Viper6 entry :
Ilysa watched over her small band of fighters, wondering how long they could continue to survive like this. She'd come to trust in them in as much as anyone can ever trust another in this savage world, but she kept her distance, suspended in her growing reknown. They had remained behind from the main element which had retreated deeper into the forest, holding at a decision point. Ilyasa squad would reinforce Jaryn's retreat if he could make it to cover; they could then bound to the rally point, withdraw by fire and hopefully bog that damn thing down in the dense forest enough to defeat its sensors. It was a fools ambition. She crimped and set the last of their charges, she hoped if pursued by the mighty machine it could be led into the killzone, it really would be their only chance.
Ilysa's eyes met Jenyra's, there was something feral about the girl, beyond the way she crouched like a cat in the low hanging bows of the gnarled oaktree. She smiled back at Ilysa but a deep sadness haunted her sapphire eyes. She had been an orphan, her lineage unknown and as such forever on the outs with the clans, but she was liked by everyone, and known as a damn fine scout. Ilysa hoped to give more time to her training once they made camp for the winter.
"Check the signal strength on that clicker" Jenyra remined her mentor playfully
Ilysa grinned "good, you have been paying attention!"
NEUSPEAQ entry :
[Jin... Now]
A man stood, adorned in the absence of light, as if every dark crevice around him offered its endless cold 'cloth' to conceal him.
He'd vigilantly followed his charge, (the young man Jin,) up until this point, only seeking cover when the youth paused before walking through the ruin's arch akin to a Reaper striding through the gates of a very human Heaven.
'Humans', he mused, 'what primitives they deny they are; what riddles their simple lives can be.' The focus of his attention proving no different it appeared. If his Don was correct, this 'boy' held in his possession the means, the very key to unraveling the web of control that stood testament to the Family's power. However, instead of running to the 'authorities' with his find, (the man obscured in shadow smiled at that, knowing just how much influence the Family held over Citadel's 'Authority') he opted to navigate his way here, at the threshold of a scorched tomb; as though he hunted ghosts, as though he were on the very heels of Death itself, come to collect.
'What foolishness was this?' Tracker queried.
'What significance did this forsaken place still hold, and why return to it after having gone missing for nearly 3 months?' A fact that, (were it not for his invaluable service and fierce loyalty to his Don) would have cost him his life.
'Why here? Why Now??'
And WHY were his instincts telling him, no; SCREAMING to him that his recently returned charge was not just an ordinary human anymore, but something much more, possibly the likes of which he'd never seen?
While his thoughts raced, his neck burned; a constant reminder of his peoples' allegiance to the Family.
Say what you will, his masters the Don's were shrewd.
Very early on, they'd come to the realization that his kind shared a means of privately communicating with each other via the use of vibrations; (their unique form of 'telepathy'). Using it, they were not only capable of 'speaking' to others of their kind discreetly, but were also able to (generally) 'sense' where each other were (within a quarter-mile radius above ground, a half-mile radius underground.)
This 'no-speak' troubled the All Father, (fearing potential revolts/uprisings from his subordinates,) who then charged his Dons (and their Bosses,) to outfit his kind with 'chatter-boxes'; devices which converted vibratory patterns into an 'established' vocabulary.
It was never revealed to any of his kind (that he knew of) exactly who it was who aided the Dons in translating their vibratory patterns into a discernible dialect/'filthy human' terms their masters could overhear; all that was known, was that there was a 'special' art of torment set aside for them should they ever be discovered.
Tracker's attention suddenly jerked back to Jin, (who'd suddenly collapsed to his knees, his head facing the 'sky',) when his 'chatter-box' began to pick up faint vibrations in the air emanating from the young man. Before Tracker had the opportunity to turn his infernal 'translator' off, (something his kind had learned how to accomplish shortly after being forced to 'display their loyalty' by having to sport them); his device analyzed one last set of vibrations before 'translating' them to him in an ominous tone.
"WHAT IS THISTHISTHIS FEAR I SMELLSMELLSMELL?"
'I Knew it!' Tracker thought to himself; just as Jin turned his head, and seemingly locked eyes with his entrenched observer as though he stood in the midst of an empty street, every streetlamp focused on him.
'SH*T!!' Tracker fumed to himself, as he turned to flee, Gresh MUST be made aware of this!!'
He'd only just turned, when he was suddenly slammed/pinned to the unforgiving ground from behind by the young man who somehow managed to traverse 30 some-odd yards in scant milliseconds, and whose eyes had now begun to slowly turn a vibrant yellow.
Tracker was able to free an arm just long enough to wrestle a beacon free from one of his belt's utility pouches and pierce the earth with it, Feeling (rather than hearing) the S.O.S. it sent out; hoping others of his kind would 'hear' it in time...
darkwise entry :
[Rotunda Amplus - Now]
The dome had reached capacity, yet still people found a way to squeeze in, like thick clots of blood jamming their through thin arteries, bloating an already diseased heart and stressing the very foundation of the organ. And it was true, the dome was now an organ. The atmosphere was supercharged with the anticipation of the show of shows, the fight's delight, and the great unexpected.
Tonight's card featured three events, following the standard structure of animal versus animal, man versus animal, and than finally, man versus the unknown. While the first two struggles were surely enough to satiate the thirst of even the deviant of voyeurs, the surprise element of the third fight is what truly inspired desolate and impoverished citizens to part from their hard to come back coins, tokens, and other barterables. Even the most destitute of citizens would miraculously find something to place down on a bet, if main event held enough mystery and allure. The buzz behind tonight's attraction guaranteed something never before seen. Something so far beyond unknown, that it became unfathomable.
At once, the overhead lighting in the dome blinked out, so sudden that the sun itself may have ceased to exist. With the cessation of light, came the electric stillness of two thousand voices hushed in unison. A single spotlight suddenly pierced the darkness, casting an empty circle of white in the center of the arena. From the inky blackness beyond, a wide figure took a single, calculated step into the bright ring.
The man, was it truly a man, was adorned from neck to foot in a crimson jump suit that might have been leather, or might have been scales. The old material was so worn, and creased with age, that it was impossible to tell. Silver lines spread across the fabric, forming what appeared to be a neural network, or even a latticework of veins, long emptied of their precious cargo. The figure threw his arms skyward, his appendages taking the shape of a child's star. From his sleeves, sharp triangles speared towards the ground; thick drops of some liquid running to their points and spilling heavily to the ground. Where they hit, small holes appeared in the dirt, steaming, and then collapsing on themselves. Wild hands flapped at the end of the sleeves, more avian in their movements than human. Long nails formed silent communications with every heart in the arena, which all beat so heavily in the silence that the roar of blood in the community's ears could almost be heard. The nails were as dark as the jumper, and these two also dripped and sprayed that unknown liquid about.
From jagged collars, the pale white of flesh erupted from his suit and exploded into a face adorned with cracked white paint. Red, red lips formed a great smile around teeth that were far to large for his mouth. Something spilled from one corner of his mouth, falling towards the ground, and then flapping away before impact was heard. A gasp came from the crowd. And then a laugh. The man in the center of the light looked towards the sound, pinning an unseen citizen with his stare, memorizing an invisible face and cataloging it for later use. His bulbous nose was painted red as well, to match not only his jumper, but the bloodshot eyes that stared out of sockets set so deeply in his skull that they might have been bored out by antique machinery. The crest of his skull formed a monstrous ridge, upon which rode eyebrows so great that one would be tempted to throw a saddle over one and ride it off of his face. His head was completely bare, and covered in the same white paint, which seems to magnify the spotlight and redirect it back towards the dome's roof.
With a garish motion, the Ringmaster produced what appeared to be a human bone from the air in front of him, and snapped it to his sneering mouth. Although his lips moved to enunciate and form sounds, his teeth remained clamped together, giving an odd vibration to the guttural words that came forth.
"Cccitizens of Cccitadel," he began, eyes suddenly rolling back into his head, revealing whites where red once existed.
"Tonight shall prove to be very ssspecial. Very ssspecial indeed. From the bowelsss of the pit, to the earthen moundsss of sh*t, we bring excccitement, essscapadesss, and the very folly of humanitiesss sssad pride. Oh yesss, tonight, we danccce. Tonight, we all danccce. And the musssic is far too lovely to put off for long. The short time for wordsss is over. There is only time..." the Ringmaster paused, letting the silence fill the void.
"... for blood!"
With the termination of his statement, every light in the dome came on, showcasing the empty arena. The Ringmaster was no longer there. In fact, he may have never been there at all, with no evidence of his departure.
The crowd roared to life, stomping their feet and raising hands clenched with coins, trinkets and other precious items, each more desperate than the man before him to cast away their valuables in a "game of chance".
The festivities were set to begin.
