Khaihylo-Klii, Yghastian Union,
12 YAFA
Sekaia, Rohosa System
“I expect answers, Zalmar Tetramar Zalmoon.”
The sharp crackly voice of chief engineer for the project, Oresca Umphis buzzed through the cavern speakers lining the ceiling creases of Zalmar’s office walls. One of the retaining walls supporting the massive elevator into and out of the pit city had collapsed, ending the lives of 5,000 penal builders as it undid 3 years worth of slow and tedious effort. The irsu at this time and place didn’t have the adrenal dampeners biomechanically installed into his kidneys. He had had to change his pants.
Zalmar stood from his chair and glanced at his cup of hot chocolate. He'd have to make Oresca a mug. With one scoop of vanilla ice cream and three dollops of whipped cream.
Fey elves and their sweet tooths. Something shared between all their genders. A quirk that may just save his bacon.
Female fey elves, despite their diminutive size, were far from timid individuals. Chief engineer Umphis had repeatedly requested greater reinforcements, webs and anchors to preempt the exact situation the excavation team he was assisting through audits was now in…
Executive Board Room St. 172, Gravwhelm Mine Hive 5, Continent Qwerz
200 YAFA
Idris 7, Colony Resource Cluster 09, Moon of R’len Seldit, Brisar ET1 system
The same dread filled Zalmar’s marrow now as he stood before D’varoh’s Jathka.Psyche.
Was this what the D’varoan priests would lecture about when they would explain how life was one long loop as reaffirmed through memory and recounted record?
Zalmar would have to muse on the three aspects of the Elysein God of gods - reality incarnate- later after he dealt with this agent of the empire.
“I apologize, but I’m unaware of exactly what I’m answering for.”
The elite D’varoan warrior stood patiently among the bleacher-like desks encircled above the stage from where Commander Zalmar Zalmoon, 7th digital banking chair of the GCA, stood.
“I know you have a question, but I have my own. So I’ll ask first: why is it so easy for you to assemble a warforce to take care of me, but 200 years after the first accord, our homeworld is still recovering from the ravages of the earthquakes YOUR leaders swore they had prepared for? You may have the high ground out here, but the grounds for this invasion sink lower than the bog swamps of Harazan.”
Ronjah breathed deeply. This questioning too was Yrgundoh, a case to be made before angels and devils. If he was going to win his Ynyareh against Zalmar and dominate the will of the battle, Zalmar had to be allowed to make his case before the Eilonhir incarnate within present events.
He moved as if in dance, flicking his wrist and calling his voice modulator online.
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“In reverence to the Pallmother, I have let you speak. For Palka I have listened, for Abreol I shall speak,” Ronjah began, the voice modulator distorting his voice to sound more like a blend between a cough and a hiss coming out of an air compressor.
“To answer your question directly, my jathka's forces are united in mind, same as yours. That messy committee of international public works was - - is not as much. Yghastia gained 9 cities from the catastrophe, D'varoh 3, Insia 2.”
Silence. Ronjah cracked his knuckles before he continued.
“You're quite the disgruntled irsu. Why would you betray your home? You forfeited your life and home just to end up dead by my hand.”
“I am but one llcyran among a countless host of other races. Moniker shall live on.” Zalmar's gaze was steely, uncompromising.
“Finally, some progress in this talk between the two of us,” Ronjah replied. Digging through his pouches, he pulled out what looked like tiny cakes. These pucks were panjammers, a device that generated a bubble of noise over airborne frequencies. It stuck to the wall with a satisfying click, as he casually tossed a panjammer across the auditorium.
“Just to make sure our debate goes uninterrupted. This is just as much a trial for you as it is an interrogation.”
Zalmar looked straight through the Shadow’s mask, his gaze seeming to penetrate through the jathka's concealed identity.
“Duly noted,” he said as he pressed a button on his desk.
Khaihylo-Klii, Yghastian Union,
12 YAFA
Sekaia, Rohosa System
Season: Brumaire
Harvesting season always came with chills, but this one was palpable. More so than the others. A new plan proposed and approved: the fault lines would be dug out, and turned into a quarry. Cliffsides exposed by this were to make up the Seng-Tori-Yamku Hub. And this hub would transform the region into a resource hub. Funded by D’varoh and Insia in part. Zalmar could barely choke back the bitterness trying to force its way out of him and onto his report to chief engineer Oresca informing her of the matter and her increased budget due to the transfer of Frostworms from the south. Another unfortunate compromise at the benefit of D’varoh. Yghastia’s southern borders delay its defense from the Haeydlaic Territories and increase Xelryia’s incursion on the Audenuitch. Sadly, Zalmor was an accountant, not a politician. And yet…if he couldn’t directly fight the arch-bitch Alma, maybe he could use his accounting skills to fight against the tyranny of the night skins.
Executive Board Room St. 172, Gravwhelm Mine Hive 5, Continent Qwerz
200 YAFA
Idris 7, Colony Resource Cluster 09, Moon of R’len Seldit, Brisar ET1 system
Strobes of red flashed across the room as tiles hiding remote turrets rose from the floors and ceiling, revealing the menacing harbingers of execution. GravWhelm Inc was a big customer of D’varoh military tech, and they spared little to no expense on the Anaconda type 3-11 sentry. The wafer reinforced barrels of the guns revved before a wave of electricity zapped them.
Ronjah spoke, his hand outstretched toward the turrets lined throughout the room. They were of no danger to him. No gas and powder-filled slugs would pierce him, as he quickly gestures with it, inputting a secret deactivation sequence.
“Ok, I guess we don't get to relax before the inevitable decision. Straight to suffering I suppose.”
The turrets seized up, paralyzed by Ronjah’s tempermancy.
Zalmar drew his sidearm, a spark caster. It shot a chemical compound that ate its victims as it consumed them in fire. A glorified water bead shooter, its ammunition was a volatile mix of sugar syrup and thermoreactive salts. Aiming it at Ronjah, he replied:
“I didn't kill your priest king and priest queen. But if I had had the chance to, I'd happily have taken it.”
Two pulls of the trigger were followed by a splatter. No chemical fire erupted where it landed - its target having deftly dodged the debilitating darts of malice. A whiff of air was the only warning that the floor would soon rush to meet him. Its embrace was cold and indifferent. The pain however, was hot.
