all I can remember, if it even happened. Coulda just been a dream or something.”

“Where are we headed then, Kenny?” The young girl had taken to swinging her legs idly, her sandals tapping against his chest.

“This way I guess,” Kenpachi said, tilting his head toward the portal. “Maybe someone on the other side knows what the hell is going on around here.”

- -

“OOH!” Yachiru’s high-pitched cheer split Kenpachi’s eyedrum like a knife through warm butter. “It’s like one big sand box!”

They pair had indeed found their way into what appeared to be the sandiest place they have ever encountered. Being that he had once battled soulless monsters in a dimension almost entirely comprised of barren desert, this was saying something.

“Can we stop and make sand castles?” Yachiru inquired, leaping from her perch atop his shoulder onto the rocky ground. Her eyes shone as she stared off at the dunes that rose out in the distance.

“You can try,” Ken answered, not really paying her any attention. “But you only have your hands, so good luck with that.”

She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. The sleeves of her oversized robe slide down to her elbows as she copped a frown. “Maybe we can get some water somewhere!”

“I see some kind of city,” the towering captain called over his shoulder, completely ignoring the girl’s inane suggestions. “This way.”

“Good idea!” She replied cheerily, sprinting after her captain and springing into the air to land upon his shoulder. “They’ll definitely have some water! And maybe even some shovels!”]]> anything?”

The pink-haired pint hadn’t stopped talking since they’d left the two angry non-Hollows back at the fountain. “Nah,” he muttered, barely paying attention as he honed in on the stone archway, steadily growing on the white-on-white horizon. “Last thing I remember we were messing with those Quincies back in Soul Society. It’s pretty hazy.”

“So you don’t remember anything like they said? Some guy telling you where we are?” At this point Yachiru’s face was pressed so near to his that the tip of her nose was barely grazing his brow. “I can’t remember anything at all!”

The shaggy shinigami thought for a moment, squinting as if to block out the sun that didn’t exist. “I can sorta remember something, but it’s almost like part of it is missing.” He frowned, shaking his head. “I can remember something talking to me, but the rest is just darkness. Something about...Omni?”

“What’s an Omni?” his lieutenant returned, this time flat-out smooshing her nose into his temple.

“Dunno,” Zaraki answered, shrugging. “That’s all I can remember, if it even happened. Coulda just been a dream or something.”

“Where are we headed then, Kenny?” The young girl had taken to swinging her legs idly, her sandals tapping against his chest.

“This way I guess,” Kenpachi said, tilting his head toward the portal. “Maybe someone on the other side knows what the hell is going on around here.”

- -

“OOH!” Yachiru’s high-pitched cheer split Kenpachi’s eyedrum like a knife through warm butter. “It’s like one big sand box!”

They pair had indeed found their way into what appeared to be the sandiest place they have ever encountered. Being that he had once battled soulless monsters in a dimension almost entirely comprised of barren desert, this was saying something.

“Can we stop and make sand castles?” Yachiru inquired, leaping from her perch atop his shoulder onto the rocky ground. Her eyes shone as she stared off at the dunes that rose out in the distance.

“You can try,” Ken answered, not really paying her any attention. “But you only have your hands, so good luck with that.”

She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. The sleeves of her oversized robe slide down to her elbows as she copped a frown. “Maybe we can get some water somewhere!”

“I see some kind of city,” the towering captain called over his shoulder, completely ignoring the girl’s inane suggestions. “This way.”

“Good idea!” She replied cheerily, sprinting after her captain and springing into the air to land upon his shoulder. “They’ll definitely have some water! And maybe even some shovels!”]]> <![CDATA[[LiN] Deeva Danse]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7442 Fri, 01 Jun 2018 17:51:43 +0000 Skadi Lufthejt]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7442
Shimmery blue eyeshadow framed her dark eyes and accented sharply against her desert-tanned skin, it caught in the lights and dazzled in competition with the sequins of her gown. Her wide hips swayed in time to the beat- the feeling of the music seemed to ripple through the entirety of her body.

“Y aunque la vida me cueste, Llorona, no dejaré de quererte. Y aunque la vida me cueste, Llorona, no dejaré de quererte- no dejaré de quererte- no dejaré de quererte--! ¡Ay, ay, ay!”

She dipped her head and curtsied as the upbeat orchestral music pulled to a close, lights dimming around her gave a small respite from the heat of the stage. The avalanche of claps started as attendees rose from their seat to shower her with roses, red and white. She brushed a few loose strands of black hair out of her face before blowing kisses at the crowd, “¡Gracias! ¡Gracias mi amors!”

She managed to catch a few roses with nimble fingers before the curtains closed in front of her. She let out a small sigh of contentedness as several assistants rushed up to her from backstage, fussing over her hair and her makeup, asking her if she wanted wine or water. Masahir couldn’t help but give a soft chuckle at her ‘maintenance team’.

“I will be fine my busy little hummingbirds~ ... But some raspberry wine would be perfect!” She assured them lightheartedly before she glanced over to a rather athletically built security guard. “You, el escolta! Come here.”

“Yes, La Bella?” He’d closed the gap between them quickly and formally.

“¿Cómo te llamas?” She batted her thick lashes up at him and daintily adjusted her necklace.

“Maurício Foley, La Bella. How can I help you tonight?”

“Well, mister Mauricio, I am ready to be shown my gifts, take me to them.” Her tone was no less polite than it was a moment ago when addressing her advisors of course. She twined her arm around his and made a small motion. “Actually, escort me to my dressing room and have the presents brought to me in fifteen minutes, I have a new gown to change into.”

The muscular man dipped his head in a nod and pulled her along with a tempered patience. Every few steps a new person came up to her and greeted her, striking up a conversation.

“You performed wonderfully tonight, La Bella!” A new stage technician greeted. “Oh gracias mi amor!”

“I’ve brought you exotic flowers, La Bella!” A VIP club member called as they presented her with a large bunch of fragrant orange flowers. “Aww, mi amor, you shouldn’t have! Gracias~”

“Can you sign my poster miss La Bella?” Came the voice of a small girl, accompanied by someone who looked to be an older brother. “Of course mi amorcito precioso!”

Eventually, with enough slight nudging and persistence, Maurício finally managed to get the socialite singer to her dressing room. He took up his station outside her door while she reluctantly slipped away to change.

She stretched her arms up and let out a long exhale that sounded like something between a sigh and a yawn before she absent mindedly unzipped the back of her dress and worked it down her body.

“You know, you should probably check your room before you start stripping.” The speaker’s breath fanned against the back of her neck and she tensed, goosebumps raised in sharp relief against her normally smooth skin. Her heart felt like it was going to punch a hole in her chest with how hard it was thumping away. She was about to let out a scream when the uninvited guest revealed themselves; the small frame seemed to materialize from some tucked away shadow.

“Ji’aaj-Dar.” Her lips pulled down at the corners in a frown. Her stance relaxed a bit, but she still kept her arms wrapped around her chest in some attempt at modesty. “What are you doing here? I thought I made it clear that I wasn’t interested anymore.”

The sand colored Khajiit rolled his eyes and gave a sharp flick of the tail. “What’s the point in being modest mi amor? You have no modesty as of late. I’ve seen the magazine’s photoshoot. Everyone has. Your skin isn’t special, certainly not enough to cover up now.”

She gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes. “Except I consented to that, pendejo,” she spat.

“Awwe, poor wittle la behwa still sore over our pwitures? What, and now you suddenly do want to share with the entire dataverse? All of Nippur? The Omniverse? I guess I’ve just made you into an addict, haven’t I, you whore. You could never stop begging for attention. It’s pathetic and disgusting.”

He stepped towards her, clawed hand outstretched to touch her face- brush a lock of ebony hair out of the way. The sound of her stinging slap reached his ears before he fully understood what had happened. Her small frame huffed in anger and she looked dead at him with a glare that could set him on fire, “Don’t you DARE touch me puta!”

Rap-ta-tap! “La Bella, are you okay?” Foley asked from outside. “La Bella?... La Bella open the door!”

Bottles of expensive perfume and fancy makeup sets toppled over and shattered on the ground as Ji’aaj-Dar grabbed her by the neck and forced her backwards onto her vanity table. His biceps bulged as he squeezed her dainty little throat. Her mouth popped open and she gaped like a fish out of water, eyes wide as she stared up into his feral black ones. Her hands pulled and clawed at him, desperate to pry her attacker away. He smashed his mouth into hers, fangs catching and cutting her lips.

He pulled his head back, ears flattened against his skull. His words came out in hisses and in that moment, as black and white speckles flickered across her vision, she thought of a beautiful desert cobra. “I will touch you however I want jer gajithka jetwijijri zaj zrishiit.” His speech faded into the dull dense pulse of her heartbeat.

Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, the cobra in her mind lunging forward.

What was life to the living? What was death to the dead? She remembered Ra’tima telling her a story about the great white smiling one that summoned special people into existence. Were they really just people, or... could someone consider them gods? These untouchable immortals with the power to create and destroy at will, gifted with the mystical ability to return from the dead, mistakes seemingly erased.

Maybe she would wake up revived somewhere in a distant land, like those beings the Smiling One summoned. Her king had returned from what everyone called banishment, a fate worse than death! The flashy blonde and dark haired teen that served the king had also returned from the afterlife, multiple times even!

She could hope, but in her heart she knew that she wasn’t special.


She wasn’t going to come back.


~ * * * ~


The piercing bleeps of the heart monitor filled the room. It came in a steady rhythm and beat against Ra’tima’s spirit like rough ocean waves on the shore. She’d been in this hospital before, she knew it’s rooms and had walked its floors while doing her damndest to prop up the ravaged city in Gilgamesh’s absence. The pure white walls had always made her feel so trapped and helpless.

She squeezed her upper arms with her fingers, as if it could possibly bring her any comfort. Nothing about this palace of death could ever even begin to soothe her.

The ceiling light flickered.

The hospital had always been the most well maintained of all the buildings in Nippur during the post-war time, and yet it still needed work.

She leaned her head down, small fuzzy hands moving up to massage her aching temples. Why did it seem like nothing was going to improve in her life? She used to be the queen of the world, controlling what went where and how much it cost. She used to be powerful, feared, respected. She was Lady Nocturnal’s incarnate, the chosen champion of all thieves!

And now she was powerless, holding onto the hope that the bruised body of her daughter would just... stir, react, do anything that showed she wasn’t going to be a brain dead vegetable.

Her sharp blue gaze lingered agonizingly on the blank face of Masahir- covered in flowery discoloration and a mouth full of the feeding and oxygen tubing- and for a moment she was looking at the dirty face of that skinny urchin girl she saved all those years ago.

She reached out to grasp her daughter’s hand, careful to not disturb the IV needle. “Please, tal, do not stop your rakna. You must... You must stay with your strength.” She squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled a shaky breath. A prayer was mumbled through clenched teeth.

A rapping knock came at the heavy yellow door. A delicate looking elf seemed to float into the room with such soft steps. “Ma’am?”

The khajiit woman didn't respond.

“Ma’am, visiting hours are going to be over, here shortly.”

“This one does not care,” came the low, hissing answer. The doctor pursed her lips and sighed. Loved ones were always so stubborn when it came to obeying the visitation times. The khajiit woman was the rule, not the exception in this case. Always had been.

The dark skinned she-elf moved across the room and crouched down next to the grieving mother.

“Ra’tima, listen to me, please. We've given Masahir the best care that we possible can. I've pulled all strings and ropes in the background that I could. You know that we care about you here, but standing guard over her won't protect her or help her right now.” The merchant's ears flattened against her skull at the comment. “What would really help her is if you made sure to handle the legal side of this tragedy. Be her voice in this time of uncertainty and make sure the scum who did this is held responsible to the highest degree.”

The doctor's gaze softened a bit. “You have access to the ears of our King. You are a saint in the eyes of our people. You can make that change we need into a reality.”

The doctor stood and left, leaving the feline to digest her statements. The concept came to the mom slowly and visibly. Her eyes widened and her posture seemed to perk up as each realization dawned on her foggy mind.




She was gonna kill him, one way or another.]]>
Shimmery blue eyeshadow framed her dark eyes and accented sharply against her desert-tanned skin, it caught in the lights and dazzled in competition with the sequins of her gown. Her wide hips swayed in time to the beat- the feeling of the music seemed to ripple through the entirety of her body.

“Y aunque la vida me cueste, Llorona, no dejaré de quererte. Y aunque la vida me cueste, Llorona, no dejaré de quererte- no dejaré de quererte- no dejaré de quererte--! ¡Ay, ay, ay!”

She dipped her head and curtsied as the upbeat orchestral music pulled to a close, lights dimming around her gave a small respite from the heat of the stage. The avalanche of claps started as attendees rose from their seat to shower her with roses, red and white. She brushed a few loose strands of black hair out of her face before blowing kisses at the crowd, “¡Gracias! ¡Gracias mi amors!”

She managed to catch a few roses with nimble fingers before the curtains closed in front of her. She let out a small sigh of contentedness as several assistants rushed up to her from backstage, fussing over her hair and her makeup, asking her if she wanted wine or water. Masahir couldn’t help but give a soft chuckle at her ‘maintenance team’.

“I will be fine my busy little hummingbirds~ ... But some raspberry wine would be perfect!” She assured them lightheartedly before she glanced over to a rather athletically built security guard. “You, el escolta! Come here.”

“Yes, La Bella?” He’d closed the gap between them quickly and formally.

“¿Cómo te llamas?” She batted her thick lashes up at him and daintily adjusted her necklace.

“Maurício Foley, La Bella. How can I help you tonight?”

“Well, mister Mauricio, I am ready to be shown my gifts, take me to them.” Her tone was no less polite than it was a moment ago when addressing her advisors of course. She twined her arm around his and made a small motion. “Actually, escort me to my dressing room and have the presents brought to me in fifteen minutes, I have a new gown to change into.”

The muscular man dipped his head in a nod and pulled her along with a tempered patience. Every few steps a new person came up to her and greeted her, striking up a conversation.

“You performed wonderfully tonight, La Bella!” A new stage technician greeted. “Oh gracias mi amor!”

“I’ve brought you exotic flowers, La Bella!” A VIP club member called as they presented her with a large bunch of fragrant orange flowers. “Aww, mi amor, you shouldn’t have! Gracias~”

“Can you sign my poster miss La Bella?” Came the voice of a small girl, accompanied by someone who looked to be an older brother. “Of course mi amorcito precioso!”

Eventually, with enough slight nudging and persistence, Maurício finally managed to get the socialite singer to her dressing room. He took up his station outside her door while she reluctantly slipped away to change.

She stretched her arms up and let out a long exhale that sounded like something between a sigh and a yawn before she absent mindedly unzipped the back of her dress and worked it down her body.

“You know, you should probably check your room before you start stripping.” The speaker’s breath fanned against the back of her neck and she tensed, goosebumps raised in sharp relief against her normally smooth skin. Her heart felt like it was going to punch a hole in her chest with how hard it was thumping away. She was about to let out a scream when the uninvited guest revealed themselves; the small frame seemed to materialize from some tucked away shadow.

“Ji’aaj-Dar.” Her lips pulled down at the corners in a frown. Her stance relaxed a bit, but she still kept her arms wrapped around her chest in some attempt at modesty. “What are you doing here? I thought I made it clear that I wasn’t interested anymore.”

The sand colored Khajiit rolled his eyes and gave a sharp flick of the tail. “What’s the point in being modest mi amor? You have no modesty as of late. I’ve seen the magazine’s photoshoot. Everyone has. Your skin isn’t special, certainly not enough to cover up now.”

She gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes. “Except I consented to that, pendejo,” she spat.

“Awwe, poor wittle la behwa still sore over our pwitures? What, and now you suddenly do want to share with the entire dataverse? All of Nippur? The Omniverse? I guess I’ve just made you into an addict, haven’t I, you whore. You could never stop begging for attention. It’s pathetic and disgusting.”

He stepped towards her, clawed hand outstretched to touch her face- brush a lock of ebony hair out of the way. The sound of her stinging slap reached his ears before he fully understood what had happened. Her small frame huffed in anger and she looked dead at him with a glare that could set him on fire, “Don’t you DARE touch me puta!”

Rap-ta-tap! “La Bella, are you okay?” Foley asked from outside. “La Bella?... La Bella open the door!”

Bottles of expensive perfume and fancy makeup sets toppled over and shattered on the ground as Ji’aaj-Dar grabbed her by the neck and forced her backwards onto her vanity table. His biceps bulged as he squeezed her dainty little throat. Her mouth popped open and she gaped like a fish out of water, eyes wide as she stared up into his feral black ones. Her hands pulled and clawed at him, desperate to pry her attacker away. He smashed his mouth into hers, fangs catching and cutting her lips.

He pulled his head back, ears flattened against his skull. His words came out in hisses and in that moment, as black and white speckles flickered across her vision, she thought of a beautiful desert cobra. “I will touch you however I want jer gajithka jetwijijri zaj zrishiit.” His speech faded into the dull dense pulse of her heartbeat.

Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, the cobra in her mind lunging forward.

What was life to the living? What was death to the dead? She remembered Ra’tima telling her a story about the great white smiling one that summoned special people into existence. Were they really just people, or... could someone consider them gods? These untouchable immortals with the power to create and destroy at will, gifted with the mystical ability to return from the dead, mistakes seemingly erased.

Maybe she would wake up revived somewhere in a distant land, like those beings the Smiling One summoned. Her king had returned from what everyone called banishment, a fate worse than death! The flashy blonde and dark haired teen that served the king had also returned from the afterlife, multiple times even!

She could hope, but in her heart she knew that she wasn’t special.


She wasn’t going to come back.


~ * * * ~


The piercing bleeps of the heart monitor filled the room. It came in a steady rhythm and beat against Ra’tima’s spirit like rough ocean waves on the shore. She’d been in this hospital before, she knew it’s rooms and had walked its floors while doing her damndest to prop up the ravaged city in Gilgamesh’s absence. The pure white walls had always made her feel so trapped and helpless.

She squeezed her upper arms with her fingers, as if it could possibly bring her any comfort. Nothing about this palace of death could ever even begin to soothe her.

The ceiling light flickered.

The hospital had always been the most well maintained of all the buildings in Nippur during the post-war time, and yet it still needed work.

She leaned her head down, small fuzzy hands moving up to massage her aching temples. Why did it seem like nothing was going to improve in her life? She used to be the queen of the world, controlling what went where and how much it cost. She used to be powerful, feared, respected. She was Lady Nocturnal’s incarnate, the chosen champion of all thieves!

And now she was powerless, holding onto the hope that the bruised body of her daughter would just... stir, react, do anything that showed she wasn’t going to be a brain dead vegetable.

Her sharp blue gaze lingered agonizingly on the blank face of Masahir- covered in flowery discoloration and a mouth full of the feeding and oxygen tubing- and for a moment she was looking at the dirty face of that skinny urchin girl she saved all those years ago.

She reached out to grasp her daughter’s hand, careful to not disturb the IV needle. “Please, tal, do not stop your rakna. You must... You must stay with your strength.” She squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled a shaky breath. A prayer was mumbled through clenched teeth.

A rapping knock came at the heavy yellow door. A delicate looking elf seemed to float into the room with such soft steps. “Ma’am?”

The khajiit woman didn't respond.

“Ma’am, visiting hours are going to be over, here shortly.”

“This one does not care,” came the low, hissing answer. The doctor pursed her lips and sighed. Loved ones were always so stubborn when it came to obeying the visitation times. The khajiit woman was the rule, not the exception in this case. Always had been.

The dark skinned she-elf moved across the room and crouched down next to the grieving mother.

“Ra’tima, listen to me, please. We've given Masahir the best care that we possible can. I've pulled all strings and ropes in the background that I could. You know that we care about you here, but standing guard over her won't protect her or help her right now.” The merchant's ears flattened against her skull at the comment. “What would really help her is if you made sure to handle the legal side of this tragedy. Be her voice in this time of uncertainty and make sure the scum who did this is held responsible to the highest degree.”

The doctor's gaze softened a bit. “You have access to the ears of our King. You are a saint in the eyes of our people. You can make that change we need into a reality.”

The doctor stood and left, leaving the feline to digest her statements. The concept came to the mom slowly and visibly. Her eyes widened and her posture seemed to perk up as each realization dawned on her foggy mind.




She was gonna kill him, one way or another.]]> <![CDATA[Who's Your Daddy]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=5903 Sun, 27 May 2018 04:58:29 +0000 Demetri Malius]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=5903
"C'mon Valerie, the longer we are walking in the sand the more the shit will get in our shoes." Gabriella sighed as she trudged along. "I swear this is the last time I sleep with a Prime..." she whispered to herself.

"There's already so much sand in mine already..." the little brunette child next to her kicked some of the sand up in a huff. "Why don't you just carry me, you're faster anyways."

"Aren't you supposed to be learning how to walk." 

"I've been walking for days, it sucks. My legs are too short."

"Well from what I've seen you do so far you won't have that problem a year from now."

"I don't wanna waiiiit."

"You know some people have to wait years to be able to grow to be as big as you. You look like you're ten."

"HA! And I'm only four."

"Yeah, four fucking months."

"SO WHAT?"

"Val, I swear I'm gonna die again."

"You better not! I'll eat you if you do!"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Noooooo!" the girl whined, narrowing her eyes.

"Alright alright, just hop on my back while I can still carry you."

"Yayyy~"

Valerie hopped onto Gabby and began to sing random songs she heard along the way to the Dunes. It had been at least a year since Gabriella last saw the damn bastard. The cunning cunt that left her with this child. The sexy bastard that slept with her that night. Fuck him. Both literally and figuratively. And fuck her for liking him. Either way, they were gonna see him, because fuck doing this on her own, she was not cut out for it. They had come so far already, and the city had been on the horizon for hours.

"Are we there y-"

"Don't. You. Dare."

The girl slinked back a bit on her shoulders and pouted. "Fine."

Eventually, they found themselves at the gate, finally at their destination.

"Alright empty your shoes and shit because this place looks like it actually has a fucking floor."

"Yay, a fucking floor!"

"Hey! Watching your fucking language missy!"

"Hmph."

One of the guards came up to Gabby as she helped the child.

"Ma'am, what business do you have here?"

"Plenty. Do you know any fucker called Victor Wolfe?"

"Of course, he's the-"

"Yeah, I don't give a fuck as long as you know him. How about you go in there and tell him to come see his fucking daughter."

"YEAH I'M HIS FUCKING DAUGHTER~!" Her red eyes shone brightly against the sand.]]>
"C'mon Valerie, the longer we are walking in the sand the more the shit will get in our shoes." Gabriella sighed as she trudged along. "I swear this is the last time I sleep with a Prime..." she whispered to herself.

"There's already so much sand in mine already..." the little brunette child next to her kicked some of the sand up in a huff. "Why don't you just carry me, you're faster anyways."

"Aren't you supposed to be learning how to walk." 

"I've been walking for days, it sucks. My legs are too short."

"Well from what I've seen you do so far you won't have that problem a year from now."

"I don't wanna waiiiit."

"You know some people have to wait years to be able to grow to be as big as you. You look like you're ten."

"HA! And I'm only four."

"Yeah, four fucking months."

"SO WHAT?"

"Val, I swear I'm gonna die again."

"You better not! I'll eat you if you do!"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Noooooo!" the girl whined, narrowing her eyes.

"Alright alright, just hop on my back while I can still carry you."

"Yayyy~"

Valerie hopped onto Gabby and began to sing random songs she heard along the way to the Dunes. It had been at least a year since Gabriella last saw the damn bastard. The cunning cunt that left her with this child. The sexy bastard that slept with her that night. Fuck him. Both literally and figuratively. And fuck her for liking him. Either way, they were gonna see him, because fuck doing this on her own, she was not cut out for it. They had come so far already, and the city had been on the horizon for hours.

"Are we there y-"

"Don't. You. Dare."

The girl slinked back a bit on her shoulders and pouted. "Fine."

Eventually, they found themselves at the gate, finally at their destination.

"Alright empty your shoes and shit because this place looks like it actually has a fucking floor."

"Yay, a fucking floor!"

"Hey! Watching your fucking language missy!"

"Hmph."

One of the guards came up to Gabby as she helped the child.

"Ma'am, what business do you have here?"

"Plenty. Do you know any fucker called Victor Wolfe?"

"Of course, he's the-"

"Yeah, I don't give a fuck as long as you know him. How about you go in there and tell him to come see his fucking daughter."

"YEAH I'M HIS FUCKING DAUGHTER~!" Her red eyes shone brightly against the sand.]]> <![CDATA[Sands of Change]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=5896 Sat, 26 May 2018 17:09:18 +0000 Bandit With No Name]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=5896 hot?” the woman demanded, a dry breeze the only response the sands and sun offered.

Her heavy metal-studded boots sunk into the sand more than she remembered. The sun bore down on her thick, poorly ventilated armor more than she remembered. The dunes, spanning in every direction as far as she would dare look, seemed more infinite and unforgiving than she had remembered.

“Hnnn,” she groaned in frustration and pain, “I should have had Caret pick me up. This is such utter bullshit.” She held her hand out and began to focus on a nice, cold glass of water, envisioned the condensation dripping off the chilled glass. The space between her fingers began to glow, rapidly oscillating between all the colors of the rainbow.

Then, she stopped in her tracks. The light stopped shining, and she clenched her fist. A scowl crossed her eyebrows and her lips twisted into a frown. “What the fuck am I doing?” She shook her head, the anger of her expression deepening. “What in the ever-living fuck am I doing?” She threw her hands up in exasperation, the light glinting from the worn points of her spiked shoulder piece. “Becoming a Prime has made me so SOFT!”

Letting out a long, pained sigh, she shook her head and continued to trudge onward. “Back in the day if you were uncomfortable, that’s just the way it was. You couldn’t summon up a nice frilly drink. You couldn’t make a car by thinking real hard. You didn’t get to take off your gear because if somebody shot you, you fucking died. That was it. Poof! You’re gone forever.” A harsh, sand-thick wind ravaged across her already chapped body. “You were hard because you had to be. Forgetting that is a disservice to every Secondary that’s ever fought and died for the entertainment of some asshole Prime.”

She glanced up at the sky, feeling there was nowhere else to look. “You hear me, Omni? I’ll never forget them.”  She looked away from the sky and muttered under her breath, saving her next words for herself. “And I ain’t ever gonna go soft.”

---

Caret wiped her brow with her sleeve, a streak of grease spreading after it. She squinted and squeezed the trigger of her impact wrench, the cacophonous sound of it bouncing around within the enclosed sheet metal garage. She pulled it away from the bolt and moved it to the opposite side of the wheel rim, hammering it down with practiced ease. The others on the hub submitted just as quickly and she stood, wobbly for a moment, then gave the tire a firm kick. Satisfied with it, she walked to the compressor and flicked a switch to turn it off, the engine dying and finally leaving her in silence.

She pulled the large earmuffs from her head, careful not to distort the wire that she had wrapped around one side to keep the scavenged pair from falling apart. She took a step back and looked over the massive, imposing vehicle that she had been working on.

Large sections were still the bare minimum of functionality. Huge, unsightly sheets of steel were hastily affixed to the outside (though she had unscrupulously cleaned up some of the welding), the body was in shambles, and the paint was peeled and cracked where it hadn’t been chipped away by bullets and collisions.

She hated the look of it. You'd think it was unfinished, lazy work. This is how she had wanted it though. "Let it have battle scars," or something like that. So Caret would do the best she could to keep it this way: in disrepair and ugliness. Besides, it was one less thing to overhaul in the long queue that awaited her.

The junkyard spanned around Shepherd’s house, which was much less the centerpiece of the compound than it had been two years ago. Speeder bikes, motorcycles, a few dune buggies, and even a fully loaded war boy rig surrounded the meek home and the garage, with a few small mountains of parts and scrap littered amid it all.

“Damn girl,” the woman drawled as she strolled through the yard, kicking over a rusted hubcap. “You did good for yourself in six months.”

Caret froze in place, unwilling yet to turn around. She opened her mouth to say something, but she realized that she couldn’t think of anything to say.

The bandit stopped a few meters away, still idly admiring the collection. “All this shit? You must have been kicking ass and taking names while I was away.”

The mechanic gathered enough courage to turn, her heart slamming in her chest, her spine chilled even in the pounding sunlight. Her eyes landed on the woman, and another bolt of ice shot through her. “Bandit?” she barely managed to mutter.

The woman shook her head and sighed. “You know, if everyone calls me that, it’ll basically be a name. That defeats the point, don’t ya think?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Caret’s voice was sharp.

A slurry of confusion washed over the marauder and she blinked it away. “What do you mean, kid? I said I was coming through the gate. I didn’t have a ride, I just walked.”

The demeanor of the young woman shifted from one of of shock to one of anger. “Get the fuck out of here, bandit!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Tears were already streaking down her cheeks.

“Woah, woah, woah!” the woman held her hands up in the air and took a step back. “What the hell, kid? What’d I do?”

Caret took an aggressive step forward, her knuckles white and balled into a fist. “You fucking left me! You left me here!”

Frustration was evident on the nameless woman’s face, and her shoulders rolled forward. “I told you, I can’t control that! I’s just omnitime, there’s nothing you can fucking do!”

“It’s been TWO YEARS, bandit! TWO FUCKING YEARS!” Caret snapped.

The woman stood there, just staring for a moment. The moment filled with a dry quiet, neither knowing what to reply with. “Two years?” the usually rambunctious warrior asked meekly.

“Yes!” Caret sobbed back. “How could you just leave like that?”

She opened her mouth only to close it. She eventually wrestled her tongue into cooperation and replied, “I literally came through the gate a half a day ago. I… I don’t know what happened. I’ve never heard of such a crazy time difference. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“We looked for you, bandit. We spend months looking for you. Months.” Caret threw her arm up, gesturing at the truck. “I drove this piece of shit around the fucking dunes, getting shot up by raiders and whackos, and you were just gone.”

“Listen, what do you want me to say?!” the nameless yelled back, emotion choking her. “I didn’t mean for this to happen! I didn’t [/i]do[/i] anything! I just woke up, called you, and walked here! That’s it! That’s all I did! That’s all I had the time to do!”

Caret pushed her hands into her chest and leaned forward accusatorily. “Well I’ve had plenty of time. Time enough to get my leg blown off by some warlord psycho. Time enough to get a gun held to my head and be told that I’m gonna fix all these fuckers’ stuff of they’ll literally kill and eat me.”

She backed away slowly, her cheeks still flowing with tears, until she hit the war truck. She covered her face with her hands and slid down the ragged metal, her sobbing too heavy to speak through anymore.

The woman stood there, staring at the now-evident metal replacement for the young woman’s left leg. A simple metal plate hung loosely from the bottom of her pant leg, but the rest wasn’t visible. It was in horrible condition, and she was terrified to think of what was going on under her overalls. “What the fuck happened?”

Caret didn’t look up, but she managed to maintain her composure enough to explain. “Some crazy ass warboy wannabe told be to fix his rig about a year and a half ago, I said no, and he blew my leg off.“ She pulled up the pant leg, revealing a jury rigged shock system that had been fashioned into a crude prosthetic, strapped to an inflamed stump that terminated just below the knee. “Shep nursed it back to heath, and I made this work. He jacked the las turret from the back of your truck and put a huge hole in the passenger side. I’ve been working on fixing it since then, but, you know, it hasn’t really been a priority.” She glared up from her hands, “Because I figured you were dead.”

The warrior’s eyebrows slowly cinched, and her expression changed from one of concern to one of fury. Without a word she spun on her heel and stormed towards the house. She reeled her left arm back when she met with the door and slammed her metal fist into it. It exploded into a million tiny squares with an ear-splitting explosion, a thousand cuboid shards spilling onto the ramshackle kitchen floor.

“Shepard!” she screamed, an inconsolable rage filling her voice with brass and splinters. “Shepard get the fuck out here!”

When there was no response, she stormed into the structure through the cloud of dust, the sun at her back. Her eyes scanned over the room quickly, and she stomped from the relatively new kitchen addition and into the old portion of the home which was still little more than a shack with a couple of beds and an old wooden chair. Shepard sat there, quietly reading a book to himself. “Hello,” he said calmly. “I see you’re back.”

Her fists were as tight as her jaw and she glared down at him. “How could you let this happen?”

He paused, closed his book, and sat it on the short table beside him. “Let what happen, exactly?”

“Caret!” she barked, “How the fuck could you let this happen to her?”

“I didn’t ‘let’ anything happen to her. I tried to come to her defense, but they just wouldn’t listen.” He smoothed over a frazzled bit of his white, cornrowed hair, his expression still stiffly placid.

“Listen?” she snapped back. “You tried to fucking talk a warboy down? Really?”

He steepled his fingers. “Yes.”

She slammed her hand into the wall behind her with a thud, thin trails of dust slipping from the ceiling. “You could have stopped this. You should have.”

He took a long, slow breath. “With what? What could I have done?”

Her eyes went wide, “You can control omnilium! You can make, literally, WHATEVER YOU WANT! You could have made guns, you could have made weapons, hell, you could have fixed his little shitty car if you wanted to! You are a Prime. This world was made specifically for you. You can do whatever you want!”

An edge finally found its way into his tone. “The power to create is not a power that any man should have. That is the realm of God, and only God.”

The bandit let out a short, bitter laugh. “God? Really? The only god that exists here is Omni, and he gave you these powers. He gave you the power to change this world to be whatever you want it to be. That’s the entire point! That’s why this hellhole exists!” She waved her hand over the half-rotted building around her, “But instead, you choose to live like this. You choose inaction while horrible shit happens to the people without that power. You just sit there.”

“Didn't I take you in? Didn’t I patch you up?” he retorted.

And sharp guffaw. “You used some old shitty bandages when you could have literally just put your hands on my chest and thought real hard. You let Caret build herself some half-assed peg leg instead of just giving her a new leg.”

“That’s not how life works!” he finally exploded. “That is not the world that God intended, and it is not the world I will be a part of!”

“Fuck you, man,” she spit back. “You are given the power to make this world a better place for the people who don’t have that choice. You’re the god here, and this is your creation. Anything that happens to the little guys while you sit here with your fuckin’ book is on your head.” She didn’t wait for a response before turning away from him. “If this is what you’re gonna do as a prime, a person that will never face the consequences of your own inaction, then you’re worse than the marauders that did that to her. At least they’re fighting to survive.”

She strode back out of the house, and towards the still sitting Caret. “Hey kid. We’re getting out of here.”

“What?” Caret asked.

“You and me. I’m never letting anything like this ever happen to you again. We’re gonna get in my truck and I’m gonna take you away from here. If you stick with me, this omnitime bullshit shouldn’t happen.”

“I can’t just leave! Shep needs me!” she retorted.

The hulking figure kneeled down beside her and placed a hand on her leg. She closed her eyes and after a few moments a bright white light shined from between her fingers. “No. He doesn’t.”]]> hot?” the woman demanded, a dry breeze the only response the sands and sun offered.

Her heavy metal-studded boots sunk into the sand more than she remembered. The sun bore down on her thick, poorly ventilated armor more than she remembered. The dunes, spanning in every direction as far as she would dare look, seemed more infinite and unforgiving than she had remembered.

“Hnnn,” she groaned in frustration and pain, “I should have had Caret pick me up. This is such utter bullshit.” She held her hand out and began to focus on a nice, cold glass of water, envisioned the condensation dripping off the chilled glass. The space between her fingers began to glow, rapidly oscillating between all the colors of the rainbow.

Then, she stopped in her tracks. The light stopped shining, and she clenched her fist. A scowl crossed her eyebrows and her lips twisted into a frown. “What the fuck am I doing?” She shook her head, the anger of her expression deepening. “What in the ever-living fuck am I doing?” She threw her hands up in exasperation, the light glinting from the worn points of her spiked shoulder piece. “Becoming a Prime has made me so SOFT!”

Letting out a long, pained sigh, she shook her head and continued to trudge onward. “Back in the day if you were uncomfortable, that’s just the way it was. You couldn’t summon up a nice frilly drink. You couldn’t make a car by thinking real hard. You didn’t get to take off your gear because if somebody shot you, you fucking died. That was it. Poof! You’re gone forever.” A harsh, sand-thick wind ravaged across her already chapped body. “You were hard because you had to be. Forgetting that is a disservice to every Secondary that’s ever fought and died for the entertainment of some asshole Prime.”

She glanced up at the sky, feeling there was nowhere else to look. “You hear me, Omni? I’ll never forget them.”  She looked away from the sky and muttered under her breath, saving her next words for herself. “And I ain’t ever gonna go soft.”

---

Caret wiped her brow with her sleeve, a streak of grease spreading after it. She squinted and squeezed the trigger of her impact wrench, the cacophonous sound of it bouncing around within the enclosed sheet metal garage. She pulled it away from the bolt and moved it to the opposite side of the wheel rim, hammering it down with practiced ease. The others on the hub submitted just as quickly and she stood, wobbly for a moment, then gave the tire a firm kick. Satisfied with it, she walked to the compressor and flicked a switch to turn it off, the engine dying and finally leaving her in silence.

She pulled the large earmuffs from her head, careful not to distort the wire that she had wrapped around one side to keep the scavenged pair from falling apart. She took a step back and looked over the massive, imposing vehicle that she had been working on.

Large sections were still the bare minimum of functionality. Huge, unsightly sheets of steel were hastily affixed to the outside (though she had unscrupulously cleaned up some of the welding), the body was in shambles, and the paint was peeled and cracked where it hadn’t been chipped away by bullets and collisions.

She hated the look of it. You'd think it was unfinished, lazy work. This is how she had wanted it though. "Let it have battle scars," or something like that. So Caret would do the best she could to keep it this way: in disrepair and ugliness. Besides, it was one less thing to overhaul in the long queue that awaited her.

The junkyard spanned around Shepherd’s house, which was much less the centerpiece of the compound than it had been two years ago. Speeder bikes, motorcycles, a few dune buggies, and even a fully loaded war boy rig surrounded the meek home and the garage, with a few small mountains of parts and scrap littered amid it all.

“Damn girl,” the woman drawled as she strolled through the yard, kicking over a rusted hubcap. “You did good for yourself in six months.”

Caret froze in place, unwilling yet to turn around. She opened her mouth to say something, but she realized that she couldn’t think of anything to say.

The bandit stopped a few meters away, still idly admiring the collection. “All this shit? You must have been kicking ass and taking names while I was away.”

The mechanic gathered enough courage to turn, her heart slamming in her chest, her spine chilled even in the pounding sunlight. Her eyes landed on the woman, and another bolt of ice shot through her. “Bandit?” she barely managed to mutter.

The woman shook her head and sighed. “You know, if everyone calls me that, it’ll basically be a name. That defeats the point, don’t ya think?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Caret’s voice was sharp.

A slurry of confusion washed over the marauder and she blinked it away. “What do you mean, kid? I said I was coming through the gate. I didn’t have a ride, I just walked.”

The demeanor of the young woman shifted from one of of shock to one of anger. “Get the fuck out of here, bandit!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Tears were already streaking down her cheeks.

“Woah, woah, woah!” the woman held her hands up in the air and took a step back. “What the hell, kid? What’d I do?”

Caret took an aggressive step forward, her knuckles white and balled into a fist. “You fucking left me! You left me here!”

Frustration was evident on the nameless woman’s face, and her shoulders rolled forward. “I told you, I can’t control that! I’s just omnitime, there’s nothing you can fucking do!”

“It’s been TWO YEARS, bandit! TWO FUCKING YEARS!” Caret snapped.

The woman stood there, just staring for a moment. The moment filled with a dry quiet, neither knowing what to reply with. “Two years?” the usually rambunctious warrior asked meekly.

“Yes!” Caret sobbed back. “How could you just leave like that?”

She opened her mouth only to close it. She eventually wrestled her tongue into cooperation and replied, “I literally came through the gate a half a day ago. I… I don’t know what happened. I’ve never heard of such a crazy time difference. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“We looked for you, bandit. We spend months looking for you. Months.” Caret threw her arm up, gesturing at the truck. “I drove this piece of shit around the fucking dunes, getting shot up by raiders and whackos, and you were just gone.”

“Listen, what do you want me to say?!” the nameless yelled back, emotion choking her. “I didn’t mean for this to happen! I didn’t [/i]do[/i] anything! I just woke up, called you, and walked here! That’s it! That’s all I did! That’s all I had the time to do!”

Caret pushed her hands into her chest and leaned forward accusatorily. “Well I’ve had plenty of time. Time enough to get my leg blown off by some warlord psycho. Time enough to get a gun held to my head and be told that I’m gonna fix all these fuckers’ stuff of they’ll literally kill and eat me.”

She backed away slowly, her cheeks still flowing with tears, until she hit the war truck. She covered her face with her hands and slid down the ragged metal, her sobbing too heavy to speak through anymore.

The woman stood there, staring at the now-evident metal replacement for the young woman’s left leg. A simple metal plate hung loosely from the bottom of her pant leg, but the rest wasn’t visible. It was in horrible condition, and she was terrified to think of what was going on under her overalls. “What the fuck happened?”

Caret didn’t look up, but she managed to maintain her composure enough to explain. “Some crazy ass warboy wannabe told be to fix his rig about a year and a half ago, I said no, and he blew my leg off.“ She pulled up the pant leg, revealing a jury rigged shock system that had been fashioned into a crude prosthetic, strapped to an inflamed stump that terminated just below the knee. “Shep nursed it back to heath, and I made this work. He jacked the las turret from the back of your truck and put a huge hole in the passenger side. I’ve been working on fixing it since then, but, you know, it hasn’t really been a priority.” She glared up from her hands, “Because I figured you were dead.”

The warrior’s eyebrows slowly cinched, and her expression changed from one of concern to one of fury. Without a word she spun on her heel and stormed towards the house. She reeled her left arm back when she met with the door and slammed her metal fist into it. It exploded into a million tiny squares with an ear-splitting explosion, a thousand cuboid shards spilling onto the ramshackle kitchen floor.

“Shepard!” she screamed, an inconsolable rage filling her voice with brass and splinters. “Shepard get the fuck out here!”

When there was no response, she stormed into the structure through the cloud of dust, the sun at her back. Her eyes scanned over the room quickly, and she stomped from the relatively new kitchen addition and into the old portion of the home which was still little more than a shack with a couple of beds and an old wooden chair. Shepard sat there, quietly reading a book to himself. “Hello,” he said calmly. “I see you’re back.”

Her fists were as tight as her jaw and she glared down at him. “How could you let this happen?”

He paused, closed his book, and sat it on the short table beside him. “Let what happen, exactly?”

“Caret!” she barked, “How the fuck could you let this happen to her?”

“I didn’t ‘let’ anything happen to her. I tried to come to her defense, but they just wouldn’t listen.” He smoothed over a frazzled bit of his white, cornrowed hair, his expression still stiffly placid.

“Listen?” she snapped back. “You tried to fucking talk a warboy down? Really?”

He steepled his fingers. “Yes.”

She slammed her hand into the wall behind her with a thud, thin trails of dust slipping from the ceiling. “You could have stopped this. You should have.”

He took a long, slow breath. “With what? What could I have done?”

Her eyes went wide, “You can control omnilium! You can make, literally, WHATEVER YOU WANT! You could have made guns, you could have made weapons, hell, you could have fixed his little shitty car if you wanted to! You are a Prime. This world was made specifically for you. You can do whatever you want!”

An edge finally found its way into his tone. “The power to create is not a power that any man should have. That is the realm of God, and only God.”

The bandit let out a short, bitter laugh. “God? Really? The only god that exists here is Omni, and he gave you these powers. He gave you the power to change this world to be whatever you want it to be. That’s the entire point! That’s why this hellhole exists!” She waved her hand over the half-rotted building around her, “But instead, you choose to live like this. You choose inaction while horrible shit happens to the people without that power. You just sit there.”

“Didn't I take you in? Didn’t I patch you up?” he retorted.

And sharp guffaw. “You used some old shitty bandages when you could have literally just put your hands on my chest and thought real hard. You let Caret build herself some half-assed peg leg instead of just giving her a new leg.”

“That’s not how life works!” he finally exploded. “That is not the world that God intended, and it is not the world I will be a part of!”

“Fuck you, man,” she spit back. “You are given the power to make this world a better place for the people who don’t have that choice. You’re the god here, and this is your creation. Anything that happens to the little guys while you sit here with your fuckin’ book is on your head.” She didn’t wait for a response before turning away from him. “If this is what you’re gonna do as a prime, a person that will never face the consequences of your own inaction, then you’re worse than the marauders that did that to her. At least they’re fighting to survive.”

She strode back out of the house, and towards the still sitting Caret. “Hey kid. We’re getting out of here.”

“What?” Caret asked.

“You and me. I’m never letting anything like this ever happen to you again. We’re gonna get in my truck and I’m gonna take you away from here. If you stick with me, this omnitime bullshit shouldn’t happen.”

“I can’t just leave! Shep needs me!” she retorted.

The hulking figure kneeled down beside her and placed a hand on her leg. She closed her eyes and after a few moments a bright white light shined from between her fingers. “No. He doesn’t.”]]> <![CDATA[[Nippur] One Hell of a Randsom Note]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7395 Tue, 22 May 2018 18:42:15 +0000 Ash]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7395 Quote:Warning: Dark water's ahead, please read with caution. Subject matter may not be suitable for all audiences. If you are offended by even the mention of sexual assault, please do not participate.
[spoiler]I do not encourage or approve of rape in any shape, form, or to any gender. I have agreed not to include any graphic imagery about the subject upon joining, but I have used it to make my bad-guys more unlikable by implying the villains have done and will do it again. This is merely a warning for anyone who wishes not to be subjected to it at all. I have aptly tagged my thread as Mature because the subject is merely threatened on my own character but do not plan to initiate it as made obvious by the end of this post. [/spoiler]
The sun was bright and hot, and it pierced through all the layers of her exposed skin to warm every inch of her body. As someone who opted to stay inside most of her life, Ash typically didn’t see a lot of sun. Let alone a desert’s worth over the course of a year. Here she was already feeling the heat seep into her pores and expand them. She’d be sweating in a matter of moments, but she didn’t care so much about that as she cared about the sunburn risk she was taking. It would take about three minutes to create the protection lotion she would need to prevent this entirely, or she could just keep walking and hope for the best.

Because the SPF is too much effort, the morality mirrored humanoid headed into the rising waves of sand. As she did, she considered the benefits of perhaps re-summoning a source of transportation instead of walking excessively like it was recommended not to do so while she was healing from her new piercing. After only a couple more meters of the difficult terrain, she breaks down and begins to concentrate.

About a half a minute in her concentration she realized she was doing everything wrong and decided on a different mount. Of course, she thought about a horse, that was obvious. She wanted different. She struggled to remember what those even looked like, she didn’t even know how to ride them. Jaixe wasn’t here to teach her either. So she picked a creature she has seen many people ride.

Five minutes of excitement - which felt like nothing - later her mount sat in the sand already saddled and reined. It cooed as its golden feathered head cocked left and then right. Looking and sounding like a large chicken, the Chocobo remained in its nesting position as Ash slid into place on the saddle. She hissed at the soreness between her legs once more but settled just the same. She inserted her feet into the stirrups and whipped the reins. Gracefully the Chocobo lifted onto its black talons and stretched out its wings, flapping them before adjusting its feet to support the nearly non-existing weight.

Ash had no idea what she had been expecting, but this wasn’t it. The creature under her moved completely different from what she’d experienced with the horse. It was much lighter for one and waddled more than trotted. Regardless, a smile plastered over her face as the large avian mount carried her across the desert in style, its rooster like tail brushing against her naked back.

Naked was the best way to explain Ash’s current outfit. She had on a gold bikini bottom with purple silk hanging of each hip. Attached to the bottom in most questionable ways were sheer lilac pants that show off a lot of naked thigh before loosely covering the rest of her legs by belling out and then tucking into the beaded elastic bands just above her ankles. Her sandals were relatively normal and simple, thick straps of dyed leather held the thick hollow soles in place on her feet. Her top was mostly the same gold bikini style, though strapless. Instead of hanging off each side of her chest, however, the royal purple made up half of her bra-like top and went up to her shoulder. A gold ornament bead sat on her shoulder and divided the front and back of this sash. The back swooped right across her back and tied off at her hip, doing a poor job as covering her back and the tops of her well-rounded ass.

In her raven black hair was a gold scarf that cut just behind the bangs and tied at the base of the neck, a bright golden bow covering the jack-in port. She wore large gold hoops in the traditional ears and changed all her silver rings to gold. As well she wore gold armbands and bracelets that mimicked Egyptian culture to her limited knowledge. Gold rings with large jewels decorated her fingers, leaving her looking as rich as she could. Nevermind the possibly unique mount.

-

She rode the chocobo for hours in the, aptly named, endless dunes. The heat was already getting to her, she broke out in a sweat a long time ago, but refused still to summon water or burn prevention methods. She managed to dig out some sunglasses, the heat in the distance playing with the light had driven her to put them on to avoid being fooled by the desert’s tricks.

Eventually, she came across an honest to goodness oasis. She allowed the Chocobo to take her closer and even up to the water. She slid right off as the bird began to drink and lowered herself into the damp sand to scoop up water herself and swallow two hands full at a time. She’d never been so thirsty, or at least couldn’t remember last time she was, and never has she ever thought water tasted this good. The cold clear water splashed down her shirt and drenched some of the fabric, none of that was a concern at that moment.

Very quickly after that, she stopped, there was a moment where the world completely stopped around her and she realized someone was watching her. She waited them out a few more moments, sure that something was getting closer. In a flash of motion she twisted around and stood to her feet, already trying to re-summon her dagger but before she managed to someone grabbed her by the throat and began to choke her. Faster than that, they had their arm around her neck and began to squeeze without cutting off her air supply.

“Look at what we got here, boys?” A dark voice made her shiver.

“I’d say that looks like one of them frail and innocent princesses.” A slower and dumber voice sounded.

“She’s too pretty to be a slave…” A third voice spoke without Ash able to see them.

“She’s plenty firm and perky.” The first voice said, a large hand coming across her butt and around her body to grope her chest, the part that was only covered by the fabric.

“Maybe she is one of them sacrifices? The virgin-daughter types that sultans send to kings.” The third voice said quickly, Ash could feel another hand crawl over her body, squeezing her thick thigh roughly and forcing a small moan out of her.

“Oh. I think she liked that one!” The slower one said the obvious.

“You think she’s something special for King Gilgamesh to enjoy and him alone?” The first one asked, obviously ignoring the slower one.

“Be a shame if we spoiled his gifts…” The third voice was higher pitched but still very male. Didn’t quite hold the arousing ability as the first ones.

“Grab the bird, Wacin, if you are good will let you have a turn with her.” The first one said, directing the slower one. Ash watched as a male that wasn’t very far off from the image in her head bound over to her Chocobo and grab its reigns. It didn’t seem happy about being pulled from the source of water, but it obeyed for now.

“Flip a coin for who gets to have her first?” The higher pitched voice said.

“Sure Marce, sure. Heads I win, tails you lose. Sound good?”

Marce laughed a bit to himself before nodding, missing the trick in that sentence completely. “Alright, Jernai.” He said, “Sounds good.”

-

At the bandit camp, Jernai and Marce snuck through the guard post carrying their treasure. Jernai didn’t think it was a good idea to take her where the others were sleeping, she’d wake them up and they would all want a turn. Not all of them would fall for his coin trick. He instead suggested heading into a room almost no one uses anymore, it was a room full of books and maps.

Jernai tossed the woman onto the table with more force than intended, forcing some air out of her lungs as she cried out in slight pain. “Stuff something in ‘er mouth.” He said, moving into position and already starting to take off his pants.

“Wait.” Marce stopped him.

“What?” Jernai stage-whispered back, sharply.

“You said we could flip a coin.” He spoke softly, but his hurt was clear in his voice and face.

Jernai’s mouth gaped open, then shut back. “Yer right, sorry man. Ya got a coin?”

Marce patted down his pants as frantically as he could. “Nah... Do you?”

Jernai waited before his buddy had a hold of her before running his fingers along any hole or pouch he could have fit a coin in. “No.” He said defeatedly.

“Borrow mine.” A much deeper voice said, quietly. A gold coin appeared in Jernai’s vision and he brightened up immediately.

The ringleader of the trio snatches it out of the air and then presents it to his friend. “Remember now, heads I win. Tails you lose. Got it? Now did-” He stopped when he realized Marce wasn’t paying attention at all to him. He was looking to his side at something that was making him shy away from the table. Jernai looked back at the source of his coin and into the dark-bearded visage of his leader; Skull-Face. He jumped back with so much of a fright that the coin fell from his hand and between the girl’s legs as he backed way the fuck up.

The girl on the table remained where she’d been slammed against, her wrists framing her head and her legs spread far apart. He looked down at her with a stern and serious look but noted that she did not cower as easily as the men did around her.

“What’s the meaning of this?” He asked, reaching his hand between her soft thighs and picking up the coin with his thumb and forefingers. They called him Skull-Face because he was heavily scarred and burned, it already looked wicked but in the dim lights, it made a shape that looked like a skull from a jolly roger minus the crossbones.

“M-M-Meaning!?” Marce repeated, shaking in his boots.

“We weren’t meaning to do anything, s-sir,” Jernai responded as well, stuttering half as bad as Marce but just as fearful.

“Who is she then?” Skull-Face asked, pointing to the woman with one crooked hand as he stuffed the coin back into a pocket. “What were you plannin’ to do with her, what was the coin toss for?” He asked as if he didn’t know, he looked her over with both his eyes first, then closed one and looked her over with his good eye. She was a hot plate or something.

“Yes, sir. We found her at the waterhole.” Jernai explained.

“Jernai and me expect her to mean something to that stupid Gilgamesh. So we took her.” Marce told more.

“Is that so?” Skull-Face looked as joyous as ever.

“Yeah. See, I says. I think we should spoil any gift he gets if we can.” Marce continued.

“Oh?” Skull-Face turned his angry look over at Marce this time. Marce turns completely ghost silent. “So you bring her to the library where no one comes to do this?”

They both met his question with pure silence. He grabs the demoness roughly and throws her over his shoulder like a bag of flour, Jernai was smart enough to accept the fact that his plan was ruined and winced when he heard Marce ask what the leader: “What are you doing, Skull-Face?”

“If this woman does mean anything significant to our old pal Gilgamesh, it would be best to make demands for power or money instead of fucking her,” Skull-Face answered, glaring at the stupider of the two before leaving with his prize. “You’ll be held in my quarters until we have a better plan, lass.” He said, letting his hand glide up the back of her leg and giving her ass a good firm squeeze.

-

A few hours later there was about seven lizard drawn vehicles approached Nippur’s walls, only three closed in to be clearly seen. The biggest one was, of course, Skull-Face’s who rode on the top of a throne, several men already with armed weapons at his side and ready to throw away his life. As he approached he lifted up a device that would increase the volume of his speech, cone shaped so the sound would travel into a more concentrated area. He aimed it at the guards above as he stood and his property came dangerously close.

“ATTENTION TO THE SPINELESS GOLD PAINTED PRINCE OF NIPPUR. I HAVE YER WOMAN. I SUGGEST YOU BEND TO MY DEMANDS QUICKLY, THE MEN ARE RESTLESS. THEY ALL WANT A PIECE OF THIS ASS, ESPECIALLY IF SHE HAS BEEN PROMISED TO YOU.”

Skull-Face grinned as a bunch of men hollered and hooted their approval of the message.

“YOU HAVE ONE HOUR TO SURRENDER YOUR CROWN, OR ONE MAN WILL HAVE FIFTEEN MINUTES ALONE WITH HER, UNTIL YOU’VE MET OUR DEMANDS OR SHE IS BEYOND PHYSICAL AND MENTAL REPAIR. YOUR TIME STARTS NOW.”

Skull-Face fell into his seat of power grinning smugly. Jernai and Marce sheepishly standing at the wheel of the heaviest armored wagon. “See boys, that’s how you deal with that.” He snapped his fingers and a strong soldier takes the steps down below, returning shortly afterward with Ash. There was a yellow bump on the left side of her face, it swelled slightly. She’d been hit by Skull-Face a couple of times but he didn’t scare her with such primitive tactics. “But since you were the bases of this good idea, you boys can have a go with her after I am done.” He waved the man to send him her prize.

As demanded, he pushed Ash over to his leader. She had every bit of control as she stumbled over the two feet it was to the dark-skinned bandit leader. She twisted at the last minute so she landed right on his lap. Immediately his two strong arms collapse around her. Maybe he expected the Storm Demon to struggle more but she managed only a small push against him before he pulled her tightly against his muscular and almost bare chest.

Where a lot of the bandits had suits of makeshift armor, some of them even have matching pieces that made a full set, Skull-Face wore just leathers. If he had a weapon she didn’t see it either.

He trapped her against his body and took a long intake against her horned skull. “She smells as sweet as a desert rose... “ He mocked his men before turning his hands onto her chest.

The female prime let out a soft and short-lived moan, trying to seem as pathetic as they thought she was. She looked around for a foot hole, a reason to fight back. Spotting the megaphone device she gave him a more solid push before rolling out of his grip and ducking the other man’s capture. She snatched it up and quickly flipped the switch on before screaming out at the city. “I don’t ne- AH!!”

The device was snatched from her and Marce’s boot kicked her in the side of the head. She fell limp against the deck and laid there expecting the men to beat her thoroughly for her actions. When it never came she looked up at the wall first, a small crowd of people forming and trying to figure out what to do. Behind her, Marce was pulling away while the heavy footsteps of Skull-Face could he heard coming to a stop.

“I like a girl with some fight in ‘er.” He said with a dark sense of humor. “But you think you are clever, are you? I put that so close to you on purpose. Now they know you are here.” He said with a cryptic grin and a bit of a chuckle. “Take her down again. Let her think about how stupid she’s been.” He then put the device up to his lips. “One hour, Gilgamesh.” He announced, then tossing the megaphone off the platform so that it was lost to the sands. He began to laugh at her defiant look as she was dragged away. His laughter didn’t stop once she was gone, he was enjoying her pain far too much.

-

Below, she was tossed like a doll into the cage they’d salvaged from omni-knows-what. She threw herself at the door as it was locked and the brute of a man who’d locked her in coldly just turns and leaves.

A wicked grin splits Ash’s face, the idea that Skull-Face thinks he’s out planned her was laughable, but she shook the cage violently again for good measure and began to scream censored profanities at them. Now all she had to do was wait.]]> Quote:Warning: Dark water's ahead, please read with caution. Subject matter may not be suitable for all audiences. If you are offended by even the mention of sexual assault, please do not participate.
[spoiler]I do not encourage or approve of rape in any shape, form, or to any gender. I have agreed not to include any graphic imagery about the subject upon joining, but I have used it to make my bad-guys more unlikable by implying the villains have done and will do it again. This is merely a warning for anyone who wishes not to be subjected to it at all. I have aptly tagged my thread as Mature because the subject is merely threatened on my own character but do not plan to initiate it as made obvious by the end of this post. [/spoiler]
The sun was bright and hot, and it pierced through all the layers of her exposed skin to warm every inch of her body. As someone who opted to stay inside most of her life, Ash typically didn’t see a lot of sun. Let alone a desert’s worth over the course of a year. Here she was already feeling the heat seep into her pores and expand them. She’d be sweating in a matter of moments, but she didn’t care so much about that as she cared about the sunburn risk she was taking. It would take about three minutes to create the protection lotion she would need to prevent this entirely, or she could just keep walking and hope for the best.

Because the SPF is too much effort, the morality mirrored humanoid headed into the rising waves of sand. As she did, she considered the benefits of perhaps re-summoning a source of transportation instead of walking excessively like it was recommended not to do so while she was healing from her new piercing. After only a couple more meters of the difficult terrain, she breaks down and begins to concentrate.

About a half a minute in her concentration she realized she was doing everything wrong and decided on a different mount. Of course, she thought about a horse, that was obvious. She wanted different. She struggled to remember what those even looked like, she didn’t even know how to ride them. Jaixe wasn’t here to teach her either. So she picked a creature she has seen many people ride.

Five minutes of excitement - which felt like nothing - later her mount sat in the sand already saddled and reined. It cooed as its golden feathered head cocked left and then right. Looking and sounding like a large chicken, the Chocobo remained in its nesting position as Ash slid into place on the saddle. She hissed at the soreness between her legs once more but settled just the same. She inserted her feet into the stirrups and whipped the reins. Gracefully the Chocobo lifted onto its black talons and stretched out its wings, flapping them before adjusting its feet to support the nearly non-existing weight.

Ash had no idea what she had been expecting, but this wasn’t it. The creature under her moved completely different from what she’d experienced with the horse. It was much lighter for one and waddled more than trotted. Regardless, a smile plastered over her face as the large avian mount carried her across the desert in style, its rooster like tail brushing against her naked back.

Naked was the best way to explain Ash’s current outfit. She had on a gold bikini bottom with purple silk hanging of each hip. Attached to the bottom in most questionable ways were sheer lilac pants that show off a lot of naked thigh before loosely covering the rest of her legs by belling out and then tucking into the beaded elastic bands just above her ankles. Her sandals were relatively normal and simple, thick straps of dyed leather held the thick hollow soles in place on her feet. Her top was mostly the same gold bikini style, though strapless. Instead of hanging off each side of her chest, however, the royal purple made up half of her bra-like top and went up to her shoulder. A gold ornament bead sat on her shoulder and divided the front and back of this sash. The back swooped right across her back and tied off at her hip, doing a poor job as covering her back and the tops of her well-rounded ass.

In her raven black hair was a gold scarf that cut just behind the bangs and tied at the base of the neck, a bright golden bow covering the jack-in port. She wore large gold hoops in the traditional ears and changed all her silver rings to gold. As well she wore gold armbands and bracelets that mimicked Egyptian culture to her limited knowledge. Gold rings with large jewels decorated her fingers, leaving her looking as rich as she could. Nevermind the possibly unique mount.

-

She rode the chocobo for hours in the, aptly named, endless dunes. The heat was already getting to her, she broke out in a sweat a long time ago, but refused still to summon water or burn prevention methods. She managed to dig out some sunglasses, the heat in the distance playing with the light had driven her to put them on to avoid being fooled by the desert’s tricks.

Eventually, she came across an honest to goodness oasis. She allowed the Chocobo to take her closer and even up to the water. She slid right off as the bird began to drink and lowered herself into the damp sand to scoop up water herself and swallow two hands full at a time. She’d never been so thirsty, or at least couldn’t remember last time she was, and never has she ever thought water tasted this good. The cold clear water splashed down her shirt and drenched some of the fabric, none of that was a concern at that moment.

Very quickly after that, she stopped, there was a moment where the world completely stopped around her and she realized someone was watching her. She waited them out a few more moments, sure that something was getting closer. In a flash of motion she twisted around and stood to her feet, already trying to re-summon her dagger but before she managed to someone grabbed her by the throat and began to choke her. Faster than that, they had their arm around her neck and began to squeeze without cutting off her air supply.

“Look at what we got here, boys?” A dark voice made her shiver.

“I’d say that looks like one of them frail and innocent princesses.” A slower and dumber voice sounded.

“She’s too pretty to be a slave…” A third voice spoke without Ash able to see them.

“She’s plenty firm and perky.” The first voice said, a large hand coming across her butt and around her body to grope her chest, the part that was only covered by the fabric.

“Maybe she is one of them sacrifices? The virgin-daughter types that sultans send to kings.” The third voice said quickly, Ash could feel another hand crawl over her body, squeezing her thick thigh roughly and forcing a small moan out of her.

“Oh. I think she liked that one!” The slower one said the obvious.

“You think she’s something special for King Gilgamesh to enjoy and him alone?” The first one asked, obviously ignoring the slower one.

“Be a shame if we spoiled his gifts…” The third voice was higher pitched but still very male. Didn’t quite hold the arousing ability as the first ones.

“Grab the bird, Wacin, if you are good will let you have a turn with her.” The first one said, directing the slower one. Ash watched as a male that wasn’t very far off from the image in her head bound over to her Chocobo and grab its reigns. It didn’t seem happy about being pulled from the source of water, but it obeyed for now.

“Flip a coin for who gets to have her first?” The higher pitched voice said.

“Sure Marce, sure. Heads I win, tails you lose. Sound good?”

Marce laughed a bit to himself before nodding, missing the trick in that sentence completely. “Alright, Jernai.” He said, “Sounds good.”

-

At the bandit camp, Jernai and Marce snuck through the guard post carrying their treasure. Jernai didn’t think it was a good idea to take her where the others were sleeping, she’d wake them up and they would all want a turn. Not all of them would fall for his coin trick. He instead suggested heading into a room almost no one uses anymore, it was a room full of books and maps.

Jernai tossed the woman onto the table with more force than intended, forcing some air out of her lungs as she cried out in slight pain. “Stuff something in ‘er mouth.” He said, moving into position and already starting to take off his pants.

“Wait.” Marce stopped him.

“What?” Jernai stage-whispered back, sharply.

“You said we could flip a coin.” He spoke softly, but his hurt was clear in his voice and face.

Jernai’s mouth gaped open, then shut back. “Yer right, sorry man. Ya got a coin?”

Marce patted down his pants as frantically as he could. “Nah... Do you?”

Jernai waited before his buddy had a hold of her before running his fingers along any hole or pouch he could have fit a coin in. “No.” He said defeatedly.

“Borrow mine.” A much deeper voice said, quietly. A gold coin appeared in Jernai’s vision and he brightened up immediately.

The ringleader of the trio snatches it out of the air and then presents it to his friend. “Remember now, heads I win. Tails you lose. Got it? Now did-” He stopped when he realized Marce wasn’t paying attention at all to him. He was looking to his side at something that was making him shy away from the table. Jernai looked back at the source of his coin and into the dark-bearded visage of his leader; Skull-Face. He jumped back with so much of a fright that the coin fell from his hand and between the girl’s legs as he backed way the fuck up.

The girl on the table remained where she’d been slammed against, her wrists framing her head and her legs spread far apart. He looked down at her with a stern and serious look but noted that she did not cower as easily as the men did around her.

“What’s the meaning of this?” He asked, reaching his hand between her soft thighs and picking up the coin with his thumb and forefingers. They called him Skull-Face because he was heavily scarred and burned, it already looked wicked but in the dim lights, it made a shape that looked like a skull from a jolly roger minus the crossbones.

“M-M-Meaning!?” Marce repeated, shaking in his boots.

“We weren’t meaning to do anything, s-sir,” Jernai responded as well, stuttering half as bad as Marce but just as fearful.

“Who is she then?” Skull-Face asked, pointing to the woman with one crooked hand as he stuffed the coin back into a pocket. “What were you plannin’ to do with her, what was the coin toss for?” He asked as if he didn’t know, he looked her over with both his eyes first, then closed one and looked her over with his good eye. She was a hot plate or something.

“Yes, sir. We found her at the waterhole.” Jernai explained.

“Jernai and me expect her to mean something to that stupid Gilgamesh. So we took her.” Marce told more.

“Is that so?” Skull-Face looked as joyous as ever.

“Yeah. See, I says. I think we should spoil any gift he gets if we can.” Marce continued.

“Oh?” Skull-Face turned his angry look over at Marce this time. Marce turns completely ghost silent. “So you bring her to the library where no one comes to do this?”

They both met his question with pure silence. He grabs the demoness roughly and throws her over his shoulder like a bag of flour, Jernai was smart enough to accept the fact that his plan was ruined and winced when he heard Marce ask what the leader: “What are you doing, Skull-Face?”

“If this woman does mean anything significant to our old pal Gilgamesh, it would be best to make demands for power or money instead of fucking her,” Skull-Face answered, glaring at the stupider of the two before leaving with his prize. “You’ll be held in my quarters until we have a better plan, lass.” He said, letting his hand glide up the back of her leg and giving her ass a good firm squeeze.

-

A few hours later there was about seven lizard drawn vehicles approached Nippur’s walls, only three closed in to be clearly seen. The biggest one was, of course, Skull-Face’s who rode on the top of a throne, several men already with armed weapons at his side and ready to throw away his life. As he approached he lifted up a device that would increase the volume of his speech, cone shaped so the sound would travel into a more concentrated area. He aimed it at the guards above as he stood and his property came dangerously close.

“ATTENTION TO THE SPINELESS GOLD PAINTED PRINCE OF NIPPUR. I HAVE YER WOMAN. I SUGGEST YOU BEND TO MY DEMANDS QUICKLY, THE MEN ARE RESTLESS. THEY ALL WANT A PIECE OF THIS ASS, ESPECIALLY IF SHE HAS BEEN PROMISED TO YOU.”

Skull-Face grinned as a bunch of men hollered and hooted their approval of the message.

“YOU HAVE ONE HOUR TO SURRENDER YOUR CROWN, OR ONE MAN WILL HAVE FIFTEEN MINUTES ALONE WITH HER, UNTIL YOU’VE MET OUR DEMANDS OR SHE IS BEYOND PHYSICAL AND MENTAL REPAIR. YOUR TIME STARTS NOW.”

Skull-Face fell into his seat of power grinning smugly. Jernai and Marce sheepishly standing at the wheel of the heaviest armored wagon. “See boys, that’s how you deal with that.” He snapped his fingers and a strong soldier takes the steps down below, returning shortly afterward with Ash. There was a yellow bump on the left side of her face, it swelled slightly. She’d been hit by Skull-Face a couple of times but he didn’t scare her with such primitive tactics. “But since you were the bases of this good idea, you boys can have a go with her after I am done.” He waved the man to send him her prize.

As demanded, he pushed Ash over to his leader. She had every bit of control as she stumbled over the two feet it was to the dark-skinned bandit leader. She twisted at the last minute so she landed right on his lap. Immediately his two strong arms collapse around her. Maybe he expected the Storm Demon to struggle more but she managed only a small push against him before he pulled her tightly against his muscular and almost bare chest.

Where a lot of the bandits had suits of makeshift armor, some of them even have matching pieces that made a full set, Skull-Face wore just leathers. If he had a weapon she didn’t see it either.

He trapped her against his body and took a long intake against her horned skull. “She smells as sweet as a desert rose... “ He mocked his men before turning his hands onto her chest.

The female prime let out a soft and short-lived moan, trying to seem as pathetic as they thought she was. She looked around for a foot hole, a reason to fight back. Spotting the megaphone device she gave him a more solid push before rolling out of his grip and ducking the other man’s capture. She snatched it up and quickly flipped the switch on before screaming out at the city. “I don’t ne- AH!!”

The device was snatched from her and Marce’s boot kicked her in the side of the head. She fell limp against the deck and laid there expecting the men to beat her thoroughly for her actions. When it never came she looked up at the wall first, a small crowd of people forming and trying to figure out what to do. Behind her, Marce was pulling away while the heavy footsteps of Skull-Face could he heard coming to a stop.

“I like a girl with some fight in ‘er.” He said with a dark sense of humor. “But you think you are clever, are you? I put that so close to you on purpose. Now they know you are here.” He said with a cryptic grin and a bit of a chuckle. “Take her down again. Let her think about how stupid she’s been.” He then put the device up to his lips. “One hour, Gilgamesh.” He announced, then tossing the megaphone off the platform so that it was lost to the sands. He began to laugh at her defiant look as she was dragged away. His laughter didn’t stop once she was gone, he was enjoying her pain far too much.

-

Below, she was tossed like a doll into the cage they’d salvaged from omni-knows-what. She threw herself at the door as it was locked and the brute of a man who’d locked her in coldly just turns and leaves.

A wicked grin splits Ash’s face, the idea that Skull-Face thinks he’s out planned her was laughable, but she shook the cage violently again for good measure and began to scream censored profanities at them. Now all she had to do was wait.]]> <![CDATA[Vengeance Saga - Part 1]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7389 Mon, 21 May 2018 08:32:50 +0000 Jim Raynor]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7389
Jim lifted his head to order when he noticed the unusually high occupancy rate inside the bar for the second straight night. His eyes moved slowly over the crowd, again a sullen and morose bunch nursing their drinks and barely saying a word. Unlike the previous evening, Jim spotted Swann sitting at a table with Sergeant Lewis Baxter, Jim’s squadron leader and Private Adam Carlton, scratching at his thick black beard.

Finding one of the few empty chairs in the bar, Jim saddled up to the table and joined them. “Hey fellas. Another big day?”

“You said it, cowboy,” Swann said, taking a hearty swig of his beer. “Those damn bandits don’t know when to quit.”

“Bandits?” Jim said. “You’re tellin’ me they attacked the town for the third time in two days?”

“It’s unprecedented,” Lewis said, fingers tapping on the cold glass of cola in his hands. “They’re relentless.”

“Did they say anythin’? They demandin’ anythin’ different?” Jim said. 

Adam shook his head. His normally jovial attitude was absent. “It’s like it was yesterday. They all seem to be teaming up and trying to brute-force their way into the town. It’s almost like they think we’re sitting on a treasure pile or something and they’re willing to divvy up the spoils. What could be making them act like this?”

“Not to mention willing to work together,” Sergeant Baxter added. “Most of the bandit tribes have so much in-fighting, it’s a wonder they manage to pull off any raids at all. We’ve never seen them working together ever.”

“Not somethin’ easily answered,” Swann said. “You seen ‘em? They’re mad. They ain’t stoppin’ to talk. Maybe the desert’s finally scrambled what was left of their brains.”

Jim rubbed at his prickly chin. Could the dark creatures he had fought not so long ago have survived somehow and passed on their corruptive influence to the bandits? Had Nippur’s recent revival had something to do with stirring them up? Or was it something completely different, something they didn’t even know about?

“Well whatever’s goin’ on, I’m stayin’ put,” Jim said. “Seems whenever I’m away they hit the town.”

“Get your sleep,” Private Carlton said, standing up. “If tomorrow’s anything like the last few days, you’re going to need it. We all will.”

“Good point,” Sergeant Baxter said. “Let’s all turn in for the night.”

Swann downed the dregs of his beer and hopped to his feet. “Now there’s somethin’ we can all agree to.”

Jim let his drinking buddies leave the bar first, taking one last glance at the tired and worried faces that filled the room. The townsfolk knew hardship – just day-to-day life in the Town With No Name came with heaping handfuls of it – but never were they so smothered by it. He could see the toll it was taking through every crinkled brow and drooping, downcast gaze. Jim wished there was something he could do to lift all their spirits, but it was up to them to ride out this storm. With any luck, the treaty with Nippur would soon kick in and improve everyone’s lot in the town.

Jim pushed through the swinging doors of the bar and into the chilly night air. He almost fell over when a giant orange figure stepped from his side. He calmed himself. The Hammer. For whatever reason, The Hammer was almost always inside her firebat suit, even when she didn’t need to be. Jim had never seen her outside of it and had no idea of what her real name was. Hell, he hadn’t even heard her voice before. Jim knew most firebats were resocialised criminals so there was a chance the process may have left her with some… issues, so Jim hadn’t probed further into her past.

Still, it was quite the shock when he heard her voice echo inside that big orange suit.

“Commander.” The Hammer’s voice was deep and mirthless, but unmistakably female.

“Hammer?” Jim said, both in recognition of her presence and bewilderment of hearing her speak. “What are you… what can I…” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. We’ve never talked before. I’d be lyin’ if I said you didn’t throw me just now.”

“Commander,” she continued as if Raynor hadn’t spoken at all, “there is something about the raids that I think should be brought to your attention.”

Jim furrowed his brow. If there was something unusual about the bandit attacks, why wasn’t it brought up by the others? “What? What is it?”

“The others dismiss it, but the bandits have been attacking differently,” she said.

“So I’ve heard. Bandit’s ain’t in the habit of formin’ alliances, temporary or no. But they don’t seem to be dismissin’ it.”

The firebat’s hemispherical head twisted, its glowing yellow eyes aimed at something in the distance. “The bandits are more hysterical than usual. They are more reckless, less concerned about their well-being. They seem prone to the point of what I would almost call suicide.”

“Yeah?” Swann and his squad hadn’t mentioned suicidal bandits. “What’s standin’ out?”

“Some of the bandits are running directly into the line of fire,” The Hammer said. “There’s no attempt at self preservation. And they’re shouting, screaming. I know they’re not all right in the head, but they’re all shouting the same thing.”

“And what’s that?” Jim said.

“Let me in.”

Jim shifted his weight on his feet. “Let me in?”

“And the terror in their eyes…” The Hammer said. “It’s almost as if they’re running from something.”

Jim cleared his throat and digested the unsettling report. “So you think their attacks ain’t really attacks. You think they’re tryin’ to get into the town because they think they’ll be safe here. And maybe they think allyin’ all their tribes together gives ‘em the best shot at gettin’ in.”

“That’s what I think,” The Hammer said.

“Do you have any proof?” Jim asked.

Hammer’s head swiveled back to Jim. “No, commander. Only my gut instinct.”

“I ain’t one to discount a soldier’s intuition, but I’ll need to see this first hand,” Jim said. “You understand.”

The firebat stared at Raynor for a moment longer and plodded off without another word.

Jim sighed and went his own way. The stars in the clear velvet sky twinkled. The utter silence of the desert night seemed a world away from a bandit assault. Whatever was going on, Jim would find out what it was. After a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, he and the squadron would suit up and start questioning the agitated outlaws the most effective way he knew how; down the barrel of a gun.

Finding the small room set aside for him off the side of Swann’s garage, Jim thrust off his heavy boots and collapsed onto his stained, lumpy bed. His mind attempted to piece the puzzle together but he soon slipped into unconsciousness.

<James Raynor!>

Jim shot up with a start. His bewildered eyes fell upon Karax standing over his bed, a torch in his four fingered hand. The din of shouting, revving engines and piercing bangs boomed from outside. “Karax! What are you doin’ in here? What’s goin’ on?!”

<I’m afraid it’s bad news, James Raynor,> Karax said. <The bandits have returned for another attack and we need you to assist in the defense of the town.>

Jim frowned, eyes wide. “The bastards are back again?!”

The protoss phase-smith took a step back from the terran commander. <Yes. And you best hurry. I hear this may be the biggest incursion yet.>]]>
Jim lifted his head to order when he noticed the unusually high occupancy rate inside the bar for the second straight night. His eyes moved slowly over the crowd, again a sullen and morose bunch nursing their drinks and barely saying a word. Unlike the previous evening, Jim spotted Swann sitting at a table with Sergeant Lewis Baxter, Jim’s squadron leader and Private Adam Carlton, scratching at his thick black beard.

Finding one of the few empty chairs in the bar, Jim saddled up to the table and joined them. “Hey fellas. Another big day?”

“You said it, cowboy,” Swann said, taking a hearty swig of his beer. “Those damn bandits don’t know when to quit.”

“Bandits?” Jim said. “You’re tellin’ me they attacked the town for the third time in two days?”

“It’s unprecedented,” Lewis said, fingers tapping on the cold glass of cola in his hands. “They’re relentless.”

“Did they say anythin’? They demandin’ anythin’ different?” Jim said. 

Adam shook his head. His normally jovial attitude was absent. “It’s like it was yesterday. They all seem to be teaming up and trying to brute-force their way into the town. It’s almost like they think we’re sitting on a treasure pile or something and they’re willing to divvy up the spoils. What could be making them act like this?”

“Not to mention willing to work together,” Sergeant Baxter added. “Most of the bandit tribes have so much in-fighting, it’s a wonder they manage to pull off any raids at all. We’ve never seen them working together ever.”

“Not somethin’ easily answered,” Swann said. “You seen ‘em? They’re mad. They ain’t stoppin’ to talk. Maybe the desert’s finally scrambled what was left of their brains.”

Jim rubbed at his prickly chin. Could the dark creatures he had fought not so long ago have survived somehow and passed on their corruptive influence to the bandits? Had Nippur’s recent revival had something to do with stirring them up? Or was it something completely different, something they didn’t even know about?

“Well whatever’s goin’ on, I’m stayin’ put,” Jim said. “Seems whenever I’m away they hit the town.”

“Get your sleep,” Private Carlton said, standing up. “If tomorrow’s anything like the last few days, you’re going to need it. We all will.”

“Good point,” Sergeant Baxter said. “Let’s all turn in for the night.”

Swann downed the dregs of his beer and hopped to his feet. “Now there’s somethin’ we can all agree to.”

Jim let his drinking buddies leave the bar first, taking one last glance at the tired and worried faces that filled the room. The townsfolk knew hardship – just day-to-day life in the Town With No Name came with heaping handfuls of it – but never were they so smothered by it. He could see the toll it was taking through every crinkled brow and drooping, downcast gaze. Jim wished there was something he could do to lift all their spirits, but it was up to them to ride out this storm. With any luck, the treaty with Nippur would soon kick in and improve everyone’s lot in the town.

Jim pushed through the swinging doors of the bar and into the chilly night air. He almost fell over when a giant orange figure stepped from his side. He calmed himself. The Hammer. For whatever reason, The Hammer was almost always inside her firebat suit, even when she didn’t need to be. Jim had never seen her outside of it and had no idea of what her real name was. Hell, he hadn’t even heard her voice before. Jim knew most firebats were resocialised criminals so there was a chance the process may have left her with some… issues, so Jim hadn’t probed further into her past.

Still, it was quite the shock when he heard her voice echo inside that big orange suit.

“Commander.” The Hammer’s voice was deep and mirthless, but unmistakably female.

“Hammer?” Jim said, both in recognition of her presence and bewilderment of hearing her speak. “What are you… what can I…” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. We’ve never talked before. I’d be lyin’ if I said you didn’t throw me just now.”

“Commander,” she continued as if Raynor hadn’t spoken at all, “there is something about the raids that I think should be brought to your attention.”

Jim furrowed his brow. If there was something unusual about the bandit attacks, why wasn’t it brought up by the others? “What? What is it?”

“The others dismiss it, but the bandits have been attacking differently,” she said.

“So I’ve heard. Bandit’s ain’t in the habit of formin’ alliances, temporary or no. But they don’t seem to be dismissin’ it.”

The firebat’s hemispherical head twisted, its glowing yellow eyes aimed at something in the distance. “The bandits are more hysterical than usual. They are more reckless, less concerned about their well-being. They seem prone to the point of what I would almost call suicide.”

“Yeah?” Swann and his squad hadn’t mentioned suicidal bandits. “What’s standin’ out?”

“Some of the bandits are running directly into the line of fire,” The Hammer said. “There’s no attempt at self preservation. And they’re shouting, screaming. I know they’re not all right in the head, but they’re all shouting the same thing.”

“And what’s that?” Jim said.

“Let me in.”

Jim shifted his weight on his feet. “Let me in?”

“And the terror in their eyes…” The Hammer said. “It’s almost as if they’re running from something.”

Jim cleared his throat and digested the unsettling report. “So you think their attacks ain’t really attacks. You think they’re tryin’ to get into the town because they think they’ll be safe here. And maybe they think allyin’ all their tribes together gives ‘em the best shot at gettin’ in.”

“That’s what I think,” The Hammer said.

“Do you have any proof?” Jim asked.

Hammer’s head swiveled back to Jim. “No, commander. Only my gut instinct.”

“I ain’t one to discount a soldier’s intuition, but I’ll need to see this first hand,” Jim said. “You understand.”

The firebat stared at Raynor for a moment longer and plodded off without another word.

Jim sighed and went his own way. The stars in the clear velvet sky twinkled. The utter silence of the desert night seemed a world away from a bandit assault. Whatever was going on, Jim would find out what it was. After a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, he and the squadron would suit up and start questioning the agitated outlaws the most effective way he knew how; down the barrel of a gun.

Finding the small room set aside for him off the side of Swann’s garage, Jim thrust off his heavy boots and collapsed onto his stained, lumpy bed. His mind attempted to piece the puzzle together but he soon slipped into unconsciousness.

<James Raynor!>

Jim shot up with a start. His bewildered eyes fell upon Karax standing over his bed, a torch in his four fingered hand. The din of shouting, revving engines and piercing bangs boomed from outside. “Karax! What are you doin’ in here? What’s goin’ on?!”

<I’m afraid it’s bad news, James Raynor,> Karax said. <The bandits have returned for another attack and we need you to assist in the defense of the town.>

Jim frowned, eyes wide. “The bastards are back again?!”

The protoss phase-smith took a step back from the terran commander. <Yes. And you best hurry. I hear this may be the biggest incursion yet.>]]> <![CDATA[This just in]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7324 Sun, 13 May 2018 01:44:09 +0000 Erik Vrell]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7324
“Southern accent?” Erik mused to himself. He was sure that his idea of a southern accent and Victor’s would be very different, but he had no idea what to look for. The psychic decided to simply advertise that he was looking for a southern accent and hope that everyone else knew what it was. The first thing he needed was somewhere to record. He stretched sleepily as he got out of his chair, loosening his stiff back and neck. Maybe sleeping at a table in the bazaar wasn't the greatest idea, but he didn't regret it. Despite the stiffness, this was the freshest he had felt in what felt like months. 

“Where do you record radio?” Erik wondered as he got to his feet, calling up his psi screen again. A quick search revealed that radio was recorded in a recording studio. 

“I could have guessed that.” Erik muttered as he brought up images of recording studios, nodding to himself as an image formed in his mind. Confident that he could summon one up, Erik left the bazaar and searched for a vacant building near the palace. It took a surprisingly long time to find one, most buildings having been claimed by loyal citizens wanting to be closer to their King. Despite the extra time it took him, Erik couldn't help but feel happy about the current state of the city. Finally, Erik spotted a building whose roof had caved in, rendering it uninhabitable. Unless one was a prime, of course. Erik summoned up his orb of omnillium and set to work, the rainbow substance enveloping the decrepit building like a huge, sparkling amoeba.

After a solid amount of time, the recording studio was finished. Erik released a heavy breath as he entered the new building. The summoning had taken more out of him than he had expected, the freshness he had felt earlier was nearly gone already. Pushing the glass double doors open, the psychic entered an immaculate foyer, although it was little more than a front desk and a few chairs and tables. Erik had intended to supply magazines for people to read while they waited, but doubted many people would want to read ‘Eldritch horror weekly’, sadly. He resolved to find something people would want to read as he pushed into the next room. 

The next room was the actual studio, although it was split into two smaller rooms, divided by a soundproof glass window. Erik looked over the switchboard on his side of the window, slightly intimidated by the machine. The recording booth was mostly empty, barring the soundproof padding and microphone. Satisfied with his work, Erik summoned up his omnillium once more. Channeling the rainbow substance, the psychic formed a stack of flyers, a number of nails, and a hammer. The flyers read;

“New Babylon radio hiring.

We need loyal citizens to become the voice of the glorious King Gilgamesh and spread his word throughout Nippur. Come to the recording studio near the palace to apply. Southern accents preferable.”

Grabbing his flyers and tools, Erik left the studio and went around Nippur, nailing a flyer wherever he thought people would see it. He placed the most around the palace, although he didn't actually place any on the palace for fear of damaging the glorious building. Once he had placed the last flyer, the psychic made his way back to the recording studio. To his surprise, a number of people were already waiting for their auditions.

“Curses.” Erik muttered under his breath. “I didn't get to summon anything for them to read. Pushing his way into the studio, Erik called to the closest applicant. “Come with me.”

The man followed Erik, before entering the recording booth and putting on headphones. Erik quickly summoned up a piece of paper for the man to read from and handed it to him.  The psychic followed suit and put on the headphones as the man started speaking.

“Good morning, New Babylon. The King has released an announcement that the bandit lord Baron Deathchew and his underlings have been slain. Looks like we can all sleep a little easier at night now that our chances of getting eaten alive have dropped at least 60%.” 

Erik considered the man’s voice for a moment. It wasn't bad, by any means, but it lacked the strength Erik thought someone announcing the good word of the King should have. The psychic thanked the man for his time and called in the next applicant. After a few more ordinary performances, a man walked in with one of the strangest appearances, for a secondary, at least, that Erik had seen in a long time. The man was around 50 and on the fatter side, with a large, bushy moustache. He wore a spotless white polo-shirt and pants over his bulky form, with a matching white 10 gallon hat. 

“How are ya’ doin’?” He asked in a thick southern twang, snapping Erik from his stupor. He obviously knew that Erik was staring at his outfit, but wore a wry smile on his face, rather than look upset. 

“Uh, good, thank you.” The psychic replied as he showed the man into the recording booth. The cowboy-hatted man cleared his throat as he settled in, donned the headphones, without removing his hat, and started reading. His voice was deep and smooth, but had a powerful undertone to it that the last few applicants had been missing. Erik didn't even know what the old west was, yet he felt like he was there when he listened to the cowboy(?) before him. 

“Well, how was I?” The man said as he stepped out of the recording booth. 

“That was fantastic.” Erik said in awe. “What's your name?”

The man chuckled at the compliment. “Thank ye’, son. Name’s Bill, but most people call me Big Bill.”

“Why is that?”

“On account of my large cowboy hat. Why d’ya think?” Both men chuckled for a moment, before Erik caught something in the corner of his eye and turned around to see something strange. A large pile of sand, bigger than a person, was piled in the back corner of the studio. 

“That wasn't there before.” Erik said, confused.

“So, you finally noticed!” A slightly muffled voice boomed from beneath the pile of sand. To Erik’s astonishment, a man rose up from beneath the sand, looking even stranger than Big Bill. Despite his powerful voice, commanding and tinged with a slight hard to place, but commanding, accent, the man was not the visage of a proud warrior that should bear such a voice. Instead, he was dressing entirely in sand coloured clothing, with a small cape of feathers hanging from his collar. He wore a similarly coloured bandana and, most bizarrely, a pair of glowing green goggles. The man laughed heartily at the shock of the pair, his ponytail bobbing with his exaggerated movements.

“Hello, Erik Vrell! And goodbye!” As he finished the last word, he produced a dagger from within his patchwork clothing and tossed it at Erik. The psychic prepared himself to pluck it out of the air with his telekinesis, but didn't have to. The dagger landed handle first on the table, more than a metre from where Erik was standing. 

“A stunning dodge, clearly you are a worthy opponent!” The bandit said while crossing his arms and nodding sagely, as if he was a philosopher solving the meaning of life.

“Who are you?” Erik demanded as he drew Mageslayer. 

“My name is Sand Hawk, bandit lord of the flying viper clan, and I have come to prevent you from spreading the word of Gilgamesh to the people of this city, in the memory of my fallen-”

“Stop it with the run on sentences!” Erik cried. The bandit was starting to give him a headache.

“Never!” Sand Hawk exclaimed, forming his hand into a fist as he did so. “Sand Hawk only runs on, he never runs off!” 

Before the bandit could utter another word, Big Bill drew a revolver and shot him in the shoulder.

“Ah, shit! Sand Hawk will run off, just this once, but we will meet again, Erik Vrell!” The bandit lord announced before dashing out the door, gripping his shoulder. The psychic sighed as he rubbed his forehead. 

“Thank you, Bill.” Erik said as he sat down. “You’ve basically got the job. I'll call you tomorrow, probably, but you won't have to work until all the preparation is done.”

“Thank ye’ kindly.” Big Bill said as he doffed his hat to Erik. “See ya’ around.” 

Erik buried his face in his hands for a moment, wishing he could just take a nap to recover from the most exhausting five minutes of his life. After a few minutes of getting it together, Erik called out to those waiting in the foyer.

“Next!”

The door creaked open and a familiar sand-coloured bandit entered the room.

“We meet again, Erik Vrell!” Sand Hawk announced proudly as he strode in, sounding as if Erik had walked into his trap.

“LEAVE!” Erik roared, his eyes flaring up with psychic energy.

“Okay, but only because I've got place to be, not because you told me to!” Sand Hawk replied as he spun around and strode back out the door. Erik almost sobbed as he groaned to himself. Cleaning up that sand could take hours. At least it was better than Victor’s lewd remarks…

“Next!”]]>
“Southern accent?” Erik mused to himself. He was sure that his idea of a southern accent and Victor’s would be very different, but he had no idea what to look for. The psychic decided to simply advertise that he was looking for a southern accent and hope that everyone else knew what it was. The first thing he needed was somewhere to record. He stretched sleepily as he got out of his chair, loosening his stiff back and neck. Maybe sleeping at a table in the bazaar wasn't the greatest idea, but he didn't regret it. Despite the stiffness, this was the freshest he had felt in what felt like months. 

“Where do you record radio?” Erik wondered as he got to his feet, calling up his psi screen again. A quick search revealed that radio was recorded in a recording studio. 

“I could have guessed that.” Erik muttered as he brought up images of recording studios, nodding to himself as an image formed in his mind. Confident that he could summon one up, Erik left the bazaar and searched for a vacant building near the palace. It took a surprisingly long time to find one, most buildings having been claimed by loyal citizens wanting to be closer to their King. Despite the extra time it took him, Erik couldn't help but feel happy about the current state of the city. Finally, Erik spotted a building whose roof had caved in, rendering it uninhabitable. Unless one was a prime, of course. Erik summoned up his orb of omnillium and set to work, the rainbow substance enveloping the decrepit building like a huge, sparkling amoeba.

After a solid amount of time, the recording studio was finished. Erik released a heavy breath as he entered the new building. The summoning had taken more out of him than he had expected, the freshness he had felt earlier was nearly gone already. Pushing the glass double doors open, the psychic entered an immaculate foyer, although it was little more than a front desk and a few chairs and tables. Erik had intended to supply magazines for people to read while they waited, but doubted many people would want to read ‘Eldritch horror weekly’, sadly. He resolved to find something people would want to read as he pushed into the next room. 

The next room was the actual studio, although it was split into two smaller rooms, divided by a soundproof glass window. Erik looked over the switchboard on his side of the window, slightly intimidated by the machine. The recording booth was mostly empty, barring the soundproof padding and microphone. Satisfied with his work, Erik summoned up his omnillium once more. Channeling the rainbow substance, the psychic formed a stack of flyers, a number of nails, and a hammer. The flyers read;

“New Babylon radio hiring.

We need loyal citizens to become the voice of the glorious King Gilgamesh and spread his word throughout Nippur. Come to the recording studio near the palace to apply. Southern accents preferable.”

Grabbing his flyers and tools, Erik left the studio and went around Nippur, nailing a flyer wherever he thought people would see it. He placed the most around the palace, although he didn't actually place any on the palace for fear of damaging the glorious building. Once he had placed the last flyer, the psychic made his way back to the recording studio. To his surprise, a number of people were already waiting for their auditions.

“Curses.” Erik muttered under his breath. “I didn't get to summon anything for them to read. Pushing his way into the studio, Erik called to the closest applicant. “Come with me.”

The man followed Erik, before entering the recording booth and putting on headphones. Erik quickly summoned up a piece of paper for the man to read from and handed it to him.  The psychic followed suit and put on the headphones as the man started speaking.

“Good morning, New Babylon. The King has released an announcement that the bandit lord Baron Deathchew and his underlings have been slain. Looks like we can all sleep a little easier at night now that our chances of getting eaten alive have dropped at least 60%.” 

Erik considered the man’s voice for a moment. It wasn't bad, by any means, but it lacked the strength Erik thought someone announcing the good word of the King should have. The psychic thanked the man for his time and called in the next applicant. After a few more ordinary performances, a man walked in with one of the strangest appearances, for a secondary, at least, that Erik had seen in a long time. The man was around 50 and on the fatter side, with a large, bushy moustache. He wore a spotless white polo-shirt and pants over his bulky form, with a matching white 10 gallon hat. 

“How are ya’ doin’?” He asked in a thick southern twang, snapping Erik from his stupor. He obviously knew that Erik was staring at his outfit, but wore a wry smile on his face, rather than look upset. 

“Uh, good, thank you.” The psychic replied as he showed the man into the recording booth. The cowboy-hatted man cleared his throat as he settled in, donned the headphones, without removing his hat, and started reading. His voice was deep and smooth, but had a powerful undertone to it that the last few applicants had been missing. Erik didn't even know what the old west was, yet he felt like he was there when he listened to the cowboy(?) before him. 

“Well, how was I?” The man said as he stepped out of the recording booth. 

“That was fantastic.” Erik said in awe. “What's your name?”

The man chuckled at the compliment. “Thank ye’, son. Name’s Bill, but most people call me Big Bill.”

“Why is that?”

“On account of my large cowboy hat. Why d’ya think?” Both men chuckled for a moment, before Erik caught something in the corner of his eye and turned around to see something strange. A large pile of sand, bigger than a person, was piled in the back corner of the studio. 

“That wasn't there before.” Erik said, confused.

“So, you finally noticed!” A slightly muffled voice boomed from beneath the pile of sand. To Erik’s astonishment, a man rose up from beneath the sand, looking even stranger than Big Bill. Despite his powerful voice, commanding and tinged with a slight hard to place, but commanding, accent, the man was not the visage of a proud warrior that should bear such a voice. Instead, he was dressing entirely in sand coloured clothing, with a small cape of feathers hanging from his collar. He wore a similarly coloured bandana and, most bizarrely, a pair of glowing green goggles. The man laughed heartily at the shock of the pair, his ponytail bobbing with his exaggerated movements.

“Hello, Erik Vrell! And goodbye!” As he finished the last word, he produced a dagger from within his patchwork clothing and tossed it at Erik. The psychic prepared himself to pluck it out of the air with his telekinesis, but didn't have to. The dagger landed handle first on the table, more than a metre from where Erik was standing. 

“A stunning dodge, clearly you are a worthy opponent!” The bandit said while crossing his arms and nodding sagely, as if he was a philosopher solving the meaning of life.

“Who are you?” Erik demanded as he drew Mageslayer. 

“My name is Sand Hawk, bandit lord of the flying viper clan, and I have come to prevent you from spreading the word of Gilgamesh to the people of this city, in the memory of my fallen-”

“Stop it with the run on sentences!” Erik cried. The bandit was starting to give him a headache.

“Never!” Sand Hawk exclaimed, forming his hand into a fist as he did so. “Sand Hawk only runs on, he never runs off!” 

Before the bandit could utter another word, Big Bill drew a revolver and shot him in the shoulder.

“Ah, shit! Sand Hawk will run off, just this once, but we will meet again, Erik Vrell!” The bandit lord announced before dashing out the door, gripping his shoulder. The psychic sighed as he rubbed his forehead. 

“Thank you, Bill.” Erik said as he sat down. “You’ve basically got the job. I'll call you tomorrow, probably, but you won't have to work until all the preparation is done.”

“Thank ye’ kindly.” Big Bill said as he doffed his hat to Erik. “See ya’ around.” 

Erik buried his face in his hands for a moment, wishing he could just take a nap to recover from the most exhausting five minutes of his life. After a few minutes of getting it together, Erik called out to those waiting in the foyer.

“Next!”

The door creaked open and a familiar sand-coloured bandit entered the room.

“We meet again, Erik Vrell!” Sand Hawk announced proudly as he strode in, sounding as if Erik had walked into his trap.

“LEAVE!” Erik roared, his eyes flaring up with psychic energy.

“Okay, but only because I've got place to be, not because you told me to!” Sand Hawk replied as he spun around and strode back out the door. Erik almost sobbed as he groaned to himself. Cleaning up that sand could take hours. At least it was better than Victor’s lewd remarks…

“Next!”]]> <![CDATA[Better than the Badlands]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=5794 Tue, 08 May 2018 23:17:54 +0000 Vash]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=5794
As Vash approached a slowly thickening mass of brush he began to move slowly. Hearing the movement of something under the scrub brush, he pulled out his signature silver revolver and pointing it at the source of the noise. Suddenly, an oversized boar charged at him, perhaps the size of a man if standing upright with thick muscle across its entire body. Firing once at the tusk, knocking it to the side and the rest of the boar's path with it. not to be deterred, the boar bounded toward Vash, slamming into him with its side. As it approached Vash shot it in the outstretched leg, causing the impact to lessen and its attempt at recovering from the fall into a complete failure as it rolled across the ground after a loud thud. it attempted to get up, a hole in its right foreleg and the corresponding left twisted from the fall, but to no avail. Vash approached it, pitying the suffering animal, likely defending its territory, he didn't have enough time to attempt to save it from the harm. putting pressure on the wound with his cybernetic arm to allow him to focus on creating a bandage, after a couple minutes he bound the leg after soothing the boar's constant struggling. He gathered some sticks from a nearby tree and used the excess fabric to bind them together into a makeshift splint, fastening it to the boar after setting the leg back into place. getting up alerted vash of the likely cracked bone from the hulking beast ramming into him.

walking to the small body of water nearby, Vash took the empty water pouch he had on him and filled it, then began foraging for food. Best not to waste this omnillium if it's as valuable as he was led to believe. Now he just had to rest up for his bones to heal. At least it was better than the badlands.]]>
As Vash approached a slowly thickening mass of brush he began to move slowly. Hearing the movement of something under the scrub brush, he pulled out his signature silver revolver and pointing it at the source of the noise. Suddenly, an oversized boar charged at him, perhaps the size of a man if standing upright with thick muscle across its entire body. Firing once at the tusk, knocking it to the side and the rest of the boar's path with it. not to be deterred, the boar bounded toward Vash, slamming into him with its side. As it approached Vash shot it in the outstretched leg, causing the impact to lessen and its attempt at recovering from the fall into a complete failure as it rolled across the ground after a loud thud. it attempted to get up, a hole in its right foreleg and the corresponding left twisted from the fall, but to no avail. Vash approached it, pitying the suffering animal, likely defending its territory, he didn't have enough time to attempt to save it from the harm. putting pressure on the wound with his cybernetic arm to allow him to focus on creating a bandage, after a couple minutes he bound the leg after soothing the boar's constant struggling. He gathered some sticks from a nearby tree and used the excess fabric to bind them together into a makeshift splint, fastening it to the boar after setting the leg back into place. getting up alerted vash of the likely cracked bone from the hulking beast ramming into him.

walking to the small body of water nearby, Vash took the empty water pouch he had on him and filled it, then began foraging for food. Best not to waste this omnillium if it's as valuable as he was led to believe. Now he just had to rest up for his bones to heal. At least it was better than the badlands.]]> <![CDATA[Chaotic Considerations]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7323 Sat, 05 May 2018 03:46:19 +0000 James Knight]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7323
"Sir, we found something," said one of the men that he had recruited, Justin. "Yes, what is it?" asked Warren Zimmer who had no patience for beating around the bush. Justin then produced a katana that seemed to have chains wrapped around it. It was purple, and gray much like the armor he had been accustom to wearing. Something about the sword did seem fitting for him, if he were to be honest. Sure he was more of a blaster type of guy normally, but after his humiliations lately, he needed to make sure that he could hold his own against all manner of opponents.  "An impressive weapon. A shame it reminds me of the blade that was possessed by that enemy of mine who you will not speak of in my presence," growled Warren Zimmer. Sure he may be nice to his men, but there were some things he would rather be able to forget. And the way he had been defeated and evicted from his old home was one of those things. Ultimately however he could not afford to forget, but would instead have to do something about it. Really the Quarterback of Chaos knew that he had a long way to go before he could even protect himself. Of course his lack of combat abilities that didn't involve advanced technology was a problem. Perhaps if he could relearn how to use Chaos Energy Charge Hands like he had been able to do initially, that might give him the edge that he needed. There were really a lot of techniques that one could say would be useful. Even better would be if he were able to calibrate his NFL-R to allow him to fly like it had back home. Yes, that would certainly be preferable over the current acrobatic skills he had to employ.]]>
"Sir, we found something," said one of the men that he had recruited, Justin. "Yes, what is it?" asked Warren Zimmer who had no patience for beating around the bush. Justin then produced a katana that seemed to have chains wrapped around it. It was purple, and gray much like the armor he had been accustom to wearing. Something about the sword did seem fitting for him, if he were to be honest. Sure he was more of a blaster type of guy normally, but after his humiliations lately, he needed to make sure that he could hold his own against all manner of opponents.  "An impressive weapon. A shame it reminds me of the blade that was possessed by that enemy of mine who you will not speak of in my presence," growled Warren Zimmer. Sure he may be nice to his men, but there were some things he would rather be able to forget. And the way he had been defeated and evicted from his old home was one of those things. Ultimately however he could not afford to forget, but would instead have to do something about it. Really the Quarterback of Chaos knew that he had a long way to go before he could even protect himself. Of course his lack of combat abilities that didn't involve advanced technology was a problem. Perhaps if he could relearn how to use Chaos Energy Charge Hands like he had been able to do initially, that might give him the edge that he needed. There were really a lot of techniques that one could say would be useful. Even better would be if he were able to calibrate his NFL-R to allow him to fly like it had back home. Yes, that would certainly be preferable over the current acrobatic skills he had to employ.]]> <![CDATA[The Thief, the Witch, And the house]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7320 Fri, 04 May 2018 20:28:45 +0000 Marisa Kirisame]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7320
“So uh I gotta ask why a little thing like you decided to come all the way out here to help?” Victor tried to start a conversation and Marsia after a couple seconds of consideration spoke with a carefree tone in her voice. 

“Meh, I was bored and was hoping something really fun was going to happen like a giant incident life back home.” Marisa’s eyes shined with excitement as she smiled widely. It wasn’t a lie per say she told Victor but it wasn’t the whole truth either. “So I have to ask you . . . Do you believe that the things that go bump in the night are real?” She spoke as if she didn’t care about the outcome as she looked at the some of the houses that haven’t been taken.

Soon the two got a third as Alice finally found the love sign magician. “Marisa, where do you want these books?” Marisa sighed as she pulled out a white cloth blanket and put the books neatly into one stack and tied the cloth together before putting it on her broom to carry around with ease.

“So uh . . . can I ask your name?” Marisa decided that if she was going to be working with these people she should at least make a somewhat serious effort to learn their names.

Victor chuckled as he spoke with a pleased and joking undertone. “My name? Why its Victor Wolfe, little lady.”

Marisa nodded keeping that name in mind. The ordinary magician soon found a decrepit, two-story, cottage and smiled as she walked up to the old broken door and pushed it to the side with a bit of a struggle. Inside it to most people would be a major hazard but to Marisa it was perfect. “I’ll be taking this house. Honestly, this is all I actually need here.”

Marisa was leaving identifiable footprints as she walked through the settled dust and cobwebs. Victor was a bit surprised by the choice of a clearly dangerous house but quickly got over it as Marisa started to get to work sweeping the dust into a pile.

Marisa was muttering plans for the building being used for commercial uses or at least the front door area. Marisa stopped sweeping to go look up in the other areas of the house. In the back of the first floor, there was a kitchen area and a dining area by the design of the layout with a really small bathroom in one of the corners.

Marisa walked carefully up the stairs as Alice was busy on the lower floor. She reached the top of the steps to see a single hallway with a total of three rooms. Marisa walked to the closest door before opening it with trouble as the door’s hinges had long since rusted causing Marisa to sigh and just break down the door.

After a few times ramming into the door it slowly fell over before a loud crash could be heard throughout the house causing the others to jump but soon heard Marisa’s muffled voice followed by some coughing. “That was intentional! *Cough cough* I probably will have to do that a couple more times.”

Marisa looked in the room to find that it was most likely when the house was still being used a study. On first appearances, it was fairly small with a square window that opened outwards; there were a couple bookshelves on the right side of the wall filled to the brim with books of varying value and worth. Under the dirty window, there is an oak desk which looked like it was beautifully crafted once upon a time. As Marisa walked over to the desk she saw it had two drawers on each side and a place for a chair to be slid in. On the desk, there were ink stains and glass along with yellowed papers that had long since lost there to use and were unreadable to anyone

Marisa walked over to one of the shelves and pulled off a book flipping through it to find that the pages had been eaten by moths and other bugs. Marisa shook her head as she pulled each book out speedily checking for anything that might be useful and tossing everything else out.

It was a long, and tedious process as she put her whole attention span; into making sure she wasn’t tossing out any papers or things that might help her. As she was on her last couple books someone shook her shoulders and she screamed as orbs floated a few feet in the air, prepared to fire as she spun around floating and looking around before seeing that Victor had frightened her and was laughing.

Kirisame huffed in annoyance even though she probably would do the same thing and floated back down as the orbs floated . . . somewhere; heck nobody knew where she kept those orbs not even her. It was against all laws of common sense; that she never knew where they went when she wasn't using them for combat purposes.

"Please, don't do that." Marisa rubbed the bridge of her nose as she shook her head. The black-white witch put down a red leather book before picking up the last book from the shelves. It had the promise to be something interesting due to its purple cover with a magic circle on one of the covers.

Marisa opened the bookbinding and disappointingly closed the volume up before putting it with the rest of the books. The book was absolutely useless in any research or references. She picked up each book before dumping them out of the window with a sad look; for others to use as tender or whatever they want.

She got to her then went to check the other rooms. In one room it was a very plain small room as if it was for a child. Marisa shook her head as she went to the other room. In the last room in the upstairs, it was uneventful also with nothing of interest to the witch.

Soon she and Victor went downstairs to see surprisingly that Alice was busy with her dolls cleaning up the dust and stuff. It was to be honest a well-oiled machine like Alice had done this many times before. Victor had this slight nagging question in the back of his mind as Marisa didn't use her omnilium to just summon anything she would desire to help fix the house up.

"So Marisa why are you working your back off and renovating this house? It seems like any piece of land would be better than this old house."  Victor picked up one of the books from the sack and saw it was about alchemy. And the book underneath the white covered book was a book on different strands of mushrooms.

"Well, Victor a magician can't tell their methods to there madness." She talked with a knowing and cunning voice, and after that continuing to sweep and generally clean out the debris and dust from the house.]]>
“So uh I gotta ask why a little thing like you decided to come all the way out here to help?” Victor tried to start a conversation and Marsia after a couple seconds of consideration spoke with a carefree tone in her voice. 

“Meh, I was bored and was hoping something really fun was going to happen like a giant incident life back home.” Marisa’s eyes shined with excitement as she smiled widely. It wasn’t a lie per say she told Victor but it wasn’t the whole truth either. “So I have to ask you . . . Do you believe that the things that go bump in the night are real?” She spoke as if she didn’t care about the outcome as she looked at the some of the houses that haven’t been taken.

Soon the two got a third as Alice finally found the love sign magician. “Marisa, where do you want these books?” Marisa sighed as she pulled out a white cloth blanket and put the books neatly into one stack and tied the cloth together before putting it on her broom to carry around with ease.

“So uh . . . can I ask your name?” Marisa decided that if she was going to be working with these people she should at least make a somewhat serious effort to learn their names.

Victor chuckled as he spoke with a pleased and joking undertone. “My name? Why its Victor Wolfe, little lady.”

Marisa nodded keeping that name in mind. The ordinary magician soon found a decrepit, two-story, cottage and smiled as she walked up to the old broken door and pushed it to the side with a bit of a struggle. Inside it to most people would be a major hazard but to Marisa it was perfect. “I’ll be taking this house. Honestly, this is all I actually need here.”

Marisa was leaving identifiable footprints as she walked through the settled dust and cobwebs. Victor was a bit surprised by the choice of a clearly dangerous house but quickly got over it as Marisa started to get to work sweeping the dust into a pile.

Marisa was muttering plans for the building being used for commercial uses or at least the front door area. Marisa stopped sweeping to go look up in the other areas of the house. In the back of the first floor, there was a kitchen area and a dining area by the design of the layout with a really small bathroom in one of the corners.

Marisa walked carefully up the stairs as Alice was busy on the lower floor. She reached the top of the steps to see a single hallway with a total of three rooms. Marisa walked to the closest door before opening it with trouble as the door’s hinges had long since rusted causing Marisa to sigh and just break down the door.

After a few times ramming into the door it slowly fell over before a loud crash could be heard throughout the house causing the others to jump but soon heard Marisa’s muffled voice followed by some coughing. “That was intentional! *Cough cough* I probably will have to do that a couple more times.”

Marisa looked in the room to find that it was most likely when the house was still being used a study. On first appearances, it was fairly small with a square window that opened outwards; there were a couple bookshelves on the right side of the wall filled to the brim with books of varying value and worth. Under the dirty window, there is an oak desk which looked like it was beautifully crafted once upon a time. As Marisa walked over to the desk she saw it had two drawers on each side and a place for a chair to be slid in. On the desk, there were ink stains and glass along with yellowed papers that had long since lost there to use and were unreadable to anyone

Marisa walked over to one of the shelves and pulled off a book flipping through it to find that the pages had been eaten by moths and other bugs. Marisa shook her head as she pulled each book out speedily checking for anything that might be useful and tossing everything else out.

It was a long, and tedious process as she put her whole attention span; into making sure she wasn’t tossing out any papers or things that might help her. As she was on her last couple books someone shook her shoulders and she screamed as orbs floated a few feet in the air, prepared to fire as she spun around floating and looking around before seeing that Victor had frightened her and was laughing.

Kirisame huffed in annoyance even though she probably would do the same thing and floated back down as the orbs floated . . . somewhere; heck nobody knew where she kept those orbs not even her. It was against all laws of common sense; that she never knew where they went when she wasn't using them for combat purposes.

"Please, don't do that." Marisa rubbed the bridge of her nose as she shook her head. The black-white witch put down a red leather book before picking up the last book from the shelves. It had the promise to be something interesting due to its purple cover with a magic circle on one of the covers.

Marisa opened the bookbinding and disappointingly closed the volume up before putting it with the rest of the books. The book was absolutely useless in any research or references. She picked up each book before dumping them out of the window with a sad look; for others to use as tender or whatever they want.

She got to her then went to check the other rooms. In one room it was a very plain small room as if it was for a child. Marisa shook her head as she went to the other room. In the last room in the upstairs, it was uneventful also with nothing of interest to the witch.

Soon she and Victor went downstairs to see surprisingly that Alice was busy with her dolls cleaning up the dust and stuff. It was to be honest a well-oiled machine like Alice had done this many times before. Victor had this slight nagging question in the back of his mind as Marisa didn't use her omnilium to just summon anything she would desire to help fix the house up.

"So Marisa why are you working your back off and renovating this house? It seems like any piece of land would be better than this old house."  Victor picked up one of the books from the sack and saw it was about alchemy. And the book underneath the white covered book was a book on different strands of mushrooms.

"Well, Victor a magician can't tell their methods to there madness." She talked with a knowing and cunning voice, and after that continuing to sweep and generally clean out the debris and dust from the house.]]> <![CDATA[The City of God: Repairs & Rebuilding]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=2214 Thu, 03 May 2018 04:33:07 +0000 Ahana Varma]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=2214
I walk behind and slightly to the left of the king, trying to avert my gaze, not wanting to be caught staring at him. I've seen a few pictures of him on the dataverse, of course, but no mere image could ever depict such a man accurately. He looks every inch the god his people proclaim him to be. I can almost feel the power radiating from him, as if his divinity is a physical force, somehow both attracting and repelling me at the same time; I feel a great desire to reach out and touch him, to discover if he can truly be a mere creature of flesh and blood, such as I am, or if Gilgamesh might not be something different—something more—entirely… yet at the same time, I know that actually daring to lay a hand upon him without permission would be a grievous insult to his person… no, not just an insult. It would be practically blasphemous, and I abhor the thought of disrespecting him in such a way. It's no wonder the people of Nippur have such an easy time accepting him as their god. Just meeting his eyes once has left my mind a mess, my thoughts a chaotic jumble.

We exit the palace, and I struggle to hold back a gasp as the sunlight first strikes his gleaming armour, sending a thousand scintillating rays of light cascading around him beautifully with every tiny movement he makes. There are two more guards in those new uniforms out here, though with the alternative being continuing to shamefully ogle King Gilgamesh, of course I barely spare them a glance. Still, even so, I’m able to admire their rigid, military discipline… to continue looking straight ahead and standing to attention, not even glancing across at their magnificent god-king when he walks by, must take an enormous effort of will.

As we pass through the streets, other citizens look up, hope-filled gazes turning upon him, and I try my best to stand tall, to hold my head high. I’d normally act a lot more casual than this, even if I was in the company of someone much more powerful and influential than I… I've never really cared all that much about propriety, but in the presence of King Gilgamesh, behaving respectfully seems to take on a much greater importance than normal. Still, though I do my utmost to maintain my posture, trying to mimic the professionalism of his guards, I find myself glancing across at him more and more frequently as our stroll goes on. He is the epitome of humanity, in every way… even his movements seem beautiful to my enraptured eyes. That golden armour must surely be heavy, yet he seems as light on his feet as the most graceful of dancers–

He stops suddenly. I blink in surprise, my breath catching as I quickly come to a halt as well, just a moment before I would have crashed into him. What a horrifying thought. I wonder for an instant why exactly it was that he stopped, then notice the giant—albeit crumbling—wall and gateway just a few paces before us, and realise that we’ve reached the edge of the city. Unless he intends to leave Nippur, this must be our destination.

I'm rather perplexed, though; it seems as if we barely left the palace but a moment ago… how are we here already? That's when I realise that I'm staring at him again. When did that happen? I can't possibly have been doing that, completely lost in thought, as we walked all the way across the entire city… can I?

I glance around, a blush colouring my cheeks as I pray that no one has noticed my lack of composure. Back home I was a soldier, then a ‘hero’... then, when Omni claimed me for His own, one of His chosen ones, His ‘Primes'... how the hell can someone as accomplished as I not even manage to muster up enough self-control to walk down a fucking street without ogling my king like a starry-eyed teenager with a stupid crush?

I see there are many citizens around this area who have ceased what they were doing to look upon him, and that there are many others who’ve wordlessly followed along behind us as we walked out here. Fortunately—though, I suppose, not really surprisingly—none of them seem to be paying the slightest bit of attention to me. I’ve never been an attention seeker, but it's possible that ordinarily I would have been a little miffed to be ignored entirely... beside our god-king, though, I can't say I blame anyone… I too would be perfectly content to simply sit and watch him all day, if given the chance.

“Ahana.” he speaks the word softly and I immediately step up to his side, dropping to one knee and bowing my head. My heart pounds against my ribcage as if desperate to break free of the confines of my chest, and I'm filled with a rush of pleasure at being singled out from the crowd, even though I know full well that it's only my status as a Prime that has afforded me this honour. I'm not bothered by that at all, though. I don't care if he sees me as nothing more than a tool to be used to further his goals… actually, no, I would be grateful to be his tool. If being just a piece on a chess board to him means getting the privilege to enjoy his company, if for only a little while, and perhaps even results in him remembering my name, then that is more than I could ever ask.

Even Omni, for all His omnipotence, seems to me like less of an awe-inspiring figure than Gilgamesh. Perhaps it is because Nippur’s king appears so human. I can't say for sure, but there's just some sort of… regality about him which Omni lacks. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as Gilgamesh turns to look down on me.

“Not that you don't have the right attitude, but we are here to work, so let's not have you getting down on your knees every time I speak to you, okay?” I pick up a hint of amusement in his tone and hurriedly stand, blushing once again. The moment we make eye contact I freeze up, feeling as if the blood rushing through my veins has been replaced with ice. Just like in his throne room, his gaze seems to cut right through me; it's all I can do not to sink back onto me knees, “Good. That's better. Now, you and I are going to work on shoring up these walls… no matter how well Kanda manages to train my guards, with our walls in such poor shape, he can't possibly keep out all the mongrels who would dare harm my subjects. You and I will be remedying this situation today. Understood?”

“Of course, my king. Anything I can do for you, I will.” I force a smile onto my face, though I feel as if a vast chasm has opened in my stomach. I have no idea who this ‘Kanda' person is, but had Gilgamesh simply asked me to join him and the soldiers in slaughtering all these ‘mongrels' who would plague the city, I'd have been all too eager to comply, even taking into account my newfound fragility; even if such a task meant dying and being reborn hundreds of times over, I’d gladly throw myself into the fray time and time again to please the king…

But… construction work? It's not that I find such a menial task unworthy of my time; I'd spend my days cleaning out sewers if that was what the god-king wished of me… but the issue is, I can only imagine that he means to do this using Omnilium, since that will be much easier and faster than doing it manually. Given how new I am to the Omniverse, though, I still haven't been able to gather all that much… I’ll run out in no time. I'll do my best, absolutely. I'll use so much that I'm left with not even enough to feed myself… but in the end, I’ll still fail him.

He raises an eyebrow slightly, obviously having no trouble at all seeing through my facade and deducing that something is wrong. Rather than asking me what it is, though, and so forcing me to admit my weakness in front of all those gathered here, he turns to the crowd.

“Citizens of Nippur!” his voice booms out, resounding through the nearby streets, loudly enough to be easily audible to all, even if we were in the middle of a raging storm… not that it needs to be; as we’ve spoken up to this point, the crowd has remained completely silent, hanging on Gilgamesh’s every word, “We come today to bolster the defences of this great city, to return Nippur to the nigh-impenetrable bastion that it once was! Now behold, the power of your king!”

With a flourish of the fingers of one hand, he dramatically conjures an orb of Omnilium into existence, then casually tosses it at the yawning gateway before us. Though still standing, the stonework has clearly seen better days, and whatever gates must once have stood there are gone completely… the only defence the city has in this direction is a pair of guards stationed on the other side of the worn and cracked archway, out in the scorching dunes beyond. For all that they look professional and dignified in their dark, gold-trimmed coats, there are still only two of them; even a small band of raiders could overcome them through numbers alone, and doubtless kill many civilians before the rest of the soldiers could arrive to put an end to their butchery… though Nippur will not fall to foreign invaders now that it's king has returned, that by no means assures the safety of its entire populace.

The tiny sphere freezes in mid air once it reaches the gateway, then suddenly billows outwards, soon expanding to cover it in its entirety. I watch along with the rest of the crowd, though as the chromatic lightshow is entirely opaque, there is little to see, and my gaze is quickly drawn back to the god-king. Time seems to pass by much faster when I can rest my eyes on such a divine figure, and in what feels like no time at all, he is turning away from the gate and speaking once again, "Summoning something like this will require far less Omnilium than a complex building such as the hospital, of course, and the walls themselves will be cheaper still, as they’re just simple blocks of solid stone… but even so, due to their great sizes, the process will still take time… nevertheless, we shall endeavour to have this done as soon as possible, so that you, my people, can rest easy from now on, knowing that no more will you have to fear attack by the ignorant outlaws of the Dunes!”

A cheer erupts from those around him almost the instant he finishes speaking. At that moment, though, he throws his arms wide and the Omnilium bubble behind him vanishes, revealing his refurbished entranceway. The cheers are quashed abruptly, as his audience takes a collective gasp of awe.

“Oh.” I stand, slack-jawed in wonder, along with the rest of the crowd, drinking in the sight of our king’s masterpiece. The sandstone frame of the gates is completely repaired, no longer worn away in the slightest, and now includes a steel-chain, pulley-like mechanism on either side of the gates—built into the sandstone archway itself—to allow them to be opened and closed more easily. It's the gates themselves that take our breaths away, though; an enormous pair of double doors of dark mahogany now block the way out of the city, each one adorned with astonishingly detailed carvings and intricate golden inlay. The carved sections portray the death throes of all manner of foul beasts and monstrosities, as their bodies are pierced or torn apart, whilst the gilded portions are all images of the king and his vast arsenal, in the process of slaying the hideous fiends. This can only be a representation of all the many foes has overcome during his years in the Underverse, I'm sure; a display to remind any who look upon it that our god has vanquished the worst that hell has to offer and returned to his people more powerful than ever.

Gilgamesh smirks, clearly pleased that everyone appreciates his gift, “Okay. Now that that's done, I’ll head along this way, whilst you take the other side, Ahana. Let's work our way around the city from here and meet up opposite these gates, alright?”

He gestures to the part of the wall to the left of the gateway when indicating the direction he’ll be heading.

“Of course, King Gilgamesh.” I bow my head respectfully, managing not to kneel this time, whilst also trying my hardest to rid my voice of any trace of doubt, even though my fears are unabated. I must find some way to appear competent at this, so as to avoid him reconsidering my station from ‘tool’ to mere ‘junk', not worthy of being used by such a majestic king as he. I hunger for his approval, even though I feel undeserving of it… I can't even bear to consider the possibility of being discarded.

“Excellent.” the god-king announces, then turns to leave, with almost all of the people here following along in his wake. In moments, I can barely even spot him through the crowd. It isn't long before another curtain of rainbow-hued light flows up into the air, though, this time coating a vast section of the crumbling, shattered wall. I have gathered a little more Omnilium yesterday and this morning, simply by wandering about, since this strange stuff seems to accrue automatically in Primes, even without actively being extracted from objects… still, it's nowhere near enough. Even taking account for the fact that most of the wall is already here and so not that much new stone is really being added, if I am to cover such large areas of the wall as Gilgamesh is fixing now, I’ll likely be out of Omnilium entirely after repairing a mere couple sections… it speaks volumes about his unspeakable wealth that he could decide to do something so ambitious as this without even considering the cost.

Rather than immediately beginning work, after a few moments of uncertainty and hesitation, I rush over to one of the people still lingering in this area despite the god-king’s departure, and beg her to tell me of anything around here that I could take which wouldn't be missed, hurriedly explaining my need for more Omnilium if I am to meet Gilgamesh’s expectations. The person in question—an old woman so gaunt that she looks as if missing another meal might well be the end of her—smiles sympathetically and pats the back of my hand, but explains that she has nothing left to give away.

I ask several other people, but the generous ones just apologise for being poverty-stricken, whilst those less forgiving insult me for having the audacity to complain about anything despite being handed the amazing powers of a Prime upon entering the Omniverse. One man even spits in my face. My fingers twitch with barely suppressed rage, and it's all I can do not to summon a pair of javelins and stab the prick to death; a few flames even dance between my fingers before I manage to push my anger to the back of my mind and compose myself. I'm familiar with Nippur’s laws from the Dataverse, so I know that the king won't take kindly to me killing off an innocent man simply for being a little rude. And even if he was generous enough to overlook one teeny, tiny little murder, I know that I’d still be tormented by the guilt of having failed to live up to his expectations.

Despite the shame I feel for having to go around begging like this, and for being unable to even punish those who would offend me, I simply wipe that man’s saliva from my cheek and carry on. After a few more failed attempts, I come across a woman who’s middle-aged and tanned, with weathered, Caucasian skin and callused hands, clearly used to hard labour. Over a pair of ragged, light brown slacks and a tattered cream top, she wears a pair of worn, old, leather boots and a dull, faded, blue overcoat, and smokes a cigarette. Her brown hair is cut very short, and is greying around the edges. No one would call her pretty, but she's certainly striking. She smirks when I approach her where she sits, on a rickety wooden chair outside one of the small, slum-like stone huts that seem to dominate this part of the city. After hearing my plea she takes a long drag on her cigarette, stands up slowly, and promptly blows a cloud of smoke into my face.

Coughing repeatedly and waving a hand to try and clear the air, I back off, resigning myself to another failed attempt. A fair bit of time has passed by this point, and Gilgamesh has no doubt noticed my lack of progress… but I can't give up now, even though it seems hopeless. As I'm turning to leave, though, the woman speaks, “Stop. I can help you.”

I turn back, half-expecting her to laugh and mock me at the first hint that I might actually believe her words, “You can? How?”

She takes another drag on her cigarette before replying, “Not everything in this city was summoned by Primes; some of it was built through good, old fashioned labour… which means building materials were needed. There was a sandstone quarry not far from Nippur once, though that was back before the king was banished… it may well be completely buried under the dunes by now. It certainly hasn't seen any use since then. We still have plenty of the stone that was quarried there, though, and a good bit of it has been sitting in a warehouse a few streets from here for years.”

“Just sitting around? For years? Why?”

The woman shrugs, “After the invasion, then all the attacks by bandits, folks never really had the inclination for any more grand building projects. It was all we could do to keep our families alive…”

She frowns, looking past me for a moment, staring off into the distance, “and plenty of us never even managed that… so the warehouse was forgotten… along with plenty of other buildings. Hell, no one even bothered to clear the dead from Gilgamesh’s own palace, not even those fanatical loyalists of his, and you think anyone’s gonna remember a warehouse?”

“I suppose n-” I cut myself off, just now realising what she has just said, “Wait, you mean… you aren't a loyalist?”

She snorts dismissively, “Of course I'm not. Do I look like one of those blind fools over that way, following along after him to gawp like fish just ‘cause he can summon some stone? Maybe golden boy means well, or maybe he just wants to play at being king to stroke his own ego, I dunno… but you weren't with him the first time, girl. You're just a new recruit. You don't know a thing about that kid. He made powerful enemies, and we Secondaries were the ones who paid the price for his arrogance.”

“I may not have been here, but I know enough. He was sent to hell. I’d say he paid a much higher price than he deserved considering all he wanted was to make your lives better.” I glare at her. I've witnessed and committed plenty of atrocities of my own, back before coming to the Omniverse, so I'm not about to judge the soldiers of the god-king’s foes for harming his people… in fact, I honestly don't care about them at all, other than because they are his property, and so suppose I can't really approve of anyone slaying them without his say-so. On the other hand, having the audacity to banish a divine being such as Gilgamesh is an unspeakable act of blasphemy, something infinitely more horrendous than mere mass murder.

“Eh. He got out. Those people who died aren't coming back. You really don't understand ordinary folk at all, you know. It isn't just him; all you Primes are clueless. Even before coming to the Omniverse, you're generally some kinda mighty heroes in your own worlds… you don't have the slightest idea how it feels to be powerless. You can't imagine what it's like to cower in your home as raiders burst into houses at random, butchering your friends and loved  ones… or worse, dragging them out into the streets to be raped before their throats are slit. Trust me, girl, those screams stay with you for the rest of your life. Gilgamesh brought that horror down on us once, and he’ll do it again.”

I'm not at all surprised to hear that this has happened after his banishment, and I frankly don't care; back home, our soldiers and those of our enemies alike would have their fun when sacking a city… what seems so terrible to this civilian is utterly unexceptional to me; just another fact of life. Despite that, I still don't like her bringing up the fact that he lost. I know that it was an unfair fight, with countless mighty Primes arrayed against him… but even so, I can't think of a single thing to say that doesn't just sound like an excuse to me. The sad truth is that no matter the reason, Gilgamesh did still fail once. He isn't—or rather, wasn't, back then—perfect. I want to argue that he has surely grown stronger since then, that there's no way such a thing will ever happen again… but that would mean confessing, out loud, that he was at one point not infallible… and I just can't bring myself to hear such words coming from my own lips. So, instead, I simply settle for shaking my head and glaring petulantly at her. My oratory skills could really use some work. She sighs.

“Come on then, follow me. I'll show you this warehouse, then we won't need to ever talk again, and you can happily get on with being just another of the king’s devoted little sheep.” she turns away and strides through a narrow gap between two hovels. I rush to keep up.

“I don't get it, if you hate our king this much then why help me at all?” I ask after a few moments of silence, bewildered that the first person able or willing to give me what I need should be someone so clearly unimpressed with the god-king.

“If you were wanting this Omnilium just to renovate his fucking palace then I wouldn't have mentioned anything, obviously… but repairing the walls might actually do some good for the people here… even if they won't be any more effective against Primes than they were the last time, at least you might manage to keep out the petty bandits. So it'll do more good in your hands than just sitting there, I suppose.” she falls silent, and I ask no more questions. It isn't much longer before we reach our destination.

“Well, here we are. Here it is. A big building stuffed with rocks. There ought to be more than enough Omnilium in there for you to fix up the walls… assuming you don't spend it all on ridiculous, golden decorations like those on the gaudy, self-aggrandising piece of trash which that fool calls a gate.” she's looking at the warehouse as she speaks, not me, but I can just hear the sneer in her voice.

“Watch yourself, citizen." I snap, my fists clenching involuntarily, “I know our king’s laws, but I won't stand for anyone calling him a fool, even if punishing them properly gets me thrown out of Nippur myself.”

Of course I'm aware that merely speaking badly of him is not at all the same as actually rebelling against the crown, and as such this woman technically is not breaking the law herself… but even so, I’m not about to just overlook insults to the god-king.

“Oh? Do I offend your delicate sensibilities by calling out that prancing pretty boy for what he is?” she turns her scorn on me now, looking my way, an ugly smirk on her face.

“I'm warning you.” I snarl, actually having to picture Gilgamesh in my mind—looking at me with an expression of revulsion, disgusted by my inability to follow even this simplest of rules—in order to resist the urge to lash out at her. I take a couple deep breaths to calm myself, then manage to speak to her in a more-or-less civil tone, “Thank you for showing me this place, I am incredibly grateful for your help… but can you please leave now…? Before you make me do something I’ll regret later.”

She snorts with laughter, then blows some more smoke in my face. Once again I back off, coughing and wafting it away, which only seems to further amuse her, “Sure, I’ll be on my way… though you should realise that I'm far from alone in holding a grudge against Gilgamesh. Unless you want to go around wearing ear plugs for the rest of your life, I’d suggest you learn to keep yourself from doing anything you'll regret.”

Without waiting for a response, she turns and strolls off, lifting a hand to wave goodbye, without turning back to look at me. I have to admit, she has a point… I've always been more of a ‘kill first, ask questions never’ sort of woman... but if I'm going to have to interact with others like her on a regular basis, that might need to change...

“No. I won't. I won't have to. Soon, everyone in Nippur will see the king for the saviour that he is. Soon, the only ones who insult him will be our enemies. I refuse to simply learn to put up with such things.” I speak these words with iron hard conviction, knowing without a doubt in my mind that she is wrong, and that she'll see that herself before long. Gilgamesh will prove his divinity to even the most sceptical of non-believers, and I can only hope that I can be a useful enough tool that he will keep me around long enough that I can witness his glorious ascension with my own two eyes.

The woman makes no response to my statement. Perhaps she didn't hear me, or perhaps I'm simply being ignored. It doesn't matter. I turn to the building and raise a hand towards it, just about to begin extracting the Omnilium from it when I realise that she may have been lying to me about what's inside. She clearly has no fondness for the king, so what if she hopes to make a fool of him by tricking me into destroying a whole bunch of valuable supplies? That could easily be her idea, so I walk up to the doors, made from rusted iron and held together with a just-as-corroded padlock. I absorb the Omnilium of the lock, which takes but a few minutes, then heave and haul at one of the immensely stiff doors until I can open a wide enough gap to squeeze my head through.

I look inside. Stone. Lots and lots of huge, stone blocks, piled one atop the other all the way across the interior of the wide structure, and right up to the rafters high above. Alright. She may be faithless, but it would seem that that woman isn't a liar, at least. I take a few steps back and then settle myself in a sitting position, cross-legged on the dusty ground, and focus my mind on deconstructing the building before me, taking its Omnilium into myself.

The minutes drag past like hours, as I fret about what Gilgamesh must think of me; it'll look like I never even started work on the task he appointed to me… he may well think I simply wandered off like a disobedient cur the moment I was out of his sight… I don't have a clue what I can even say to defend myself if he asks. The more I think on it, the more idiotic I feel for not simply coming clean and admitting to him that I have barely any Omnilium… yes, it would have hurt to see the disappointment in his eyes, but it's not like making him angry instead is in any way an improvement. My only hope is that something has kept him so distracted that he hasn't noticed I’ve not even started making any repairs yet, that no one ever mentions to him the sudden disappearance of an entire warehouse, and that he somehow gets massively delayed himself, so that he doesn't notice how much less of the wall I’ve been able to fix than he has, when we finally meet up on the other side of the city…

It's not too likely that I’ll get away with this, to put it mildly.

Eventually, after what is surely quite a bit over an hour, I'm done. The building and all of its contents have been fully converted into Omnilium. I barely register the vast increase in my fortunes as I jump to my feet and dash through the streets. When I make it back to the gates, Gilgamesh is nowhere in sight, presumably having moved further on, since as far as the eye can see, the wall he was working on is completely mended, as good as new, and undeniably sturdy. The part I was supposed to be fixing up is still a crumbling ruin, of course. I rush over and slap my hands against the stone. Rainbow light spills outwards from my palms almost immediately, soon growing to cover a wide section of the wall, as I visualise it becoming whole and unweathered. I’m sure the god-king will have some harsh words for me when we finally meet up again on the other edge of the city… but until then, I can only do my best and hope not to have proven such a disappointment that he’ll decide that he was too generous in allowing me to serve him...]]>
I walk behind and slightly to the left of the king, trying to avert my gaze, not wanting to be caught staring at him. I've seen a few pictures of him on the dataverse, of course, but no mere image could ever depict such a man accurately. He looks every inch the god his people proclaim him to be. I can almost feel the power radiating from him, as if his divinity is a physical force, somehow both attracting and repelling me at the same time; I feel a great desire to reach out and touch him, to discover if he can truly be a mere creature of flesh and blood, such as I am, or if Gilgamesh might not be something different—something more—entirely… yet at the same time, I know that actually daring to lay a hand upon him without permission would be a grievous insult to his person… no, not just an insult. It would be practically blasphemous, and I abhor the thought of disrespecting him in such a way. It's no wonder the people of Nippur have such an easy time accepting him as their god. Just meeting his eyes once has left my mind a mess, my thoughts a chaotic jumble.

We exit the palace, and I struggle to hold back a gasp as the sunlight first strikes his gleaming armour, sending a thousand scintillating rays of light cascading around him beautifully with every tiny movement he makes. There are two more guards in those new uniforms out here, though with the alternative being continuing to shamefully ogle King Gilgamesh, of course I barely spare them a glance. Still, even so, I’m able to admire their rigid, military discipline… to continue looking straight ahead and standing to attention, not even glancing across at their magnificent god-king when he walks by, must take an enormous effort of will.

As we pass through the streets, other citizens look up, hope-filled gazes turning upon him, and I try my best to stand tall, to hold my head high. I’d normally act a lot more casual than this, even if I was in the company of someone much more powerful and influential than I… I've never really cared all that much about propriety, but in the presence of King Gilgamesh, behaving respectfully seems to take on a much greater importance than normal. Still, though I do my utmost to maintain my posture, trying to mimic the professionalism of his guards, I find myself glancing across at him more and more frequently as our stroll goes on. He is the epitome of humanity, in every way… even his movements seem beautiful to my enraptured eyes. That golden armour must surely be heavy, yet he seems as light on his feet as the most graceful of dancers–

He stops suddenly. I blink in surprise, my breath catching as I quickly come to a halt as well, just a moment before I would have crashed into him. What a horrifying thought. I wonder for an instant why exactly it was that he stopped, then notice the giant—albeit crumbling—wall and gateway just a few paces before us, and realise that we’ve reached the edge of the city. Unless he intends to leave Nippur, this must be our destination.

I'm rather perplexed, though; it seems as if we barely left the palace but a moment ago… how are we here already? That's when I realise that I'm staring at him again. When did that happen? I can't possibly have been doing that, completely lost in thought, as we walked all the way across the entire city… can I?

I glance around, a blush colouring my cheeks as I pray that no one has noticed my lack of composure. Back home I was a soldier, then a ‘hero’... then, when Omni claimed me for His own, one of His chosen ones, His ‘Primes'... how the hell can someone as accomplished as I not even manage to muster up enough self-control to walk down a fucking street without ogling my king like a starry-eyed teenager with a stupid crush?

I see there are many citizens around this area who have ceased what they were doing to look upon him, and that there are many others who’ve wordlessly followed along behind us as we walked out here. Fortunately—though, I suppose, not really surprisingly—none of them seem to be paying the slightest bit of attention to me. I’ve never been an attention seeker, but it's possible that ordinarily I would have been a little miffed to be ignored entirely... beside our god-king, though, I can't say I blame anyone… I too would be perfectly content to simply sit and watch him all day, if given the chance.

“Ahana.” he speaks the word softly and I immediately step up to his side, dropping to one knee and bowing my head. My heart pounds against my ribcage as if desperate to break free of the confines of my chest, and I'm filled with a rush of pleasure at being singled out from the crowd, even though I know full well that it's only my status as a Prime that has afforded me this honour. I'm not bothered by that at all, though. I don't care if he sees me as nothing more than a tool to be used to further his goals… actually, no, I would be grateful to be his tool. If being just a piece on a chess board to him means getting the privilege to enjoy his company, if for only a little while, and perhaps even results in him remembering my name, then that is more than I could ever ask.

Even Omni, for all His omnipotence, seems to me like less of an awe-inspiring figure than Gilgamesh. Perhaps it is because Nippur’s king appears so human. I can't say for sure, but there's just some sort of… regality about him which Omni lacks. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as Gilgamesh turns to look down on me.

“Not that you don't have the right attitude, but we are here to work, so let's not have you getting down on your knees every time I speak to you, okay?” I pick up a hint of amusement in his tone and hurriedly stand, blushing once again. The moment we make eye contact I freeze up, feeling as if the blood rushing through my veins has been replaced with ice. Just like in his throne room, his gaze seems to cut right through me; it's all I can do not to sink back onto me knees, “Good. That's better. Now, you and I are going to work on shoring up these walls… no matter how well Kanda manages to train my guards, with our walls in such poor shape, he can't possibly keep out all the mongrels who would dare harm my subjects. You and I will be remedying this situation today. Understood?”

“Of course, my king. Anything I can do for you, I will.” I force a smile onto my face, though I feel as if a vast chasm has opened in my stomach. I have no idea who this ‘Kanda' person is, but had Gilgamesh simply asked me to join him and the soldiers in slaughtering all these ‘mongrels' who would plague the city, I'd have been all too eager to comply, even taking into account my newfound fragility; even if such a task meant dying and being reborn hundreds of times over, I’d gladly throw myself into the fray time and time again to please the king…

But… construction work? It's not that I find such a menial task unworthy of my time; I'd spend my days cleaning out sewers if that was what the god-king wished of me… but the issue is, I can only imagine that he means to do this using Omnilium, since that will be much easier and faster than doing it manually. Given how new I am to the Omniverse, though, I still haven't been able to gather all that much… I’ll run out in no time. I'll do my best, absolutely. I'll use so much that I'm left with not even enough to feed myself… but in the end, I’ll still fail him.

He raises an eyebrow slightly, obviously having no trouble at all seeing through my facade and deducing that something is wrong. Rather than asking me what it is, though, and so forcing me to admit my weakness in front of all those gathered here, he turns to the crowd.

“Citizens of Nippur!” his voice booms out, resounding through the nearby streets, loudly enough to be easily audible to all, even if we were in the middle of a raging storm… not that it needs to be; as we’ve spoken up to this point, the crowd has remained completely silent, hanging on Gilgamesh’s every word, “We come today to bolster the defences of this great city, to return Nippur to the nigh-impenetrable bastion that it once was! Now behold, the power of your king!”

With a flourish of the fingers of one hand, he dramatically conjures an orb of Omnilium into existence, then casually tosses it at the yawning gateway before us. Though still standing, the stonework has clearly seen better days, and whatever gates must once have stood there are gone completely… the only defence the city has in this direction is a pair of guards stationed on the other side of the worn and cracked archway, out in the scorching dunes beyond. For all that they look professional and dignified in their dark, gold-trimmed coats, there are still only two of them; even a small band of raiders could overcome them through numbers alone, and doubtless kill many civilians before the rest of the soldiers could arrive to put an end to their butchery… though Nippur will not fall to foreign invaders now that it's king has returned, that by no means assures the safety of its entire populace.

The tiny sphere freezes in mid air once it reaches the gateway, then suddenly billows outwards, soon expanding to cover it in its entirety. I watch along with the rest of the crowd, though as the chromatic lightshow is entirely opaque, there is little to see, and my gaze is quickly drawn back to the god-king. Time seems to pass by much faster when I can rest my eyes on such a divine figure, and in what feels like no time at all, he is turning away from the gate and speaking once again, "Summoning something like this will require far less Omnilium than a complex building such as the hospital, of course, and the walls themselves will be cheaper still, as they’re just simple blocks of solid stone… but even so, due to their great sizes, the process will still take time… nevertheless, we shall endeavour to have this done as soon as possible, so that you, my people, can rest easy from now on, knowing that no more will you have to fear attack by the ignorant outlaws of the Dunes!”

A cheer erupts from those around him almost the instant he finishes speaking. At that moment, though, he throws his arms wide and the Omnilium bubble behind him vanishes, revealing his refurbished entranceway. The cheers are quashed abruptly, as his audience takes a collective gasp of awe.

“Oh.” I stand, slack-jawed in wonder, along with the rest of the crowd, drinking in the sight of our king’s masterpiece. The sandstone frame of the gates is completely repaired, no longer worn away in the slightest, and now includes a steel-chain, pulley-like mechanism on either side of the gates—built into the sandstone archway itself—to allow them to be opened and closed more easily. It's the gates themselves that take our breaths away, though; an enormous pair of double doors of dark mahogany now block the way out of the city, each one adorned with astonishingly detailed carvings and intricate golden inlay. The carved sections portray the death throes of all manner of foul beasts and monstrosities, as their bodies are pierced or torn apart, whilst the gilded portions are all images of the king and his vast arsenal, in the process of slaying the hideous fiends. This can only be a representation of all the many foes has overcome during his years in the Underverse, I'm sure; a display to remind any who look upon it that our god has vanquished the worst that hell has to offer and returned to his people more powerful than ever.

Gilgamesh smirks, clearly pleased that everyone appreciates his gift, “Okay. Now that that's done, I’ll head along this way, whilst you take the other side, Ahana. Let's work our way around the city from here and meet up opposite these gates, alright?”

He gestures to the part of the wall to the left of the gateway when indicating the direction he’ll be heading.

“Of course, King Gilgamesh.” I bow my head respectfully, managing not to kneel this time, whilst also trying my hardest to rid my voice of any trace of doubt, even though my fears are unabated. I must find some way to appear competent at this, so as to avoid him reconsidering my station from ‘tool’ to mere ‘junk', not worthy of being used by such a majestic king as he. I hunger for his approval, even though I feel undeserving of it… I can't even bear to consider the possibility of being discarded.

“Excellent.” the god-king announces, then turns to leave, with almost all of the people here following along in his wake. In moments, I can barely even spot him through the crowd. It isn't long before another curtain of rainbow-hued light flows up into the air, though, this time coating a vast section of the crumbling, shattered wall. I have gathered a little more Omnilium yesterday and this morning, simply by wandering about, since this strange stuff seems to accrue automatically in Primes, even without actively being extracted from objects… still, it's nowhere near enough. Even taking account for the fact that most of the wall is already here and so not that much new stone is really being added, if I am to cover such large areas of the wall as Gilgamesh is fixing now, I’ll likely be out of Omnilium entirely after repairing a mere couple sections… it speaks volumes about his unspeakable wealth that he could decide to do something so ambitious as this without even considering the cost.

Rather than immediately beginning work, after a few moments of uncertainty and hesitation, I rush over to one of the people still lingering in this area despite the god-king’s departure, and beg her to tell me of anything around here that I could take which wouldn't be missed, hurriedly explaining my need for more Omnilium if I am to meet Gilgamesh’s expectations. The person in question—an old woman so gaunt that she looks as if missing another meal might well be the end of her—smiles sympathetically and pats the back of my hand, but explains that she has nothing left to give away.

I ask several other people, but the generous ones just apologise for being poverty-stricken, whilst those less forgiving insult me for having the audacity to complain about anything despite being handed the amazing powers of a Prime upon entering the Omniverse. One man even spits in my face. My fingers twitch with barely suppressed rage, and it's all I can do not to summon a pair of javelins and stab the prick to death; a few flames even dance between my fingers before I manage to push my anger to the back of my mind and compose myself. I'm familiar with Nippur’s laws from the Dataverse, so I know that the king won't take kindly to me killing off an innocent man simply for being a little rude. And even if he was generous enough to overlook one teeny, tiny little murder, I know that I’d still be tormented by the guilt of having failed to live up to his expectations.

Despite the shame I feel for having to go around begging like this, and for being unable to even punish those who would offend me, I simply wipe that man’s saliva from my cheek and carry on. After a few more failed attempts, I come across a woman who’s middle-aged and tanned, with weathered, Caucasian skin and callused hands, clearly used to hard labour. Over a pair of ragged, light brown slacks and a tattered cream top, she wears a pair of worn, old, leather boots and a dull, faded, blue overcoat, and smokes a cigarette. Her brown hair is cut very short, and is greying around the edges. No one would call her pretty, but she's certainly striking. She smirks when I approach her where she sits, on a rickety wooden chair outside one of the small, slum-like stone huts that seem to dominate this part of the city. After hearing my plea she takes a long drag on her cigarette, stands up slowly, and promptly blows a cloud of smoke into my face.

Coughing repeatedly and waving a hand to try and clear the air, I back off, resigning myself to another failed attempt. A fair bit of time has passed by this point, and Gilgamesh has no doubt noticed my lack of progress… but I can't give up now, even though it seems hopeless. As I'm turning to leave, though, the woman speaks, “Stop. I can help you.”

I turn back, half-expecting her to laugh and mock me at the first hint that I might actually believe her words, “You can? How?”

She takes another drag on her cigarette before replying, “Not everything in this city was summoned by Primes; some of it was built through good, old fashioned labour… which means building materials were needed. There was a sandstone quarry not far from Nippur once, though that was back before the king was banished… it may well be completely buried under the dunes by now. It certainly hasn't seen any use since then. We still have plenty of the stone that was quarried there, though, and a good bit of it has been sitting in a warehouse a few streets from here for years.”

“Just sitting around? For years? Why?”

The woman shrugs, “After the invasion, then all the attacks by bandits, folks never really had the inclination for any more grand building projects. It was all we could do to keep our families alive…”

She frowns, looking past me for a moment, staring off into the distance, “and plenty of us never even managed that… so the warehouse was forgotten… along with plenty of other buildings. Hell, no one even bothered to clear the dead from Gilgamesh’s own palace, not even those fanatical loyalists of his, and you think anyone’s gonna remember a warehouse?”

“I suppose n-” I cut myself off, just now realising what she has just said, “Wait, you mean… you aren't a loyalist?”

She snorts dismissively, “Of course I'm not. Do I look like one of those blind fools over that way, following along after him to gawp like fish just ‘cause he can summon some stone? Maybe golden boy means well, or maybe he just wants to play at being king to stroke his own ego, I dunno… but you weren't with him the first time, girl. You're just a new recruit. You don't know a thing about that kid. He made powerful enemies, and we Secondaries were the ones who paid the price for his arrogance.”

“I may not have been here, but I know enough. He was sent to hell. I’d say he paid a much higher price than he deserved considering all he wanted was to make your lives better.” I glare at her. I've witnessed and committed plenty of atrocities of my own, back before coming to the Omniverse, so I'm not about to judge the soldiers of the god-king’s foes for harming his people… in fact, I honestly don't care about them at all, other than because they are his property, and so suppose I can't really approve of anyone slaying them without his say-so. On the other hand, having the audacity to banish a divine being such as Gilgamesh is an unspeakable act of blasphemy, something infinitely more horrendous than mere mass murder.

“Eh. He got out. Those people who died aren't coming back. You really don't understand ordinary folk at all, you know. It isn't just him; all you Primes are clueless. Even before coming to the Omniverse, you're generally some kinda mighty heroes in your own worlds… you don't have the slightest idea how it feels to be powerless. You can't imagine what it's like to cower in your home as raiders burst into houses at random, butchering your friends and loved  ones… or worse, dragging them out into the streets to be raped before their throats are slit. Trust me, girl, those screams stay with you for the rest of your life. Gilgamesh brought that horror down on us once, and he’ll do it again.”

I'm not at all surprised to hear that this has happened after his banishment, and I frankly don't care; back home, our soldiers and those of our enemies alike would have their fun when sacking a city… what seems so terrible to this civilian is utterly unexceptional to me; just another fact of life. Despite that, I still don't like her bringing up the fact that he lost. I know that it was an unfair fight, with countless mighty Primes arrayed against him… but even so, I can't think of a single thing to say that doesn't just sound like an excuse to me. The sad truth is that no matter the reason, Gilgamesh did still fail once. He isn't—or rather, wasn't, back then—perfect. I want to argue that he has surely grown stronger since then, that there's no way such a thing will ever happen again… but that would mean confessing, out loud, that he was at one point not infallible… and I just can't bring myself to hear such words coming from my own lips. So, instead, I simply settle for shaking my head and glaring petulantly at her. My oratory skills could really use some work. She sighs.

“Come on then, follow me. I'll show you this warehouse, then we won't need to ever talk again, and you can happily get on with being just another of the king’s devoted little sheep.” she turns away and strides through a narrow gap between two hovels. I rush to keep up.

“I don't get it, if you hate our king this much then why help me at all?” I ask after a few moments of silence, bewildered that the first person able or willing to give me what I need should be someone so clearly unimpressed with the god-king.

“If you were wanting this Omnilium just to renovate his fucking palace then I wouldn't have mentioned anything, obviously… but repairing the walls might actually do some good for the people here… even if they won't be any more effective against Primes than they were the last time, at least you might manage to keep out the petty bandits. So it'll do more good in your hands than just sitting there, I suppose.” she falls silent, and I ask no more questions. It isn't much longer before we reach our destination.

“Well, here we are. Here it is. A big building stuffed with rocks. There ought to be more than enough Omnilium in there for you to fix up the walls… assuming you don't spend it all on ridiculous, golden decorations like those on the gaudy, self-aggrandising piece of trash which that fool calls a gate.” she's looking at the warehouse as she speaks, not me, but I can just hear the sneer in her voice.

“Watch yourself, citizen." I snap, my fists clenching involuntarily, “I know our king’s laws, but I won't stand for anyone calling him a fool, even if punishing them properly gets me thrown out of Nippur myself.”

Of course I'm aware that merely speaking badly of him is not at all the same as actually rebelling against the crown, and as such this woman technically is not breaking the law herself… but even so, I’m not about to just overlook insults to the god-king.

“Oh? Do I offend your delicate sensibilities by calling out that prancing pretty boy for what he is?” she turns her scorn on me now, looking my way, an ugly smirk on her face.

“I'm warning you.” I snarl, actually having to picture Gilgamesh in my mind—looking at me with an expression of revulsion, disgusted by my inability to follow even this simplest of rules—in order to resist the urge to lash out at her. I take a couple deep breaths to calm myself, then manage to speak to her in a more-or-less civil tone, “Thank you for showing me this place, I am incredibly grateful for your help… but can you please leave now…? Before you make me do something I’ll regret later.”

She snorts with laughter, then blows some more smoke in my face. Once again I back off, coughing and wafting it away, which only seems to further amuse her, “Sure, I’ll be on my way… though you should realise that I'm far from alone in holding a grudge against Gilgamesh. Unless you want to go around wearing ear plugs for the rest of your life, I’d suggest you learn to keep yourself from doing anything you'll regret.”

Without waiting for a response, she turns and strolls off, lifting a hand to wave goodbye, without turning back to look at me. I have to admit, she has a point… I've always been more of a ‘kill first, ask questions never’ sort of woman... but if I'm going to have to interact with others like her on a regular basis, that might need to change...

“No. I won't. I won't have to. Soon, everyone in Nippur will see the king for the saviour that he is. Soon, the only ones who insult him will be our enemies. I refuse to simply learn to put up with such things.” I speak these words with iron hard conviction, knowing without a doubt in my mind that she is wrong, and that she'll see that herself before long. Gilgamesh will prove his divinity to even the most sceptical of non-believers, and I can only hope that I can be a useful enough tool that he will keep me around long enough that I can witness his glorious ascension with my own two eyes.

The woman makes no response to my statement. Perhaps she didn't hear me, or perhaps I'm simply being ignored. It doesn't matter. I turn to the building and raise a hand towards it, just about to begin extracting the Omnilium from it when I realise that she may have been lying to me about what's inside. She clearly has no fondness for the king, so what if she hopes to make a fool of him by tricking me into destroying a whole bunch of valuable supplies? That could easily be her idea, so I walk up to the doors, made from rusted iron and held together with a just-as-corroded padlock. I absorb the Omnilium of the lock, which takes but a few minutes, then heave and haul at one of the immensely stiff doors until I can open a wide enough gap to squeeze my head through.

I look inside. Stone. Lots and lots of huge, stone blocks, piled one atop the other all the way across the interior of the wide structure, and right up to the rafters high above. Alright. She may be faithless, but it would seem that that woman isn't a liar, at least. I take a few steps back and then settle myself in a sitting position, cross-legged on the dusty ground, and focus my mind on deconstructing the building before me, taking its Omnilium into myself.

The minutes drag past like hours, as I fret about what Gilgamesh must think of me; it'll look like I never even started work on the task he appointed to me… he may well think I simply wandered off like a disobedient cur the moment I was out of his sight… I don't have a clue what I can even say to defend myself if he asks. The more I think on it, the more idiotic I feel for not simply coming clean and admitting to him that I have barely any Omnilium… yes, it would have hurt to see the disappointment in his eyes, but it's not like making him angry instead is in any way an improvement. My only hope is that something has kept him so distracted that he hasn't noticed I’ve not even started making any repairs yet, that no one ever mentions to him the sudden disappearance of an entire warehouse, and that he somehow gets massively delayed himself, so that he doesn't notice how much less of the wall I’ve been able to fix than he has, when we finally meet up on the other side of the city…

It's not too likely that I’ll get away with this, to put it mildly.

Eventually, after what is surely quite a bit over an hour, I'm done. The building and all of its contents have been fully converted into Omnilium. I barely register the vast increase in my fortunes as I jump to my feet and dash through the streets. When I make it back to the gates, Gilgamesh is nowhere in sight, presumably having moved further on, since as far as the eye can see, the wall he was working on is completely mended, as good as new, and undeniably sturdy. The part I was supposed to be fixing up is still a crumbling ruin, of course. I rush over and slap my hands against the stone. Rainbow light spills outwards from my palms almost immediately, soon growing to cover a wide section of the wall, as I visualise it becoming whole and unweathered. I’m sure the god-king will have some harsh words for me when we finally meet up again on the other edge of the city… but until then, I can only do my best and hope not to have proven such a disappointment that he’ll decide that he was too generous in allowing me to serve him...]]> <![CDATA[TL:DR]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7299 Wed, 02 May 2018 23:47:57 +0000 Shantotto]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7299
In the distance the golden walls of Nippur stood out against the rising sun making the effect awe inspiring at least to Xx_Yandere_Lo♥er_xX. The architecture was far different than that of Hecate’s castle. His heart leapt as he thought about his silver haired Yandere.

The guards seemed to have some brand new strange cloth uniform. It was something his weeb sword would clearly have little trouble to cut through, still he knew he wouldn't need to worry about that. “Once they see my awesomeness, they won't help but give me the job.” He told himself as he stepped through the gates to Nippur, The town was awash in muck and filth, nothing less than Hecate's dungeon of course but still pretty bad. Without missing a step he headed to the grandest building in the area and walked up the marbled steps to the main gate where Xx_Yandere_Lo♥er_xX was mey by two guards. Golden energy weapons blocked his path. “What is your business here?” Xx_Yandere_Lo♥er_xX was asked.

“I responded to a posting about a job in IT. I am here for the interview.” Xx_Yandere_Lo♥er_xX said as he flipped his fedora up.

The guards in the interesting cloth armor looked the weeb over, with scrutinizing eyes, They had seen enough strange people entering the throne room and they didn't want another weirdo barging in after seeing the likes of Shantotto and Warren Zimmer.

“The king is not in at the moment, What is the nature of your visit?” The guard asked keeping an eye on the boy’s oversized sword lest he pull it out.

Xx_Yandere_Lo♥er_xX looked at the somewhat nervous guards with a smug look of satisfaction and a cocky grin. “I am not here to see your king, rather I am here to speak with the one know by the moniker Bannisher4lyfe…. Or something to that effect.” He said, not wanting to pull out his dataverse device just to double check an alias.

The guards laughed aloud upon hearing that. “ You mean Lord Victor!” One exclaimed aloud, his voice almost cheerful at the thought of seeing this weirdo confronting Victor the Banisher.]]>
In the distance the golden walls of Nippur stood out against the rising sun making the effect awe inspiring at least to Xx_Yandere_Lo♥er_xX. The architecture was far different than that of Hecate’s castle. His heart leapt as he thought about his silver haired Yandere.

The guards seemed to have some brand new strange cloth uniform. It was something his weeb sword would clearly have little trouble to cut through, still he knew he wouldn't need to worry about that. “Once they see my awesomeness, they won't help but give me the job.” He told himself as he stepped through the gates to Nippur, The town was awash in muck and filth, nothing less than Hecate's dungeon of course but still pretty bad. Without missing a step he headed to the grandest building in the area and walked up the marbled steps to the main gate where Xx_Yandere_Lo♥er_xX was mey by two guards. Golden energy weapons blocked his path. “What is your business here?” Xx_Yandere_Lo♥er_xX was asked.

“I responded to a posting about a job in IT. I am here for the interview.” Xx_Yandere_Lo♥er_xX said as he flipped his fedora up.

The guards in the interesting cloth armor looked the weeb over, with scrutinizing eyes, They had seen enough strange people entering the throne room and they didn't want another weirdo barging in after seeing the likes of Shantotto and Warren Zimmer.

“The king is not in at the moment, What is the nature of your visit?” The guard asked keeping an eye on the boy’s oversized sword lest he pull it out.

Xx_Yandere_Lo♥er_xX looked at the somewhat nervous guards with a smug look of satisfaction and a cocky grin. “I am not here to see your king, rather I am here to speak with the one know by the moniker Bannisher4lyfe…. Or something to that effect.” He said, not wanting to pull out his dataverse device just to double check an alias.

The guards laughed aloud upon hearing that. “ You mean Lord Victor!” One exclaimed aloud, his voice almost cheerful at the thought of seeing this weirdo confronting Victor the Banisher.]]>