Order I
There was a man who walked with a cane. Why? He did not need it for balance, for his form was formidable and his stance good. Yet he walked with a cane, and suffered no fools. The man lived in a world of war, yet bore no armour save for electric blue gauntlets covering his arms. His clothing was plain, and his long red hair tied back in an ornate plait that reached right to his waist. He gazed through a single eye, the other covered by a patch and hiding it from view.
He strode into an enormous viridian room, lined with statues of ancient warriors and heavily ornamented. He approached a throne at the end of the hall bearing a seated woman, and on reaching it he knelt.
“Disorder marches, my Lady.”
“Rise.”
He did so. The Lady expected one to stand on ceremony, and at this time he was certainly not going to disappoint her. At this time.
“You are no messenger. What makes this news so important that you need attend me yourself?”
“They have power with them, Lady. The Jester and the Poison join the march, and a hundred other warriors.”
“A hundred?” she scoffed. “They cannot hope to take me here, in the Emerald Palace, with such a paltry few. My soldiers are legion, and my resolve is iron. They cannot hope to take me here.”
“Poison, my Lady. And Chaos himself, too.”
“Chaos never commits to a cause long enough to have any true impact.”
“Listen to me. They have already reached the Interchange. You know they have strength. A defence must be coordinated.”
“And once their backs are broken on my fortification, we counterattack and exterminate them all.”
“If you wish it.”
For the first time, the Lady smiled.
“Shock. Go to the Interchange. Find Poison. Find him and kill him.”
“My Lady?”
“You heard me. If he presents the threat you claim, he must be stopped before he gets within a thousand words of the Emerald Palace. Find him and kill him before he does.”
Shock nodded.
“If you wish it.”
The man who walked with a cane turned and left the hall, his gauntlets green in reflection. And as he walked, he allowed a determined smirk to creep across his lips.
>
Hillside became lakeside, and lakeside became forests of mammoth mushrooms, and the forests became fields of obsidian glass, and far in the distance the Interchange loomed. It had the smell of dismay about it, even at this range, and it made Shock sick. As the light faded and the fields transformed to a floor of chains punctuated by flaming geysers, a figure approached from the opposite direction. His face was covered by a mask bearing a twisted grin, and he too eschewed armour save for gauntlets. His were gold, and his chest was bare. As the newcomer approached, Shock halted in his stride and stood resolute.
“State your descriptor and business, mannequin.”
“I am no mannequin,” responded the advancing man, drawing a serrated crimson sword from a scabbard on his left hip. A second scabbard, its blade still concealed, rested on his right side.
“Your business, then.” Shock reiterated, eye narrowing.
“Justice.”
The man was not walking quickly, but as his sword became wreathed by his side in flames Shock faced inevitability. The incandescent sword struck Shock across the chest, sending the warrior flipping over backward with the force but he stabilised mid air and landed on his feet in time to see his assailant drawing his second sword and swinging both weapons wildly toward him.
The reason for the cane became apparent; Shock drew a thin blue blade from within and used both sword and stick to parry the adversary’s swings effortlessly, knocking the masked man to the floor from the impact. Shock’s sword crackled with pure lightning and he brought the strike down on his prone attacker, discharging the energy across his body but before he could deliver the killing blow his target rolled backwards and rose to his feet once more, cracking his neck from side to side.
Shock snarled as he wrapped his weapon in a cloak of flame, and charged forward. The justice-bringer dropped to the floor and in a flash he was gone from the scene, leaving Shock alone once more.
Who was that? Not a mannequin? A new arrival to the Interchange?
This could change the game magnificently…
Mist Over The Interchange
Remember I said I wanted to step away from the gothic/cosmic horror and surreal fantasy¹?
Here’s some more surreal fantasy.
Kedge
¹ In case you were wondering, I class both Deimon and the Cedge Mythos² as cosmic horror. Dream Ascendancy isn’t really anything properly yet, but it will be a slightly surreal space opera. I’ve also been working on some werecreature stuff (modern gothic horror – it’s solely for a tabletop roleplay, it won’t be gracing the blog. Probably) and Aether³ (the surreal fantasy that I’ve put a load of offline work into).
² You’ll learn why soon enough, I know it’s not particularly cosmic with what I’ve posted so far.
³ Not sure if that’ll ever reach the blog yet. We’ll see, eh? It’s quite nihilistic⁴ in the end.
⁴ Everything I write seems to be.
Mist Over The Interchange
A masked figure stood on the edge of the hall on the mountain, his white tiger furs ruffled in the cool highland breeze. Men on horses galloped down the ridge, below the cloudline and out of sight towards the Station. The sound of bamboo pipes sang around him, and for a time he considered peace. For a time it seemed as if the combat was far away, and rest finally awaited him. That time would be short lived. Battle and ferocity was his purpose, and his blade cried out for more blood. How long had he been here, watching? He did not know.
In a schoolyard full of ghosts, a woman in uniform chewed a lollipop. Hazy figures shifted in and out of one another, wandering aimlessly, oblivious to anything going on around them. Did they have lives? Or were they just puppets to Zammerann itself? Just who was running this show, anyway? Eyes fixated on the lost spirits, the woman too knew struggle beckoned.
This is a dark place, a cage surrounded by fire and smoke and calamity, and the men that spar there are pain itself. Defined by whips and constraint, these fighters revel in sadistic delight, and for them there will never be enough screams.
Here, in a darker cage, weapons clash in a climactic duel. A man with scissors for hands and a grasping mask writhes in glee, dancing around a robed figure armed with sword and shield. Here, lunacy meets stoicism in combat to the end. Here, the fates of minds will be decided.
Far away from this, a lady in the garb of a medieval entertainer and equipped with a behemoth sword slays men in suits, her weapon cleaving right and left and with each swing turning these mannequins to the dust from whence they came. She has been fighting them for time now, and the end is not quite in sight, but if the Interchange wills it allies will be drawn to the bloodbath.
We return to the masked figure on the edge of the hall on the mountain. Another man has joined him, boasting a mighty cleaver and wrapped up from the chill of the highland breeze. Their swords clash, and with swipes, stabs and kicks the mask is broken. The men have the same face.
Below, over the Interchange, the mist turns to storm clouds and lightning of every colour cracks the sky. The war continues.
That Was Then, This Is Now
It seemed ill-fitting that the night was not turbulent. A vicious storm of monstrous proportions, hammering rain and raking, chill winds that cut to the very bone would have lent an air of gravitas to the proceedings occurring within Red Hall Manor, but instead all was crisp and clear, and despite the midwinter there was not even snow on the ground. Inside the drawing room, nine figures sat around a table with nine flintlock pistols arranged as if the spokes of a wheel, each one stretching out promisingly to the seated folk illuminated dimly by the crackling fire.
Their fate was decided. That was the purpose of their meeting on that empty and unremarkable night – not to ascertain their course, but to enact it. The Organisation had been established some meetings previous, with the rituals of conscription conducted, and already the nine who would be referred to as the First Assembly had left missives for the first members of the fledgling resistance, explaining their reasoning.
With stiff nods, the nine each reached for the pistol nearest. Each had only one shot. It was not possible for these nine to undertake the bonding themselves, and that is why their lives had to be sealed forever. The risk that any of them could be forcibly bonded to the Old Deimons of the Gentry was far too great, in that a risk existed at all. Their work could not be compromised.
As one, nine raised their pistols. As one, nine guns were pressed against temples. As one, nine shots fired with maddening intensity, and blood coated the floor.
At that time, the building was known as Hereward House. It was after that heavy morning following, when the servants found the bodies, that it became known as Red Hall Manor.
That was then.
This is now.
“Don’t talk about vampires. Vampires aren’t real. Werewolves, ghosts, Frankensteins, all that gothic crap – stories for kids and teenage girls who desperately want to not fit in. When I talk about things that go bump in the night, odds are you aren’t even ready to know about what I mean. Not just some guy with bad teeth or a real bad hair day or wearing a sheet.
Fact is, you could be face to face with the danger and not know it. Hell, for all I know you could be the danger. Imagine an eight foot snake, fat as a tree trunk, translucent skin revealing pestilent intestines within. Its face is a mess of tentacles and fangs, and its body is ridged with barbs dripping a foul smelling, thick liquid. Along its length are hundreds of eyes lidded with blinking mouths, always watching and snapping.
Think you’d notice such a thing standing in front of you? I’m willing to bet you wouldn’t. Because that thing’s not just hanging around. It’s in the cashier at the cinema. Your work colleague. A parent. A friend. A lover. It takes over their mind and body from beyond the next dimension, mimicking them and hiding in plain sight, until its masters can visit chaos upon the world. And that snake thing I just described? It’s not even the worst one.
I know this because I’m the last and only line of defence. My friends, allies and I. We made a deal with unknowable creatures to protect our home from this extra-dimensional invasion, forced to sacrifice our humanity to protect that of others.
I just wish I could tell you we were winning.”
Notations & Nihilism 