Somewhere Someplace

Eyes opened; eyes ‘ignited’ and ‘activated’; eyes whose irises’ natural colors were overridden by a sparkly cyanic, almost ‘pseudo-digitized’, radiance; eyes engraved with the radiant signa of the ‘arcane’, the sigil of ‘upliftion’, the sigil of ‘essence’ and its ‘alignment’; the sigil which separated ‘delusion’ from ‘truth’, they from them.

The whites of the eye still existed, even if somewhat tainted; the black pupils were still present, even if surrounded by the ignited sigil engraved. Indeed, eyes so strange and alien yet, nevertheless, distinctly human. Such eyes, however, were obscured behind a strange pseudo-masquerade full-mask, one which obscured their face completely; silver-white and rather pointed at the chin, faint patterns of hexagons outlined in grey—barely visible but still present.

A mask blank, empty, and bland; devoid of personality, and devoid of any meaning. The only true ‘masquerade’ element being a ‘half-mask’ ‘module’ affixed to the mask proper—nothing more than two dark lenses with two basic grey feathery-like protrusions extending from the lenses’ sides. A mask so strange and alien, yet nevertheless…familiar and distinctly human.

Scratched and scraped, slightly damaged on the outside, but still more than functional. The eyes behind this strange mask could see clearly, even if hazy and noisy; in fact, they could see better than clearly. They could see in the dark; they could see heat itself; they could see in so many ways, and could see things that no other eyes could see. ‘Radar’, ‘compass’, ‘map’, and a myriad of other such digitized ‘HUDs’ and ‘screens’ littered their visual field…in addition to so many notices and warnings.

The strange dark-violet cloaked figure to whom these eyes and mask belonged was on the ground, or rather a road of sorts. Stunned and confused, dazed and staggered, in pain—their head and mind most especially.

Their eyes looked up to the dark cloud-obscured sky; processing, evaluating, realizing. In the sky up high were dozens of strange erratically moving cyanic lights—or objects that appeared as simply floating lights. Flaring away in quiet fury from these lights was a maelstrom of cyanic ‘bolts’ and ‘tracers’—‘smooth’, ‘pure’, ‘thin’, and ‘refined’.

The lights flared their bolts in all directions at targets afar and unseen to the naked eye, firing away at the surrounding hills and small mountains; their exotic explosive bursts echoed afar, detonations of which left behind nothing but residual glowing cyanic goop and exotic wisping dust.

A few larger lights fired ‘lances’ which pierced through the sky in a sparkly cyanic trail, their violent exotic detonations booming and echoing the horizon afar, destruction on an even greater scale than a simple ‘bolt’.

Firing back all around from all directions, however, were white-yellowish ‘bolts’ and ‘beams’—‘thick’, ‘heavy’, ‘volatile’, and ‘energized’.

These volatile energized bolts and apparent beams fired from unknowns all over and a round yet so far away, and pulverized into the earth and ground as well as the sky. They shredded all that which they touched, their energized yellowish-white detonations leaving behind nothing but residual exotic ‘ash’ and radiant ‘soot’.

Indeed, ‘cyanic’ and ‘yellowish-white’, both ‘exotic’ in properties, yet fundamentally different.

Lights popped in cyanic explosions, their equally colored flaming debris raining down from the sky up high, gradually dissolving away into strange dust-wispy exoticism. The lights in the sky formed a defensive perimeter around the dark-violet cloaked figure, suppressing away as columns moved with extreme speed in organized formations, moving to engage closer.

Unknown bolts began to fire in their direction as they laid there. They had been struck straight in the head and knocked-out temporarily, they quickly realized.

Without any more delay, they immediately snapped up back onto their boots, and began to stride and dash away from the road towards a patch of forestry near, leaving behind a faint hard-to-see trail of snow-dusty cyanic radiance.

Their hooded mask-obscured ears ringed with sounds and chatter—synthetic and mechanical in nature, yet surprisingly affective and human-esque.

{Domine, you are active again; ambush, to repeat, ambush; all friendly sections engaged in combat. Gray highlights, unknown contacts; unidentifiable and undocumented; non-denizen and unaffiliated with any designated hostiles or the Cala—}

{Domine, unknowns appear to have been tracking us by unidentified methods, and there are indications that they are utilizing some form of stealth and or masking capabilities our sensory and detection systems had not accounted or correc—}

{Security and combat are moving to engage, teams have been dispatched to assist friendlies in proximity, overwatch is suppressing and covering your retreat, and all surveyors have been recalled to retreat and assist, but we predict a high likelihood that we will be overrun shortly; unknowns appear to have some form of anti—}

{Domine, we are losing contact with geospatial surveillance and satellite systems; no surface launches have been detected, most likely—}

{Friendly pings are fading quickly, communications has already dispatched an emergency long-bump signal to Special Command informing them of operational failure and contact with unidentifiable hostiles; it is apparent that prior assump—}

{Domine, parent sentinel is returning to you. We recommend an immediate exodus from this area; we have highlighted a possible cavern system suitable for long-term entrenchment; map and coordinate position marked for surviving friendly rendezvous; we will cover as much as able until then}

« Éntelliģetùr! Ad aeterníam! »

{Aut mortem}

They pushed deeper into the forest, eyes fixated on their HUD map as unknown bolts pulverized into the forest around, the cyanic lights counter-firing in kind. Their mind was focused and attentive…yet still staggered and at a loss. Cogitating yet unable to think; their mind flared with activity, wondering what just happened.

What went wrong? What did they do wrong…again? Loss, failure, defeat; endless mistakes, endless sacrifices, lost in the void of time.

Once again, for the nth time in their long-long life, they failed utterly. What could they do now? Trapped and stranded somewhere someplace, so alien yet so familiar. Once again, for the nth time in their long-long life, everything was so seemingly…falling apart.

Olim oblítissimó suspexit húmánitás stéllás illás in cæló nocturnó lúcentés superné oculís libentibus cúriósitátis, et spérávit ut júnxerit sícut æquális. At etiam illam húmánitátem ínfantem oculís frigidís déspexerunt stéllæ, quæ semper indifferentés omnínó cuinam víderunt. Unó dié autem décréverunt illæ stéllæ húmánitátem ad sé pertinendam essé. Itaque á stéllís ipsís húmánitás ínfáns illa ex incúnábulís suís antíquís síc erepta est, ut major facta sít, ut serví novellí deórum ætheriórum catenás suás tenentium factí sínt. In oculós ejus signum servitútis æternális ínsculptum, nova húmánitás renata illa novellam essentiam sine corde animáque data est ut…

The stars retreated behind the blue sky’s shadow as the sun began its rise. Once again, a new day dawned upon the Central Continent, as it had done so the day before and the day before the day before. The sky brightened as morning’s twilight faded, light morning fog enveloping the cold yet warm lands below.

The many denizens of these lands awoke, once again, to do their many doings, as they had done so the day before. Yet today, unlike the days before, was different and more special to the denizens below, for it was the first day of a new year in this ever-changing world.

Once again, like the year before and the year before the year before, a new year dawned upon the growing and urbanized city of ‘Coastfield’—translated approximately as such—which was the capital holding of the ‘Vice Barony’ of the same name, a title held by the ‘Baron’ of the ‘Barony of Coastfield’, who was also the ‘Vice Count’ of the ‘Vice County of Coastfield’…who also held the title of ‘Count’ of the ‘County of Coastfield’: thus, they were the Count of Coastfield. The County of Coastfield being, of course, an independent ‘sovereign realm’ as opposed to being a ‘vassal realm’ of another greater ‘sovereign’.

Coastfield was a small, yet very affluent and prosperous, feudal realm located in the tips of the north-western coastal region of this continent and was essentially a single city with a few minor outlying villages and communities affixed to its domain.

Its connection to the coast and rather convenient positioning had transformed what was once, in a time of old, a small fishing village into a large sprawling metropolis: a nexus point of ever-growing intercontinental commerce between these lands and many others across the grand ocean blue—the so-called ‘Far West’ most especially.

In a world seemingly falling astray as the winds of change blew and dragged all along, forsaking any left behind, Coastfield was one of many feudal realms centralizing and evolving.

The Count’s royal authority was becoming ever-more absolute and preordained, as his once simple court became more akin to a government and his realm a state. The fact that almost every feudal title within this small county were held by…one single person…certainly made this ‘modernizing’ and ‘centralizing’ process…easier…compared to most feudal realms.

Coastfield itself reflected these changing times; a city lost to unplanned urban sprawl and dotted with dozens upon dozens of construction projects of ever-greater complexity and scale, its architecture being a mixed synthesis of local ‘fantastical’ styles and ‘modern’ Far Western styles. Having long outgrown past its ancient inner-walls, it was starting to expand past its outer-walls, as rural peasants—freed from their bondages of serfdom—flocked in droves for new opportunities.

The streets of this city were packed with people of all kinds and creeds alongside many wagons and carriages—dragged by a diverse array of different animals and ‘chimeras’, through the horse still reigned supreme, nevertheless. Indeed, it was a burgeoning and rapidly expanding city…and had all of the problems associated.

The calm and tranquility of night was replaced by the noise and turbulence of day as denizens awoke to do their many doings. Noises and sounds of business and typicality, yet also celebration and rejoice, for all still alive had made it to another year, once again, as they had done the years before in their short and finite lives.

Ignited cyanic eyes sprung open, finally. Eyes ignited in the signa of ‘magic’. Yet unlike a ‘spellcaster’ or ‘mage’, these ‘casting eyes’ were always in such a state, never deactivating. It was as if ‘spells’ were always active, ‘running’ in the ‘background’ of her existence, so to speak.

Her ignited cyanic eyes stared up at the ceiling. She had that dream again, one of many dreams…she preferred not to have. One year… It has been one year since then, or at least…she thought it has been one year; time was something she so easily became lost in.

Entrenched and holding out…left stranded…exhausted and depleted, she had thought it was over; she had thought…it would all finally end for her. Yet, instead, she was ‘rescued’ by someone like her, someone who herself had been stranded here, in this place, for more than half a century. A survivor…like her, yet also…different from her; a deserter yet also…a trooper, for desertion…did not truly exist for those like her.

She did not know where she would be right now…had that deserter, that…now former associate of hers, not come to her so-called ‘aid’. She did not know…where she would be…if her former associate had not…taken her along, teaching her, instructing her, and drilling into her how she herself…had survived and how…she needed to survive. Abandoning everything, leaving so much behind, yet, in the end, her former associate herself…ended up getting caught.

Though, likewise, she did not know…if her present situation was truly…any better. She did not really know what to do…besides wait and play pretend, hoping that reinforcements would come… hoping that she was not left behind…again.

Her eyes burned with the feeling of death, her mind and head throbbed in pain; she was not one to feel ‘well-rested’. Sleep was not much of a necessity for her; she could function for…quite the time…without it. However, her former associate had instilled this habit into her…since it was best to maintain proper synchrony with the time-schedule of this place.

Assured she had been, likewise, that sleeping every night would…eventually yield benefits…but such had yet to manifest for her; she still struggled to see the point. Though, this apparently ‘not-great-not-bad’ quality primitive ‘bed’ of sorts was…rather comfortable—for her standards at least. She had to give it that credit; for it was, indeed, hard to really…get out of.

She finally, after much deliberation, stumbled herself out of her bed, or rather not her bed, her former associate’s bed but…effectively now her bed—as was the case with this room and the rest of this urbanized housing unit or ‘apartment’: all her former associate’s…or rather no, she was a ‘tenant’ to the ‘property owner’ of this…apartment, so not technically hers.

She stepped her feet onto the cold floor, standing up as she wiped all the morning guck out of her eyes, yawning as her ignited eyes peered around. This room was not small, but also not large, and was spacious enough…to a point.

She began, without delay, her drilled tasks of this day and every other day, making way to open these ‘curtains’ of sorts. But…she paused, realizing…right, she was forgetting something; she needed to get adequately dressed first, ugh. Right, her figure was mostly nude.

She made way to this not-so-large-but-still-spacious storage space of sorts, or ‘closet’. Opening its wooden door, she rummaged, in an organized fashion, through it, sorting out all that she needed to wear for this day. First, she had to don this undergarment of sorts, one which covered the breast area. A rather strange and somewhat uncomfortable thing…but mandatory for all ‘women’ in these lands, even if fully clothed.

Right…she was female; she knew that, but she still needed to remind herself. Such was meaningless to her, but carried a plenty in these lands. So many norms and customs, all endless abstractions born from over-imaginative minds, all of which were so utterly beyond her.

After donning this ‘bra’ of sorts, she then put on her usual white, green, and amber-brown color-patterned ‘feminine’ ‘commoner’ ‘tavern’ ‘dress’ attire.

A tedious thing to put on, but mandatory for her ‘employment’ as a tavern ‘maid’ or ‘waitress’, from which she earned ‘silvers’—the primary so-called ‘commodity of exchange’ in these lands—which was necessary to ‘pay’ the ever-rising ‘rent’ of this apartment—failure to pay in a timely manner resulting in the confiscation of the housing unit and all objects within by the ‘property’ ‘owner’; An ‘eviction and confiscation seizure’, as it was called.

Her tavern dress donned, she yawned impulsively. Finally, she was sufficiently covered enough to open her own curtains, which she did so promptly. Finally, the sun’s light was permitted entry, illuminating everything in detail.

This done, she made way to a large mirror of sorts, one suitable for figure evaluation.

She stared into it, evaluating herself—yet another procedure drilled into her, not done out of any personal desire nor interest. She inspected her hair first; natural intermediate brown in color, ‘feminine’, ‘straight’, and ‘normal-long’—though longer than she usually ever had it. Her hair was rather tangled and messy, and thus…she needed to straighten it using this ‘comb’ or ‘brush’ thing of sorts. Her dress too…needed some straightening.

After this, she then inspected her eyes. Ignited and activated per usual, her natural eye color completely overridden and obscured by exotic cyan—a natural color of which she did not remember nor care to remember; an utterly irrelevant detail.

Her eyes were bagged and visibly exhausted, but…they were always like that seemingly; it mattered little for they would be concealed and hidden—her eyes needed to remain unseen in order to blend in effectively, as they could bring…unnecessary attention.

She then evaluated the rest of her being, fixing and straightening her attire as needed.

All of this done, she stared at her figure’s reflection. Local combat specialists with peering and peaking eyes would sometimes remark that her figure was ‘visibly active’ and ‘athletically sound’, seemingly ‘built’ for ‘agility’ and ‘flexibility’ even if rather ‘light’ and ‘girly’ in form.

In general, both her face—whatever was visible of it at least—and her ‘petite’ figure were considered by the locals of this place to be ‘very attractive’ and ‘deeply appealing’. Though, she had not the frameworks to comprehend the meaning and significancies of such descriptors of ‘attraction’ and ‘desire’; it was utterly meaningless to her.

She quickly inspected her skin—another drilled procedure, for such was unnecessary in utility. Her skin was light, rather pale, and somewhat ‘peach’-like in pigmentation. Although it had been significantly paler a year prior, even now it still appeared to an extent as though her skin had hardly ever seen direct sunlight.

She felt it; her skin was always rather soft, smooth, and pristine; it never dried nor aged; static and always in best optimal condition. Occasionally, from time to time, glittery cyanic radiance would wisp and dust off her exposed skin, though such was always, usually in normal circumstances, so very faint and hard-to-see, going unnoticed by most if not all.

No maintenance or care was required for her skin, it happened automatically. The same applied to her teeth, which she also inspected by drilled habit. Always clean and pristine; her breath was always empty and never foul. She had no need to ‘linen’ her teeth and use ‘herbal powders’ and ‘mints’ to freshen and clean.

So many things there were, indeed, which she had no need for.

She did not need to eat…often, nor drink water…often; such were still needs but they were spread out over a…longer period of time. Likewise, she never—assuming optimal function—had to seek a ‘latrine’ or ‘toilet’, unlike the majority of locals.

She hardly ever had to maintain, with active intent, most aspects of her hygienic maintenance; albeit, while she may never smell ‘foul’ and her skin may not accumulate as much natural guck, she could still be contaminated by external environmental influences and guck.

So many things running in the background; so many things happening automatically; so many peculiarities and oddities. For as familiar as her appearance was, she was, nevertheless, so very strange and alien in so many ways.

Yet such a state of affairs and related details were completely obscure to all denizens around. For all intents and purposes: she was one of them, no different. That was the image and impression she had to create and maintain; even if she did not comprehend any of the things she pretended to understand; even if she hated every picosecond of it.

Her staring face was empty and with flat affect. She practiced gestures and expressions, refining her pristine smiles and charms. She had become rather good at feinting them while feeling nothing genuine at all. Though, such feigning expressions were still rather hard to maintain; the urge to default to her empty and expressionless flat affect was always so strong. Thankfully, she only ever needed to manage just her lips and lower face.

She continued to peer in the mirror, and continued to ready herself for the long day ahead. She continued to do all of these procedures and tasks which had been instilled and drilled into her, all such necessary doings that were required to blend in and dissolve among the many, to appear ‘normal’ or at the very least ‘foreign’.

She felt nothing for the dress she wore; she felt nothing for the hairstyle she put her hair into; she felt nothing for smelling nice or looking ‘pretty’. None of this mattered to her on the inside; they were nothing more than strictly utilitarian actions that were necessary to stay hidden, to survive, and to bide her time.

She felt nothing for any of it, nothing at all.

« It does not matter if you do not feel anything or attach to any of this; all that is necessary is to pretend and imitate, a parrot speaking—if you even know what a ‘parrot’ is; all that matters is if the denizens around think that you are what you present yourself as…the reality inside will always remain hidden, » such words echoed in her mind; that was how her former associate had put it.

A parrot who pretended to speak yet did not understand nor comprehend the nature of the speech; nothing but noises made in imitation: that was what she was, a parrot of a local, a parrot of a denizen.

Finally, done. She was done…well, almost. She quickly returned to her closet and donned these black ‘leggings’ of sorts, which covered most of her legs. Following this, she put on her…typical commoner lady ‘shoes’, or boots rather, a specific type of leathery boot…with a ‘heel’ of sorts—rather annoying to walk in, but she had become used to it.

She then affixed to her belt, a small personal satchel, her one coin-pouch, and a few other necessities. Finally, there was the last chore, the most important thing she needed to don: her mask, which was gently situated on a ‘side-table’ of sorts next to the bed.

A masquerade-esque half-mask; it had been given to her by her former associate. Hard and stiff, bland and largely a colorless white besides some basic patterns of grey here and there; it was seemingly in the general abstract shape of a ‘butterfly’, and thematically invoked such appearances.

She was told to paint it one day, to truly make this mask her own…a new face to wear in this strange and alien place. Though…she had no intentions of doing such a thing, for it was not her true mask, not her true face, even if the white blandness felt familiar.

She donned her mask, the tinted lenses of which obscured her eyes sufficiently and did not come at a…complete…cost of visibility. They were still clear to see through, but certainly…darkened her visual field to a degree; her eyes and brain could adapt and adjust around such easily, however.

She was now absolutely ready. She grabbed her personal carry bag and exited her room into the ‘living quarter’ of this apartment. Dusty and largely unused, with a ‘kitchen’ and ‘dining table’ of sorts; not large at all but still…spacious enough. There was a door to another, much larger, storage space in this area as well; one more important than not.

Without delay, she departed her apartment, closing the door behind and quickly locked it with her key, and then…double checked to ensure it was locked…and then triple checked to ensure it was locked. Past mistakes had caused her former associate to…thoroughly drill into her the importance of ensuring that this door was always locked in her absence…or even while she was present.

After she definitively, within absolute certainty, confirmed that the door was, in fact, locked, she made way down the hallway of many other numbered doors in order to depart into the noisy world beyond.

She yawned again. Ugh…such an irritating impulse, her mask obscuring her perpetually tired eyes.

« Ôh qua jo ģe nunqua habițuatù devenifo… » she muttered to herself; oh, how she will never get used to this.

She stepped out into the city beyond, joining the many denizens who themselves were off and away to do their many doings. She took in and breathed the air outside, her skin feeling the heat and light of the shining sun in the sky up high.

Truly, such strange feelings unfelt for such a long-long time. Feelings so familiar yet…nevertheless, so alien; one year was not nearly enough time to truly comprehend them. Truly, an alien to these lands and those around, in both perception and reality.

Yet, nonetheless, off this foreigner went to begin her day, to begin her many doings, like all the rest around as the sun rose ever-higher upon a new day of a new year.

And so begins the play on this world’s grand contrived stage

An ever mundane beginning, indeed

Nevertheless, I can only wonder where it leads