Tangent Axis - Come forth, all you treasure-seekers, you backwater vagabonds, you esteemed gentlemen!

PROLOGUE

Far Halyip ~ Velloix Manor ~ Subcellar ~~~~~~

“But – that’s brilliant,” I exclaim with awed voice, for though flattery may well serve to help me escape my bonds, my mind is, at the present moment, not functioning at its ideal logical apex. No, the statement was one of astounded observation, and I can discern that she knows this as she smiles warmly and turns her head ever so slightly away, to observe the abomination of modern sciences, the hulking contraption that slumbers quietly in the chamber’s far corner.

She must have sensed the confusion in my stare – damn woman seems always to be smarter than one thinks her, even after a revelation such as this – for her response addresses my thoughts with unnerving accuracy. But first she laughs, perhaps amused by such an ungentlemanly reaction of mine. It is the soft, comely laugh I had grown so used to in the past weeks, yet never before had there been such a patronizing note shadowing it – as one might employ with a pet or a small child who has done something silly.

“And how could one such as myself have spawned this, an intricate contraption of un-heard of technology? Oh, lover, do you amuse me so. You think me insane, and a genius, but in your mind, how the words do quarrel with eachother!” She kneels, gripping the rough grain of the table with her slender, ivory fingers, and lowers her head to mere inches above mine. I find my gaze paralyzed when I stare into her eyes, yet I remain aware of the pleasant face – the kind smile – the pearl-white cheeks. For a moment, the sheer kindness of her gaze deceives me, and we are again on the beaches of Yarin, without a care or concern not involving eachother.

But the instant is short-lived. She rises once more, leaving me alone in more ways than one - for this is not the woman, the mask, the lie I loved. Truth is my curse, deception my murderer, love my damnation. Her next sentences are the last words I ever do hear spoken, and I would have much preferred to shrug them aside for more amiable memories. “You misunderstand the nature of things, my darling. Those such as I, the psychotics, the freaks, as society is wont to label us – we have to be clever,” - she strides away, turning her head to gift me with a final smile as her hand pulls the wooden door closed – “else we are caught, and by those like yourself.”

And I am alone in the room, delaying my struggles against the ropes that bind me until the terrible, unforgettable moment when the corner-thing rises in silence and, with methodical care, closes the distance between us. If I screamed, it was lost to my ears, for the hollow eyes and melancholy facade of the mechanical horror occupy my frenzied mind entirely to my last breath.

The Plains of Aderran ~ Crossroute Thora ~~~~~~

Among the miles and miles of tall grasses, and intersecting the well-travelled dirt road (Connecting Nyra and Hhomon Proper) which had been packed down by centuries of trade caravans and weary adventurers, could be found the lazy brook that bubbled quietly to life after a rainstorm and dried up in several days’ time. Spanning this small, conditional creek was a rickety old bridge of decaying redwood, and across this bridge ambled a large yet small-looking caravan. On the left side of its canvas covering was scrawled in fancy purple lettering Karin’s Inquisitions.

The owner of this cart, Gnepus Karin himself, was currently sitting in the small wooden seat, chewing on a blade of grass as he muttered gentle words to the aging hona that pulled the caravan. Many a passersby would ask Karin if he had made a mistake in decorating his vehicle – surely he meant acquisitions, not inquisitions? To this Karin would respond, “More’s folk’s asks me that then buys’ my wares. Now you tell’s me which’s more’s accurate.”

Roads such as this one were oft traversed by thieves, but Gnepus Karin cared not, for it was simply too beautiful amongst the endless grasses for such thoughts. And as he hummed to himself a forgotten tune, the chirping of the meadow-birds, the cool wind that stirred the grasses like ocean waves, the cheerful bubbling of the pleasant brook, and the gentle twilight of the high phosphor seemed to harmonize; everything in the universe was just about perfect.

Rundi Mountains ~ Hom Peak ~~~~~~

The last of the runts move away from the giant’s carcass, having eaten their fill, and regroup with the remainder of the pack as we bound away, leaving the dark-raptors and carrion-eaters to pick the desperate, battle-weary bones free of the remainder of their conquered meat. I lead the charge into the unknown with frenzied stride, and my pack follows, loyal to the feral joy brought about by absolute freedom.

The blood still stains my lips, and its intoxicating scent drives my every breath, every movement, every thought, for now is the time to hunt and kill and follow the wishes of nature.

And nothing may impede us as we lope through the darkness.

Upper skylayers ~ the Hyperius ~ Helmsman’s deck ~~~~~~

The darkness is absolute, and to the degree that the common man would be forced to focus intently on the brilliance of the phosphor, high above us, to retain his sanity. Those who did not might quite conceivably be driven mad by attempting to make sense of the black void of sky that stretched like an ebony ocean on all sides, stumbling about the deck for uncertainty of which direction was down.

It is this glorious isolation that is my greatest pleasure in life. The killing, the looting, the riches, the fame... these things are simple side-effects of my stature, my position here in the highermost realms of voidspace. Even the might of this vessel - my beloved ship, the combined solidity of its stalwart planks and iron nails and great stonewood masts carven from the greatest trees purloined of Wan Hanna itself – seems naught but a blip when combined with the unmatchable forces of the winds that seek to throw it about in the maelstrom of the air, empty, infinite, exhilarating, and beautiful beyond comparison.

My heart soars at every stray gust, every breath of the world that sends the ship swaying, and the terror of the sudden drop as we exit a thermal steals away the very soul and leaves the eyes blank with mindless fascination. If ever I am happy, it is now, in the grip of the darkness – and my blasted crewmen know it.

Here he comes, the first mate, his gray boots thumping noisily on deck even in the throes of a zephyrous gale. “Parr’don me, sirr,” he growls in a thick D’eiac drawl, “but the crr’ew s’been wondrr’in, see, and we thinks what with the rr’aid on Hhomon we’s deserr’ving a bit morr’ of a... compensation, sees what I says?”

I turn to the despicable man, gazing up into his brutish eyes. “Why of course, of course, my friend! It was admirable work, and I daresay a fairly large reward befits you all.” I narrow my eyes against my smile, and tap my cane once on the deck, producing a hollow thud. “And as for you, yourself, keep it up and you may earn quite a large... cut as well.”

We stand there, him and I, and as the rest of the (Cowardly) deckhands cling to their ropes and mooring hooks the two of us sway not as the mighty ship heaves beneath us. I cannot resist the urge to curl my lips into a smile, and my efforts to unnerve the D’eyan appear to be successful. He looks away, mutters his sincerest gratitude, and walks back to the others. I let loose a chuckle and turn, speaking into the wind so that my voice carries to every man on deck. “You needn’t be so skittish, for despite your ambition, I have need of every one of you in the coming times. You have all shown curiosity and uncertainty in the past few months regarding my plans for the future, indeed? Then let your thirst be quenched - We sail to seek the walking city, my crew, and whatever riches lie within will be ours.”

The absurdity of it all causes me to laugh – by their confounded gasps, these men of lesser minds think it a rumor that I chase, a fleeting thing of legend that old wives weave intricate tales of to their enthralled children. Yet I do know better, for I have seen the cyclopean automaton myself – “I will find Arcem wherever it lies, and its secrets shall be mine! Ahahahahahaha!



[[You may now post. And no, you don't need to include ~~~~~~ location tags.]]

NOT PROLOGUE

Rundi ~ District Eighty-Six ~ The Corner of Third and Grimdaughter ~~~~~~

People never change.

Reach in to the mind and take a handful of the finest, most upstanding gentlemen from any seed, any nation, any demographic you like. Throw these civilized, these pleasant and socially refined people into a pit and watch them eat eachother alive.

That’s what this city is – the Pit. Look around and you’ll see it in the quietly terrified eyes of every man, woman, and child, trapped in a separate world. The police can’t do anything to help, and those fortunate souls who haven’t dipped into the river of tragedy pretend not to notice as they sip their root nectar and talk about happy facades.

But the river is overflowing, and the dam of ignorance that everyone knows about and no one mentions isn’t going to be around much longer. We’ve carved our own path by our stalwart bigotry.

My name is Thethin Isengrove. I used to be an idealist, thinking I could make a difference working by the books, and before that I was part of the problem. Now? I’m a detective. Rundi police. But that may as well not matter, because I could be a damn street sweeper for all the difference I’ve made in this city since I joined the force. The criminals are only the symptom, and to call it a day once the mass-murderers, the rapists, the petty thieves are behind bars is to claim that the hate and brutality flowing through the veins of our society is inconsequential.

Well, now I can finally do something. I’ve found a way, and the world will hate me for it – which is why I have to be secretive. For the good of all of us, I have to be secretive.

It was raining.

Thethin stood, a monument, in the misty evening air as timid streams of water wove themselves around his motionless and neatly-polished black shoes. A mother’s child had been missing for three days. The collective of devoted was meeting in half an hour. Both required Thethin’s time, yet his heart was only pulled towards one.

Solve the symptom, or continue to address the root of the problem? Thethin raised his head skyward, gazing at the sky as rain poured down from an unseen throne of cloud, hidden in the vast gray swaths that stretched beyond sight. Somewhere out there, a family was mourning. Thethin had within him the power to bring a halt to their grief, to restore order to a household thrown out of balance.

But he wouldn’t, at least not that night.

Maybe the kid would be long gone tomorrow. Maybe once Thethin finally got around to tracking down yet another child slave trafficker, it would be too late.

But that didn’t matter. It never mattered. Thethin had said he would come outside to think in silence and make a decision, but in truth he was prolonging the inevitable – the needs of the many are worth more than those of the few, and aside from that, the pull of the idol was simply too strong.

With a grunt of helplessness loathing at his own actions, Thethin swept off into the night, and his coat trailed behind him as if it could only struggle to keep up.

Lower skylayers ~ the Horizon ~ Observation Deck ~~~~~~

“Gangway! Excuse me, sir! One side, please!”

The more experienced members of the Horizon crew parted to respective sides of the poshly-carpeted hallway, lined with large windows, as a young unstoppable force dashed by at dangerous speeds, squawking cheerful warnings to the less-fortunate bystanders who were able to evacuate the line of fire only just in time.

This young unstoppable force went by the name of Ili Kizel’ric. She was a cabingirl aboard the Horizon and adored by her crewmates – most of them, at any rate – and was currently delivering a rather important message to the captain of the ship, who was wont to stand on the helmsman’s deck and watch the skies for hours upon end.

Upon reaching said deck, and fortunately without accident, Ili brought herself to a halt, her avian legs skittering across the waterwood flooring. Captain Whemmus Graysod cut an imposing shape against the setting phosphor – the cabin was bathed in twilight, and against the blue-green rays stood a seven-foot-tall figure, silhouetted, and facing outward into the visual paradise of darkened clouds. He turned ever-so-slightly at the familiar sounds heralding the approach of his least-favorite hand, and spoke in his lilting (yet authoritative) accent.

“A message for me, young miss?” Ili stood as straight as she could manage and saluted, holding a scroll of parchment out in her offhand.

“Yes sir, Captain Graysod, sir.” She forced herself to remain composed as the man turned and approached, his prosthetic limb of nimbletree wood clanking dully against the floorboards. He moved surprisingly quick for a Veli his age, and in an instant had crossed the distance between them, snatched up the parchment, and turned away from Ili to study it.

Graysod let loose a wearied sigh. “That will be all, Kizel’ric.” He let the parchment drop from his wrinkled gray fingers, and the yellowed paper drifted from side to side before it found its grave on the floor of the deck. The cabin became occupied with a deafening and collective silence, shared in the worried eyes of each crewmember as they looked from familiar face to familiar face. Something was clearly amiss – the captain that Ili and her friends had known for years had not once shown such a foreboding behavior as this.

Ili saluted swiftly and took her leave from the room, but the silence did not alleviate with her departure. Graysod returned to his post at the window, staring into the phosphor. He cleared his throat and turned to his faithful men and women, whose eyes awaited the reassuring instruction they had known for years, fully prepared to hang on the captain's every word.

“The lookout’s been and picked a ship in the old light, gentlemen,” Graysod said, clearly and factually. There was no need for drama in the captain’s words, which rebounded throughout the cabin – the heart of every man and woman on deck, passenger or crewman, would supply such drama in sufficient quantity – for the famed approach of the pirate Awkin, who struck from the blinding glare of the phosphor, had achieved legendary stature amongst all modern skyfarers.

When captain Graysod next spoke, it was with the authority of an untroubled man. “Assemble the passengers in the lobby-main and reassure that all will be well. Instruct that they leave all valuables in their private cabins. Helmsman, bring her to a rest. All officers are to rendezvous in the lobby-main. Phee?”

He turned to his first mate. “Fetch me the ship’s gun. We will force negotiation, I won’t stand as that bastard takes my ship from me. He will not have her, do you understand? He will NOT.”

With these words, the captain slammed his fist onto the nearest table, and the crewmen scurried about these duties with as much urgency and internal panic as each had felt in all their lives.

Deep within the desert there walked a creature. A creature so massive and large that you'd think it be impossible to not know the location of. This was however not true, hardly anyone knew where it was. It was always moving you see, never staying in the same place for too long. Those who did see it would hardly ever be able to find it again, the desert was hard to judge location in and was always changing. Any footprints it left would be gone in a few hours.

It was a creature whose legend everyone was familiar with, yet nobody was ever quite sure if it actually existed. Those who didn't die or go insane in the desert had little or no proof. It was a dangerous creature to believe in. Something only fools and idiots wasted their life trying to find. The desert was a rough place and only the best could handle it.

Maybe there was some truth to those tales and maybe the people who believed weren't quite as insane or stupid as some might believe.

Arcem was this creature. He was very much alive and very much sentient, though do to his massive size it was very hard for anyone to communicate with him verbally. That is to say if anyone ever managed to find him to attempt verbal communication. Arcem didn't really know where he was going, but he knew he was going somewhere. Somewhere he wasn't quite sure if yet. But he felt compelled to follow the path he was taking. The desert was large and he was slow moving. He wasn't quite sure how long it would take him to get there, but he had time. He had lots of time.

"Any sign of them yet?"

"No."

"How about now?"

"No."

"Does that look like on of them to you?"

"I will turn around."

"Fine, fine. Pardon me if I want to keep a sharp lookout. You just don't wander into Bloodseer's territory alone, you know? Especially not if you're trying to look like a target." Caoas perched on Izo's shoulder, looking off into the distance.

"Your strategy of drawing them out seems overly risky. Using your ornithopter to make a night attack and kill Bloodseer by stealth would have been a much more efficient plan." Izo continued his steady plod.

"And have them break the thopter and kill me while I can't get away if something goes wrong? No thanks!" Caoas' feathers fluffed in indignance. "Besides, the air brake is lashed together with string."

"When do you intend to fix it? Is it not due for multiple repairs? Have you not mentioned that the weight of the patches in the wing-fabric is degrading the performance?" Traces of something between sarcasm and annoyance were evident in Izo's voice.

"Repairs don't grow on trees, you know! Those cost money, and we'll get paid when we're done with this contract."

Izo remained in bemused silence as they both simultaneously noticed a set of small dots on the horizon.

Lower skylayers ~ the Horizon ~ Observation Deck ~~~~~~

Ili stood with her eyes cast downwards, among the throng of crewmen and passengers, and placed rather unfortunately in the front. Before them walked a pair of Hrrathga-skin boots, thick and loud against the polished floorboards of the lobby-main deck.

Clump. Clump. Clump.

Only the captain's eyes tracked the red-jacketed figure as he circumnavigated the crowd - who were surrounded by a group of eleven pirates, armed with sabres and axes. Graysod's eyes were perhaps the only aspect of him that could at that moment distinguish the man from a golem carven of stone - he stood proud as a ship's mast, and resting in his hands was a finely-crafted rifle bearing the inscription "Emily" on its oversized barrel.

Awkin smiled, tilting his head, at the sight of Graysod carrying the ship's gun. His fingers tapped with brief joy on the pommel of his sheathed sword. Turning in an arc to survey all present, Awkin motioned for his crewmen to spread.

"See now, captain. You are at a disadvantage, and needn't be a fool." Graysod bit his lip at the pirate's words, brow creased with malice, as if he would at that moment love nothing more than to leap at this creature that stood before him.

"Your men may take whatever they find in the cabins," he muttered calmly, though not a soul in the room had difficulty hearing his quiet words, "and leave."

Awkin considered this. "You tempt me, but I'm afraid my men are not here for copper and gold." He raised an eyebrow as the captain tightened his grip on the ship's gun, and even the shiest of the crewmen had difficulty keeping their eyes on the floorboards - the malice that hopped back and forth between each man was unmistakable, though Graysod coated his hatred in politeness, and Awkin in casuality.

"We're here for the ship, you see," said the pirate, turning about to inspect a fine painting which hung crooked on the wall, doubtlessly having been rendered so in the earlier confusion. He sensed a movement behind him - and one hundred years of being the most wanted man in All stirred his insides to action.

Awkin turned about with hitherto-undisplayed speed, fully prepared to shout the order he had neglected to give earlier - "If he attacks, slaughter the passengers" - when the rifle round slammed into his thigh. The skull-cracking BANG that bounced about the cabin rendered all adjacent temporarily deaf, and signaled chaos for all else. The pirates ducked for cover as the crowd of people, having been prey before, was instantaneously transformed into a dangerous stampede. The rifle flew out of Graysod's grip, and he knelt on the floor, attempting to make sense of the mindless ringing that blurred vision and made him nauseous.

The giant-like first mate of the pirates' crew was solely unaffected by the rifle's outburst, and he made his swift way across the room - pounding his giant and armor-coated feet into the deck - and it was not long before he stood above the captain.

Ili did not see what happened next, for she had fled, and if Graysod screamed of the fate that befell him in the hands of the monstrous first mate, it was lost and indecipherable among the throngs of panicked crew that, one by one, fell to the swords of bellowing pirates.

Rundi Mountains ~ Hom Valley~~~~~~

In the language that only my devoted speak, a picture of the future is painted in the minds of all gathered.

It is a play, the greatest artform in All, and as much a sport and a game as it is that. The ending is always the same - a pattern too consistent to ignore the anticipation in the eyes of my kin, and I see reflected in those darting orbs the same hunger that gnaws at my bones and itches my blood.

We are upon the valley. This barks Krafga.

Below is one - a Stone Giant, and no meal for the kin - this barks Delidon. With one, another - and edible - this barks Vorra, and the duo some fifty meters far, and aware of our presence. Vorra's nose will earn her a feast tonight, barks I, as my nose too tingles with agitation as the stinging scent of blood drifts by on a stray breeze, and truly, I feel as if every hair on my body writhes in anticipation of the hunt.

Collecting this great energy, and drawing it forth as much from the dirt where stands I as from the untamed winds that ravage this peak, cushioning my form and fueling the bloodlust of the devoted - I rear myself into the sky, silhouetted against the might of the moon, and from my lungs I pump forth the deathly wail that invigorates the blood of my kind. Feeling their wild and joyous energies around me, one by one, their voices join the call, permeating the valley with the song of terror - our terror, and may it never belong to anyone else.

The play - the game - the sport - the hunt is begun.