A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) / Chapter originally written on 06.05.2004. Re-polished on 01.12.2006 for the arowrites dot net archives.
Review-replies can be found now on arowrites dot net.
Formatting repaired on 04.13.2010 -- thanks, ffnet, for eating all my scene-dividers sometime in the last four years!
05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. Please just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.
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Requiem for the Dream
( entry 13: jade and crimson )
The scent of blood, metallic and sharp, permeated the air. Two bodies lay by the side, unmoving and forgotten in the green light of the moon. Green glinted sharply off of blades and the edges of armor, sparkled against an upturned eye belonging to one of the bodies on the ground. It shimmered in pools of blood, and turned the substance to an inky, near-black. There was no true black in this light, nor was there white, everything... was a shade of green.
Green was the new color of brutality.
Up here on top of Moonstone Mountain, there was very little to break up the moon's direct glare. Indeed, the sheered cap of the mountain was level with the fields of cloud cover, a veritable meadow of glinting green water particles stretching as far as the eye could see. It leant the stage of this fight an eerie lack of reality, as though--were you to step off the edge of the ground--you would simply step on the fog and stroll away.
Thankfully, Ramirez was not prone to such foolish ideas. And even if he had been, after he'd broken his stance and charged one of his foes who had been standing apart from the rest, he'd have known better. The soldier had screamed as he toppled, collapsed over the side as Ramirez whirled in place, military-issue boots creaking from the fog and churning up the dirt. He'd crouched, then, back to the edge and legs braced, sliding to a halt with the fingers of his left hand touched down and dragging through the soil. His blade and his stare never wavered.
And then the Silvite charged back into the fray, systematically attacking and defending, chopping away at Wren's guards' numbers. He was careful to keep from the edge, careful to stay maneuvered so that they didn't get around behind him. It was a constant dance, a constant swirling of motion... two men broke into a run to his right, trying to circle his form, and he surged backwards--carefully aware of the edge of the mountain--to intercept them.
One managed to stop, staring at him, and the other's momentum carried him into the jagged side-points of Ramirez's sword. A pained and startled scream, the Admiral gripped the hilt in both hands, and -jerked- sideways so that the points came tearing free and the rest of the blade raked across the unprotected abdomen.
That one hadn't been wearing the Valuan armor, and a third body slumped to the ground in the froze green light. And then he whirled to counter the movements of another three guards, with two more closing in. They were persistent, and more of them kept leaking from the mountain to assist the Fourth Admiral. There wasn't even time to cast spells.
Occasionally he would break free of the never-ending press of soldiers, to clash with Wren himself. The Fourth Admiral's yellow-blond hair looked sickly in this light, his red-brown eyes dark and dead like coagulating blood. A definite contrast to Ramirez, whose blackened hair simply took on a green cast and whose jade green eyes--already glinting with malicious intent--took on an almost demonic green fire. The whites were the truly discontenting part, no matter who you looked at, live or dead, the whites of everyone's eyes were a light mint green.
Blades crashed. Jagged, bloodied points caught and held Wren's carefully-maneuvered chop mere inches from Ramirez's eyes, and he braced... pushing the newer Admiral's blade steadily aside. A shove took Wren off balance again, but he had no time to follow up on it as an armored guard tackled him from the left.
His breath left him in a single, painful burst--stars blasting through his head with the impact against the hard ground. And then a thin line of cold steel pressed against his neck.
"Now, now, Admiral Ramirez. Lord Galcian would hate for you to die before he could deal with you personally." Ramirez opened his eyes, unaware of having closed them in the first place, and stared up along Wren's flawless saber to glare at the smug Fourth Admiral himself. The green moon seemed to sit on his shoulder, from Ramirez's point of view, like a deformed bird. Or perhaps it simply looked over the other Admiral's shoulder to match gazes with Ramirez, like a concerned on-looker.
"Admiral Wren." someone said from outside of Ramirez's moon-filled line of vision. The moon was growing... growing... coming closer. "I believe he's got a concussion."
The Silvite's vision swam with green light, swirling tighter and tighter. It was making him feel dizzy. Moments later his exhausted body gave into the head trauma, and the Silvite fell into the waiting arms of unconsciousness. Who gave a fuck what Wren was trying to say to him, anyway? He could rot in hell.
"Come on Ramirez."
Ramirez groaned, his head... his head felt like it was full of uncut moonstones. Just rattling around with sensitive gray tissue, swelling...
"Come on, Ramirez." the voice wouldn't leave him alone. "Come on, we've got to get you out of here."
He tried to tell whoever it was to go the hell away. Ramirez was awfully busy just now, having his brains sliced to bits and his skull puffed up like a balloon. Couldn't they see he was busy? Come back later when I'm not James, he thought he might have said, I'm busy catching balloons to stuff in my head. Lord Galcian said to...
"Ramirez, they're going to kill you if we don't get you out of here."
Who were 'they', and why should he give a shit? He was busy, damn it, busy! Wait, what was he trying to do again? Lord Galcian said to... what had he said? Give a tour! Yes, he was supposed to give a tour! That's why that voice sounded so familiar.
"The dining hall is on the left." he slurred.
"Alley..."
"Of course."
The small sounds of something climbing up into the room were followed by a pair of strong hands grasping his ankles. -That- got his attention quite forcefully, and Ramirez sat bolt upright, eyes shooting open and hands locking onto the forearms of his would-be abductor. Confused and angered jade green met incredibly cold dark blue. The stranger's gaze seemed to bore into his own with an intensity only Lord Galcian had previously managed. It -burned- with ice, systematically sheering away the immediate lingering effects of his concussion.
"He's going to -kill- you, Admiral." she said, her rough voice pitched low, "Can you not hear the gas being loaded?"
Ramirez glanced upwards at the ceiling, the short duct shaft punctured by hundreds of tubes, just like the system in Soltis Tower's dungeons. They were pumping air right now, but could be made to put anything into the cell's containment. Very faintly, now that it was pointed out, he could hear the clicking of canisters being loaded.
"That is my Lord's right." he answered, head throbbing as he looked at the woman again, still trying to pry her vice grip off of his ankles. She had sharp features around those deathly cold eyes, and skin was pulled tighter in places by scar tissue, to the point of disfigurement. Long brown hair was bound tightly into a single whip-like braid, grey showing clearly at the temples.
Her close-fitting uniform of dark blue and grey had dull hourglass-engraved buttons. Just like Lena's vest, the treasonous wench, who watched the proceedings from a trap door in the floor, slightly ajar. They were both members of the Sands, he belatedly realized, glaring darkly at the green-eyed fool from around the other's form.
"That is not his right any longer, Admiral." said the ugly woman with the grip on his ankles, tightening her fingers painfully, "Your Lord Galcian has changed over these years of power. He's grown weaker and crueler with every passing day, and if--!" she interrupted his furious exclamation, "you wish to fight me over that, you're welcome to. But not here."
Ramirez glowered.
The warrior leaned close to him, putting her weight on his ankles until he was choking down a wince. She continued forward until he reflexively leaned backwards, and then she smirked.
"Just -try- me. I dare you." and then she rocked back onto her heels and began systematically dragging him for the trap door. "Hey, just think. If worse comes to worse, you can always throw yourself into Deep Sky."
"I'll throw -you-, first." he snarled, still trying to get his legs free.
"That's the spirit!" she quipped, hauling him up onto her shoulder like a bag of moonstones as Lena fully opened the hidden door and got out of the way. She still had that grip on his ankles, which were hurting smartly. He barely had time to grab her braid for assurance against being dropped before the woman jumped down into the secret tunnel. When she landed, her bony shoulder drove more forcefully into Ramirez's stomach, knocking the air straight out of him.
The hatch was closed on the faint hissing sound of poisonous gas filtering into the cell.
"Set me -down-." Ramirez snarled threateningly, but his words were patently ignored as he was summarily carted down the dark passage. At least this explained how Lena had managed her brilliant escape from the Soltisian dungeons, although he'd have loved to know when they'd managed to carve such carefully-constructed doors into the prison cells of multiple continents.
/ Too much time on their hands. / he mentally groused, stoutly refusing to be impressed.
"Ah, here we are."
The Admiral was abruptly set on the ground, blinking at what appeared to be a poorly-lit... dock? Underneath Moonstone Mountain? It was a simple cavern without a bottom, and far beneath the edge of the grounded craft he could see the swirling clouds of Lower Sky, the walls of the cavern extending below their surface. The cavern dock was lit, dully, with moonstone torches, and the ship itself, if he could really call it that, was barely the size of a Valuan life-boat.
Rounded, but with straight sides. A dome of an unknown substance covered the top, and the small craft sitting lifelessly on the edge of the ground both caught his curiosity and flared his unease. Were those... wings folded along the sides?
"We're not getting in that, are we?"
"Of course we are, Admiral. You wouldn't be wanting to back down -now-, would you?" the rude one snorted, crossing her arms as she stared him down. She then added, "Make no mistake, Admiral. If you try to fight me before we get where we're going, you'd better make sure you win."
"Or what, you'll -kill- me?" Ramirez leveled on her a look of pure contempt. "How very original."
"That's just the start, you stupid Silvite." she advanced on him, using his moment of surprise to throw him the rest of the way off his mental balance. "I'll cut your body up and scatter the pieces across Esperanza for the dogs to chew on. Then I'll turn your Crystal--yes, I know about it--into a weapon to use against your precious, corrupt, rotting Lord Galcian."
The ugly woman stopped, and tilted her head to the side, dark eyes glittering coldly in the faint light.
"Does that strike you as original enough, Admiral?"
"I'll kill you." the Admiral in question hissed, fists clenching.
"Fine with me. But you'd better wait before you try it." she snorted, and they glared at one another for a long moment, before she pointedly turned her back on him to address Lena.
"Hey, where the hell did our pilot go?"
The Monoceros was, indeed, a fine ship.
Fourth Admiral Wren leaned back in the Captain's chair, ignoring for the moment the ship doctor working on his propped-up leg, and considered his options. Continue the plan? Most certainly. Nothing had been compromised, and in fact... the First Admiral (-Former- First Admiral, Wren mentally snorted in amusement to himself,) had played right into his gloved hands.
He stretched his arms up over his head and winced as his thigh was jarred, leveling an offended stare on the hapless ship doctor. This wasn't the Monoceros' former doctor, of course, the ship's entire staff had been left at Soltis Tower. Even then, the doctor assigned to the ship had only been there a few years now... the one before -him-, though...
Doctor Megan D. Jones.
Wren allowed his thoughts to wander down -that- path for a while, before his musings were interrupted by the undocking of the flagship.
Ah, that's right. It was time to go back to Soltis tower, and regretfully inform Lord Galcian of Admiral Ramirez's betrayal. Confirmation was delivered from a scratchy radio that Admiral Ramirez's cell had been gassed, and Wren ordered loqua from the cooks to celebrate.
"I... am never... getting in -that-... ever... again."
"Oh, grow a spine, Admiral. It wasn't that bad." Alley said with a smirk, leaning against one of this cavern's many stone support columns, her arms crossed again. Behind her and off to the side he could see their 'pilot', spinning in place on one foot with her arms out like a child's top.
"Whoooo-eeeeee!" said the lunatic, pausing a moment before spinning the other way.
Ramirez felt nauseous with the visual movement, and looked quickly away. He, too, was leaning against a support column, a mere ten feet from the parked craft. Unlike the braided warrior in front of him, however, he was on the verge of falling over from dizziness, and hung onto the stone behind him with both hands. The world was still reeling.
(A swoop, a dive, the pilot's mad laughter as they narrowly avoided the cavern wall before the ship erupted into Lower Sky...)
"Not that bad? Not that -bad-?" disbelief was plain in his voice. "How was that 'not that bad'! Your damned ship doesn't even stop, I saw that! And your pilot... your pilot is a complete mental case!"
"She's the best C.A.R. pilot there is, Admiral. As for the ship's less-than-satisfactory safety features..." Alley inclined her head with another, darker smirk, "Perhaps you shouldn't have lopped Centime's head off before he completed the designs?"
(The ship rolled to the side to dodge a school of brightly-glowing skyfish, churned past the stalactites beneath the continent. Finally, it plummeted deeper into the dark swirling clouds, staying just barely above the pressure of Deep Sky. Straps that Alley--she'd finally introduced herself--said were necessary held them to their seats as the ship lurched to the side again. Other than the strange movements and the few hair-raising moments so far, though, this didn't seem so bad. At least the craft was slow.)
"Ugh..." Ramirez was a bit busy getting sick all over again as flashes of their journey to this place burst through his head. "Centime was a pirate."
(Gauges of all sorts hung dangling from the short domed ceiling. Their pilot, still chuckling, reached up and grabbed one with the hand not in the complex controls in front of her, turning the face so she could apparently check it. The only light inside the ship came from these gauges and the mess of vicious-looking machinery that the pilot manipulated. Something beeped, and the craft was jerked upwards hard enough that Ramirez--who had leaned his head forward out of curiosity--was shoved back firmly against the seat again.
Alley, strapped to the seat next to him, laughed at his shocked expression as the ship suddenly took on a massive burst of speed...)
And when it was finally over? What had the pilot done? She'd aimed the little craft for a vague opening in the bottom of some -other- continent, and then she'd pulled the fist-sized moonstone that powered it straight out of the engine. The ship had sputtered, the engine had died, and something unfolded from the sides--vaguely visible through the semi-transparent dome.
In a lurching, panicked, horrible moment... the ship had glided in at breakneck speed and came to a rolling stop on built-in wheels, safely inside this cavern. The wings had folded themselves back against the ship again, and all had been silent and still.
Until Ramirez had screamed unintelligibly, thrown off his straps, and wrestled the domed hatch open. A few moments of staggering rubber-legged away from the ship had ended with him here in this spot, grasping the beam behind him and reveling in its solidity.
"I am -never- getting in that -ever- again." he repeated, vehemently. "Not -ever-."
But something told him he was only sealing his fate.
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Skies of Arcadia Legends belongs to someone else.
All here that is not found in the canon... is mine.
Never steal if you value your spleen.