The Penultimate Labour Labour dawns in Tartessos. For those of you who are just dropping in and have no idea what this is, take a peek at The Twelve Labours Introduction Thread (it's a quick read, I promise).
Let the Eleventh Labour commence. Submission ends at Objective Midnight, September 13th.
Entry Rules:
1. Jaffar's (left) thumb. 2. Follow the standard guild rules. 3. Obey the Dark Lord Sauron's rulesas well (just to cover all the bases). 4. Follow MY rules too. Let it never be said we did not warn you. 5. Send your entry to @Terminal by September 13th. 6. Be sure to include whether or not you want your story to remain anonymous! I will add your name only if I am given your permission! 7. Any explicit/mature material must be kept off-site. I will only post links to them with NSFW notices. 8. I reserve the right to simply toss out any story if it doesn't possess a basic modicum of good sense and taste. Don't make me. 9. All stories must adhere to a certain standard of quality expected of good storytelling. 10. You must use your own characters. Preexisting characters from franchise settings may only be alluded to. 11. If your setting is borrowed from a franchise, make sure to include a disclaimer and credit the original inventor of the setting used.
Prizes:
All winning entries will receive a forum trophy as well as a unique, custom forum title which they can activate and deactivate at their leisure. Additionally, winning entries of particularly exceptional quality will be awarded Challenge Accolades.
All winning entries will also be saved to a public archive, a link to which will be permanently available in my signature! I personally post in the News and Discussion subforums of the guild to congratulate and announce the winners as well. As a reminder, unless you specifically give me permission to include authorship of an entry, every posted story will remain anonymous (awarded trophies can also be hidden in your user profile, so you will not show up if people are examining the trophy groups).
The Eleventh Labour
"In nature, striking colors are used to attract mates - or to warn predators*or, rarely, as camouflage."
The Eleventh Labour
This Labour requires a character resplendent and glorious, embodying grace and exhibiting effortlessness. Shining and singular, they must be one rising above an expanse of banal inferiors. For what purpose does a star outshine all others?
Write a story about your character being sought out by another. While both should be remarkable individuals, they are not to be equals - upon their collision, your character must perish, and either overwhelm or else empower their foe. Otherwise, your character might elect to evade the confrontation - afterwards, they shall wane and forevermore be fated to mediocrity, a pale shade of their former self.
This section exists specifically to ensure there is no ambiguity or ambivalence in what, precisely, the challenge requires of each participant. If you have any specific questions which are not addressed here, please send them to @Terminal for resolution.
For The Eleventh Labour, I have asked you to write about a character meeting another and either perishing with grand consequence or else slipping by only to dwindle into nothingness.
Q. The Labour requires a character who is resplendent, gloriously, graceful, and effortless? A. I require a Mary or Marty Stu. Perhaps faintly toned down to something that can be swallowed without choking, pointedly.
Q. They must rise above all others? A. They must have no equals - nor anybody who is greater than they might be, though what precisely that caveat might entail I leave to your own discretion. Consider that one part to be advice rather than an actual challenge parameter.
Q. They must be sought out by another? A. A natural consequence of being the brightest light: You tend to be noticed. Your character may draw a mere moth to themselves...or perhaps something more formidable.
Q. My character must perish upon meeting with the other? A. Yes, although unlike in previous Labours I have elected to be more lenient in this regard. Your character may engage in or utilize any number of highly illegal shenanigans in order to cheat death - though it is required that they actually die at some point during the story.
Q. They must overwhelm or else empower their foe? A. Your character's death might well serve to bolster their foe beyond their previous limitations. If they can survive the process.
Q. My character can choose to avoid the conflict entirely? A. Yes. If they deem the risk of an encounter unacceptable, they may always decide that death is highly overrated and opt-out of the confrontation.
Q. If they evade the confrontation, they must wane? A. Power is born of adversity. Without any challenge to keep them sharp, your character must fall and decay, withering until naught is left but a mundane husk.
Q. How long can my story be? A. As long as you feel is necessary. I will read any and everything submitted, irregardless of length, and write a review on it. Do not let the short three-day judging period dissuade you. If you have a 800,000 word brick for me, I will take it. Similarly, extremely short stories are also welcome. It is entirely possible for segues as short as three paragraphs long to clear the challenge.
Thanks again to @mdk, and the entire RPGC crew for helping with scheduling for The Twelve Labours!
Great thanks to @mahz and the other members of the guild staff for helping to renovate the guild and enabling the features that allow us to reward contestants and to advertise our presence.
The enticing image of the Apples of the Herperides above was made by James Denton.
Here are the submissions I received. As a general reminder, I have only included forum names if given permission by the author to do so - otherwise, these stories remain anonymous. Feel free to post reviews for these stories in the general conversation thread. Try to provide some helpful critiques and suggestions, and mention anything you liked.
Winners will be declared on September 16thth, and any applicable Challenge Accolades will also be awarded then. All winning entries will be saved in the Twelve Labours Archive with a permanent link in my signature, as well as mentioned in a report in the News section and General Discussion subforums. Once again, thanks to @mdk and the rest of the RPGC crew for helping to schedule The Twelve Labours. Another special thanks to @mahz for cranking out the awesome trophy and titles system.
Once the results come around, if you did not win but feel you should have? Make an appeal to the judges who reviewed your entry. Keep it classy, and exercise some courtesy while making your case, and they might just reevaluate your entry. Please keep in mind, you only get the one appeal. Sometimes you just have to let it go.
If you submitted an entry before the deadline, and did not break any of the rules or conditions of the contest, then there is no reason it should not be here - so if it is not, inform me immediately, either in the Discussion Thread or else via PM.
The Stories:
By @mdk. Story alludes to characters in McCarthy's Border Trilogy.
He was born in Wyoming snow, smooth toffeecolored hair slick and wet with flecks of black. A skeleton foal enclosed from desolate white range by the circled herd, their great amber eyes dull and warm. His first steps etched eternal, hoofprints pressed not only into snow and sod but into the soul of vast star-filled skies and stony hills, of coyote song and crescent moon setting under black mountains. Not a horse but the wilderness itself given steaming breath with speechless witness only as only it could ever be.
In summer he learned the scent of wild grass and of flowers and of wolves and wildcats. He ran with his herd westward through nameless hills to nameless lakes, and up and down the valleys. When the air turned cold they went south to a land where great horned owls filled the night with choral melody. The herd whispered their verse and chased the morning sun. The colt learned his place among his kin and his kingdom. Nothing and no one molested him.
He was fully grown when he encountered his first man, a Shoshone feathered and painted to smell of bird. The herd suspicious and fearful. He pawed close and smelled the creature, and the creature put a hand on his head and gave him grass to eat.
Years passed. His father died in the mountains and the herd looked to him now. He went south and they followed him. The thaw in the mountains bled life into a great tributary river, and this led him into verdant fields and new dangers. They came upon a flow of cattle stretching past the horizon, stinking and shouting, peopled throughout with creatures like the Shoshone but cruel. It took them days to pass, so great was their number. The herd looked on and the stallion wondered, no concept in his mind to match this spectacle. He turned back west.
For another season he ate wild grass and slept under wild stars and drank from wild rivers. Then the creatures came upon him and his herd. They rode on horses strapped with leather saddle and bridled. They threw ropes about the necks of his herd, the foals his and the mares his, and his brothers in the noose. He ran. The next day they returned and the next, until the herd was gone and he alone ran before their thundering metal hooves. When the rope fell around his neck the creatures cheered.
They bound his head and led him days along the river and into a pen, with his herd and others, spotted mustangs and black mares and bowlegged foals thrown together in stockade. Among them all he was the chief. The creatures set to the rest with halters but when they took ropes to the stallion he reared up and stove at them with his hooves and bit their hands. The others were broken but not he, and weeks passed before the creatures abandoned all thoughts of conquest.
He wintered in his pen, an unbroken stallion in captivity. In the spring he was sold to a rancher from Texas. They took him from his herd and loaded him into a metal cart and hitched it to a diesel truck and drove him out of the wilderness, past plains he would never walk again. Jackrabbits along the road craned their heads to see this noble creature penned and fated and to ponder the meaning of such things.
When they reached the ranch and lowered the gate the stallion kicked the first man he saw and sent him reeling down. The rest clamored out of the pen and he surged from the trailer and galloped about, testing the boundaries and finding no weakness. There stood at one end a gate, and leaning against it the rancher and a young cowboy with him.
‘If that ain’t the wildest horse I ever saw I’ll be a son of a bitch,’ said the rancher.
‘Yeah he’s wild alright,’ said the cowboy. ‘Don’t think he’ll make much for a cowhorse myself.’
‘Nor I.’
‘You don’t mind my askin sir, what do you aim to get out of him?’
‘God almighty he’s mean,’ the rancher said. The stallion trotted towards him and kicked the gate with his forelegs.
‘A horse can’t be mean, just wild,’ said the younger one.
‘Might be you’re right. I don’t aim to make him a cowhorse, and I don’t aim to make you ride him if you ain’t up for it. Might be he can’t be broke, but if he can, you’re the one to break im.’ The young man pulled his hat down by the brim. ‘Fella from Mexico, Valdez, is comin up this way week after next. They ain’t got horses like this down in Mexico.’
‘I ain’t rightly convinced they got horses like this anywhere.’
‘Nothin to say on that account. I want you to take a run at this boy here while he’s up. You ain’t gotta break him in a day, I ain’t askin that, just give him a good show with this old boy. I think this fella suspects you’re good, but I wanna prove it to him.’
‘I’m alright,’ the young man agreed. ‘Billy Parham, up at old Mac’s place, he might be better.’
‘Valdez ain’t looking to Billy Parham.’
‘Well.’
‘He sees you can handle this stallion we got here, we’ll get us some of them Mexican ponies brought up here for ye. Easy work. Oughta set us up real nice.’
‘Me sir I don’t care much for easy work. This old boy here is all I was ever huntin and then some.’
‘You get him straightened out as he can be when this fella’s in town, I’ll make sure it’s worth your while.’
‘You already pay me.’
‘A bonus, like.’
The young man sniffed. ‘Just let me take a crack at this old boy,’ he said, ‘that’s bonus a plenty.’
‘When he’s in town,’ the rancher said. ‘Not before. I want him wild as hell when he shows up.’
The stallion was let to range until the appointed day, roaming the territory with other horses and shadows of what a horse should be. Then they herded him back into the pen and he stood there stamping and snorting in a ring of dust. A halter was tied around his head and around a wooden stake at the center of the pen and a congress of the strange creatures gathered all about the enclosure, witnesses. The young cowboy came in walking slow and speaking with gentle sounds. He set his things down towards the wall and just walked up, his hands open, talking all the while. The stallion watched him carefully. He reached down and plucked a handful of grass and held it out and the stallion sniffed at it but did not eat. The cowboy looked back towards the rancher and the Mexican then just stood by the stallion. He talked for a long time.
He went back to the wall and picked up a rope and carried it towards the stallion. The horse whinnied angrily and reared, but he did not put the rope on him – just set it down on the ground and walked away and sat. The stallion did not comprehend it, did not trust it. He stamped on it and it did not move. Dragged it with his hoof, then leaned down and sniffed it. He looked at the cowboy but the cowboy only looked back.
After a while he went and got a saddle and brought it over and did the same thing. The stallion kicked it and kept kicking it until he could no longer reach it and then he strained at his lead until it creaked and the stake began to bend and the cowboy hurried over and retrieved the saddle and put it out of sight. Only then did the stallion calm himself.
The Mexican frowning leaned over the gate rail and said to the cowboy ‘He doesn’t like saddles.’
‘Yeah,’ said the cowboy, ‘but he’s forgot all about the rope.’
The Mexican laughed and turned to the rancher. ‘He’s clever. A little crazy.’
‘Naw, he’s just about half as wild as that there horse is all he is. That’s a God-given fact of Young Trey here. He loves these animals and they love him. It’s because they got so much in common.’
‘Just practiced is all it is,’ said cowboy, tugging on his hat.
‘Will he ride, you think?’
‘Come back in a couple hours,’ said the cowboy, ‘we’ll see if he can’t be rode.’
When they returned they found that the cowboy had been sitting all the while in the pen with the stallion, talking to it. The Mexican asked if it was time and the cowboy was upset as though he were interrupted in the midst of an intimate conversation but he nodded and stood up and said ‘Alright, let’s try it out.’
When he walked up to the stallion and placed his hand on his shoulder and resumed his monologue in the same tone with which he spoke to his employer. The stallion let him close. He was beginning to trust this creature as he had trusted the Shoshone so many years ago. When the cowboy leaned against his flank he did not panic. The crowd had grown. The cowboy gave the stallion more weight and more, then slowly eased himself back and walked around in front of the stallion to show what he was doing. He crouched down and touched the rope lying on the ground. When he picked it up the stallion snorted, but he just held it there patiently until the stallion bent over and sniffed at it, then licked it.
‘Maravilloso,’ said the Mexican.
‘Here it comes,’ said the rancher.
The cowboy took his time, gently stroking the stallion’s nose and brushing him softly with the rope. When he was ready, he laid the rope over the horse’s neck and let it hang and the horse felt it and was calm. Then the cowboy tied it in a hitch – loosely at first, then snugging it down slowly and watching the stallion’s eyes and ears for any hint of distress but none came. He congratulated the animal and complimented him and leaned against him again. Then he vaulted himself up onto the horse’s back and sat with his legs hanging down over his left flank. He spoke in comfortable tones and gradually slid over until he was properly mounted and he lifted his hat off his head and held it up smiling.
The thirty or so gathered cheered him softly in their reserved way and when the initial wave was passed, the Mexican leaned sideways towards the rancher. ‘Very impressive,’ he said.
‘Well.’
The cowboy was bent forwards now, whispering in the stallion’s ear and rubbing his coat. He reached under his nose and took up the restraint and followed it with his hand and unhitched it from the stake so that the horse could walk. It moved awkwardly at first, then took a few more rapid steps. All at once, the cowboy pushed up with his hands and swung his leg over and hopped down. Just as he did so the stallion bucked and kicked, but the cowboy was already down and rolled away very nimble and crouched on one knee. The stallion walked and then broke into a trot around the edge of the pen.
‘You alright?’ asked the rancher.
‘He’s a bit spooked,’ said the cowboy. ‘Might be that’s all we can get for a day.’
‘Shame,’ said the Mexican. ‘A fine show, young man.’
‘Oh, I ain’t much for showin,’ said the cowboy.
‘He’s a bit spooked as well,’ said the rancher. The stallion kept running circles. He slept in the pen that night.
The next morning, the cowboy came in alone before sunrise. There was no one gathered to watch this time. He spoke to the horse some more and sat him again, and dropped off when he began to kick. Then he mounted again, and again, until the sun was rising. When the rancher came out of the house the sun was climbing and they’d already been at it for a while. He didn’t talk. He just watched.
They continued their contest past noon. The cowboy was able to keep his seat only for a few seconds with each try. He rode bareback, clinging to the stallion’s mane and clutching with his legs and the stallion trusted him when he was in sight but could not make sense of the alien scrabbling at his back and he lashed out wild every time.
‘Haven’t you had enough punishment?’ the rancher finally asked.
‘Ain’t been punished yet,’ the cowboy said, dusting himself off and standing. He struggled long into the afternoon. He made ten seconds, then twelve, then thirteen. At last he wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve and frowned and climbed over the gate.
‘How’d you do with that Mexican feller,’ he asked at dinner.
‘Just fine,’ said the rancher. ‘Just fine. Might be one of these days we can breed that old boy. Valdez says he’d be keen on trying out some of his stock.’
‘Cain’t breed him,’ said the cowboy. ‘He won’t even look at them other horses we got. Won’t go near em.’
‘Well not today, but over time.’
The cowboy shook his head. ‘Won’t. And if we ever did manage it they’d be just as wild as he is.’
‘Well,’ said the rancher.
The next morning the cowboy mounted up again and when the stallion bucked he tried to keep his seat. The stallion kicked and reared and kicked again and the cowboy tumbled over forwards and landed hard. He rolled over and stood himself up. The stallion slowed to a trot and the cowboy ran after him and leapt up onto his back and slipping he reached out and pulled on the halter. The stallion snarled and broke into full gallop.
The cowboy realized what he had done and clung low against his neck. He said he was sorry, then he shouted it, but that only made the stallion run all the harder. He was foaming and wheeling about madly in the dust and the racket was so loud that a light came on in the house and another in the barn. The cowboy tried to calm him but he could not be calmed any more than he could be ridden and he sprinted for the gate and crashed against it full-force. The cowboy lurched forwards and thought he would fall, but somehow stayed up.
‘Easy,’ he said, but he realized that their long conversation was at last over and he was riding not a horse who was wild but the wilderness who was a horse and now he hoped only to survive. The stallion became frantic. It set to kicking again and the cowboy hung on with all he could but at last he was thrown. The stallion sighted him and saw in him some flaw that cannot be understood by those constrained by words. He charged at the cowboy and the cowboy stumbled back and fell. The stallion put a hoof into his chest and with another crushed his arm against the ground and when he screamed, he galloped away.
‘Get him out!’ it was the rancher, and some of the hands scrambled in to rescue the cowboy. When they thronged about him the stallion turned back and charged again and they just managed to raise him up and over the wall before it crashed against the wood and splintered a beam. The lot of them tumbled over and terror filled their eyes. The stallion reared and looked down upon them cowering. Smoke filled him and he ran with a fury like none they had seen.
‘Tend to him goddammit,’ the rancher bellowed, but the hands were awestruck and could not tell if he meant the horse or the horseman and they stared. Then there was a crash. The cowboy bolted upright, wincing, and scrambled to his feet. A miserable fluttering wail echoed from across the shattered pen.
‘Just hang on a minute,’ said the rancher, but the cowboy went anyway, limping and favoring his injuries.
When he came around the wall he found the stallion in a sorry state. It had tried to leap the wall of the enclosure but his hind legs clipped the top and he had fallen into a mess of broken limbs. It struggled mightily but the cowboy knew it would never get up.
The rancher was quick on the cowboy’s heels. When he witnessed the scene he was filled with compassion for horse and rider both. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Trey I’m real sorry.’
‘Yeah,’ said the cowboy. ‘Damned shame.’
‘You alright?’ the cowboy nodded. His arm was broken but he thought it would mend. ‘Well.’ The horse cried out in pain and both of them winced. ‘You go on inside,’ said the rancher. ‘I know your attitude concerning what has to be done but you’re in no condition.’
The cowboy sighed. ‘He ain’t meant for a pen anyway,’ he said softly, then he shook his head. ‘Gus I am positively emotional about this. I shouldn’ta tried…’
‘You done nothing wrong, son, now go on.’ The cowboy went inside and someone fetched up a shotgun and gave it to the rancher. He placed the muzzle against the horse’s heart and looked away, and when he pulled the trigger he knew not what he killed.
When he came in the rancher checked in on the cowboy. His arm was in a makeshift sling and the doctor was on his way to set it later that afternoon and he was visibly upset about the whole ordeal. They spoke for a while about the horse and about other horses until at last the rancher asked him, ‘What were you doing that whole afternoon, when Valdez was here?’
‘Just settin,’ said the cowboy. ‘Talking with him.’
‘With that horse you mean?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You talk to him about anything in particular?’
The cowboy shook his head. ‘We were just telling stories,’ he replied, looking out the window.
‘Telling stories,’ the rancher repeated. ‘He tell you much?’ The cowboy nodded. ‘What about?’
‘I guess I don’t know after all,’ the cowboy replied.
The rancher just shook his head. ‘Well,’ he said. He collected his hat and went outside and looked at the setting sun.
There they sit, whole lecture hall full of scientists, experts and businessmen. The anticipation is high; lecture comes from professor Thomas Anderson, leading expert in quantum physics and the inventor of MaNeW: Mass Neglect Warp. Man who revolutionized string theory with his doctoral thesis. Owner of a billion-dollar company ThomInc Co. Inventor of the century. There are many words to describe Thomas, a forty-two-years-old man with head big as a watermelon and equally round. Black, short hair covers his head and comes together with his sideburns at the front of his thick but small ears. They cover his cheekbones and find their way under his chin. His grin shows both strong teeth and healthy gums. And he grins a lot. When he doesn't, his brown eyes above his roman nose stare analytically the people he's with, building he's in front of, rooms he stays within...
The wooden door next to the electric whiteboard opens. Whatever discussion and whispers there just were stop like someone pulled a cord out of microphone. Thomas Anderson walks inside, dressed in grey suit with white shirt underneath. Both tie and handkerchief on his breast pocket are blue. His black shoes make an echo every step he takes in the hall as old as Harvard is. Only the modern chairs placed in columns and the enormous electric whiteboard tell it's 2024. Thomas takes his place behind the ancient desk, presses the whiteboard with his index finger and turns towards the audience. It takes three seconds for whiteboard's in-built computer to analyze the fingerprint and DNA, before board turns bright blue and dims into desktop, complete with several folders and shortcuts to different programs. Thomas gives his trademark grin. With a low but loud voice he says: "Welcome". The whiteboard catches his voice, measures the decibel and amplifies his words for the audience. The seminar begins.
Principle of MaNeW builds upon a theory that everything is connected on quantum levels. Thomas's early ideas that had formed somewhere in high school theorized that this connection could be used for transportation at light speed. Building upon this theory he made his famous hypothesis during the university years: if particle and it's mass were separated and mass transported to another place, the mass would pull rest of the particle like a string when released. At light speed and unaffected by other matter. For any other, deriving such a theory would have been impossible. Thomas however had always been a brilliant mind. His calculations, estimations and models came together in his mind faster than any hand or any machine could compute. Building upon his initial hypothesis, calculating and preparing for four years, he eventually published his theory. Two years later he had gathered enough funding for experiments that would change the future. Separating particle and it's mass itself was major discovery, but for Thomas it was only the beginning.
First he confirmed his hypothesis that a mass indeed generates the particle at the new place it's been sent upon. Furthermore, the mass can be sent great distances unaffected by outer forces with enough energy. With these discoveries and his name now known to public, he gained further funding for theories only he could derive and understand. And because he's an intelligent man, he used this funding for his own company, ThomInv Co, to put theories into practical use. The inventions quickly revolutionized information technology, quantum computing and space travel. And while his inventions hadn't been yet tested with living beings, the dream was to eventually make planetary travel a possibility with technology that would allow human warping. However while there were many applications out and theory was widely accepted, there were always some people with concerns about the theory. One man in particular had scientific papers outside with different explanation for MaNeW...
The ending of seminar is as quiet as the beginning of seminar. There is no standing ovation nor any discussion going on; Even the brightest of minds are trying to understand what they have just learned and only start grasping any possible implications his seminar had for the future. There is nothing wrong with the theory nor with Thomas's presentation. Theory of MaNeW itself is complex, it's assumptions bold, the results of experiments clear but for a complex theory it is hard to even understand what the results prove and indicate. And Thomas gives his bright smile towards his audience. Whiteboard has a big, almost insulting 'Thank you!' with exclamation mark rotating around itself. "Thank you! Thank you all! Are there any questions?" Thomas asks with voice loud enough that the board's programming doesn't find it necessary to louden his words. After three seconds of silence, a lone figure rises. Dressed in long, black woolen coat with white scarf around his neck, man looks at Thomas. Thomas drops his grin. This vulture of a man has grey, short-ish hair that starts over his right temple and goes around his head from behind, until it finds an end on the left temple. His bald shines with the hall's led lighting. His face is narrow with no beard on his cheeks and his nose is like a beak above his thin lips. The skin has started to show age, and so does his tired blue eyes under barely visible eyebrows.
Thomas looks at the lone, fifty-two-years-old figure for good five seconds. So does everyone else inside the lecture hall. Tension builds up as they recognize the professor Hans von Kraufen from Trinity College. Back in the day he was the rising star in the quantum physics. But as soon as Thomas wrote his thesis and wrote more and more papers, Hans published less and less. University hasn't been too happy about his lowered output, but that only shows on his cut salary and smaller funding on his research group. Recently, after ten quiet years, his papers have joined the very small group of researchers that try to understand the theory and implications of MaNeW. Hans's published papers disagree on certain principles that MaNeW has and offer explanations of his own. And while his calculation's aren't seen as impressive and thorough as Thomas's universally accepted theory, this has given quite a stir among researchers of quantum physics. Thomas too is aware of Hans's papers and theories, and he has anticipated that Hans von Kraufen would make an appearance. He has, in fact, made preparations for such case, a demonstration to prove Hans wrong once and for all.
"Hans. Do you have any questions?" Thomas asks. Whiteboard amplifies his voice so that it echoes through the hall. Thomas sways the jacket aside and puts his right hand over his belt. " Ah, 'deed I have, Thomas." Says a voice not too different from a vulture's croak. And then the seminar hall bursts into a scientific debate that lasts for ten minutes. There are no swears, no bullying nor trashing down one another. Only a rebuttal of theories, estimations and calculations between two brilliant minds who respect but disagree with one another. The disagreement in theory can be simplified like this: When particle's mass has been sent to a new place, rest of the particle- it's quarks and information- follow, hence warping the particles to the new location and acting in the new place like nothing has happened. This is basis of Thomas's theory. Hans, on the other hand, argues that while the mass is transported, the rest of it's quarks don't follow. Instead the warped mass attracts quarks in it's surrounding space to create a particle similar, or equal, to original particle but losing the forces and the momentum that acted upon it. Both theories result in sample being warped from one place to another with identical properties to the original sample. There is no interruption between the debate of two geniuses. Nobody in the audience wouldn't even know where to start, let alone dare to take a stance in the matter. Thus the two argue, without either standing down in their opinions. Thomas can calculate further, describe things more elegantly and thinks faster than Hans. But Hans doesn't falter. Neither can contradict one another's theories.
Until Hans starts to take a different point of view in his theory: "And 's far 's the strin' theory 's concerned, with my assumptions..." "Hans Von Kraufen, do you have any idea what the difference between our theory implicates? What my theory makes possible and yours doesn't?" Thomas says, suddenly. This is the first time that Thomas interrupts Hans, and he indeed is shocked. Not only because of the rude interruption, but because beside Thomas, Hans too has a faint idea where the difference between their theories shall eventually present itself. But before he can give his answer, Thomas continues: "Wait there for a minute and then we both will have a unfaltering proof to the problem". He gives a final smile, but with eyes of a madman. He turns on his heels and storms off from the lecture hall, not before once again pressing the whiteboard. A countdown begins on the screen, from sixty seconds and going towards zero.
Hans looks at the countdown horrified as he realizes what Thomas is about to do. He runs from the audience, towards the door, but Thomas has left it locked. "He's goin' to kill 'imself!" Hans yells and slams the door with his fists. He then takes a look at the whiteboard. Twenty seconds, and he can't do anything for Thomas. "Stay 'ere! Don't move! Nobody move!" He yells as he runs away from the front of the hall, leaving the stage in front of the whiteboard free for all the audience to see. And then the counter hits zero. There is a flickering of light as the power is being drained for a machine hidden inside a truck just outside the campus. It was later reported that the usage of Thomas's prototype human-warping MaNeW had drained electricity from half of the United states for a period of several seconds. In front of the whiteboard a dark, humanoid figure forms where the mass is transported. Soon the particles form around the dark figure. It's like someone rewinding a balloon exploding as a human figure in grey suit appears half an inch above the floor. Then the body with a wide grin in it's face is suddenly affected by gravity. Man that looks like Thomas Anderson falls down, his feet not holding him. He comes down hard on his ass, then falls to his right and lays on the ground.
Hans doesn't stay as amazed as the rest of audience. He runs immediately towards the man looking like Thomas, turns him face up and investigates for vitals. Heart ain't beating. Hans quickly starts CPR, hoping that he has been wrong for the first time since he had learned of Thomas's theory. First time since he started his obsession, took hours checking and double-checking the calculations he and Thomas had made, and disagreeing with the basis of his rival's theory. If Thomas is right, particles would follow the mass in every way, because they are connected. Hence warped particle would have also same state as before. Same movement, inertia, force. But if Hans was right, particle just appears. No movement energy, no momentum preserved, just appearing. No blood flowing in veins. No interaction between cells. In this case he hopes that man looking like Thomas has only lost his consciousness and not life. It takes ten pushes to the body's chest before Hans realizes that unconscious man would have had a beating heart.
Medical reports that appear later agree that Thomas has appeared in the room dead before even hitting the floor. The public accepts Hans's theory that the MaNeW isn't safe for warping organic material. ThomInv Co, now without the lead scientist, loses remarkable portion of it's funding and as a result they offer the freed position of a CEO to Hans, complete with full access to Thomas's files, research and theories. It takes two months of sick leave after the incident in Harvard before Hans agrees to the proposal. Hans spends three months reading the material Thomas has left behind, and another nine months trying to comprehend it all, before he finally starts to publish reports, theories and papers. Company slowly rises again in market.
Sixteen months after "Thomas's last proof".
There they sit, whole lecture hall full of scientists, experts and businessmen. The anticipation is high; lecture comes from professor Hans von Kraufen, the top researcher in Quantum physics, ThomInv Co's chief of R&D and the leading expert on theory of MaWaT: Mass-Warp Translocation.
Once, she had been a regular young girl. A small hopeful taking the presumptuous name of the ”Starbound Idol” that had gone to a small talent-show on her small home-planet that was but a foot-note in the Galaxy. The planet Mineva had been a regular, humble planet that was very family-friendly and housed a lot of happy children, a background as modest as any. She had spent her entire allowance on the mature dress she had been wearing, her long haired colored blue and raised into two fluffy twin-tails to stand out further, and she took to the stage to the music she had composed herself on her computer. Add a few light-tricks, and... bam.
Today, she stood once again, smirking silently on a dark stage. She wore an extravagant yellow dress, her hair raised into her two trademark blue fluffy twin-tailed balls of hair that looked as big as her head, and a microphone was attached from her ear to her mouth. It was time. She clapped twice, and the stage lit up brightly. A roar came. An unspeakably loud roar, from the voices of thousands upon thousands of fans, showering her with their appreciation. The crowd spread far beyond what her eyes could see where she was to perform under the night sky. Her fans today spread... across the Galaxy. She was no longer the Starbound Idol. Today, she was the Galaxy Diva. And she was performing on the bright City-Planet of Grand Elexia, the Center of the Galaxy.
'Cathia Starbound, performing live from the Sky Stage of Grand Elexia!' She called out across the stage floating in the sky, throwing a hand into the air, a gesture which would be seen by quadrillions of people across the Galaxy, as soon as the signals reached them. And they all loved her. Her music flared up, her energizing beat drawing the love of the endless audience. Ear-muffs were mandatory to not be injured by the sheer volume. 'My songs echoes among the stars... Tell me, how many of you will fly past the signals we're sending across the galaxy to hear me live again!?' She asked, grinning in sheer pleasure.
The roar which followed drowned out any coherent reasoning which the words they shouted might have carried. Cathia giggled aloud, already having known the answer to that question. Of course they would. She was the Starbound Idol, she was the Galaxy Diva, she was the one and only Cathia Starbound, and she was likely the only person which could claim that every single person person in the Galaxy, throughout all planets leaving no exception, knew her name. Her song, music and persona was that loved. Did she deserve it? ... Cathia smiled. She left that to the masses.
'Then let's get started! Let's start out with my latest hit...' Which was the same thing as saying ”latest song”, all her songs ever were hits. '… Galaxybound!' The crowd roared out in unanimous approval, fists and cameras raised high above their heads, so many drones with cameras in the air despite the limitation on the amount of airspace they were allowed to take up. And now, Cathia smiled to herself, as she took a step forward while listening to her cue in her energetic music, and started to sing.
_________
'… And you nailed it again!' Emiah Whitestorm happily called out to her as Cathia returned to her backstage room with a victorious smile and was handed a towel for any physical exertion she may have felt during the long performance. Cathia accepted it and lightly rubbed her forehead with it. Emiah was a relatively short woman and musical performance expert as well as one of Cathia's managers. She had short brown hair and an optimistic attitude, regularly dressed in darker clothes since she was usually never to be seen.
'I must admit, when you said you wanted to actually WALK OUT ABOVE the audience and sing from there, with lights shining so they could not actually see anything but your contours, I didn't know, you could blind the audience... But they LOVED IT!' Emiah continued, her eyes shining.
'Of course.' Cathia puffed out her chest and felt proud of herself. 'Only my most devout fans would be able to get tickets to actually see me, and they would not be offended by my light-show. Besides, I walked closer to them than ever before. At such close proximity, it's only natural that they should be blinded by my presence.' Cathia had used a spacial kind of boots to counter-act Elexia's gravity to walk out over the audience during the show...
'Aaah... It was so perfect...!' Emiah stated in awe and wonder, boosting Cathia's ego even further.
'Hm-hm. I know. I'm the Galaxy Diva, after all.' It was possible that having a manager as enthusiastic and fan-like as this one could be a problem, but it did come with multiple advantages. Meanwhile...
'Good job, kid.' Over in a couch looking at a screen with data was a somewhat older yet still strong man. He sat with his arm over the couch back, his white old hair and wrinkles showing his age yet his buff posture was having none of it. This was Tyver Brightland, the man who had been the original judge of the small talent-show she had visited. He was once a star in his own right, and someone Cathia deeply respected. He had offered her the opportunity of a lifetime, and she had accepted. This was the chance that had caused her to rise to fame.
Cathia smirked, and walked over to where he was still looking at the screen of data. A single look over the bars and numbers told all she needed.
'You've beaten all records on the Galaxy's biggest stage.' Tyver told her with a little smirk. 'You almost tripled the record for amount of viewers on Elexia alone, and we don't even have the data of how it looks across the Galaxy yet. There's not an idol in history that comes even remotely close to matching you. Congratulations. You've succeeded.' There was a bit of proud sadness in the old man's look. Cathia instinctively understood, he was proud of her to such a degree. It was... such an exquisite feeling. How could she NOT let this go to her head...!?
She placed her hand on his shoulder, holding a kind smile as he looked up at her.
'I couldn't have done it without you. Tyver Brightland... You have my eternal gratitude.' She said in a somber tone, feeling that this special occasion merited that she reaffirmed how thankful she was to him. He looked at her, smirking his old smile as well, nodding to show that he had received her gratitude.
'And of course, I'm perfectly thankful for that you have been here and assisted me as well, Emiah!' Cathia turned and smiled at her friend and manager as well. Emiah giggled at the appreciation, blushing a little and looking very happy. Cathia was satisfied with that she had now thanked both her close work-partners, mentors and friends.
'However, we're not done yet. I will grow ever larger, ever greater! So, where shall I let my songs resound next?' Cathia stood bright and ambitious, despite having already become greater than she had ever dreamed of. At this... Emiah's expression withered a bit.
'Ah, about that... W-we might want to stay away from Urgenbrought for a while.' She told, her voice notably lower for she knew how her idol would potentially react at this.
'HUH?' She immediately received a sudden, defiant glare from Cathia, and Emiah shuddered away in light fright. Somewhere where SHE, the GREAT GALAXY DIVA, could not go? Preposterous...!
'There's been an uprising.' Tyver calmly filled her in on the news that she couldn't bother keeping herself updated on. Cathia spun and looked at him in slightly stunned surprise, awaiting more information. An uprising in the Galaxy? That was... nearly unheard of! They were such a peaceful place, hovering as a single Galaxy in the midst of space, no other galaxies visible around them...
'Numerous Industry Worlds have had major-scale uprisings that have been caused by low pay and poor work-conditions in order to keep the Center Worlds stable. It had been going on for a long time. Someone finally snapped, gathered similar-minded individuals and staged a large-scale assault on Grouder. Seeing this, surrounding Industry Worlds followed suit, and one planet at a time the Industrial Uprising took shape. Urgenbrought recently joined.' He clarified.
'You're pretty much the most shining example of a Center World star, there's no telling what would happen should you go there...' Emiah told her with a worried expression, further informing why she shouldn't head to those worlds.
Cathia stood, thinking about it. She was deeply troubled by the fact she couldn't continue her tour as planned due to a violent uprising like this. However, the further she thought about it, the more determined she became. She just needed something clarified. The idol turned her head to Tyver, who was now bringing up the news on the screen.
'Why hasn't the uprisings been quenched yet? With the Galaxy's military power, it should be a piece of cake.' She asked, Emiah startled at how the statement seemed to hold no feelings for the lower sections of Galaxy's workings. Tyver read a bit more before he answered.
'Because the people are opposed to the use of merciless weapons. They're trying to target only the uprising and leave all civilians, leading to that the uprising can use some very effective guerrilla tactics. The soldiers of the Galaxy has to go down personally to deal with them, and that's proving ineffective. However, beyond that, the people of the Galaxy are turning a blind eye to these events, hoping it will be eventually sorted out.' Tyver explained.
'A-and we should, too!' Emiah's voice shook a little, staring wide-eyed at Cathia. 'You're such a big star right now, you can sing anywhere! The risk isn't worth it! Let's be good little civilians and sing somewhere safe...!'
'…' Cathia stayed quiet, thinking things over. While it was true that going there was not without its risks, another idea brewed inside her mind. A smile spread across her face as she considered it. 'Teh-heh-heh...' She made an amused chuckle.
'C-Cathia?' Emiah looked rather frightened, looking at her amused idol. Tyver also turned his head, to rest his eyes on her. … Cathia suddenly struck a pose, taking a step to place her legs apart while she leaned her head back and placed her arm over her eyes.
'Who am I?' She asked.
'Ah... uh...' Emiah looked momentarily taken aback, before she took a deep breath and answered. 'You are the Starbound Idol, you are the Galaxy Diva, you are the one and only Cathia Starbound.' She answered the only right answer to the question, afraid of what the idol might say next.
'Exactly. You say that something might happen... but it will not.' She lashed forward, taking a step and throwing a hand into the air, as if an explosion of special effects would have accompanied her from merely the gesture. 'The uprising benefits greatly from public opinion. As such, they won't dare to touch me, a single scratch on my fragile skin...' Cathia brought down her hand and brushed the side of her arm as a gesture of being scratched... '… And the entirety of the Galaxy will bring all their hatred to bear on those who'd dare harm me.'
'Ah...' Emiah blinked at her, looking surprised at her words. Cathia was super-determined about this, though she could see Emiah's hesitation. Cathia shared none of that hesitation.
'Tyver. Emiah. Arrange for my next concert. We're heading to Grouder.' This startled both her managers.
'G-Grouder!? B-but, that's where the uprising is based...!' Emiah quickly complained.
'That's right. That's because, I am going to send a message across the Galaxy.' Cathia stated, her head held high and a hand reaching to be placed over her own face in a dismayed expression.
'This uprising is based on injustices in our Galaxy. They are injustices that nobody can do anything about, so pitifully, they will not.' Cathia explained quietly, before clasping the hand into a fist held determinedly in front of her face. 'But I can! I am more than an idol, I am a symbol of the Galaxy! As a source of influence, I am queen of this universe! Nobody is my equal! … And with that, I will direct my powers to cleanse this world of its impurities! I vow here, that I will hold this concert at any cost, and I will shake the Galaxy with my words!' … If she was already the greatest idol that ever lived, she could aspire to be SO MUCH MORE!
'Very well.' Tyver said, standing up, his full height reaching above the two younger women. 'I will make the necessary arrangements. Consider it done.' He informed, starting to leave.
'W-what...!?' Emiah looked in panic from Tyver to the confident and determined Cathia. 'B-but, it's so risky...!'
'It's okay, Emiah.' Cathia smiled at her, placing a hand on Emiah's shoulder while feeling really good. 'If anyone can do this, it is me. I will not give this up before I've given it a shot. Trust me. The people will listen to me. I am not their Galaxy Diva for nothing.' She assured, believing this to be fact. 'If you are afraid, then you're free to stay behind.' The idol offered.
To this, Emiah frowned. She let a few seconds go before... 'And what? Let you go through with a concert that I haven't helped you perfect down to every single nook and cranny? No can do! You might be the Galaxy Diva, but nobody may do your screenplay but me!' She spoke with determination. '… That, and you yourself, sometimes.' Emiah felt the need to add.
Cathia grinned to her, happy to hear she hadn't lost a valuable member of her team.
'Ah, geez!' Emiah complained. 'Looks like I have to plan a new concert! Let's see if I can salvage anything from the planned Urgenbrought concert and... Oh, and we need to include a place for you to address the public at a most emotional moment... We might need to switch a few songs, some of the lyrics might be a bit insensitive to sing in front of an uprising...' The woman was immediately planning out the next concert as she turned, leaving Cathia giggling.
'I'm counting on you.' Cathia smiled as she saw her friend and manager get to work.
Herself, she needed to think of what to say. Cathia smirked as she thought about it, and the day's work continued, although she was to rest after her most recent concert.
___
<Part 2>
The date had been set. A stage had been booked. The Galaxy had been told. Tickets sold out in nanoseconds, despite the controversial location. They had been forced to take special measures in order to allow locals to see the concert. This only went to further prove the influence of Cathia Starbound. The entire Galaxy was spurning theories and questions about why a celebrated idol would want to perform at the main base of operations for the Industry Uprising, and many were doing their utmost to petition or send messages to prevent Cathia from landing on such a dangerous planet as Grouder. Cathia was having none of that. She had determined to influence the world, in a way that only she could. For the limits that applied to other people did not apply to her.
It was a regular day, Cathia Starbound was rehearsing with Emiah Whitestorm watching her every move. Of course, Emiah couldn't help but swoon over how perfectly Cathia acted out the planned movements. Naturally, Cathia felt proud of her own ability, for it proved her fame was no accident. This show would be as spectacular as any before it. No, it might even be more spectacular. For she might make some real change in the Galaxy...!
Tyver Brightland opened the door to the room, the strong-bodied old man walked in before closing the door behind him, obviously intending to get attention. Cathia ignored him, if he wanted her attention he'd have to speak up. Emiah, however, got worried and ran over to talk while Cathia continued rehearsing. After the song was finished, Emiah came back with a worried expression.
'Th-there's a big-shot who wants you to come see him.' Emiah stated in a worried tone. Cathia ran a hand through one of her two blue puffs of twin-tailed hair with an unimpressed look.
'I'm not interested. I am busy rehearsing for my next concert. My valuable time is much better spent so than wasted on someone beneath me.' Cathia said, reverting to the persona she used when talking about things she didn't want to do.
'And, uh, apparently he knew you'd say that, so...' Emiah shuddered a little bit as the sound of the door opening again came to their ears. Cathia frowned, looking up. Coming through the door was a large, middle-aged man with short, ruffled blond hair and rough beard, wearing a blue suit and a strangely placed smile. To his left and right were two pairs of bodyguards in sunglasses, likely armed. … Cathia knew who that was.
'… He came himself.' Emiah finished her sentence before looking ashamed and moved aside to not be in the way of whatever encounter would happen. Over there, the blonde rough man in a suit started calmly advancing towards Cathia leaving his bodyguards by the door.
'If I may.' Tyver stepped slightly in between them. 'This is the Starbound Idol, the Galaxy Diva, the one and only Cathia Starbound.' He introduced Cathia using her standard introduction while gesturing to her for the man. And then, he gestured to him for Cathia. 'And this is Admiral Jorren Sparkcliff of the 23rd fleet, and also the one currently in charge of the Grouder Uprising Suppression Movement.' … Cathia smirked as she tried to make a shortening of that in her head.
'It is an honor to finally meet you, Ms. Starbound.' Jorren said, making a polite bow to her. She... responded by inspecting her fingernails.
'I cannot say the same. You are spending the time of someone whose time is more valuable than your own. … That said, is there really a reason for a man such as yourself to be visiting an idol? Should you not be busy with your suppression movement?' She behaved as if this man was thoroughly beneath her, as she liked it.
'Ah, but unfortunately, as the one experienced with dealing with the Grouder uprising, I feel I had to come here. For I have to advice you to reconsider your concert.' He said, his smile vanishing. 'Our enemies are desperate. They do not think logically. You may believe you are protected by your name, but I can say with surety that not all our foes will think of the consequences before firing. You are putting yourself in grave danger.' Jorren explained, his stature polite and formal.
'…' Cathia frowned, finally looking towards this man. '… I seem to recall that, before you were Admiral of this suppression fleet, you were rather outgoing political speaker about sending more people from the Center Worlds to the Industry Worlds for they needed more manpower, despite that you had no intention of improving their living conditions or pay...' Cathia commented. 'For a time, it was the talk all around my home-planet of Mineva, where people including my parents feared being sent to such a ”backwater” planet...' It had been an unpopular opinion, going through with it would certainly have increased production but would have made living conditions even worse.
'That is in the past.' Jorren assured. 'After my political failure, I turned all of my attention to my military career.'
'And yet, you're still dealing with Industry Worlds, the worlds that like you the least...' Cathia commented. She didn't know many people, but this guy was sufficiently famous for his behind-the-scenes actions. There was some form of scandal involved with the failure of his political career, but Cathia hadn't really cared much about what caused it just as long as it happened.
'It must have been fate, somehow.' Jorren hypothesized, closing his eyes for a moment, before looking at her again. 'Regardless. I know these savages. Stay away from them, and you won't get hurt.'
'… Heh.' Cathia smirked. To think he'd actually call them ”savages”... Suppose that's what happens when you're the one reading the casualty-lists. '… You don't appear to get who I am, do you?' Cathia asked, raising her chin. 'I'm the Galaxy Diva. My words resound throughout the Galaxy. Even if we're talking about the Industry Worlds, there is no way they do not love me. My music is likely one of the few pleasures they regularly get to experience in life.' She told, confidently.
'When I speak, my words will resound through their hearts. When I speak, conflict and problems will dissolve before their very eyes, and I will be too holy to be injured. For I am the Galaxy Diva, and I will be as a Goddess of this universe. The lesser beings will follow my every whim. Take a seat and watch the show, Admiral. For I will take care of everything for you.' She said, confidently. Suddenly, she frowned.
'That was good. Tyver!' She called immediately, getting the old man's attention. He had smirked during his idol's little speech, and now she turned her attention to him. 'Come up with a new title for me that involves the word ”Goddess” for this occasion. Something relating to how I'm going to solve everything.' She demanded.
'I'll work on it.' Tyver smirked at her unreasonable demand and went along with it. Cathia nodded with satisfaction, when suddenly... Jorren sighed. A very deep, significant sigh, as if there was something he wanted to avoid that was going to happen. Cathia turned her eyes to look at him, though did not turn her face.
'No, you don't appear to get what I'm saying.' Jorren said after the sigh. He then gained a small and kind smile, looking at her. 'I'm saying that innocent idols should scurry home and leave the fighting to soldiers. If you were to go down to the surface, I might not be able to protect you from any... accidents that may happen.' He explained, slowly and carefully.
Cathia blinked with a surprised realization, recoiling a little. This man... he wasn't WARNING her. … He was THREATENING her. That was... new. Surprise and light fear suddenly coursed through her system. Wait, why? Why didn't he want her on the surface? Why would he have a problem with what she was about to do? For a moment, she was shocked stiff. … However, when she thought if what he had just did, another emotion appeared that helped her immensely.
Anger flooded through her system. Her fists clenched, her expression frowning. '… You... shouldn't do that.' She warned herself, causing Jorren to raise his eyebrows. Cathia then slowly lifted her two hands, and did two fast claps with them, the sound extremely clear in this rehearsal room.
The lights behind her went on. The crew had been ready at any time. They shone powerful, one-direction lights shining from behind her at Jonnen, who was forced to bring up an arm to shield his eyes. Then, however, he found that he didn't need to do that, for Cathia had used her boots to float up into the air and cast her shadow onto him, placing herself in the way of the light so that he would only see her silhouette the way her fans should when in her powerful presence.
'You are a powerful man... but you are not my equal.' Cathia stated, her voice filled with anger and confidence. 'The entire Galaxy listens to my words. A Galaxy of quadrillions of people. Do you realize what this means?' She asked, and Jorren looked seriously intimidated. 'A single word from me, and regardless of if it is true or not, your life will be over. You will be flooded by negative public opinion as well as fans of mine that will rob you of all your power. Your might... is NOTHING compared to the Galaxy-wide influence I possess! I go where I please, say what I wish, and crush who I wish. For I am the Galaxy Diva, and your presence displeases me. Begone!'
Jorren stood silent, his eyes narrowed in an attempt to look at her beyond the light, listening to her words. Behind him, his body-guards in sunglasses were looking unsure of how to proceed. '… Bah!' He made an annoyed sound, spinning around and leaving with considerable speed, suit and tie and all. Cathia stayed in mid-air, watching him leave with a haughty look and the light shining past her still casting her shadow on him, until he finally left and closed the door. She breathed out, and clasped her hands twice again. Then she could gently drift down to the floor with her boots again as the lights went out.
'A-are you sure that was a good idea...?' Emiah asked, wide-eyed, looking at Cathia. … Indeed, the idol couldn't deny that she felt a bit shaken and a bit afraid due to this encounter. However, there was no need to share the fact she felt this emotion. She raised her chin as she spoke.
'That man is a coward. He wouldn't dare do anything.' She concluded, stepping back onto the stage to rehearse.
Tyver stood silent watching his young idol, whatever conclusion he might have drawn impossible to read. Emiah looked at him, frightened, though he just gave a shrug in response and directed her at the scene. The woman unhappily complied, and continued helping on the set.
Cathia, personally, felt the fear that Jorren Sparkcliff might be more dangerous than he appeared. Regardless, she refused to be known as a coward. She was the Starbound Idol, the Galaxy Diva, the one and only Cathia Starbound!
___
<Part 3>
So far, everything had gone without a hitch. They had landed on the dreary, orange Industry World known as Grouder, covered with factories developing products for a market far bigger than the planet itself. They had landed in the capital city, where the strength of the Industry Uprising was as strongest.
Yet, as their ship set down, there had been cheers from the public who knew what ship was coming down. Even though she was locked inside her room, for Cathia was not to be seen before the concert, she could still hear them. It had immediately brightened her mood, which had been left somewhat scared after Jorren's threat. If her energetic audience stretched all the way here, then she truly had nothing to fear!
So now she stood, behind a stage curtain that had yet to open. She stood in darkness, the concert was going to start when the skies started to get dark. After all, she was going to be the light that illuminated them all. Cathia couldn't perform with the presence of a sun, because that would give the illusion that the sun shone more brightly than her, and that was unacceptable! At dusk it was.
She turned and looked at Tyver, the strong old man nodding to her from the side. All preparations on the outside had been made. She then turned to look at Emiah, who stood far on the side peeking in. She quickly gave Cathia a slightly shaken thumbs up and a slightly frightened attempt at a smile, showing that all the inside preparations were ready as well. Cathia nodded to both of them. The show was ready to roll.
'Ladies and gentlemen.' Tyver spoke through his mic out of sight, his voice echoing across whatever awaited outside. 'I present to you, the Starbound Idol, the Galaxy Diva, the Goddess of Freedom... I give you, the one and only, Cathia Starbound.' The roar which could have been mistaken for the cries of a thousand souls burning to death echoed against the curtains, and Cathia smirked as the she recognized it instead as screams of approval. Her music really was unanimously loved. She threw all doubts behind her. Cathia grinned as she advanced forward and the lights lit behind her, the curtains parting before her.
The music flared up. Her contours alone, with her two fluffy twin-tails plainly visible, were enough to cause complete chaos in the audience. What she saw outside... were less than well-kept buildings, towering factories along the background, a city where only the streets and factories were well kept. The people gathered in the center of the stage were notably less well-dressed than she was used to, while fans from further away in the galaxy spread around them. Cathia blinked, realizing her stage was surrounded by a barrier. There was an actual energy-barrier in place holding them from outright charging her, as well as protecting her from other threats. They hadn't told Cathia that she'd have that, which she figured was because they knew she'd complain. She grudgingly accepted the barrier.
This audience... it rivaled anything she had seen before. There wasn't a single spot in the square she was performing for that someone wasn't standing in. And the roars had not been those of disapproval. They were all making mad grins, bouncing in excitement, old and young alike as they laid their eyes on her. It was... such an empowering feeling. ”Goddess of Freedom”, eh, Tyver? … Eh, it works. She grinned, as she began to sing.
All her previous worries were unfounded, it seemed. Jorren wouldn't dare do anything in front of this large an audience, and not to the Galaxy Diva. The audience loved her. Cathia loved them, and herself. She ran out above them with her boots, finding that a part of the barrier followed her as she ran out, and she sang for them there. In the intermission in the song where there were no lyrics, she showed off some spins and turns where she kicked off empty space in a way that would be impossible to do if she didn't have the technology in her boots that she now did. She danced for them. They all... loved it. They bounced, they sang along, they knew the texts. She didn't want to stop singing.
Three songs later, Cathia breathed out happily on stage, feeling alert and exhilarated. She couldn't say she felt safe, but something about that feeling of danger was making her even more excited than ever. The locals were totally into this. Alright. It was time to calm down. It was time for the most important part of it all. She looked up. There were fewer drones here filming her than there had been at Grand Elexia. But, this was definitely still being transmitted across the Galaxy, one light-year at a time. She smiled and faced the audience.
'Hello, Grouder!' She called, and the audience roared back in answer. 'I'd like to extend my apologies to those watching from Urgenbrought right now. I should have been with you right now, but an event happened that made me feel that I had to divert from my course. But don't worry, I'm STILL heading to you next!' The audience cheered. Wow, one would almost have thought they were from Urgenbrought. Still, it was time to move to the serious subject.
'The reason I'm here, is that right now, violence is being used as the means to an end.' The audience got relatively quiet. 'I don't like violence. It makes people die. People get sad when people die. I don't like sadness.' She spoke in very simple statements, and many looked rather disappointed at her words. Some negative sounds were even heard. It was time for her turn-around.
'… But this does not mean I do not understand why these men and women resorted to violence! The Industry Worlds feel cruel, especially to a Center World girl like me. If I was locked into a world like this, I would have wanted to get out, no matter the cost!' … It wasn't exactly a standing ovation, but she got numerous cheers. It just wasn't deafening yet.
'But the truth is, the Galaxy could not function without its Industry Worlds. It's impossible. We need THINGS. You make THINGS. … But just because of that companies want to make things cheap for the consumers to buy, this does not mean they have the right to make your lives miserable with the lowest amount of pay! … But of course, you can't change how it is from here, hence why these men and women had to take up arms.' Cathia took a deep breath.
'That is why, this message is not to you.' She said, and then raised her gaze to look upon the drones filming her from high above...
'People of the Galaxy, hear my call!' She called out, loud and clear. 'Do not turn a blind eye to these events! You may feel that there is nothing you can do about it, but that is not true!' Cathia smiled brightly as she spoke. 'Already, my web-sites across the Galaxy should have been updated to include lists of what you can do to help. With our powers combined, we'll be a force of quadrillions! Surely, we can make improvements to this world, and make it a place where no man or woman should ever have a need to pick up arms! Support your Galaxy, and the Galaxy will support you in turn! So I say, for I take the name “Goddess of Freedom”, and with that I am determined to make this universe a better place for all...!'
The crowd was stunned with silence for a moment at the beginning of her speech, but as she went on more and more cheering as they realized what she was doing. That was it. She had sent her message. She smiled happily out over the crowd. Now, there was bound to be an impact. She wasn't the greatest star in the Galaxy for nothing! She could use her position for good! And now, with her intention announced, there should be no person in the entire Galaxy who could possibly want her harmed!
I've made my move, Jorren Sparkcliff. I'm awaiting YOURS!
'And now, to celebrate this event!' She shoved her fist into the sky, with the audience's cheer. 'I will continue the greatest concert that has ever rocked this planet!' She rose from the ground, her boots making themselves useful and all the lights lit once again to shine past her as she rose up and above the stage with the light shining across her.
'I am the Starbound Idol, the Galaxy Diva, and your Goddess of Freedom! From today on, let me be your Goddess! Let me awake you to the problems our Galaxy has that you can help fix, all the while giving you the greatest performances you've ever seen!' She shone, so happily. She was on top of the Galaxy, here under the night sky of an Industry World. 'I am Cathia Starbound, and I-'
She froze. Her muscles suddenly stopped moving. Huh. That was... odd. Why was she falling? Her boots powered down, as if she had stopped using then. It felt like... no, nothing felt. She couldn't feel anything. Her eyes registered her back hitting the stage floor. She could barely hear anything. She tried to lift her head to see...
Oh, there was a hole through her stomach. It was... so much red around her, and on her. The audience was... screaming. She saw Emiah running in desperation up to her. Wait. She had been attacked? After what she had just said? Wasn't there a barrier? … There was no time! She was still alive! Before any assumptions were made, she had to
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<Part 4>
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Cathia slowly stirred. She felt... like she was waking up? She felt... dazed. Something felt weird. She was, uh... the Starbound Idol...?
She opened her eyes wide, startled remembering what had happened, and she discovered where she lay. It was a white room, with a bed which she was lying in. Beside her, there was a machine which extended multiple cables from it to different places over her body, going below the unflattering green shirt and pants she was wearing, the vast majority focused at her stomach and her back... Her hair had been undone, now just looking like normal long black hair down her back. Her natural hair-color...
'She's awake.' A man stated from behind her, and she immediately spun around onto her knees in the bed to look at him, automatically realizing how flexible the cables latched onto her body was. She felt... frightened. It was an unfamiliar environment, but this was... a hospital, wasn't it?
The man was dressed in a coat, was moderately short as well as thin, and had a modest amount of brown facial-hair though no hair on the top of his hair, and he looked at her with a somber look. She didn't have the time to ask him anything, for suddenly the door burst open. Cathia could barely turn her head to look before Emiah had thrown herself onto her and hugged around her.
'CAATHIAAA...!' She cried out, clenching her arms around the girl that had just sat up, Cathia immediately shying back from the sudden close-contact.
'D-don't touch me...' The general rule was that nobody could touch the Galaxy Diva on their own accord, not even Emiah, so Cathia was naturally disturbed to be hugged out of nowhere. However, her tone was low and she had no way of actually enforcing the rule, especially not with the expression soaked with crying that Emiah had. Behind her, Tyver slowly entered. Cathia blinked in surprise. His right arm was in a cast, and he had bandages over his neck...?
'Wh-what happened...?' Cathia immediately asked, looking at Tyver with worry, then realized that was a question she wanted to ask about everything in general, Emiah still clenching her body. … The cables didn't seem to be uncomfortable to her to hug over.
'… You were assassinated.' Tyver blankly stated, a look of relief and annoyance mixed into his expression. 'You died.' He also clarified.
'… Ah.' That's... what it had felt like. But the reality of it... it struck her as so surreal. But... the very fact that she was still here.
'… I was retrievable! The damage wasn't so bad that the technology of today couldn't repair my body! I need to get out there immediately! Given what I said just before I was killed, there's no mistaking whom must have been responsible...!' Cathia grinned, thinking of the face Jorren had to have by now. She couldn't wait to wipe that look from his face with her presence.
'It... it's not that simple...' Emiah quivered a little, where she cried, still hugging around her idol. 'Jorren Sparkcliff... H-he...'
'It's better that she sees for herself.' Tyver interrupted what Emiah was saying as he placed a small transceiver on the nearby table. Emiah was still for a bit, before she nodded a nod of not having any choice and slowly pulled herself from Cathia. Confused, Cathia looked at the transceiver, as it shone out an image above it which appeared to display a recording of a stage, on which she stood. It was in the middle of the speech. Cathia looked so happy. But...
'Fighting isn't worth it! I beg of you, put down your arms and stop fighting! I know things are a bit tough right now, but violence is not the means to an end!' … Huh? Cathia blinked as she saw her own form speaking. But... that wasn't her speech. Also, the audience looked and sounded notably unhappy...
'If we put our efforts together, we can surely build a better world without having to resort to violence! Violence breeds more violence... I came here with the hope of setting a stop for that. So please, end this childish uprising!' The audience... were now chewing her out, yet she stood there, resolute. But, that's not what happened. The her on the screen looked a tiny bit frightened, but frowned with determination.
'You won't change your minds? You're going to oppose my request? … Then you leave me no choice.' The lights lit behind her, on the screen, while the Cathia in the hospital could only watch as the girl on-screen floated up into the air, only her contours visible. Somehow... seeing it herself... Cathia thought she looked menacing.
'You are a powerful people... but you are not my equals.' The floating Cathia stated, the voice filled with anger and confidence. 'The entire Galaxy listens to my words. A Galaxy of quadrillions of people. Do you realize what this means?' The figure asked, with her two fluffy twin-tails dancing in the wind. 'A single word from me, and your lives will be over. You will be flooded by negative public opinion as well as fans of mine that will rob you of all your rights. Your might... is NOTHING compared to the Galaxy-wide influence I possess! For I am the Galaxy Diva, and your conflict displeases me. Be-'
The sound of a powerful gun-shot resounded. It pierced the silhouette, the light making it impossible to tell where the bullet came from. The shot just went straight through the supposed barrier. It looked... like she was shot through the head. The figure of Cathia recoiled, no details visible due to the powerful light, and then quickly fell into the ground. The audience let out a cry that sounded like a mix of panic and... cheering? … No, wait, that was all wrong. Also, Cathia recognized the speech the figure had just said. It was slightly edited, but it was almost word-for-word what she had said to Jorren... The screen vanished, and Tyver turned to Cathia.
'… That, was what the drones broadcast to the rest of the Galaxy.' He informed with a stern voice. 'Afterwards, an overwhelming force of your fans condemned the Industry Uprising as well as the Industry Worlds, and Jorren Sparkcliff was given his go-ahead to launch an all-out invasion, as he had been prevented from before. He has been... very brutal, and the uprising has already been quelled, at the cost of many civilian lives. Nobody has been allowed to leave since, even your fans who had traveled there to see you were caught in the attack. Sparkcliff has been allowed to station his guards throughout the Industry Worlds to keep them in check, and he has been commended for his actions. His public opinion has increased considerably since ”avenging” you. There are even rumors saying he might attempt running for presidency, and people don't seem to mind...'
Cathia could only sit there with stunned, wide-open eyes and an expression of disbelief. He had... used her? What she had said about how her words could move the Galaxy... He had used it for his own gain? Cathia hadn't even... considered that...
'I've looked through this video countless times, seeking proof of forgery. I can find none, and I have no idea who made it. It's really masterful, considering this broadcast was supposed to be live.' Tyver grudgingly praised the creator.
'B-but, I'm alive.' Cathia stated, in shock. 'I can provide testimony that...'
'That's... not so easy, either...' Emiah looked like she was going to continue crying on the side. Cathia looked to Tyver, who grunted as he began to explain.
'Jorren's medics were the first medical experts on the scene. They proclaimed you irretrievable on the spot, impossible to repair.' Cathia stared at him, with stunned shock.
'Irretrievable wounds are almost always to the head, which the video showed. However, you were shot through the stomach. As such, your death was not final, as they claimed. I stole you back.' He told. … Eh? Stole her back? Wouldn't Jorren have put her body under guard and- She blinked as she realized the meaning behind Tyver's wounds.
'Tyver's... very ferocious for his age. He frightened me a lot... but he saved you.' Emiah filled in, daring a little smile.
'I only retrieved her. The one who actually saved you was Dr. Marsh Sunstare. A trusted friend of mine.' Tyver gestured to the doctor who had stood, silent and bald, behind them throughout the conversation. Cathia looked at him with a new impression.
'I've only done as I felt right. No need to thank me. This is completely off the record.' Dr. Sunstare said, turning his head away to look out through the window. Cathia blinked, trying to figure out what else this meant.
'This means the Galaxy believes you're dead, but Jorren surely knows otherwise.' He stated. 'Since the world ”knows” you're dead, you run the risk of being believed to be a fraud. We've lost all our equipment, the only thing we still have is... you.' Tyver stated. Cathia stared at him in shock. E-everything...? That man... he had taken everything, controlled her, used her. He had such a complete plan, controlling everything from beyond the shadows... Wh-why? Why had he...!?
'All is not lost, however.' Tyver smirked, a confident look on his face. 'As long as we have you, the Galaxy Diva, all can shift in our favor.'
'That's right!' Emiah made a fist and called to their advantage. 'W-we just need to start anew from somewhere where Admiral Sparkcliff has no power! Then, when we've proven that you're the real Cathia Starbound, we can bring an end to Jorren Sparkcliff's-'
'N-NO!' Cathia surprised them all with her panicked scream, where she curled together on the bed, her hands covering her frightened eyes. Tyver looked surprised, frowning at her, while Emiah looked at her with pure surprise.
'I-I... I can't fight him...' Cathia quivered. 'He'll... he'll really kill us...' That's what she currently felt. Jorren's entire plan only worked because she had decided to act in the world of adults, and a grandmaster had struck her back. Trying to make use of this plan... somehow, Jorren would already be ready for them. Somehow, he would already be prepared to crush them. Somehow, the moment they showed their faces, the assassin would be there again to shoot their heads off and the footage taken of the event would be edited, again...
'… Cathia.' Tyvel frowned, looking at her. 'He's already caused the deaths of millions on the Industry Worlds. This using the permission to invade he got by killing you. Will you just lie down and let it happen?'
'Y-yeah! I-I can't believe I'm saying this, but the man's a villain! We need to do something, I know we can...!' Emiah tried to encourage her friend and idol, looking panicked and confused at how Cathia had reacted.
'I can provide a DNA-sample that without a doubt proves that you are the real deal.' Dr. Sunstare added, his expression strict and to-the-point. 'They can claim it is fake, but with my certification, it will at the very least warrant an official examination.'
'Th-that's right! C-C'mon, Cathia, we can still do it! You're still the Starbound Idol...!' Emiah tried again... but no matter what they said, in her mind Cathia could only see the large form and grin of Jorren Sparkcliff, laughing at her while his untold numbers of minions made ready to incapacitate them forever.
'N-no... P-please... don't tell me to...' She still remembered the sensation of being shot. Of dying... she didn't want to ever feel that again. Her tears leaked out, and she felt quivering cold and vulnerability. It was... it was impossible.
'… She's traumatized. We should not pressure her.' Dr. Sunstare told them. Tyver frowned and looked at the doctor before looking back at Cathia.
'Cathia. You were always a strong girl.' Tyver said. '… I'll leave you to think things through, but remember, every day Jorren Sparkcliff grows stronger. He regularly mentions the attack that killed you in his speeches. … Keep that in mind until you've made your decision.' He stood up and left, without another word.
'A-ah...' Emiah looked confused and scared, but after another look at Cathia's crying expression, she stood up to leave, too. '… Tell me if you want to talk, I'll be ready at any time...' … And she left too.
'…' Cathia sat, considering her options. Dr. Sunstare started slowly walking through the room to leave as well.
'Doctor.' She asked, her voice scared but firm. The doctor stopped, aiming a somber look at her. She took that as an alright to continue.
'Can you change my face?' She asked, directly. Dr. Sunstare stood, watching her silently. Then... he sighed. 'I can. But consider closely, I cannot guarantee that I can change it back.'
'… Good.' Cathia shook a little, before looking up at him with her crying expression. 'D-don't tell Tyver and Emiah... until after I've left.' She begged him.
'…' The doctor sighed again, before turning to face her.
___
<Part 5>
Cathia went home to Mineva, her home planet. To avoid meeting people she knew, she chose the opposite side of the planet, but it still felt like home to her. There, she sought an average job as a music-teacher. It was the one subject she knew something about, after all. She went by the false name Arina Moonview, a completely average name in the Galaxy, and outfitted herself as an average young woman with a new face. There, she was confessed to by a fellow teacher named Karth Lightchase, and she accepted his proposal. Not because she necessarily loved him, but because he was a nice man and she felt she could do worse.
Four years after having adopted a new identity, Arina was expecting her first child, her identity as Cathia Starbound all but forgotten. She was sitting in the completely average living room, reading the day's virtual newspaper from the transeiver in front of her...
”President Sparkcliff Puts Criminals To Work in Industry Worlds, Industry Worlds Now Called “Prison Worlds” by Experts. Footnote; Tyver Brightland, thief who stole Cathia Starbound's body, finally captured! Final resting place of the Galaxy Diva still unknown. - Conspiracy Surrounding the Death of the Starbound Idol? Read Report Now!”
… Because she was mildly curious, as well as feeling both lightly disgusted that Jorren managed to become president and sad that Tyver had apparently been captured, she clicked on that last report.
”Why would Tyver Brightland steal Cathia Starbound's body? Why has she not been found? Seeking into the truth of this, a few unexpected discoveries has been made. The original theory reads that Cathia did not actually die that day. Though, the video-evidence clearly show her being shot through the head, an experience that would spell the end for anyone. However, while there are few civilian survivors after then Admiral Sparkcliff's invasion of Grouder, some of those that do remain argue fiercely that not only was she shot in the stomach and not the head, the speech which triggered the shot was actually completely different from what the video shows.
There is no evidence that the video-footage has ever been modified. In addition, the broadcast was live, throwing further doubt upon the words of the audience. Yet, what if they are telling the truth? According to them, the Starbound Idol actually spoke words highly favorable for the Industry World, and something no Grouder citizen would shoot her for, as previously thought. If so, who shot her? … And in addition, might she still be alive?
This would be a highly controversial subject, as the death of the Galaxy Diva caused the invasion of Grouder and other planets participating in the Industry Uprising. What if it was all based on false charges? Who would be behind such a sinister plot? The answer is, that we do not know. The recently captured Tyver Brightland, who was one of Cathia Starbound's closest allies, remains silent. All theories run into a dead-end on the case of four years ago at this point. If she were to be alive, the only one who could potentially explain the truth of the situation would be the Starbound Idol herself...”
… Someone was working it out. Far too late. She felt a few tears build in her eyes. … No! She frowned, suddenly reminded of it all. Sh-she... she couldn't leave it like this! Jorren Sparkcliff was a monster, that had used her to further his own goals! If this much information had already been uncovered, then she could provide the last push for where to look! Jorren couldn't expect her to suddenly reappear after this long!
Yes! She felt elation going through her, a confidence unlike what she had felt the last four years. She was going to do it. She'd stand up, once again, and meet the spotlight at the Starbound Idol. She felt so young and brimming with determination again, and she was just going to rise to her feet, and-
She blinked in surprise. A weight made itself known as she stood up a little too quickly. The weight of a new life. … That she had momentarily forgotten. No way. It was completely impossible like this. She had abandoned her life as Cathia Starbound. She was now... just... Arina...
She collapsed down into the couch, once again. The sudden sound caused a few alarmed footsteps to approach and her husband looked past the corner with a surprised look. He was... average. Not too wide, not to thin. Not too tall, not too short. He had short, black hair and a soft face. And now, he looked at her with a worried expression. Arina turned towards him and unintentionally showed him her crying face.
'Hold me.' She demanded weakly, spreading her arms for him. While his face told that he didn't understand Karth walked and sat down in the couch, putting his hands around her. She buried her face in his shoulder and cried, grasping him with her arms. This... this was fine. This life... was entirely fine. Perfectly mediocre. … But... she could have been so much more. She WAS so much more... But now, with new responsibilities, there was no way she could continue her battle against Jorren.
After four years, she finally regretted her action. … But she considered this too late to change. She would lead a normal life and never again attempt breaking out...
<STARBOUND: END>
I thoroughly despise this ending, but I require it to accomplish the labour. As such, this is the canon ending. However, here's a short non-canon add to make me a lot, LOT more satisfied...
Karth Lightchase was bewildered. What in all of the Galaxy had caused his beloved Arina to start crying like this? Karth was dumbfounded where he sat, holding his crying wife. What could possibly-
His eyes found the transceiver which was displaying an article about... the death of Cathia Starbound? … Well, sure, the death of an idol would often disturb a lot of people. However, Karth had to frown.
'Arina, is this about Cathia Starbound?' He asked. Arina flinched. Karth found the flinch... very odd.
'Y-yes. Yes, it is...' She answered.
'Can you please tell me?' He continued asking, naturally worried.
'…' Arina let go of him, reaching back to sit upright and look at him, her expression blank despite the tears. '… Alright. I'll tell you.' She said in a resigned tone. 'I apologize, that I held this information from you for so long, even marrying you without telling you. But... the past I told you... was a lie.'
Karth blinked in surprise. She, then, wasn't a woman from Grand Elexia who had tragically lost her family in the Grouder invasion and gone to Mineva to start a new life, as she had said? He looked at her with a focused expression, possible explanations coming to him naturally. Arina took a deep breath in front of him, and...
'I am...'
<STARBOUND: END> <LIGHTCHASE: START>
(… Which would mean “to be continued”. Not saying I'll actually continue, but if I can think that “this story is not over”, then I'll feel a lot better about it. Call me weak if you feel like. Hah. … But yes, this is non-canon from the perspective of the labour and should not be considered part of the entry for the judges consideration.)
… Random thoughts I've had about how I might fail the labour in the hider below.
If dying but being able of being retrieved using technology is not accepted as “death”, then I have failed the death part of the labour. That is why I have her avoid additional conflict afterwards and be doomed to a life of mediocrity. HOWEVER. If this counts as that she actually DIDN'T avoid the conflict since she already went headfirst to die, this might not count towards the second clear condition either. In which case I will fail the labour. I will hear the decision of the judges afterwards. Likely, they'll have found some other fallacy that I didn't even remotely consider and make me fail on that and I won't even understand it. Maybe I didn't make her enough of a Mary Sue? Hahaha...
Part 1 A woman with long, black hair sat on a golden throne, behind it lay a dragon with golden scales on the marble floor. The skirt of her elegant, purple bust-dress lay neatly draped on the white floor. Dark-purple scales started at her pointed ears and travelled down over her neck, shoulders and arms and ended on the top of her hands. Her eyes were two golden ovals and the tips of two purple wings stuck out above her shoulders. Her arms lay on the purple velvet cushions of the arm-rests. A small smile appeared on her face.
“What is it, my Queen,” the dragon asked.
“We have guests, Leera,” she said. “They will be here soon.”
~
Three men walked over a curved path through the mountains. After a long journey they finally reached the place they had been looking for. At the beginning of marble stairs they stopped and looked at the grand palace above them. Two white towers on opposite sides spiralled up and ended in golden roofs. A red dragon held on to one of the pointed roofs and three more dragons flew above the palace. One with yellow scales and two with an orange colour. The white walls of the palace were made of marble and every window frame was made of gold.
After gazing up in awe the three men started going up the stairs, with wary glances to the winged creatures. Their clothing showed how different these men were from each other.
The first wore the clothes of a common man, a beige tunic under a light-brown woolen jacket and matching woolen trousers. His light-brown leather boots seemed worn-down from travels and on his short, brown and somewhat curly hair he had a light-brown hat with green feathers. A dark-green traveling cloak hung loosely over his shoulders, the bulky shape on his back revealed he carried something under it.
The second wore finer clothes, the dark-brown shirt and trousers were tailor-made and fit his body perfectly. His short, black hair was uncovered by anything and a light-green woolen cloak kept him warm through the travel.
The last one wore the clothes of a high-placed cleric, the hem of the light-blue robe was dirty from the travel, but the blond man wore it with pride. His cloak was in the same colour as his robe and had the crest of a kingdom on the back.
Together they walked up to a giant wooden door and looked golden symbols.
“Draconic,” the cleric said. “I cannot read it.” He looked to the black-haired man. “Did you come across this language in your studies of alchemy?” he asked him.
“No,” the alchemist replied with a heavy accent in his voice. “I’ve seen some books mention the symbols, but I don’t know what they mean.”
Both of them looked at the last man now. “And you, Mikhal?” The cleric asked.
“How can a simple bard know the language of dragons?” Mikhal asked with a friendly smile and he looked at the door. "But,” he continued as he stepped forward, “from the stories that I have heard the door should open by itself.” The door didn’t move. “Well, maybe we ought to introduce ourselves first.”
“To a door?” the alchemist asked.
“To the Queen,” Mikhal corrected him. “She probably saw us coming the moment we sat foot on the path.”
“It is worth a try,” the cleric said as he stepped forward. He looked at the door. “I am Otin, the cleric of king Theodore. We come with a humble request.”
At first nothing happened, but then the doors opened and Otin jumped back, startled by the sudden movement. He looked at both of his travel companions before he went forward.
The inside of the palace was much like the outside, the floors and walls were made of white marble and gold glistered everywhere. The hallway was spacious, four horses could walk alongside each other and still have room on either side. The three men looked around in awe as their footsteps echoed around the room. The hallway ended with a set of golden doors and those opened when they neared them, revealing a big circular room. The white ceiling had symbols similar to those on the entrance and in the middle was a golden throne. Behind the throne lay a dragon with golden scales and it looked at them. But that was not what caught their attention. On the throne sat a woman with long, black hair, a set of wings and golden eyes. They knew this had to be the Dragon Queen.
The three men were in awe by her appearance, but Mikhal soon knelt down, quickly followed by the cleric and the alchemist slowly followed their example.
~
The Dragon Queen looked at the three men kneeling on her marble floor. She had seen them enter the mountains through the eyes of her dragons and she had known they were on their way to see her. So many sought her out, or tried at least. Not everyone reached the stairs leading up to her palace. How many had walked through the doors over the course of the centuries of her existence? How many had perished before they ever laid eyes on the palace? She had lost count.
None of the three men spoke and she rose gracefully from her throne. Every step she took forward was as elegant as the last and she glided towards her guests. She knew Leera would keep a close eye on them, but would not interfere or speak up until she needed to.
“Be welcome,” she told them as she looked down on them. “Rise and tell me the nature of your visit.” She watched how they rose to their feet and her eyes settled on the cleric. “What request from your king do you bring?” “W-we received word that the king from a neighbouring country will attack us,” the cleric stammered, “we have not provoked them in any way and our army is considerably smaller. Would you be willing to aid us, mighty queen?” She looked at the cleric with a timeless expression. “I do not mingle in the affairs of mortals,” she eventually said. “Which king rules where is not my concern.”
“B-but two hundred years ago you aided king Han rise to power, did you not?”
“King Han,” she repeated with a faint smile, she remembered him. Was it really two-hundred years? It was hard to put a number on the passage of time, but it seemed accurate. “I never aided him,” she continued, “he already was a great king when he visited my palace. It was curiosity that drove him here, nothing more. No request came from him when he was here.”
“Was he your lover?” Mikhal blurted out.
“Not an unexpected question from a bard.” She looked at him with her golden eyes, thinking back to her dear king and smiled as she did. “He was. What brought you here?”
“I know a lot of stories,” Mikhal replied. “Including tales about the mighty Dragon Queen and descriptions of where she would live. So they asked me to guide mister Otin and mister Kendru to your palace.”
Names. Did she ever carry one? If she had, she didn’t remember. Everyone called her Dragon Queen. The dragons did, the humans did, the bardugs did, every creature that had a language called her that. It was her title, her name. It was her entire being. “It seems you did a fine job,” she said to the bard and her eyes moved to the alchemist. “What about you.”
“Curiosity, my queen,” Kendru replied. “Curiosity and knowledge about your creatures. It is for the latter I was contacted and the first I wanted to come.”
Her eyes lingered on Kendru for a moment, before she turned around and glided back towards her throne, showing her low cut-out dress and the wings on her back. “I will not fight your battles for you. If you have another wish, say it and I might grant it.” She looked back at her guests as she gracefully sat down on the throne once more. “But before that, I have one request of my own.”
“A request?” the cleric repeated. “What kind of request?”
“One the bard can fulfill.” She looked at Mikhal. “Take your lute and sing for me. Sing about my king.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Mikhal replied as he got the lute from under his cloak. He plucked the strings and started singing the Ode To King Han. He knew for sure it wouldn’t get him into trouble here, unlike the last time he sang it, when his friend Lemitsa had used him and the song as a tool to get what he wanted. After the Ode he sang two more songs he knew about the wise and the fair and the noble king Han. Kendru and Otin listened politely, but Mikhal sang for the Queen and she was the one he looked at.
By the end of the last song the Dragon Queen rose from her throne once more and walked over to the wall. “Thank you, bard,” she said as her hand moved over the marble tiles. “I longed to hear such songs and your voice made the words come to life for me. Let me reward you.”
“Your gratitude,” Mikhal began, but he got interrupted by the Dragon Queen.
“My gratitude will not persuade the father of lady Catheryn that you can provide for her and agree to your marriage,” she told him. Tiles moved away from each other and revealed a hidden chamber.
Mikhal stared at her winged back. “How do you know that?”
“I can hear your thoughts,” she told him as she went into the room. When she emerged she had two satin pouches with her and glided over to him. “One is filled with precious stones, the other with pure golden marbles.”
“Three songs do not deserve such a reward,” Mikhal protested.
“I hear your thoughts, I know your heart. I know what you did to help others. At one point kindness should be rewarded. This is what you deserve.”
Mikhal hesitantly accepted the gifts, he still wasn’t too sure he deserved this, but he didn’t want to argue with a powerful woman either. Even if only half the stories he knew were true and if even those stories exaggerated her abilities, he still was no match for her.
She turned to the cleric, who stared at the satin bags in Mikhal's hands. “For being loyal to your king," she started and waited until Kendru turned his attention to her before she continued, "I will give you something. And I will give a gift for your king, it will not win his battle, but it might help.” She went back in the chamber and as she did Mikhal lowered his knapsack and put it on the floor so he could put the pouches in it. She emerged moments later with a golden pen that would never run out of ink and a diamond dagger. As the cleric stuttered words of gratitude she turned her attention to Kendru.
“So you can hear our thoughts,” the alchemist said.
“Indeed. I know why you are here.”
Kendru smiled a sinister smile. “There’s no need to beat around the bush then. If I want immortality and power I need to take your place as Dragon King.”
For a moment it was silent in the throne room, Mikhal stared at him in disbelief, Otin seemed confused and Leera rose to her feet. The Dragon Queen didn't respond, she just looked at the alchemist with a blank expression.
The dragon bared her teeth. “We will not obey you,” she growled.
“You’ll have no choice,” Kendru hissed. He put his hand in his pocket and wanted to retrieve something, but he stopped when he felt a hand on his arm and he looked at the bard.
“I cannot allow-” Mikhal began, but as the Dragon Queen rose her arm a golden light wrapped around him and slammed him in the wall behind him. He groaned and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again he saw her walking towards him. Behind her he saw the alchemist take a black dagger from his pocket, but the dragon charged forward and attacked. Kendru was barely able to dodge the powerful jaws that moved to his arm.
“You have a courageous heart,” she told him and held his face between two hands, “but this is my battle. For your own safety, stay out of it.” She kissed his forehead while Kendru broke a vial on the ground, the red-brown liquid in it spread over the white tiles and as it mixed with air it started giving off dark-green fumes. “You have the love of your life to return to,” she continued as the dragon backed away when the fumes entered its nose, shaking its head and making gagging sounds as if the smell was intolerable for the creature. Her lips curled into a faint smile. “If your heart did not belong to someone else, I would have made you mine.”
The baffled Mikhal stared at her as she turned around and walked to Kendru. As she did, she pointed to the cleric. “Take cover if you value your life,” she instructed him, instructions Otin quickly followed and he hid behind the golden throne. She noticed Leera stepped forward and raised her hand to stop her dragon. And Leera complied. She stopped a few paces away from Kendru. “You are no match for me, alchemist.”
“Come now, you must have read in my mind what I have prepared.”
Leera bared her teeth. “Let me defend you, my Queen,” she urged her.
“Stay out of this,” the Queen ordered without looking at her dragon, she didn’t need to look at her to know she complied. “You know their weaknesses,” she said to Kendru.
“I studied dragons, but you know that.” Kendru tapped the side of his head with a finger. “I bet you read all sorts of interesting things.” He took a black dagger and hurled it at her, but she created a barrier of golden light and the dagger fell to the ground. He smirked, as if the failed attack didn’t bother him. He noticed how she raised her hand, undoubtedly to attack him, but he retrieved another flask and threw it in the liquid of the previous bottle. The substance began spewing red fumes, filling the throne room in a red mist. The dragon heaved and sank to the ground, trying to move away from the cloud. The Dragon Queen trembled, but it didn’t affect her as much. She spread her arms and her eyes started shining. Surges of wind came from her and removed the fog, but as it cleared she noticed the alchemist had retrieved a second dagger and before she could summon her barrier again he threw it towards her with deadly aim. As the black blade of the dagger pierced her skin and flesh just above her breast she gasped and fell to her knees.
“How the mighty have fallen,” Kendru said as he approached her with a smirk. “You know this is the end.” The Dragon Queen heaved for air and fell back. She lay on the ground, her long, black hair sprawled over the marble floor around her head. The wings under her body twitched faintly, just as the fingers on her hands. Her golden eyes were aimed at the ceiling and slowly they dimmed until her eyes were two black pits in a pale face. The golden light that had pinned Mikhal to the wall vanished the moment life had left the Dragon Queen and he dropped to the ground. He stared at her, how could she have died so easily? As he heard a victorious laughter his head jerked in the direction of the alchemist.
“Who-ever kills the Dragon Queen will get her power,” he shouted elated as he raised his hands in the air. “You must know that, bard, you must have heard the stories too! Poison and potions! All it took was a special kind of poison and a specific stone dagger! And now-” He suddenly cringed and he wrapped his arms around his stomach. “What the…” He fell to his knees, gasping for air.
“Not everyone can deal with her power,” Mikhal said softly. “You should know that.”
“P-please, help me.”
“There is nothing I can do.” Mikhal looked at the body of the Dragon Queen. He didn’t even know her name, he hadn’t asked. He only knew her by her title. His face looked like it was carved in stone. “Kendru, you killed people for your experiments, even if that was never proven, and you killed her for power. You deserve what is happening to you.” He hadn’t lied, there really was nothing he could do, but at the same time, he didn’t feel sorry for the man. For the first time in his life he couldn’t bring himself to feel compassion for this man’s fate.
The alchemist screamed in agony as blood dripped from his mouth, nose, ears and eyes. He fell forward and blood slowly spread over the marble floor.
It was silent in the throne room. Mikhal walked over to the fallen Queen and fell to his knees besides her, he looked at her with sadness in his eyes and he shook his head in disbelief. How could someone decide to kill her when she had been nothing but kind to them? Otin came from behind the throne and joined Mikhal, he too seemed lost for words.
Leera got up from the ground and wobbled over to the body of her Queen and the two humans who stood beside it. Her eyes settled on the bard, for some reason the Dragon Queen had preferred this human. “You look sad,” she said to him.
“I am, this… I didn’t want to see this.”
The cleric frowned at Mikhal. “I thought you were well-spoken, bard.”
“Well, excuse me for not taking my time to say ‘I did not want to see it’,” Mikhal spat as he glared at Otis. “Well-spoken as I may be, there are times it feels just bloody right to curse like a commoner.” Despite the company he was in now or the fact that mingled with nobility a lot, he was a commoner. That was exactly why the father of lady Catheryn, the love of his life, didn’t want to approve to a marriage unless he could prove he could provide for her. He chose to be well-spoken, like nobles and scholars, because it suited him as a bard. Even commoners enjoyed listening to a well-spoken bard more than a common or vulgar one, well, depending on the crowd of course. The look of disapproval on Otis’ face didn’t bother Mikhal and he looked at the dragon. “I am sorry for what happened,” he said as he regained some of his composure. “I lead him here.”
“He would have found his own way,” Leera stated calmly, “you have no fault in what happened."
Mikhal looked at the dead woman again, he wasn’t sure if he could agree with the dragon, but the words were comforting. Witnessing the end of a grand mythical woman, what bard would want that? He wasn’t sure why the cleric didn’t seem effected by this tragedy, but he figured the man had a hard time to fully comprehend what had happened here, which would explain why he chose to comment on a detail like his speech rather than what had happened. With a sigh he rose to his feet, they had their gifts, but he would gladly return them in exchange for her life.
~
Part 2 As Mikhal walked over to his knapsack he thought about the two satin pouches in it and the moment the Dragon Queen had given them to him. Her lasts gifts shouldn’t go to waste. Had she perhaps foreseen this could happen? Mikhal looked at her body as he lifted the knapsack and hoisted it up his shoulders. Sadness showed in his eyes once more. This whole situation was just awful.
“All is not lost,” the dragon stated with her rumbling voice.
Mikhal blinked in surprise. “It…it’s not?”
The news caught the cleric by surprise too, he didn’t even notice Mikhal had abbreviated yet again.
Leera nodded once and looked at the lifeless body of the Dragon Queen. She spoke some words in the language of dragons, but finished the sentence with a perfectly understandable “Rise, my Queen.”
At that moment the body started to disintegrate and a golden light appeared where it once was. The light collected and formed the shape of an egg. In that egg they could see the shape of a human in foetal position.
“Like a Fenix, risen from the ashes,” Mikhal muttered as he stared at the egg. “But how…”
“Her power went untaken, so she can be revived.” Leera looked at Mikhal again. “We need your help, bard.”
“My help? For what?”
“After a rebirth the Dragon Queen will have no active memories of her life, nor will she have her powers. She cannot stay here, this place is too dangerous for a simple human, a child.” She kept her eyes directly at Mikhal, who stared back at her as he tried comprehending what he heard. “I urge you to take her with you and keep her safe until she has her wings again. When that moment comes she can search for the Chalice of Dragon Blood and become a Dragon Queen once more. Wake her.”
Mikhal looked from the dragon to the egg and back at the dragon. “I would love to, but how?”
“Touch it.”
Mikhal nodded and walked forward. He lifted his hand, but before he touched it he lowered it again. “She has no memories?”
“No active memories,” Leera corrected him patiently. “Subconsciously she has her knowledge.” The confused look on Mikhal made the dragon look around for an example. “Take the throne,” she continued. “If you ask her what a throne is she might not be able to answer. If you point to it and ask her what it is, she will be able to answer.”
Mikhal nodded again and lifted his hand to touch the egg. A bright light filled the room and he had to shield his eyes. When the light faded he saw a girl lying on the ground, naked, but with two purple lines on her back where her wings used to be. If he had to guess he’d say she was around eight years. There weren't any scales on her neck or arms anymore. Or they weren’t there yet. Aside from those purple stripes her skin showed no evidence of who she used to be. Her hair was as black as the Dragon Queen had and when she opened her eyes they were like normal, human eyes, except that they had an unusual golden-brown colour. The girl stood up and looked at everyone in the room without a word. Mikhal quickly lowered his bag and opened it while the cleric stared in disbelief at the risen child.
When Mikhal found his spare linen tunic he walked over to her. “I’m Mikhal,” he said to her as he crouched down before her.
“Mikhal,” she repeated.
Mikhal nodded and showed her the tunic. “Raise your arms.”
The girl complied and lifted both her arms in the sky. Mikhal pulled the tunic over her arms and head and looked at it. A piece of clothing that normally reached just over his buttocks reached easily down to her knees, making it a simple dress, even if hung loosely around her shoulders. She noticed the dragon and looked at it. Then she walked over to it and raised her hand to touch its snout.
Leera lowered her head so her former Queen could touch her. “Go with these humans,” she urged her.
“I want to stay here.”
Leera shook its head and the girl looked sad. “You can return when you are ready, for now please go with Mikhal. He will keep you safe while I guard the palace.”
“Can I return?”
“Of course.” Leera brought her head close to her. “I would like nothing more.”
The girl took the dragons head in both hands and put her forehead against the scaly snout. Then she let go and turned to Mikhal. “So I have to go with you?”
Mikhal nodded once, even though he wasn’t even sure where he would go with her. A traveling life like he had was nothing for a young girl like her. He’d figure something out. He held out his hand and the girl walked over to him to take it. The lack of protest or emotion surprised him, but maybe that had something to do with what Leera had explained. While she didn't have any active memories, somewhere deep inside they were still there. At the same she had taken his hand like any girl her age would. “Do you have a name?” he asked her.
“A name?” she replied.
“You probably forgot,” Mikhal muttered and he looked at the dragon.
“Name her whatever name you see fit,” Leera stated.
Mikhal thought about all the stories and poems he knew about the Dragon Queen to discover a name, but none came to mind. He looked at the girl holding his hand, she looked at him with a timeless expressions, waiting for him to come up with a name for her. “Celine,” he muttered, stating the first name that came to mind.
“Celine?” the girl asked.
“Unless you do not like that name.”
A smile broke through, the first smile ever since she came from the egg of light. “No, I like the name. Thank you, Mikhal.”
Mikhal nodded with a smile and looked at the cleric. “I suppose,” he began as his eyes shifted towards the dragon,
“we should be on our way.”
“That would be best,” Leera stated. “There is no Dragon Queen to control the dragons.” Otin paled at the idea of angry dragons outside the palace. “I will take you somewhere safe,” she continued. “I cannot go far from the palace, but it is unadvisable to walk unsupervised in an area where dragons are.” She lowered herself. “Get on my back.”
“F-f-fly?” Otin stuttered, “but…”
“Where is your sense of adventure,” Mikhal interrupted him with a grin. “We have a chance to fly on the back of a dragon! Who else can claim they have?”
“I, I would rather…”
“Walk down the stairs, down the mountain, with dragons flying above you?” Mikhal asked.
The pale cleric quickly shook his head.
“Then you have no choice.” He took Celine’s hand and walked over to the patient dragon. He put the young girl on its back first and then climbed on top himself. The cleric followed suit, even if it seemed hesitant, and when everyone was seated Leera walked through the throne room and through the broad corridor to the doors of the palace. After a command in the dragon language the doors opened and she walked outside.
There weren’t any dragons holding on to the pointed roofs of the palace anymore, but various dragons circled the palace.
“They know what happened,” Leera explained. “They are confused. Some will feel sadness, others anger. In time they will calm down again.” She spread her wings and lifted into the sky. With a few beats of her wings they left the ground far below and them and travelled quickly through the mountains.
During the flight Celine looked elated as her small hands rested on the neck of the dragon while Mikhal looked around excitedly. And Otin held on to Mikhal for dear life, praying to every deity he could think of for a gentle landing.
None of the dragons bothered them and the flight over the mountains went smoothly. At the foot of the mountains Leera landed and she lowered herself to let the humans and the young Queen slide off.
While Otin silently thanked the deities he had contacted, Mikhal turned to the dragon. “Thanks,” he began, but then he frowned as he realized he didn’t know this dragon’s name. If dragons even had names.
“Leera,” she replied helpfully.
Mikhal smiled and bowed to Leera. “Thank you, Leera. For everything.”
“Thank you, bard, for taking upon you this task.”
Celine walked up to the dragon to give a hug. “I will return.”
“I will wait for you.” Leera said and when Celine let go again, she turned around, spread her wings and flew up again.
Mikhal stood next to Celine and watched the dragon fly away with her, he noticed she had tears in her eyes, but she wiped them away. “Do you remember Leera?” he asked her.
“Remember? She is the first dragon I saw when I woke up in that room,” Celine replied as she looked up at Mikhal.
“But something about her feels… familiar. Like she is an old friend.”
Mikhal nodded and turned to Otis. “Let us travel back,” he said to him.
After an agreeing nod from the cleric they started their journey back to Arnheim. The palace was there and Otis needed to report back to the king. And lady Catheryn lived there, Mikhal longed to see her, especially now that he had a small fortune in his bag. He could only hope her father would agree to a marriage now. He hoped it would be a safe place for the former and hopefully future Dragon Queen, Mikhal figured she could stay at the inn of his parents for a couple of days until he had a more permanent solution to guarantee her safety. Leera had put her trust in him after all, he wouldn’t let the dragon regret that decision.
Authors note: the story continues but sadly isn't finished. The basic plot is done, but part 3-5 still need to be written down.
There will be spoilers, so don't read it if you want to find out when the story is done.
Part 3 – Back in Arnheim Mikhal meets with lady Catheryn and her father, who doesn’t make it easy for Mikhal (what noble would want to see his daughter marry a commoner after all? And a bard on top of that) . Mikhal also looks for a safe place for Celine and turns to Lemitsa for help, because he's the only noble friend he has, even if said friend didn't act like much of a friend. Luckily Lemitsa has some decency and acknowledges he owns Mikhal a dept, or two, for how he treated his friend.
Part 4 – The Chalice of Dragon Blood Due to magical reasons it only takes two years for Celine to go from a wingless child who looks eight to a young woman of sixteen with a set of purple wings, so there's a time skip between part 3 and 4, but part 4 will start with a summary of how those 2 years were. Together with Trevor and Mikhal she sets out to find the Chalice of Dragon Blood Leera had mentioned. We'll probably see some Bardugs and Liador too.
Part 5 – The end This part will continue where part 4 ends and will wrap the story up. The actual ending is not quite decided yet.
Shadows crept at her vision, sucking away the light just as she felt the cold sucking her out of her warm body. At first, she struggled—no matter how long she had spent conditioning herself against the tremors, her instincts still fought for control.
For most, the ritual would bring only death. And yet, for she of the royal bloodline, it was only in darkness that she ever saw with true clarity.
Mists flooded into sight, coalescing briefly in familiar forms. Her father, a simple man standing firm against foreign assault, rifle in hand. A woman, short but fierce, wielding crude weapons of old. Her son, now a man with the scars of many struggles but standing tall with enough pride to have overcome them.
And then, she saw a girl, striding stiffly towards her. Unlike the others, she did not fade back into the mist, instead only growing more solid with every step. Bursting from her feet, the mist solidified into stone floors, stretching out to reach stone halls. A crowd of onlookers, some familiar and others new to her, congregated at the edges of the hall, watching the two with trepidation.
As the girl drew closer, she could see glowing tattoos adorning her flesh, and a decorated dagger gripped firmly in her hand. The girl screamed with rage, but not a sound left her lips.
She knew she should fight back, but could not bring herself to move.
She could not even bring herself to block the blow as the dagger sliced across her throat.
Only then, did Ariana open her eyes.
Heavy drops of liquid mana slid off her skin as she rose from the pool. It took her a few moments of silence before she remembered to breathe, her body again soaking in the warmth around her.
As the most powerful individual in the entire Empire, the Queen traditionally began her day by bathing in the royal well of mana, her family's natural resistance leaving her the only one able to withstand its effects at such a low dilution. Beyond the visions of past, present, and future, it imbued the body with resilience, strength, and clarity, curing her of any ailments physical or mental.
As the bastard daughter of the late Queen, Ariana should not have had the right to the ritual—it was her sister's birthright. But Maria's bloodline was abnormally weak; until she could prove herself capable of withstanding the mana's effects, it fell to Ariana to rule in her stead.
Servants stepped forward to wrap her in warm robes—Ariana had no need of towels, for the mana left her skin no more damp than waking touched by the morning dew.
With a silent nod, the Crown-Regent thanked her servants, before leaving the chamber behind, her feet bare on the stone.
Maria watched with envy as her sister entered the great hall, clad in simple robes and with a pale silver circlet upon her brow. Not a head failed to turn at her entrance, nor a single pair of eyes fail to remark upon her beauty. Ariana reached out her arms, and a russet-haired boy rushed into them.
The younger sister turned to look upon her retinue, mentally noting those whose gazes lingered on the Crown-Regent for too long, or whose smiles seemed too genuine. Gathered from her duchy off the coast, these followers had come ready for battle—though few expected to need it.
Her challenge was for her sister alone.
What she herself could never have predicted, however, was for her sister to surrender. Kneeling before the Heir Apparent, the Crown-Regent rescinded her circlet and offered her fealty to her sister.
Maria did not accept this gift with grace.
As her son watched in shock, Ariana left the castle alone, heading towards the docks to serve the new Queen—even if her first command was to banish the former regent.
With no more than a single vial of mana, Ariana set sail for a new world.
@RomanAria will be assisting me in judging this Labour's entries. Expect their reviews alongside my own.
...The divine ichor of the Herperide's apples was more than any mortal tongue could bear. Eurystheus found their pulp and rind dissolved to ashes amidst his mouth, no glory gained with the loss of their brilliance.
Those of you who have completed this task - the brilliance of divinity is both beacon and warning at once. The light they cast is the slayer of reason, and naught but a wary few can bear to behold such glamour safely. You are hereby worthy of bearing the title...
Tartessos Blackguard
Congratulations to the authors of the following stories: The Breaking by @mdk Starbound by @PlatinumSkink. The Dragon Queen by @WiseDragonGirl.
Your stories have been added to The Twelve Labours Victory Archives, to which there will be a permanent link in my signature. In addition, your victory has been announced in both the News and Roleplaying Discussion Subforums!
Alas, another Labour - and another lost Challenge Accolade. None of the winning entries were deemed worthy of Exuvia Moira. I suppose I shall just put it with the others. Its loss, as promised before, shall be felt more greatly in the Final Hazard.
I regret to inform you that you have failed in the eleventh labour.
Fabulous writing, as always. There is absolutely nothing I can critique you on. Your execution of this story was exquisite as ever – simple, elegant descriptions, graceful yet to-the-point narrative.
The reason I failed your story was due to the technicality – Dying in an alternate vision, a universe that may or may not actually occur, does not count. I regret that I had to do this, as if your story had passed I would have likely given it an accolade.
Keep your head up. Though this challenge remains unfulfilled, there will be more tests in the future.
Wow. Okay, I really, really liked that. Like seriously, great job. Wonderful story, a believable – if slightly overdone – protagonist, generally three-dimensional characters. This was very well done for an entry of its rather short length.
Single grammar snaggle – not sure if you’re aware or not but you have a line of dialogue that reads “Like a Fenix, risen from the ashes,” and I’m used to seeing fenix rendered as phoenix. Though if it was intentional feel free to disregard me. Aside from that, you did very well with the grammar in this entry. Some things, like the fight scene, were perhaps a bit wordy. Even though you went with the omniscient point of view I personally enjoy it when fight scenes have some sense of ambiguity and fuzziness to them as it feels somewhat more realistic. The dialogue may have been a touch out of character in some places but it wasn’t distracting.
Overall – a solid take on the prompt, and a rather well executed one. Chin up, for you have proven yourself a queen among men, WiseDragonGirl.
First impression: The dramatic ellipses are killer.
Second impression: Okay yeah that was pretty cool. The overuse of ellipses ever so slightly killed it but… yeah, I like it. Very nice story, quite unique. I’ve never seen a story even remotely like this before. Very interesting plot, though Cathia was definitely over the top – I couldn’t help but cringe every time she spoke. Yes that was sort of the point, it just… I dunno. It was a bit odd.
Your grammar was quite good. Some of the constructions were a little wordy or a touch choppy but overall a solidly flowing, gracefully written story.
Overall, a solid story with a solid approach. Good job, Platinum. Keep working on your writing, and you’ll be starbound.
Well, that was something. I definitely, definitely liked your entry. Such a unique take on the prompt and rather well-executed, at least in terms of setting. A lot of the pseudoscience went a touch over my head but I see what it is that you were attempting to accomplish, and all things considered you did a rather good job of it.
The reason I failed your entry is because of the quality standard – there were too many grammatical issues that detracted from the meaning and therefore it did not uphold the quality standard. I regret needing to do it as it was probably my favorite out of all the entries in terms of context. That said – it’s definitely better than your last English language entry. I would also like to remind you that we accept entries in other languages, so if you are more comfortable writing in another language that is an option, though I’m not sure what the judging policy on that would be – you should ask @Terminal about that.
Keep trucking. Eventually you will have a final proof of your writing skill.
Wow. That was. Wow. I um. I don’t usually like westerns but that um. That made me cry. I don’t know why that made me cry, maybe because it’s 2am and my caffeine and sugar is finally wearing off, but. Wow. I like it. A lot. I had too many doubts about it at the beginning, so I’m afraid you do not get a Challenge Accolade this time, but it’s very close for me. If anyone in this pool would have gotten it, it would have likely been you.
As far as form goes – again, wow. The dialect wasn’t overdone, all the characters were remarkably three dimensional for such a short narrative. The bits of narrative following the stallion’s perspective were an especially nice touch. Also, the conclusion was just… as I said, tearjerking. And I’m sure the significance will fully settle on me once I go to sleep and I’ll wake up with a serious case of… pajama logic? Um. Yeah no that sounded better in my head. I’m sorry, I’m sleep-deprived and emotional from reading this entry. Definitely glad I saved it for the end.
Seriously though, fabulous job as always, MDK. May your spirit never be broken.
I see you and your Eldritch Master are back on speaking terms. The story had a nearly flawless composition. I continue to be impressed by how you managed to render the cattle-rustling Western genre actually engaging. Your entry was the closest to winning the challenge accolade - perhaps next time.
I give to you the same advice that I gave you after you wrote the postman entry - The subject material you have chosen to use is clearly beneath your exemplary skill. While astounding as usual, the subject matter of the story itself is relatively underwhelming.
While I wanted to pass this entry, the simple fact of the matter is that the various grammatical errors were so commonplace that it was impossible to separate them from the essence of the story itself - and thus the entry does not meet the standard of quality expected by us in good storytelling.
The single biggest consistent flaw with the entry was the absence of certain necessary words where they were needed, particularly simple particles, conjunctions, and a few prepositions. This is particularly noticeable around your nouns, since the necessary structure that would make them proper is entirely absent. I feel that once you have mastered their usage, the rest of the issues with your writing should improve markedly.
This is the first entry I have received from you in a while where I actually had to go faintly out of my way to identify grammatical errors of any kind, so congratulations - keep doing whatever you did for this entry, because it is clearly working. The two issues of note with your entry are as follows:
Firstly, your exposition comes across as forced and stilted - the effect is most prominent right at the beginning when everyone is being introduced, but is present throughout. There are more natural and fluid ways to explain critical details than by turning your characters into poorly articulated expositional faucets, so work on more natural narrative structuring.
Secondly, while the grammatical errors in your story are much improved, your overall structuring of sentences and paragraphs still comes across as faintly awkward in places. Not incorrect, just inefficiently assembled - which ties in with the first point above somewhat. Hopefully by working on the one area you should be able to kill two birds with one stone.
As for the story itself, I was greatly impressed by your usage of visual descriptions, as well as in the level of care taken in establishing your final act. This was offset faintly in that your took perhaps a little more time than was actually necessary in order to establish your climax, which again, ties into the two issues mentioned above. Overall though, there is much more in this story worthy of praise than not.
In terms of the challenge criteria, this entry came the closest to what I actually wanted to see. The overall theme, the nature of your chosen character, and the execution of the actual Labour itself are all on-point. There are few grammatical errors, none of which significantly affect the story's overall quality, and the characters are each distinct and interesting.
My largest issue with your entry is with the events that transpire upon the Dragon Queen's death. The discussion between the remaining party and the dragon Leera, the use of the Phoenix Egg, the 'Raise her to be a real girl!' segue - all feel largely superfluous. The pressure in the rest of the story has entirely flagged by that point and there is not much vested reason to care about the proceedings. My advice to you is to therefore work on scene elaboration, so that each individual part of your stories is engaging and adds more overall than it detracts.
Getting a little meta with the title there. The simple fact of the matter is that Ariana did not actually, technically die in the actual material sense. If you wanted to convey that her death in her vision was sufficient, you had the burden of proof in establishing that her forseen death met the challenge criteria.
Other than that, there is really not much to say about this entry. Typically flawless makeup, but too short to really merit deeper commentary. I will say that I liked how much peripheral information and smaller details you worked into the setting with such a small amount of text, but overall this entry is simply beneath your skill.
