Operation: Pacifica, The Fortress by DeadLock the Feral (aka CyberPyro), deadlock@one.net [time: roughly 4 am] [place: outside the Lyran Fortress] "But Cindy, I don't wanna go on patrol duty!" whined Teddy. His fellow sponge minions frowned disapprovingly at him, clearly not wanting to remove themselves from their Lord's videos as scenes of depravity flickered on the television screen. "Teddy," replied Cindy in her best I'm-serious-about-this voice, "it's really easy to do. We're really high up from the ground. All you have to do is walk from here to the next guard tower. If you see anyone, blow your whistle and..." "I'm afraid of them." Teddy, though he was easily 30 years old, was dressed in pajamas and holding a large, stuffed replica of Lord b'harnii. He clutched the plushy close to his chest. The memory of his last encounter with the Saethrians and Thanatins made hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "We all are," soothed Cindy, "but it's your turn!" "I'm afraid of the dark!" "You... flashlight..." droned Jeffery, absent-mindedly rolling the bright green and pink b'habii b'hopp flashlight across the floor. Spittle dripped from the corner of his mouth as his glassy eyes remained fixed on the screen. "I don't wanna!" Teddy jumped up and down for emphasis. "Go. It's your turn and we need to play fair!" Cindy crossed her arms, her middle-aged stature proving some degree of authority in this situation. "Oooh ... all right. If the boogie man gets me, it'll be all your fault!" whimpered Teddy as he picked up the flashlight and walked towards the door. The bright colors and musical tune the flashlight played quickly made the minion forget about his unhappiness. A few steps later he began skipping for the door to the parapet. ... An invisible figure scaled the sheer ramparts of the Lyran fortress. The debris and intermingled ash five hundred feet below him assumed an oddly pleasing grey landscape in the moon's pale light. "That's an easy deception," he thought to himself. "the corruption of that place is as real as it was when you walked among it." He gritted his teeth and climbed upwards. The jagged crenels of the fortress' walls resembled malformed teeth of some hungry beast, its jaws raised to the sky in an attempt to devour the stars. The sensation of crawling into the maw of some waiting demon grew more and more intense as he neared the top. ... Teddy stopped skipping and listened. What was that? The b'habii b'hopp flashlight vibrated in his hand as it played out another loop of 'bright light at night.' Annoyed, he flipped it off to find himself in the silent dark. He quickly flipped the flashlight back on, his fear of the dark too strong. Teddy's mouth curled into a smile: someone had left their b'hii j'haa plushy sitting between two of the jagged crenels. The minion trotted over to the toy. He looked to both sides to be sure no one was watching and picked the toy up. His hand, arm, then entire body refused to obey his commands to move as paralysis tightened its iron grip. Teddy's mind raced in terror. He couldn't move! A strong hand grasped his shoulder and turned him roughly around. His throat refused to voice his scream. His eyes darted about frantically, wide as plates, as he first looked at the creature holding him, at the area around it, and back. Hard fingers dug harshly into tender pressure points on his face and neck. Magical energies rippled down his attacker's hands and resonated inside the spongy's skull. The world blurred around the edges and became insubstantial as Teddy's attacker began to resemble him! The minion fought for consciousness, panicking as blackness approached. ... The thanatin leaned back onto its haunches from a nearby tower's roof. It watched impassively as a perfect replica of Teddy, far stronger than the original, hefted the corpse above its head and tossed the shell from the heights of the ramparts. Teddy tumbled through space, his flesh changing to ash and scattering as the rushing air flowed over it. Three small gold fillings, all that remained of his body, impacted into the ash seconds later. ... "Teddy! You're back!" cheered Cindy. "Hi!" he smiled, turning off the b'habii b'hopp flashlight. "It wasn't so bad, now was it?" "No." "I ... flashlight ..." droned Jeffrey, his eyes never leaving the television screen. "You have anything to report?" asked Cindy. "No, I didn't see any meanies," replied Teddy as he tossed the flashlight. Jeffrey failed to catch it, his hand held absently in the air as the flashlight bounced off his forehead. "THAT WASN'T VERY NICE!!!" yelled Cindy as Jeffrey began to cry. ".... I'm sorry," replied a bewildered Teddy. The sound of hard, chitinous plates and boots scraping across stone killed the conversation of the minions. A Thanatin flanked by three Saethrians entered the room, scowling at the spongin. The Saethrians clicked and hissed, sliding their blades over one another as their multi-faceted eyes reflected the terrified faces of the spongin. "Come with us," croaked the Thanatin and motioned for the spongin to follow. ... [place: corridor's outside Charn'El's library] K'haak'il hurried down the stark corridor towards his master's library. Normally he would not dream of disturbing the High Mage's study, but his news merited it. The Lyran sorcerer stopped before the massive doors of the Library. Unlike nearly every object in a Lyran's daily life, these doors were inorganic. The enchanted obsidian slabs moved with intents and purpose all their own. Strange, forbidding symbols protruded one moment from the surface to follow a seemingly random course, and then receded behind the polished surface. K'haak'il straightened his dark purple robes, flexed his hands, and extended his gloved fingers towards the ornate golden handles of the door. They closed around the polished metal and pulled. The Lyran breathed a sigh of relief as the door swung outwards easily. A sharp intake of breath and the Lyran became instantly envious of this place. Monolithic black marble bookcases swelled from the walls, descended from the ceiling, or pushed their amorphous shapes upwards towards the cave's unseen roof overhead like their lesser stalactite and stalagmite cousins. Every shelf was stuffed to capacity with ancient, dusty tomes of lore, magical spells, rites, and the history of Lyra. Even the space above the orderly row of tomes, normally left empty, were packed with smaller tomes and scrolls. The messenger momentarily forgot his mission and began to read the inscription on the books' bindings. Some he recognized, others were of an ancient tongue no longer spoken by his people. Truly, this was a massive repository of his peoples' culture. A small torch sputtered angrily a few feet away, reminding the sorcerer of his purpose here. K'haak'il gathered his robes about him and strode off among the looming, ominous bookshelves. The irregular spacing of Lyran-made shapes, flickering torches, and powerful magical auras of this place quickly bewildered the Lyran. He wandered around, trying to guess the location of the High Mage to no avail. "What is it?" demanded a voice that seemed to come from all directions at once. K'haak'il jumped in surprise, his skin crinkling up across his body as icy blood ran through his veins. "M..Master! I bring you news!" A gigantic bookcase to the Lyran's left rumbled deeply as it began to move towards the cave's wall. A small cloud of dust billowed after the retreating stone as through it were some form of exhaust from an unseen, silent engine moving it. Several of its brothers followed moments later, revealing a large, polished onyx table thirty yards away. Charn'El sat in an ornately carved, high-backed marble chair at the table's head. His black robes and grotesque, sweeping mask shimmered in the flickering torch light reflecting from the table's smoothly polished surface. Black candles sputtered next to dusty stacks of ancient tomes, occasionally igniting large dust motes into momentary sparks. His bony fingers released the corners of a crinkly scroll of human skin. It promptly curled back into its normal shape as the High Mage leaned back in his chair to regard the messenger. "Speak," commanded Charn'El, a pale blue light emanating from the eye holes of his formidable mask. "High Mage," began K'haak'il before he swallowed his nervousness to continue, "a Maenad has penetrated the fortress! He has not been detected by our servants yet. He.." "I know," interrupted Charn'El as his eyes began to glow a purplish color. "Should I form a termination coven to eliminate him?" "No." "No?" "Do you doubt my reasoning, 7th Circle?" demanded Charn'El, his eyes flashing a bright yellow color. The High Mage leaned forward, his attention focusing on his subordinate. "N..n..no, High Mage! Maenads are dangerous creatures, your Highness! I assumed we should repel them before they can do damage. Remember the naval confr.." "DeadLock's arrival has been planned for, 7th Circle. Everything to handle him is already in place." "And I was not informed of this?" snapped Khaak'il, his ego slightly bruised. He instantly regretted his tone with the High Mage. "Perhaps you would care to contest for the 9th Circle," hissed Charn'El as he stood, magical energies crackling and sizzling across his body. "No, no! I would never dream of it, your Majesty!!" replied K'haak'il in abject terror. The High Mage could crush him with little or no effort, and it was his own stupidity that now brought him to this impasse. "Give me your mask." Charn'El held out his thin, bony hands. Tongues of magical energy leapt from the High Mage's finger tips and danced at K'haak'Il, mocking him in their intensity. "Please, 9th Circle. Not my mask. I apologize," begged the 7th Circle. How could he withstand the humiliation of walking the fortress without his mask! It would be as though he were a human forced to walk naked down Wall Street in New York City before a morning's work! "Your mask. 7th Circle..." Seeing no option, Khaak'Il reached for the corners of his mask. Grim resignation set in as his fingers gripped the edges and willed the creature, who he'd spent months painstakingly modifying to serve his desires, to release its grip on his face. The Lyran shuddered as he felt the perverse caress of dusty air against his naked flesh. His mask pined to him, alarmed at its separation from its master. He handed the mask to Charn'El. It squealed in alarm, its neurons blazing as the High Mage's energies flowed through it. "Please, master! I beg of you!" The mask twisted on itself violently, shrieking in pain, before it went limp and then decayed into dust. "It is your place to be informed on the matters of this fortress, 7th Circle," bit out Charn'El, "not to know *MY* plans or strategies. Further questioning of my decisions will not be tolerated. Let your naked, flushed face be a reminder of your arrogance as you build a new mask." "Yes, High Mage," replied Khaak'Il as he lowered his blushed, humiliated face to stare at the floor. "Now depart from presence," ordered the 9th Circle as he sat back down in chair. "Your orders will come shortly." - DLtF(NYAR!) Copyright, Pyrokinetic Productions, Inc. (1997)