_OOC: Im back to write another ten page post (hopefully not). Though this one doesnt really interfere with your plot Im going to give an update on how badly Ive messed up the universe. Yelts, Riomer and Pariah have completely ceased to exist,. In Avann and Vorik the stations are destroyed and the planets are barren. Niot, Fridion, Romit and Svass were bombed to the point of technological collapse and Voinia (Borb station) and Obron received damage. The UE fleet is practically non-existent and the Voinian fleet is weakened but still powerful, though without any quick way to produce vessels the Voinians are unable to retaliate. The Emalgha are actually doing pretty well with improved technology from the Confederacy and the UE and without much damage to their fleet. The Igadzra and the UE are at war and the trading Confederacy has expanded into Zidagar territory. I should be wrapping up my involvement in another three or four posts but by then the Albatross will probably be at a thousand posts anyway.
This post is slightly graphic towards the end, feel free to not read it, in fact unless youve been closely following my story it wont make much sense anyway, so feel free to skip it anyway since I'm sure no one has been following me.
Why can't I stay in the right tense?_
Luna: An abandoned dome
The moon took in the sunlight and a point towards the center gleamed, as if a giant mirror were on the surface, returning the light to where it belonged.
The chaos surged around the occupants, thousands of captains from the confederacy had come to the first live meeting since the original days. Ships, vessels of all sorts, from Miranu heavy freighters to freight-couriers to Crescent warships, entirely covered the surface for hundreds of miles surrounding the pitifully small seeming dome. Yet the chaos was more pronounced in the dome as thousands of captains from the confederacy rage about the most recent outrage, or offer their support to the triumph. Hundreds of armed guards scoot from one fight to another trying to break apart opponents, but for every fight they stop three more start. The remaining leaders attempt to quiet the crowd but even with sound amplifiers every word is inaudible within the din. Then the man in a black coat, with a sword by his side steps on a makeshift stage, once a landing pad for taxis and screams at the crowd with the amplifier turned to maximum. SILENCE! Still, though the volume causes several of the frailer captains to lose consciousness the din continues for a few moments, but it does eventually silence itself. Five-hundred hours ago eight million men, women and children were murdered, without the authority of the leadership, by members of this group. My brother is dead and I demand that the guilty parties be hunted down, as they have hunted down us. As he spoke one of the few people in the room dressed as he is struggles toward the stage. We know who the leader of the cowards responsible is, she is Tshaya, captain of the Trushalo Odj. She committed an act of mass murder. You may dislike the renegades, but you cannot say that every one was evil, you cannot condone genocide. We did much good in times of trial, only the oppression of the dictatorship caused us to rebel. The woman in black reached the front of the room directly below her leader. Even worse many who had been forced into the Order and left to join the Confederacy, like myself, have been hunted down and assassinated. Do you condone the killing of your own brothers and sisters? The audience begins to show more support than opposition, but they are still anything but convinced, John looks down toward the lone black robed figure in front of him. We cannot survive this hunting my friend, come up with me and speak to our allies, our brothers and sisters. He reached his hand down and the woman accepted it and pulled herself up, then she looked into his face and he dropped her hand in shock. You! You are the one, who is responsible, yet you dare wear our robe. Then I challenge you by our law draw your blade and die by my hand. John stepped back in anger and draws his sword, the woman steps back, lifts her arm and pulls a trigger.
The chaos was reborn as the near audience was covered with bits of flesh, bone and brain from the lifeless corpse of the ex-renegade leader. Another woman steps from behind covered with pieces of what remains of Johns head, she spits out a piece of flesh and rages at Tshaya. How dare you draw a weapon on a member of our council, how dare you kill them in cold blood. You bitch, youve just caused the work of thirty years to be destroyed, for nothing but your own sadistic pleasure.
Tshaya was calm, her obviously premeditated murder was complete and she was ready to accept death, should it be required. She addresses Yiltas outrage smoothly and charismatically Hear me out friend, she addressed the crowd in much the same manner. Hear me out brothers and sisters! We have all been told a horrible lie, the renegades staged the Day of Death, the Terrible Day, every human life, every Voinian that lives is their fault. All the evidence is planted on my ship and could easily be presented in a trial. Our action was just, every pirate owed a blood debt to us, to all humans. They have paid for their sins.
Yilta had recomposed herself admirably at this point even with the blood still covering her body and giving her an air of destruction. You violated the law, she steps towards the corpse of her lieutenant and pried his rapier from his hand. You violated their law, so you will be tried in the manner their law dictates. She put the rapier down on the chest of the corpse and drew the blade across, covering it in the lieutenants blood, and began to chant.
Your life is gone your blood remains,
perhaps some good well find,
With death now your lover sweet,
Ive no doubt what you have.
Your past is gone your future fled,
youve nothing left behind.
To Hell youve gone, we wish you joy,
Your own dear master awaits,
But one task you must perform,
Take the life of she who took,
Your errant peoples souls.
The shock in Jennas eyes is indistinguishable from fear the words seem to come from her own soul, however childish they are. She quickly recovers and draws her blade and assumes a professional stance. You were never even a decent fighter and yet you challenge me? Ill disarm you in a heartbeat.
Yiltas chant had paused for a second but as she lifted up the bloodred sword she continues.
Proud are they who think theyll win,
For death shall take us all.
In deaths valley you will find,
Your true masters call.
Whats this you say,
with eyes of shock,
I have no master maam,
I say to you,
It is not true,
Your master you have killed,
With hate and vengeance in your blood,
Youve struck the stroke and killed your love.
With this stanza Tshaya screamed in fury and rushed towards the other woman who sloppily countered, again and again. Her chant has lost its words and was little more then a running cadence accented by her strikes and counters as the duel focuses around the rhythm. Stroke after well placed stroke Tshaya attempts to place a deathblow on her opponent, but Yilta easily countered every stroke, without skill but always anticipating every move, and Tshaya began to fall back.
The cowards blood shines through at last,
You have no pride nor shame.
You cannot land a decent stroke,
You have no faith nor name.
By this sword of blood and love,
You shall find your grave,
Johns soul awaits,
My righteous child,
And you shall know no peace.
By this point Tshaya was cringing with every word, weapons far more efficient then Yiltas clumsy blows, but eventually the writhing mass on the floor is too easy a target for even an amateur to miss, and Tshayas stomach is split open, spilling vital organs on the floor.
Youll live still yet,
A little while,
And while you do Ill pay,
My homage to my gracious child,
Who dealt the blow of hate.
Ive taken blood and in return,
Nothing less will I offer you,
Then my own true flesh,
And your lovers too.
With the final line Yilta pulls back her head and spat into the dying womans eye, a piece of flesh thrown from the shooting that lodged in her mouth, mingled with her own saliva. The previously silent crowd formed around the two and when Yilta walked away each in turn spat into Tshayas face, if any insult could have been harsher, no one in the audience could imagine it. After seven minutes of this peculiar, but effective, form of torture, Tshaya died.
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Life, Death. What's the difference?
(This message has been edited by Paranoid (edited 02-26-2004).)
