WARNING: The following story contains...
Mild descriptions of violence.
If you have not read my Story, Sapience, literally nothing about this one-shot will make the slightest lick of sense to you. References and established definitions of terms, as well as the speaking character in-question, Zazin-Vor'mekta, will be entirely lost on you, and you will most likely wind up (at the very least) utterly unsatisfied. My strong recommendation to you would be to read Sapience first, and then read this one-shot when it is mentioned, as this is meant to be a companion-piece to Sapience. Proceed at your own risk and discontentment, otherwise.
To those of you who are familiar with Sapience, here's a short timeline: Zazin' wrote this thing sometime in the year 2155, when he was about 357 (Yautja) years old— about 27 Human years before Sapience. The story he is actually telling, in this record, took place back in 2112. The story he told Hult-nah'Mei-jadhi in Relapse and Reprise is more or less an abridged version of this, excluding the following Foreword...
Sapience: Chronicles of the Dark Blade — Conglomerate
2,560th Year After the Filial Schism (AFS), 25th Day of Strife's Arrival
Foreword...
To any and all who might read these words: you are likely doing so because something, somewhere, somehow: has gone horribly, horribly wrong. There is a reason, after all, that this record is absent from the Clan Archives, and is interred within the home-computer of an unremarkable male, whom you have likely never heard the name of, before. I can only imagine the circumstances that might lead me to divulge this record's existence, or cause others to seek it out.
Whatever the case, this record exists for the sake of my own peace-of-mind, more than anything else. I have been stewing on the information contained here for the better part of three decades, and I feel that if I don't expel these thoughts into a tangible format, I will go stir-crazy. Add that to the fact that I keep coming across new information about the subject-matter, and one can imagine why it demands archiving.
The topic in question is the Ooman conglomerate known as "Weilahnd-Yootahnee". That is... not actually how it is spelt, but I know no way of recreating Ooman characters in this formatting software, so... I will have to settle for phonetic spellings. Not that I expect the average Yautja to know how to read any Ooman tongue.
If you have never heard of anything called "Weilahnd-Yootahnee", that is likely because all those who have come into contact with Weilahnd-Yootahnee have, either, not known it for the threat that it is, or have been ordered to keep silent on it. As to why that's the case is... admittedly a matter of debate— at least, as far as I know. I cannot say that there is any variety of "conspiracy" going on, if only because I believe the reality of the situation to be infinitely more banal... and possibly idiotic.
One might wonder why I find myself concerned with the affairs of some lowly Ooman faction. To begin explaining my fixation with these "lesser creatures" and "petty squabbles", I find I must admit something. I don't know when, how, or why any person might gain access to this record, but I suspect that by the time such a circumstance comes to pass, any worry of mine about my reputation will have been rendered suitably irrelevant.
So, I see no point in avoiding the fact of the matter.
I have, for approaching two decades, been studied the contents of The Nightstorm Commentaries (1) more times than I can rightly count. At the wave of a hand, I can quote almost any portion of said records, verbatim, and I do not feel at all boastful in saying that I have studied said records with more thoroughness than any scholar I know of. Although many would find such a thing utterly deplorable, and in spite of my literal decades of learnedness in the matter: I find little reason to disagree with the philosophy and worldview present in the Commentaries.
This is not to say that I believe our ways to be wrong, or that the Hish-Qu-Ten are justified in their admittedly backwards methods. I simply want it to be known that, however clumsily it was executed, and as regrettable as the Filial Schism was: I believe that Nightstorm was of sound mind— at least, at first. Despite the myopia and (to be frank) petulance of many Adjudicators, then and since, the quandary that Nightstorm brought to the forefront was a conversation our species did need to have with itself. I feel that far too many Yautja dismiss the Commentaries out of hand purely due to bull-headedness and ill-founded principle. Many of them cannot even recite a single passage of the texts, yet they feel wholly confident in lampooning Nightstorm's philosophy and the Hish's way of life.
I am perfectly okay with criticizing both of those things, mind you— I simply wish that people would make a habit of being informed on the subject. There is plenty to criticize when one studies the subject matter, believe me.
I say all of this because I want for this record to serve as a testament to a truth in Nightstorm's dogma. That truth being: "the Yautja are not untouchable, and the sapient species we share the Great Spiral with are very real threats to us. The longer we hunt them, the more likely that they'll expose us. The longer we meddle in their affairs, the more we open ourselves to mistakes that will cost us our camouflage. The longer we study them... the longer that they will study us, in turn. Our greatest protection and our only saving grace is our advantage in stealth and communications technologies. Should any lesser race deprive us of that, our ability to Hunt them with any degree of impunity will be crippled, utterly. It was not so many generations ago that the Drukathi terrorized us, after all, and we would be fools of the highest order not to think that such circumstances could come about once more".
I am creating this record to prove the truth of these words. I will have to warn you, though, I am not the best storyteller. My mate would probably contest that, but nonetheless.
My name is Zazin-Vor'mekta the Blue. I am three-hundred fifty-seven years old, and I belong to the Dark Blade Clan. My home is Sentinel Estate, on the Homeworld, Yautja Prime. I am the sixth progeny and third son of honored Arbitrator Sko'ri-Tende the Merciless (2) and retired huntress Dah-Chi'ytei the Frigid (3)— both of whom were apostates of the Silent Fang Clan, and both earned the Title of Elite in order to join their bloodline with the Dark Blade, as is tradition. I have earned the Title of Spear-Master and become a Veteran of its disciplines. I shall soon look toward becoming an Elite, as well.
Around twenty-five years ago, when I was three-hundred thirty-one years old, I had my first encounter with the Ooman faction known as "Weilahnd-Yootahnee".
How this came about, and why it matters, I shall reveal to you, now.
It all began when I was directly called upon by our Clan's High Enclave to perform a Mandated Hunt. Yes. The High Enclave, honored be their names, who are meant to represent the absolute pinnacle of what our grand "family" is capable of, sent a missive to my estate, in spite of my successes having been few up to that point. I suspect that they wished to keep this a secret, given that the missive they sent was in the form of a physical scroll, delivered by a courier who would not give his name or show his face. The message, itself, said nothing of why I was chosen for it, but simply stated that I was being considered for membership among the High Enclave and that I had two terms to get my affairs in order before I'd be expected to show myself at our Clan's ship-docks, ready to be tested.
This was the first interesting thing that had happened to me in the last... two years, at the time, so I required little consideration before I left my estate in the hands of my mate.
We are all aware that the High Enclave can choose to evaluate anyone they wish to, regardless of rank or age, but it still struck many of my siblings as brazenly ridiculous that I would be given the honor, when they had achieved at least as much or more than I had. It struck me as ridiculous, as well, in the moment, but I believe I have a better clue, now, as to why. If I had to guess the reason for it... I would suppose that the decisions I had made, and the way I'd conducted myself, was fairly unorthodox. Enough to catch their attention.
After passing my Chiva at twelve, I spent the next hundred-fifty years of my life simply working my trade and accruing wealth— enough to purchase the land I own now, Sentinel Estate. We, in the Dark Blade Clan, are fortunate in the sense that our mothers and fathers were long-possessed of shrewd business sense, going back at least the last lifetime and a half. We, of the modern day, are largely sponsored by the wealth of our progenitors, and thusly, we can afford to spend much of our youths simply hunting and gathering accolades on our parent's coin-purses. I could have done much the same... but particular factors regarding my family and relatives drove me to become self-sufficient as quickly as possible. Therefore: it wasn't before I was almost two centuries old that I dared to take up a hunt, once more. I had, therefore, had plenty of time to study and train.
There is also the fact that I had always adhered to the use of a Combi-Stick for as long as I could walk, had always used one on Hunts, and that I had passed the trial for the Title of Spear-Master in record time. And... subsequently then passed the Veteran-Trials for Spear-Masters in record time, also. Yet, for all of that, I only had... maybe thirty-seven skulls to my name, in total? Even back then, I'd been losing track... where was I? Ah—
It isn't a secret that the High Enclaves of most Clans tend to target those with particular behavioral quirks, rather than strictly those with vast Trophy rooms. Perhaps, in my records interred within the Clan Archives, the High Enclave saw something valuable? Whatever the case was is a question for them, in any case.
I had my affairs in order by the time a term had passed and I arrived at the proscribed location shortly after. Upon my getting there, I was greeted by a man who simply introduced himself as the High Enclave's emissary, who promptly led me to the Hunting Ship that would carry me to the place of my test. He seemed fairly nondescript, and spoke to me informally— asking vapid questions about how my journey had been and what my thoughts were on having been summoned. Being as paranoid as I am, my immediate thought was that this was a full member of the High Enclave, in disguise, simply testing how I'd behave around a stranger, so I behaved politely and kept my answers short.
Once we had gotten to the ship in question, he abruptly pulled me to one side and presented a Bio-Mask from beneath his cloak— told me to wear it while I was on the hunt, and that he would be present to collect it once I returned. I took the device with a thanks and asked, while I could, what sort of test awaited me. His response was, simply, "hunting Oomans".
This perplexed me, at the time, but I kept my maw shut and made to board the vessel, only to hear him call to me, "do not be surprised if the journey takes longer than normal. There are Ooman vessels around the target planet that warrant evasion".
This... surprised me, given that I'd never before heard of such a measure being necessary in regard to Ooman ships. I had the distinct impression that I wouldn't get an answer to any questions, so I simply kept walking up into the ship. Upon reporting in at the vessel's bridge, I was greeted by the Elder in charge of the expedition, who then gave me more thorough answers as to the why, what, where, and how.
To make a tedious story less tedious: Ooman ships had been swarming around an ancient, Yautja reliquary-world— endowed with the tombs and cultural vestiges of a long-dead Clan, apparently from the days since before the Drukathi Migration. The Oomans, according to the Elder I spoke with, had been poking around the crypts and tombs of this reliquary-world, or had been trying to. My task, in proving myself to the High Enclave, was to track down and slay the Ooman leading their excavation efforts.
At hearing all of this, all I could feel was bewilderment. The notion that this act of sacrilege upon our culture wasn't immediately being used as an excuse to rally a war-party baffled me. This was the exact sort of thing that the High Enclave and/or an organized military expedition was meant to deal with— not some oddball Spear-Master with an invitation, such as I. In the moment, I simply took the Elder's word on it and silently stewed over the phenomena in my quarters over the course of the three term journey, but as I look back on it, now, I kick myself at not having had the sense to question it— or at least tried to.
I must stress that I, in the moment, was not particularly troubled at the defacement of the relics of a random Yautja Clan, but rather, I was shocked and appalled that no one else had been or that no one else had been concerned enough to do anything about it. If the relics of the Dark Blade Clan, or even the Bright Spears, were threatened, I would have been as outraged as anyone— but at the time, I was simply deeply suspicious at the behavior of my fellow Yautja. And not necessarily at the transgressions of the Oomans— by this point in my life, I had learned much of Ooman culture and I could understand their incessant, brazen pursuit of all things old and shiny. To have built ziggurats on a world near Ooman space, leave them unguarded for millennia, and then expect the Oomans not to be curious is to smack a hound for attacking a vermin.
Even so: everything I had known of our people told me that an event like this would have been cause for immediate reprisal. The fact that it hadn't been so struck me as more abhorrent than the actual infraction, itself.
But, of course, I was a dutiful Yautja who knew better than to challenge my superiors as an honor as great as membership in the High Enclave was being offered to me. So, I did and said nothing... and now I regret having done and said nothing.
As the journey to the reliquary-world in-question progressed, I secluded myself in my quarters and attended to my equipment. Learned what there was to learn of the planet I would hunt on. If anything of note occurred during the trip, I didn't hear of it. When we arrived, I was called to the bridge, and the Elder in charge of the expedition... made some variety of speech which I suspect was more for the benefit of the crew than for me. I no longer remember what exactly he said, but it was something along the lines of: "this is what you have been chosen to do, this is how you'll be expected to do it, may the Gods aid your task" and some other such trite. I have never been one for grandiose pontification.
I do, however, remember seeing a readout on one of the consoles of the bridge, displaying a variety of markers that could only be a collection of Ooman vessels in orbit above the world's upper hemisphere. They seemed to be fairly small, from what I saw, and I had no way of knowing whether they were warships or not. Either way: the Hunting Ship could have annihilated all of them in a matter of minutes. I suppose that that fact bothered me, given that it's stuck with me after all these years, but I can't remember why.
I gathered all of the equipment I would need— the Bio-Mask afforded to me by the High Enclave's emissary, my Phoenix Armor, Combi-Stick, Plasma-Caster, Sat-Comp, and Wrist-Blade. Having done so, I made my way down to the planet in a pod... and the Hunt began.
As I emerged from the pod, I found the air to be dry and stale, tiny grains of sand tickling the flesh of my tabū'koti on a powerful breeze. The light of a blue afternoon sun bit at my eyes before my mask adjusted the light-intake, and the sound of distant, barking animals caught my ears. Beneath my feet lay black sand overlaying pearlescent white stone— shards of glowing, crimson crystals studded the face of a massive boulder on my right... and to my left, a vast expanse of flat badlands, pockmarked with shed-sized rocks; all of them crusted with those same, red crystal outcroppings.
... I believed I would enjoy myself, at that moment.
Climbing atop the boulder, using those conveniently-sturdy crystals as hand-holds, I scanned the horizon all about, cycling through my vision-overlays. Other than a great, pillar-legged beast the size of a condo lumbering away from the site of my pod's landing, I saw a... perhaps medium-sized ziggurat far enough in the distance that I could conceal it with a thumb at arms-length. Around half a dohret away, I guessed. It was late enough in the evening that the small twinkling of lights around the base of the thing was just about visible at my mask's full zoom. Presuming the lights to be due to Ooman structures, I jumped from the rock and set off at a jog in that direction. I had done nothing the previous day but meditate and nap with a light meal in preparation, so I made good time across the flatlands before having to rest about five cycles in.
A few times, many-legged, chair-sized insect-analogues skittered out of my path as I weaved my way between the boulders. As the planet lapsed into darkness, my path was surprisingly well-lit by the glowing crystals. A part of me was distracted with the question of what exactly could have geologically caused such a formation of rocks and minerals, but apart from that the journey was uneventful.
This world had an axial tilt of 128.94 degrees (or something like that), causing the equator to be a frozen wasteland, the poles to be tropical paradises, and the sun to rise in the west and set in the east. From what I read of the planet's history, the Clan that had once had its home, here, largely lived at either pole and only made the journey across the frozen equator in the summer months after preparing for it for a matter of terms in various ziggurats all built around five dohrets from "The Line", marking the point at which one was closer to the equator than they were to the pole. I... believe the name of the Clan had been the "Rampant Tusks", but I might be misremembering that or getting it from some other memory...
I asked my mate, and she confessed no familiarity with the name, so I shall assume that I was correct.
In either regard, the ziggurat toward which I was heading had been one of these waypoint stations where the Clan would gather supplies in preparation for a trans-equatorial journey. And a place where those that had died in an attempt to cross the frozen wastes were typically buried— as to why that had been a tradition of the planet was a mystery to me, but I could only assume that the presence of funerary artifacts was the reason for Ooman intrusion into the place. That and perhaps because the waypoint ziggurats were a few of the only structures still left standing, after all this time. From what I read of the history, the Rampant Tusks had apparently caused a war or had a disagreement between each other because the majority of the homes and infrastructure at either of the planet's poles had been demolished and looted of all valuables, for some reason. I am likely simplifying the matter, but that is all I remember of it.
After a short nap, laying against one of the large rocks, I continued my journey, only to be accosted by... a large serpentine creature. It burst out from under the ground, about a jorren from my feet the moment I set foot onto a patch of brown soil. The next thing I knew, the world became a blur, I'd dropped my Combi-Stick, and I found myself dangling upside-down by a strong grip on my foot. Had I been more experienced, I would taken into account the discoloration compared to the pitch-black sand, but this was a time where I still made a habit of making mistakes.
I hoisted myself up and swung wildly with my right arm— my wrist-blade ejecting at the motion. I didn't get a good look at what happened, but it paid off given that I heard a shrill crying sound and I felt myself drop back into the sand.
Rolling back to my feet, I hopped a distance away from where I estimated my assailant was. I saw a creature that appeared to be an amalgam of a centipede and a goblin-shark from the Ooman homeworld— a massive wound straight across its many-eyed face, with a pair of three-nok-long, flexible pincers protruding from just above its toothy maw. What I assumed to be most of its body was still hidden under ground, but a good seven noks of it was raised up, and facing me. A splash of yellow liquid was strewn across the ground between me and it, with my Combi-Stick more or less in the middle, stained with yellow blood.
I... believe I might have been rather annoyed at this interruption, because I immediately shot at its face with my Plasma-Caster. Two bolts struck it in the face, but the third flew past it. Two strikes must have been sufficient, because the creature gave a high-pitched shriek before slumping to the floor and convulsing erratically— more and more of its blood being sprayed in all directions. Not caring to finish the job, I snatched up my Combi-Stick and ran off toward the ziggurat. I was there to stop the Ooman excavators, not Hunt the wildlife.
I remember mentally berating myself for having been caught unaware so easily, but now that I think on it, I don't believe that my error had quite been so grievous for how little experience I had, at the time. Though I'd passed the trials for being a Spear-Master, the actual number of Hunts I'd been on was rather small for someone my age. it was only after this task that I began to go on many, many Kiande Admeha Hunts as though it were a cure for a terminal disease. And several Pyode Admeha Hunts, as well, though I quickly shunned the practice once I was satisfied it offered me no challenge. As to why will be revealed, shortly.
After another few cycles, I made it to within half of a half-dohret to the ziggurat before having to stop and rest. The terrain had become far less sandy about half a dohret back, now largely being the same white, shiny stone, with none of the crystal-crusted boulders present, now replaced with what seemed to be large patches of lichen-like plant-analogues which I then realized had coated many of the boulders I'd passed on the way, here. The same, small, insectoid animals who'd run from me, before, grazed upon these mosses with suctioning proboscises in large groups. The closer I got to the ziggurat, the less and less plant-material there seemed to be, until naught but wavy, porcelain rock lay beneath me. At the point that I chose to rest, I'd come upon a sudden drop-off in the white stone— an abrupt, thirty-nok descent down to more of the same pitch-black sand. The cliff-wall in question extended as far to the west and east as my Bio-Mask could detect, and between it and the ziggurat, there lay nothing by flat, sandy soil. A decent view of the structure which had been my beacon for the hunt, thus far.
The ancient structure now dominated the horizon before me... girt by Ooman structures scattered around the north side of its base. Zooming in with my Bio-Mask, I saw before me a sprawling, mechanized operation with at least several dozen buildings of Ooman design scattered haphazardly around the ziggurat. There were flattened pathways of liquid-cast stone between all of these structures— the structures themselves appearing to be made of metallics and plastics. All flat roofs and uniform aesthetic— white walls and black walkways, railings, structural-devices, and doors. In yellow paint there were innumerable signs strewn across the various walls with arrows indicating direction. I was confused at the lack of any activity, at first, before it occurred to me that it was still the dead of night (perhaps only a few more cycles before sunrise) and that Oomans had a habit of aligning their circadian rhythms with that of the local day-night cycle.
I saw no movement in spite of at least thirty units of scanning the ninety-jorren-wide encampment. From what I knew of Ooman behavior: the fact that there appeared to be no work being done at night told me that they were unhurried in their excavation— that they expected to be here for at least a matter of months, if not years, and that they expected no interruption. The lack of any fences or walls added to this theory.
The ziggurat itself was of unsurprisingly archaic design— each side of its base being equal in length (around eighty-jorrens, from my memory). Sheer walls, at least fifteen noks tall that flattened to a thin platform before another sheer wall slightly shorter in length— continuing up in the same pattern of smaller and smaller "platforms" until a small, flat "roof" topped the structure in lieu of any "cap" or tip, about fifty jorrens up. The entrance to the thing undoubtedly being located at the very top. A massive, central staircase jutted out from the center of its north-facing side, or at least used to. The Oomans had constructed some variety of elevator-system overtop of the staircase such that one going up or down the structure need not move— likely, I guessed, for the sake of safely transporting artifacts down from the ziggurat's entrance without risking a drop or an accident damaging anything.
Considering the circumstance, I found myself somewhat impressed at the amount of care that had gone into this operation. The amount of care that was being taken to ensure that no items of value were damaged. I knew, however, that many among the Dark Blade would have been foaming and fuming at the Oomans daring to set foot on the world, to begin with. It didn't particularly matter, at that moment, as my task was to take the life of whomever was in charge of this undertaking. My personal curiosity (I decided, at that moment) would have to wait until after my parameters were met.
I recall muttering all of this aloud, to myself, such that my Bio-Mask would record the commentary. I remember being extremely paranoid about making sure to conduct myself as honorably as possible, lest the High Enclave find my actions wanting or potentially too unorthodox to be tolerated. So I made a habit of explaining myself aloud to no one but my own ears. All wasted effort, thinking back.
I was beginning to feel fatigue at this point, so I jumped down to the sand below the cliff-face I'd stood on and sat against the cliff wall— the cool stone at my back making for a shoddy bed, though the slight overhang that the cliff provided kept the glare of the planet's twin moons out of my vision, as I deactivated my Cloaking to save power and went into a dreamless sleep.
I awoke to the sound of loud mechanical whirring and the rumble of primitive engines. Getting to my feet and reactivating my active-camouflage, I ran forward and cycled through my vision-overlays, wasting no time in scouting the perimeter of the Ooman encampment, despite only feeling marginally rested. I was searching, specifically, for possible defense-systems or security.
As I went about my scouting, I observed at least a dozen or so Oomans walking to and from the various buildings— at least ten others all piloting a gaggle of exoskeleton-rigs, clearly designed to assist in heavy-lifting. The former wearing white coats and the latter dressed in rugged cloth. It appeared that I had awoken just in time to witness the morning routine of this operation's personnel, because nearly all of the exoskeleton-pilots were walking toward the elevator up the ziggurat with a large group of other yellow-clad Oomans following behind them, holding large crates of what I could only guess to be their equipment.
After finding no automated defenses or warriors anywhere at the compound's perimeter, I jumped up onto the roof of one of the many buildings at the camp's outskirts and observed the rabble for a few units.
It did not take long for me to discover the name of the "guild" that had organized this operation. Mechanically carved into the metal casing of a random box was a blocky symbol and the Ooman words "Weilahnd-Yootahnee Corp". It meant nothing to me at the time, I guessed it was the name of whichever Ooman held the property-rights to all of this "guild's" resources. I remember thinking to myself that the name of this guild would soon become a common topic among all of the Dark Blade. How wrong I was...
In any regard, it did not take me long to discover the probable location of my quarry— where I might find the one in charge of this entire venture. I caught whispers of an "ahdmin" building, and understood enough about abbreviations in their language to know it meant "administration".
The majority of the buildings in this compound were the exact same height and more or less identical dimensions. The only exceptions being: an immense, cavernous structure that appeared to be some variety of hangar at the farthest end of the compound with a much larger stone path surrounding and leading from it (where they likely stored and maintained their exoskeletons), a six-story tall, blocky construction that appeared to have primitive communication-dishes atop it and an array of glass windows just beneath (likely a communications hub), some dome-roofed, glass-walled buildings some distance away from all the other structures (obviously meant to be greenhouses), and a wide, three-story tall building more or less attached to the communications tower. A short few jumps to a better vantage point allowed me to see this last structure's front-side, where I saw the Ooman word for "Administration" painted in yellow above the entrance.
Incidentally, I also saw the first examples of "warriors" since I'd arrived. Just below the signage, beneath an overhang and stood on something of a raised, metal "porch" were a pair of Ooman males on either side of the entrance, wearing unsophisticated, cloth armor, lazily holding moderately-sized rifles. They were quietly chattering at one another, and I did not listen to their words for long.
Given that this was the only example of any kind of security, I assumed that if the leader of this operation were anywhere on the planet, this would be the most logical place. I needed to get inside that building, and the only ways in that I could see was the front entrance and a large window just above the signage in question. The window, for whatever reason, could not be seen through from outside, and attempting to get in through it would attract too much attention. Potentially sending my prey into hiding before I could identify them as my target.
I could have easily slain both of these guards without so much as a whisper of alarm, but they were hardly worthy prey and my task was to kill their leader, and nothing else. A distraction would be needed.
I initially attempted to activate my Bio-Mask's mimicry-systems, but I realized that all of the sound-files I'd kept saved weren't there, as my personal Bio-Mask had been left aboard the Hunting Ship.
After a few units of contemplating the age-old tactic of chucking a rock at the Oomans from one direction and advancing upon them from the other, I had an idea. Scrolling back through the footage taken by my Bio-Mask thus far, I located the instant where that ambush-serpent had gotten me by the leg, and captured the sound of its shrieking. It occurred to me that these Oomans may have encountered such creatures, before, and they might have learned a healthy fear of them.
The sound I needed saved to the Mask's mimicry-files, I activated it and targeted an area just around the corner of the administration-building. The noise echoed from that location, only somewhat distorted by the footage having picked up the sound of rushing air and shuffling earth, but loud enough that any Ooman within six jorrens would have heard it.
... exactly how this technology of ours works has always been beyond me, and on some level, I find that endlessly irritating, but I am nonetheless grateful to have it. Especially given that it gained me results immediately— both guards snapped to attention, and soon began creeping toward the end of the building around which the sound had come with weapons raised.
Having been stood upon the roof of the building just in front of the one in question, I jumped down and slipped through the large door once the guards were far enough away not to hear. Why exactly the door had been open all this time didn't occur to me, in the moment, but looking back, it might have been for any number of reasons.
Within, I found metal on all sides of a large room that appeared to be some sort of receiving area. A collection of minimalistic settees and chairs of white fabric sat near the entrance with a large desk at the far end of the chamber. The interior was... painfully bland. Gray and white color on everything with uncomfortably bright ceiling-lights. The place oozed sterility.
At the desk sat an Ooman woman with a perturbed expression, staring out at the door and through me as I crept in, in front of her. Moving extremely slowly as not to alert whom I assumed to be a "receptionist", I stepped up to the wall on my right and crept along it further into the room, as the only visible passage out of this receiving area was a hallway on the right side. As the woman stood from her desk and went passed me, out the front door, I loped down the passage in question, finding a set of metal stairs that reversed direction after a small landing.
On the building's second floor, I found a wide hall with a series of small rooms on either side— presumably work-stations, given the Ooman men and women studying console readouts at desks in each room. The complete lack of any doors on any of them made me suspect that whomever was in charge would be the only one who had any privacy, so I proceeded down the hall and went up the identical staircase at the end of it.
The third floor had much the same layout as the second, but at the end of the hall, I saw an ornate, hydraulic door with a bright, glowing sign next to a panel of button-inputs. The words on this sign roughly translating to: "Study-Room of Veteran-Scholar Derrington".
This was the best lead I had, so I approached the door, in question, past more doorless office-spaces and one empty hallway on the left that led to what I assumed was the communications tower that I'd seen, outside; thankfully, only some of the rooms had any Oomans within them. When I approached the panel of buttons, however, I realized that stealth would impossible once I entered the chamber. The Oomans had a proclivity for putting communicative stopgaps at every junction of business and interaction— the receptionist downstairs would have been expected to inform this "Veteran-Scholar" of any intrusion.
I went back to each of the office-rooms of the third floor and wherever I saw an Ooman, I seized them and strangled each into unconsciousness with little effort and little lost time. Having done so, I had bought myself a matter of units before they awoke, and so I approached the Office of my potential target once more and pressed the largest button on the wall-mounted control panel. Almost immediately, a soft, pixelated voice whirred out of a dotted, metallic surface just above the button I'd pressed. It sounded female— demanded to know whether I had scheduled a meeting with "Chehll-see". I... saw no way of going about this subtly, so I prodded the same button again, repeatedly, at least a dozen times. The voice from the interface began shouting and demanding that I stop, loud enough that I could now hear the actual shouts from behind the door in front of me, as well as through the intercom-system, and after thirty more seconds of mashing that same button, the doors finally churned and split open in a whoosh of mechanical snaps and whistles.
What stood in the doorway with an unflattering snarl on her features was another Ooman female— this one of obsidian-colored skin and a pronounced jaw, with large eyes and a mess of wiry hair tied up into some variety of ornate head-dress. She wore a uniform markedly fancier-looking than that of the other Oomans I'd seen, here, so I presumed this to be "Derrington".
Given that she could not see me, she scowled at the air in mild confusion just long enough for me to seize her by the throat tightly enough to halt any vocalization. Predictably, she immediately sputtered and struggled as I walked into her office, dragging her across the floor, and pressed a button on an identical control-panel on the inside of the room which I presumed would shut the door behind me. As it did so, I hefted the Ooman up and pinned her to the wall next to the door, by her throat.
If I were to kill defenseless prey, I would prefer to do it a manner so swift as to be completely unexpected. However: I had to be absolutely certain that this was the target mandated to me by the High Enclave, and not some other Ooman.
I deactivated my active-camouflage and waited for the Ooman's struggles to halt. She was on the cusp of losing consciousness before I lessened my grip on her neck. I... remember monomaniacally focusing on her eyes as they regarded me with abject terror and shock, but I probably should have been taking at least some note of the room I'd walked into.
Once she'd finished gasping for air, I spoke in her language, and demanded to know if she was the leader of the operations on this world. It may have been my accent or simply the strangeness of the circumstance, because I had to ask a few more times before she frantically nodded against my hand. Taking that as all the evidence I required, I allowed her to drop from the wall before throwing her to the floor behind me. Stepping over her as she lay on her stomach, I did not quite notice how calm the Ooman was, considering the circumstance. It did not strike me as bizarre that she was laying still in a situation that most Oomans tended to flee from with all possible haste.
Had I paid more attention to her body-language, I might have noticed the oddity of it. But I did not.
The moment I ejected my wrist-blade, the sound of it must have alerted her because she curled into a fetal position almost instantly, and screamed at the top of her lungs, a phrase that meant nothing to me, then, but which drives me to shudder at the thought of it, now. She screamed, and I cannot say what this means for certain: "Emergency Override: Shattered Crown". This is an important detail to take note of.
This gave me pause just long enough for the lights in the room to turn as red as Ooman blood, and for the sounds of wailing alarms to fill the building (presumably, also, the entire compound). Barely a few moments passed as I gormlessly gaped at the swiftly-escalating state of affairs, before the whirring of mechanical groans filled the room— only barely audible under the painfully loud, rhythmic bleating that sounded like the calling of a Yautja Prime bellow-raptor being fed through an audio-filter.
The room in which I stood, and had forgotten to examine before that instant, was a good deal larger than the office-space of all the other ones in this building (thirty by thirty noks), with a relatively large desk taking up most of half of the room, opposite the entrance. No carpets. No windows. No decoration of any sort. Why I hadn't noticed the strangeness of this room's design, given that of every other Ooman structure, I have no idea. Why I also didn't notice that this office of hers had three, uniform doors on each wall, aside from the entrance — doors which had no handles, nor any obvious way to open them — is also a mystery to me. What is important is that as I foolishly stood there, doing nothing, the three doors on each wall of the room's interior shuttered open to each reveal what I thought were more Oomans, stood in cramped compartments, all of them wielding rifles. Rifles that I knew to be called "shotguns". I would later realize that the creatures who ambushed me in that room were actually artificial automatons— "Ahndroyyds".
These automatons, without a moment spared nor gesture between, all simultaneously stepped from their alcoves, hefted their weapons to ready-stances, and each emitted a groaning, staccato series of what I could only compare to digitized coughs.
The only reason I wasn't immediately gunned down then and there was because I'd retained enough sense to re-activate my camouflage the moment that the alarms began to wail. The Ooman female beneath my feet suddenly scrambled up and threw herself over the desk, letting herself fall over it and (presumably) shoving herself beneath the thing. I don't recall why I allowed her to do so, but I likely excused myself in the moment by realizing that I would be shot the moment her blood touched the floor.
It was there, as I remained absolutely still in the middle of the room — three automatons to my left, three to my right, and three right in front — the constant wail of the sirens burning my ears and having to cycle my vision-filter to the thermal setting due to the obnoxious red lights in the ceiling, that I realized I'd made an immense error. I could not open the door behind me to escape, as I would surely be shot the moment that the "Oomans" could approximate my position. I could not simply hide in plain sight forever, as that would give the rest of the compound time to organize a trap and ready their defenses. The only way I could kill the female leader, and then escape quickly, was to kill these new assailants on the spot.
And that's what I did.
The next moments, I can only recall as a frenzied blur, so I will attempt to make this succinct. I began the engagement by creeping up to the nearest Ahndroyyd, holding my collapsed Combi-Stick up to its head, and activating its ejecting mechanism. It was only at that instant I realized that these weren't just Oomans, and were in fact automatons, because the fluid that came from the creature's impaled skull was off-white... and because, instead of dropping dead, the creature fired its weapon three times. Given that both of its eyes were destroyed as my weapon perforated its head, each shot flew harmlessly past my shoulder.
I, realizing my blunder, retracted my weapon from its demolished skull and jumped back away from where I'd stood— just quick enough that a hail of projectiles from all the other Ahndroyyds barely missed me. I retreated to a corner of the room to rethink my strategy. They all had their weapons aimed at where I had been as their compatriot was attacked, so I surmised that they could not detect me, and could only estimate my position. The Ahndroyyd I'd de facto decapitated shuddered on its feet and emitted a gurgling static sound, its artificial blood spraying in every which direction. As the automatons scanned their surroundings, likely waiting for another attack from me, I moved toward another of them and swung my already-ejected wrist-blade at its neck— coming free from its shoulders with only slightly more resistance than a normal Ooman's.
I had been about to retreat backwards after my attack, but to my surprise, the headless creature swung its weapon like a cudgel almost the same instant that I removed its head— apparently having been ready to do so upon taking any damage. The blow struck the front of my Bio-Mask and, though I was protected from such harm, the force of it was such that I was thrown off-balance and my neck strained painfully. I hadn't expected that kind of strength from a construct. Nor did I expect it to disable my camouflage.
After that: the battle was... a mess. I found myself sprinting from wall to wall, rolling across the ground, and jumping about like a maddened rodent in trying to avoid being shot. I swung and stabbed my Combi-Stick and wrist-blade at whichever target I happened to be close to, whenever I terminated an acrobatic maneuver. I don't quite remember it very well. At one point, I'd kicked an automaton's legs out from under it after having thrown myself to floor and rammed my weapon through its prone body, only to jump away as it pointed its weapon at me from its supine position.
After smacking the weapon from one of their hands with my Combi-Stick, I was shot square in the back by one that had been behind me. I felt nothing in the moment, but at least one of the projectiles had managed to find a weak point in my armor and bury itself in my tricep.
It was... a tedious and clumsy fight. Especially given that, near the end of it, one of the creature's managed to grab onto my Combi-Stick after half of its head was smashed in by it, and in the brief moment it took for me to wrestle it out of the creature's grasp... I felt the barrel of one of their weapons press into the side of my head. It may have been the adrenaline, but I could have sworn, in the moment, that I heard the subtle "click" of the firing mechanism. I still don't know exactly how I managed to dodge that... but I know that that was one of the few times that I'd genuinely come closest to meeting the Black Warrior. Even now... thinking of it begets a cringe, and the surrealness of almost dying drove me to end the battle quicker.
... why I never used my Plasma-Caster is still a mystery to me. But I also failed to properly survey the room in question, so... I was not as skilled or experienced as I am, now.
By the time all of the Ahndroyyds were rendered nonfunctional, each with more stab-wounds and missing limbs than any Ooman could have endured, I had incurred multiple wounds and parts of my armor had become slightly warped. I felt nothing in the moment due to adrenaline, but in total: I had fifteen "shotgun pellets" in my body— putting shallow puncture wounds in my arms, shoulders, and behind my left knee, and a shard of my Bio-Mask had come off, leaving a portion of my forehead exposed.
Up until that moment, I'd wondered exactly how this hunt was meant to be a suitable test of my eligibility. The fact that I'd been given no Health-Shards or wound-treatment supplies explained it, as I knew I'd be expected to finish my task and escape with my injuries.
The creatures all nonfunctional, and the floor and walls of the room practically caked in white gunk, I took no time in dragging the Ooman female out from under her desk and beheading her. I then fired my Plasma-Caster at the door about five times, and ran through it once it was demolished.
... only to find about six Ooman men pointing their rifles at me as I emerged from the smoke. I believe they were rather surprised at seeing me, a Yautja, because I managed to get within arms reach of the closest one before any of them could take proper aim. Seizing the first Ooman I could reach by the armor on his chest, and holding him up, in front of me, I charged through the lot of them and, before jumping down the stairwell, one-handedly tossing my impromptu battering-ram behind me. The only thing I remember with any clarity, after that, was the constant, droning wail of the alarms providing a staggered tempo to my stride as I sprinted away from the Ooman compound.
As the deafening wails slowly dwindled into distant whines, and as I finally dropped to my knees to catch my breath, I played back all that had happened. I mentally examined what I'd seen and heard, played back the footage of my Bio-Mask, and gathered my thoughts on where it had gone wrong.
The words of the female as I'd been about to execute her kept occurring to me. Her behavior as I questioned her. And, as I repeatedly examined my Bio-Mask's footage, I came across a small portion of audio that had been picked up during the battle with the automatons. One of the Ahndroyyds had said aloud, voice distorted, the phrase: "Hunter species detected. Initiating Hunter protocol six". I hadn't heard it, at the time, but as I replayed it to myself, sat on my knees on the ashen sand, the sun's blue light making the world around me appear ethereal and dreamlike: I felt my gut churn and sink like a black hole.
In the moment, I wasn't quite in the state of mind to properly analyze all of it, but looking back, I've come to the following conclusion. The Oomans who'd constructed that compound — who'd set foot on a reliquary world and were excavating it — those known as "Weilahnd-Yootahnee": had had foreknowledge of the Yautja, possibly decades before they'd ever encountered that planet. The female "director" of the project was likely the only one on-planet who was told of the Yautja, and the only one told that the Yautja may attempt to stop their operations, there. Judging by the apparent lack of fortifications or extensive security.
The female Ooman, also, must have been told that the Yautja (typically) do not harm unarmed sapients, hence why she remained still and calm as I'd questioned her, and why she only shouted for help when she heard me eject my wrist-blade. Implying that she somehow knew to listen for a specific sound, and that she may have been ordered to attempt to keep proceedings peaceful in the event of Yautja interference. The code she used, as well — "Shattered Crown" — was specifically meant to set off alarms throughout the compound, and trigger the emergence of those automatons inside her office.
And those automatons, themselves, had apparently been programmed with knowledge of how to combat Yautja, given that one of them supposedly referred to me as a "Hunter".
This "Weilahnd-Yootahnee", evidently, knew far more about the Yautja than anyone among our kind would have predicted. And knew enough to inform one of their trusted officials of possible interference from us as a means of precaution. Because they knew that their presence on a reliquary world was unlikely to go unpunished.
In the moment, as I contemplated all of these facts — my previous misgivings about my role in all of it still present — I could only think that something was deeply wrong with everything that had gone on, on this world. All I could conclude was that far more than simply killing the leader needed to be done to put an end to whatever this "Weilahnd-Yootahnee" was doing.
So... rather than calling for extraction now that my task was done, I went back to the Ooman compound, determined to put a more permanent end to their operations. I attempted to reactivate my camouflage, but a sizable amount of the white "blood" of those automatons had splashed onto me, and I had no easy way of getting it off.
It was as I was walking that I realized the sirens had stopped, and now that the compound was no longer in a state of emergency, it occurred to me that they were without leadership and would need to call for support from their vessels in orbit. And it was then that I had the idea of destroying their ability to communicate.
And everything else they were doing, there.
From about fifty jorrens away from the compound, I charged a full-strength shot in my Plasma-Caster and fired it at the very top of the communications tower, reducing all communication-dishes atop it to worthless shrapnel and collapsing part of its metal roof. Not thinking particularly deeply on how to go about it, I ran to the nearest building, jumped atop it, and ran across the rooftops toward the ziggurat. I took no note of the sounds of Oomans shouting, in the distance, and merely made my way toward the makeshift elevator that the Oomans had constructed.
Jumping onto the platform in question from the roof closest to it, I examined it for a brief interval before simply firing my Plasma-Caster at the console that I assumed controlled the apparatus, rendering it a pile of smoldering scrap. As I turned about and looked up toward the top of the ziggurat, it occurred to me that a number of Oomans had gone up there and entered the structure, earlier in the day. I felt the sudden compulsion to enter it, as well, and ascertain how much of the structure's interior had been plundered. Why I impulsively proceeded to do so without an actual plan irritates me, in hindsight, because: I simply ran up the ziggurat's side, using one of the "rails" on which the elevator would climb as my path upwards.
When I reached the top of ziggurat, I found myself faced with six Oomans wearing what looked to be bright yellow hazard-suits. They all stood in a small group near edge of the ziggurat's top platform, but the incline I sprinted up was steep enough that they didn't see my approach. Predictably, all of them jumped at the sight of me, and backed away— one of them outright running in the opposite direction, only to barely avoid throwing himself off the edge, while others fell to the floor and scrambled away. The fact that these Oomans immediately saw me as a foreign threat and collectively retreated to the opposite edge of the ziggurat's peak confirmed, in my mind, that the female leader had indeed been unnaturally calm throughout my interaction with her.
I had no sanction to take the life of any other unarmed prey, this day, so I let them be and approached the middle of the platform, toward the descending spiral-staircase that broke the otherwise completely flat stone— likely open, as it was, due to the Oomans circumventing the opening-mechanism, somehow. Either that, or there had simply been a large, flat stone concealing the staircase that the Oomans had moved, somewhere else. Ziggurat-construction is varied enough for that to be possible, especially on a world like this, that had always been on the edge of Yautja galactic territory.
To make a tedious and unproductive course of events more succinct, I searched as much of the ziggurat's interior as I could reach over the next cycle, barring collapsed hallways. Of all the rooms I searched, I found evidence of Ooman investigation in four, all situated closest to the central staircase's entrance. And of those four rooms, two were entirely bare and empty, and the other two were cluttered with Ooman science-equipment and an amount of Yautja artifacts— urns, archaic weapons, decayed shreds of cloth. Every other chamber in that ziggurat was full-to-bursting with artifacts of that persuasion, with a ghostly carpet of dust and mold coating every surface.
This led me to only one reasonable conclusion. That the Oomans had been combing through the ziggurat's interior one room at a time, that they had moved all of the valuable material out of the structure upon identifying it, and that their progress had been painfully slow.
I endeavored, then, to find wherever the Oomans had brought the artifacts they'd removed from their rightful place, and so I managed to re-activate my active-camouflage, now that my wounds had ceased bleeding and the fluids coating my armor had largely dried or come off. Making my way back out of the ziggurat, I scoured the Ooman camp, looking for any boxes or crates matching the appearance of the ones that I saw had been ferried up the ziggurat's side, earlier in the day.
By this point, it appeared that every Ooman in the compound had been gathered into one, large group within the large, dome-roofed hangar-building— it's gargantuan door shut, with Ooman guards scanning within and without. This made my task an easy one, and I found a small stack of the containers I was looking for hidden beneath a standing tarp, located at one end of a previously-unnoticed, large, flat square of pavement that I assumed was a landing-pad at the far end of the compound— big enough for three Ahgai'Palak Queens to lay stretched atop it, shoulder-to-shoulder and have room to move without touching dirt.
Examining the contents of these containers revealed the artifacts I was looking for, but immediately, something struck me as peculiar. Namely, the number and size of the metallic boxes. Barely a dozen. Nowhere near enough to suitably contain all that I knew had been taken. My immediate assumption was that more artifacts were being examined elsewhere on the compound, but as I broke into every building on the premises and overturned everything in my search... I found nothing. I had the time, even, to triple-check all of the possible locations over the next two cycles, before a commotion alerted me to the Ooman guards sallying out from their fortification to investigate— presumably to check whether I was gone.
This was not an issue, for I'd already concluded that the remaining artifacts were simply unaccounted for. And that they were likely already aboard the Ooman vessels, up in orbit. The Oomans had made off with precious heirlooms of this dead Clan, and I, as far as I saw things, had failed at my task before it had even began. I remember loudly ranting aloud, to myself, about all of this, so as to have it recorded, but what I exactly said is lost to me— I likely did so due to my worry that the apparent futility of my task would result in a failed test. At that point, I simply hoped that my diligence and thoroughness in investigating would reflect well on me and my family.
Given that I'd done all I could feasibly do, and that I'd used my Plasma-Caster to such a frequency that my armor no longer had enough power to sustain a cloak, I ran back up to the peak of the ziggurat and activated my Satellite-Computer to hail the Hunting Ship. I don't particularly remember what was said, but the conversation had with the Clan Elder in question more or less collapsed down to me asking permission to activate my Detonation Module and asking that a vessel come to extract me at a certain location after a certain number of units. I was given a yes.
So I went down to the absolute lowest floor of the ziggurat's interior, activated and set my Detonation Module to explode in one cycle, dropped it there in the depths of the structure, and ran out of the ziggurat— away from the compound, to the east.
It was as I was laying in the sand, exhausted and aching, staring up at the mid-afternoon blue giant, hanging in the sky, that I brooded over all that had happened, there. None of my thoughts were easily corralled, and I eventually chose to put off thinking on it until I'd had a chance to sleep. By the time a small vessel landed near to me, and its boarding-ramp extended to the ground, I had been on the verge of falling asleep on the spot.
I'd asked the Hunting ship to only retrieve me around two units before the Detonation-Module was set to go off, as I wished to make certain that the ziggurat was destroyed. It was as I got to my feet and began to walk to the vessel that had landed nearby that the earth shook, the air shuddered, and the very sky blackened. I looked back, and saw a blinding bubble of light consuming a small portion of the horizon, its luminance making all else darker for the briefest of moments, before it faded.
The ziggurat was reduced to a smoking ruin, with massive, house-sized chunks of it still visibly flying off in various directions, even from the distance I was standing. Far enough away that I couldn't receive eye-damage, but close enough that holding out my palm at arm's-length could not have fully shielded the ziggurat from my view. I saw that the ziggurat itself was demolished, but that most of the Ooman compound remained untouched— likely due to the brunt of the explosion being nullified upon breaking out from beneath the many haar-khaits (4) of stone and metal. Large masses of debris likely damaged a few of their buildings, and more than a few of their ears were probably bleeding, but by this time, I was simply beyond bothering.
I boarded the retrieval vessel, and endeavored to do one last thing before I could allow myself to rest. As the Clan Elder in charge came to greet me as I arrived in the vessel's docking hangar, I immediately reported to him that I believed that Oomans had stolen artifacts from the ziggurat, that said artifacts were likely aboard the Ooman vessels, and that more would need to be done to cease the desecration of Yautja territory.
In the moment, the Elder gave a... well, a flippant nod and made some vague assurances about how the matter would be handled. He then said I had done well, and that I deserved rest, which I accepted without a thought, probably out of tiredness.
A matter of cycles later, I spent the trip back to Yautja Prime in my quarters, receiving medical-attention, sleeping, and repairing by equipment. Each day that passed, the matter of these Ooman merchants and their apparent knowledge of our race weighed on me. Our lackadaisical reaction to a reliquary world having been trespassed on, their leader evidently having had some knowledge of our customs, and those autonomous constructs apparently having been programmed with some rudimentary understanding of how to combat us... none of it made sense. Not in that I couldn't understand any of it, but that none of it should have been possible, or rather, that none of it complied with the common conception of things that I had always understood to be the case.
The Yautja race had exacted bloody retribution for transgressions smaller than what these merchants had done, yet the Dark Blade High Enclave, and our Elders, apparently felt that it was an opportunity to test an upstart's skills, rather than to uphold our principles.
No sapient species was meant to know of our existence— none had, ever since the Drukathi Migration, and the Mala'kak (5) disappearance. The fact that these merchants had known as much as they did of us, for everything that transpired to be possible was... concerning. It meant one of two things: that someone had made a severe error at some juncture, previous, allowing the Oomans to learn of us, or this... Weiylahnd-Yootahnee was inexplicably far more knowledgeable and dangerous than they should have been.
In either case, an amount of hope rested in me that once the footage of my Bio-Mask was given to the High Enclave that proper action would be taken. I could only imagine the scandal if this mess, as it was, was made known to the rest of the Clans. The fact that the High Enclave could have made such a mistake to begin with made me carry more doubt in my heart than I would have cared to admit. But for the moment, I was content to see how things progressed.
When we arrived on Yautja Prime, I was greeted at the ship-dock by the same, anonymous male that had first come to my estate, and who'd first given me the Bio-Mask chosen for this task. I bowed, respectfully, and offered up the Bio-Mask in question, without a word. He took it with equal silence and asked, simply, whether I'd succeeded. I took that chance to say that I had, but then elaborated on the broader truth. I had been about to suggest further investigation on the part of the High Enclave, but the man raised a hand to bid silence, and merely said that the matter was already "under-review".
... I have never seen or heard of such a phrase being used to describe a situation of this importance, and certainly not coming from a member of the High Enclave.
The man then said that my performance would be judged in the coming days, and that the Enclave's decision on the matter would be given to me before two terms had passed. It seems... strange, to me, now, that reviewing Bio-Mask footage could take as much as twenty days, but that detail eluded me in the moment, as I was simply nonplussed at the pure nonchalance of the male before. He... he seemed to treat this circumstance as though it were little more than an incident caused by a clerical error on some guild-house's manifest!
However... I could not have said anything to bring a superior's behavior into question, especially not on Clan-owned property, so... I bowed, again, and took my leave when he gestured for me to do so. I felt lost, in the moment, and had no real idea what to do, next, after the bizarreness of that exchange... so, I simply went home. I would have to wait.
Seventeen days afterward, the same emissary showed up at my estate to give me news. He gave his congratulations on my being extended the honor of joining the High Enclave, should I choose it.
All I cared to ask about was what was being done about the missing reliquary artifacts, and the Ooman conglomerate who'd committed the crime. Upon asking, the male displayed the first shred of emotion I'd seen from him thus far by visibly flinching behind his mask, and seeming to second-guess himself. What followed was... a rather frustrating exchange where I would repeatedly ask what the actual plan was to deal with the issue, and all he could give in return was vague assurances and hurried explanations. Some indistinct drivel about the High Enclave having sent some "experienced seekers" to go and investigate, but nothing more than what sounded like hearsay.
My repeated questionings eventually drove him to become defensive and bring into question why I, a lowly initiate into the Enclave, wanted to know, so much. Pure deflection. When my attempt at further pressing the matter only yielded more of the same from him, I could only conclude he was just as ill-informed as I was, and that whoever he was: he didn't quite speak with the full weight of the High Enclave at his back.
My time spent brooding over the matter in the past days had hardened my resolve to focus on receiving answers, and when I came to the conclusion that I would be unlikely to... I impulsively refused the honor of joining the High Enclave, on the spot. I do not appreciate being shunned from the truth... and my instincts told me not to play along with whatever farce was apparently being performed. I had the distinct impression that I had been used, rather than tested. And I could not abide that.
He asked if I was certain. I said I was, and turned to walk back to my home without another word on it. When I was halfway there, I heard him shout to me: "a seat shall be kept open for you, should you wish to change your answer, some day!". I did not respond, or look back... but it does still make me wonder why they would bother reserving space for my sake. A mystery I have yet to determine... and a phantom burden, looming over me. I still wrestle with the notion that that promise may one day be brought to fruition.
The emissary stood at the perimeter of my land, unmoving from where we'd spoken, for at least forty units as I watched him from a discreet vantage, before eventually leaving.
I have never seen him, again, and the High Enclave has not contacted me, since.
I know that some, when reading this, would be appalled at my apparent disrespect— turning my back on a superior, and leaving the conversation without a proper send-off. Those that know me will hardly be surprised, but I would ask a question of those who are: if that man truly did have higher station than me, and thoroughly out-ranked me, would he not have demanded an Honor-Duel on the spot, or even attacked me, the moment I showed him my back? For what reason would he have allowed me to do so without a word of complaint, if not because he didn't truly have any leverage on me, in the first place? The High Enclave do not always follow the more stringent traditions, but I would have expected at least a verbal taunt or condemnation...
Following that incident, I could not remove the issue from my mind— it patterned my dreams and bit at my mind almost every other waking cycle. For three years, I thought on the problem and spoke with my companions on it— did nothing but think. When I became weary of doing nothing about the problem... I started making plans. Following a brief stint to obtain a Plasma Glaive from the Matriarch of a Dark Blade vassal-clan, I looked out for any opportunities to hunt Oomans that I could find on our Clan Network— asked around amidst my acquaintances. I contracted a larger Trophy-room, purchased a wider array of weaponry, and did research. Within a matter of terms, I was aboard a Hunting Ship, bound for an Ooman colony-world.
My goal was two-fold: to find more information of Weiylahnd-Yootahnee... and to hone myself against human opponents, and particularly, their Ahndroyyds. I had come the closest to meeting Paya at the hands of an automaton and its merchant owners. I found that unacceptable... and sought to rectify the issue.
To make a very long, and storied sequence of events shorter: over the course of another three years, I went on thirteen Hunts across Ooman space, encountered Weiylahnd-Yootahnee another seven times, and perfected my tactics against Pyode Admeha. Almost as many were Kiande Admeha Hunts, and at least one Ber-de'Garzuur Hunt. It was those experiences that forged me into the man I am, now.
Unfortunately, what I learned of the conglomerate in the process was... negligible. Each time I brought the matter to whatever Elder commanded whatever ship I was on, the matter went nowhere, and none but my closest allies entertained my speaking on it. It became clear to me, over time, that anything I did to impede Weiylahnd-Yootahnee would make little difference so long as I acted alone.
In those years: I personally witnessed these merchants trespass on three other reliquary-worlds. Though their search of Yautja artifacts was unsuccessful on all three counts, I suspect it might have been different had I not interfered and single-handedly sabotaged their operations— I suspect by driving up their financial losses in machine-repairs and hiring-costs.
I have personally set foot on two Ooman colonies who's industrial-development was managed by this faction, and I infiltrated their data-centers. In one case: I discovered that this faction was experimenting with Ahgai'Palak eggs within a research facility on the very planet. And that they had been using members of the colony-world's populace to breed and produce Kiande Admeha. Where exactly they found said Ahgai'Palak specimens, and why they were sacrificing their fellows in secrecy, I was unable to determine.
On one occasion, I spent a matter of Ooman-calendar months on the Ooman homeworld, stalking the areas where I knew Weiylahnd-Yootahnee held sway. And though I found nothing of great import, and collected relevant information on their stated goals, public-image, and accomplishments in Ooman industry and technology.
On many of these hunts, they sent forth their automatons to dispatch me when my presence became known, and each time, I dealt with them easier and easier, even as their programming refined and adapted after each occasion I hunted them.
I will remind any objectors that this faction already knew of the Yautja, and was in search of our technology, likely since well-before I was sent to the reliquary-world by the High Enclave. I did not reveal the existence of the Yautja race to any who did not already know of it, and as far as I have surmised, no other faction in all of the Ooman populace know of us, other than a select few of Weiylahnd-Yootahnee, and perhaps a few of their military-leaders. Any claim that I have broken the Honor Code in allowing our existence to be made apparent will be tenuous at best, and spurious at worst.
To any who doubt my word: I freely offer the archived footage of my Bio-Mask recordings, hidden within my estate's Trophy Room. Why I hadn't brought such evidence to the High Enclave, or any other Elder is immaterial— I did bring much of the evidence to my superiors, but on each occasion I did, I would simply be told not to concern myself with it. Or some other dismissal to that effect. Including by the Dark Blade Autarch's advisory-staff, itself. For whatever reason... our leaders in the Dark Blade Clan, either, do not care to hear of something involving the Oomans... or they have some secretive reason not to address a topic this important and potentially dangerous...
So allow me to reiterate all that has been said.
This group of Oomans, Weiylahnd-Yootahnee, has...
— Known of the Yautja race for at least a matter of Ooman-centuries.
— Known of the advancement of our technology.
— Known at least a limited amount of our traditions and laws.
— Known of and has been meddling with populations of Kiande Admeha.
— Coveted our technology, and is evidently willing to sacrifice much to attain it.
— Trespassed on multiple reliquary-worlds.
— Stolen an amount of Yautja relics and heirlooms.
And though they seem content to allow the Yautja's existence to go unknown among their populace, it seems apparent to me that they nevertheless hold immense sway over Ooman society and power-structure. And given the things I have seen them subject their own people to... they clearly possess no limits in the pursuit of their desires and wealth.
I can only hope... that I have demonstrated my point with this anecdote.
If, by the end of this record, you remain unconvinced, it is likely I could never have convinced you, to begin with.
By my own hand, and with utter sincerity, I commit this record to rest in posterity... and in preparation for what may soon come.
1) It is said that Nightstorm (AKA: "Scarab") was "the first Super Predator", according to a random blurb of lore on the back of an action-figure box-set. I took that to mean that Nightstorm was the first to spark the divide between regular Predators (Yautja) and Super Predators (Hish-Qu-Ten), and that he must have done or said something to begin the Blood Feud between the two. I have many theories on how that came to be the case.
2) "Loud Conquerer".
3) "Short Embrace".
4) A unit of weight-measurement I mocked up— let's assume that a haar-khait is equivalent to 1.72 tons.
5) What the Yautja call the Engineers/Space Jockeys.