Stories in Sand: Armageddon Apocrypha

[James de Monet]

Okay, the idea here is to gather some of the fictional stories of Armageddon (things that didn't really happen IG or IC) in one place, for your amusement.

This first story is unfinished, I have at least one more section written already, but it's waiting for artwork.

Armageddon Noir: Samos the Finder
And the CASE OF THE ONE-EYED GODDESS

PART 1

Whira ain't been kissing me lately.  She's never been the most amorous of lovers.  Well...there are some weeks she stumbles into my apartment at night, smelling of 'breather, and smiling like a raptor in a gurth clutch.  And then there are weeks like this.

Rent's due in the morning.  Rent I don't have.  I was just thinking about dusting off the old sifter and earning my keep like mortal men, when there's a knock at my door.  My feet are up on the desk, and I'm struggling to roll too little racer into a proper tube, so I shout "Door's open!"  The bone hinges grate on each other as someone gives it a push.  Something shapely slips across my sill.  At first, I think it's Aiya, but she don't make house calls, and she knows I couldn't afford to buy a smile off her, let alone a night.  I sit up straighter to get a good look over my toes.  I feel Whira's breath on the back of my neck as a breeze comes in the door, and just for a moment, it sounds like someone is humming behind me.  A jaunty, mischievous little tune.  That could be good or bad.

There's a doxy standing in the light of my lamp.  I could swear her curves do several full turns in the time it takes them to travel from her slippered feet to the top of her flowing red hair.  She's wrapped up in silk tighter than a Nakki noblewoman, and that stuff doesn't leave much to the imagination, which is good, cause I ain't got much of one.

I suddenly realize my throat's dry, and I can tell I'm staring.  "Eh...how can I help you..." Kadian.  She's gotta be. "...merchant?"

Fierylocks watches me for a moment, her heart-shaped face wearing a look of skepticism.

"Agent." She says softly.  "Junior Agent Annika Kadius.  And you are...Samos, the Finder?"

The breeze coming in my door brings the sweet aroma of Templar's Heart to my grateful senses, and I'd be tempted to answer 'yes' if she asked if I was Samos, the Rennik.  Or anyone else, for that matter.  But the Finder...yeah that's me.

I nod.  "Most people just call me Sam, Agent.  You got something needs finding?"  I lean back in my chair, playing it cool, and pray to krath it doesn't collapse like normal.  I put that wimpy tube between my lips just in time to realize I can't reach the lamp from here.  Idiot.

I'm about to take my lumps and sit back up for it when she steps forward.  She lifts the lamp off my desk, extending it toward me.  "Here," she says.  I study her, for a brief moment, too stunned to speak.  What's a classy dame like this doing in my apartment?  What's she doing in Red Storm?  The lamplight glints off the gems on her rings as I sit forward.  My cheek just brushes her fingers as I lean down to light the last of my spice.  Krath, her skin is softer than quirri fur.  The bitter smell of the smoke fills the room as I take a puff, but if anything, the racer is slowing me down.  My heart's already trying to pound it's way out of my chest.  Whira...what are you up to?  I sit back casually, and I catch a glimpse of something on her as she returns the lamp.  Worry, creasing the corners of that pretty face.  So.  She's got big girl problems to go with those big girl curves.  Maybe she's in the right place after all.  Finding solutions is my specialty, cause I'm the Finder, and that's what I do...

PART 2

Fierylocks laid out quite the tale for me.  A real sob story.  An aspiring young Kadian.  A fortune in jewels.  A theft.  A murder.  And a cover-up.  And guess who was taking all the blame?  I was sitting there thinking I heard about the same story every day until the words "diamond the size of a fist" reached over the desk and popped me in the jaw.  Seems this dame had about a month to come up with the diamond, which they called the "Eye of Whira", or she was gonna take the long fall before the Highlord's Templars.  I should've known.  That name should've stopped me dead in my tracks.  But a diamond the size of my fist had to be worth a bag of 'sid the size of my desk.  And oh, those big, beautiful green eyes, weeping fat tears into her silken sleeve.  Whira saw ME coming a mile away.

I slip out of my apartment before dawn, to avoid the Nenyuk, and decide to start my investigation the only place anything gets started down here - the Storm's Eye.  I make my way up to the bar, to drop a casual question about some friends, and Shyra asks if I'd like a drink.  Ohhhh, Shyra.  One of these days, I'm gonna have some money, and I'm gonna take her away with me.  To someplace that only has sunsets and a big cot, and I'm gonna...well...I digress.  I only had the coin I was going to use to buy a couple travel cakes, but Shyra smiled like she always does...so I decided a liquid breakfast would probably be just as filling.

It wasn't.

My friends come down just before light, as I sit nursing that mug.  Skimmer's mates.  Real silty types, with the deep cough from breathing all that dust, and the skin turned almost grey from exposure.  I can't understand half the things they say, and I will never know how they hear the good rumors, let alone anything at all, sitting out on the Sea all day, every day.  But they tell stories for free, to any shorebound willing to listen, and I'd done them a few square over the years.  Word on the silt was that Baryx the mul was talking big about some heist in Nak.  Now, I don't tussle with mulflesh.  Nobody does.  And I DEFINITELY don't tussle with people who DO tussle with mulflesh.  Any Amos willing to stand toe to toe with fifteen ten-stone of raw muscle and tell it to get bent is a fella I don't want to know.  Or stand particularly near.  But that diamond wasn't gonna find itself ...

Thankfully, I'd left my crossbow at home.  I knew it wasn't gonna do me any good in the alleys anyhow.  Looking like you might be able to fight was a good way to get in one, down there.  I made sure I had just enough things worth stealing on me before I strolled down the street and took the corner everyone knows you shouldn't take.  Right about the windmill, a rough voice says behind me, "Whatchu doin down this way, Finder?"  I spread my coat real slow-like, to show I wasn't armed, and I went for it.  "Looking for Baryx," I said.  The rough laughter from behind me was echoed from both sides of the street, and I started to get that clausto...closetro...I started to feel a little pinched.  "Baryx don't wanna talk to likes of you."  I decided to try my luck.  "I heard he landed a big job," I hazarded.  "I thought maybe he'd finally wanna pay me to find out which one of you stole his ratlon."  Sudden silence.  That was a mistake.  I could hear Whira's soft laughter as the wind flapped the unseen thugs' torn leathers, though.  I wasn't gonna answer for it.  Not now, anyhow.  The voice was less amused, now, "Real cute, Finder.  Yeh might have a hard time findin that out with no eyes and no legs."  I waited for the other boot to drop.  "Sides, if you go talk to Baryx right now, he'll break yer face off.  You didn't listen good enough.  He got necked on that job.  And he ain't real happy bout it."  "Did he find out why?" I probed.  "NO," was the simple answer.  I offered a slow, self-deprecating smile.  "Well, you know," I said, "FINDING things is kind of my specialty..."  There was a long pause before some harsh whispers echoed off the alley wall.  "Yeh, mebbe," the voice finally conceeded after the discussion, "but if I show ya to Baryx, and you don't find his money, the only thing you're gonna be findin is yerself.  In a bad way."  It was almost a coherent threat.  I was impressed.  They fleeced me anyway, of course, but I wasn't too torn up about an earring I got off a corpse, some scrab legs I found in the bazaar, and my glow that didn't even light bright enough to search my pockets anymore.  Which was a good thing, too, or else they would've found the stable ticket that I had shoved down deep in my pocket and forgotten.  A down payment from Fierylocks so I could come meet her in the Big Black when I found out something solid.  I straightened my stained coat and tried to pretend like I wasn't being held captive as my unseen companions escorted me to meet Baryx, the biggest hurt on the lower west side.

PART 3

Baryx the mul was sitting in some abandoned millhouse, laughing it up and drinking from a keg with a handle on it.  The sound of the door as I was dragged in brought the party to a halt.  There was a moment of silence as faces I would rather forget turned to regard me.  "What do YOU want, Finder?" the mul finally demanded.  "You're out of your neighborhood."  A few of the broken-jawed, milky-eyed types thought that was funny.  Their laughter was like flyer cries on my eardrums.  Quite a few of the things I had found over the years I had found in the possession of Baryx or his thugs.  Lucky for me, Baryx had a strict "get caught, get dead" policy for his employees, but he still didn't take much of a shine to me.  "Heard you might need my skills," I replied simply, keeping the cheek to myself.  I'm flippant, not brain-dead.  Baryx's hairless brow rose challengingly, "Oh?" he asked.  "Word on the street is you're out a big payment," I said.  "Thought you might like me to find it."  "So that's what the silky bitch came to talk to you about," Baryx guessed, "and she wants her diamond back."  "Yup," I said.  No sense lying about that.  "And what do I get?" Baryx demanded.  "To find the stone, I gotta find the guy that forgot to pay you," I said.  "Certainly that's valuable information to you."  Baryx looked at one of his lieutenants, a woman with a face like something out of my worst trips down Skellebain Lane.  A wordless conversation passed in the space between them.  Baryx turned his scarred face back toward me.  "Alright barfly," he said, "but one condition.  You don't mention my name to Kadius, you don't involve the Sand Lord's people, and you don't move on that stone till I'm standing there."  Baryx doesn't count so good, and his conditions sounded like a good way for me to end up empty-handed at the end of the night, but I could go to Kadius with his name if he fleeced me...if I wasn't tied to a rock at the bottom of the deep silt, anyway.  "Okay," I nodded, "gimme the scoop."

"This weren't no normal job," Baryx said as his people settled onto crates and boxes, drinking quietly as they listened.  "Some roundhead came in here, bold as you please, none of my boys even saw him coming.  I would have bent him over for a silt horror surprise..." I didn't ask what that was.  I was pretty sure I didn't want to know. "...but there was something off about him.  I kinda got the feeling he wanted to break my fingers with a hammer."  I felt like Baryx was probably projecting, but I didn't feel the need to point it out to him.  "So I let him say his piece.  He wanted my people to walk into a Kadian auction tent, though the back, steal a big diamond, and walk out.  Easy as chokin a sharp."  I felt like I lacked the requisite life experience to appreciate that comparison, but it didn't take a big brain to figure out HE could probably do that with two fingers.  "But something went wrong," I guessed.  Baryx nodded his massive head.  "My boys nabbed the diamond easy enough," he said, "but then poshies started screamin in the other room.  My lifters jozhaled out of there, but not before they heard people shouting about a murder, and a claw-faced mul."  Baryx points to the 'kore scars down one side of his face, ones that almost made him a cyclops.  "I weren't even there," he says.

"My boys brought me the rock, and I locked it up in my box," Baryx says with a growl.  "That was three days ago.  Yesterday, it ain't there.  Now, most times I would start smashing skulls together until someone confessed..." Here several of Baryx's ruffians shifted uncomfortably, apparently in memory of the LAST time he had to employ his methodical search. "...but ain't nobody in my house stupid enough to take that diamond, and leave two bricks of Sweet, the token for my skimmer, and a couple large in straight coin," the mul stated.  "When is your client supposed to pick it up?" I asked.  "That's the thing," Baryx replied.  "I never heard from him again after we left for Nak."

Whira blows teasingly in my ear, but her breath smells like a setup.  Or maybe that's just the alleys.  Either way, I gotta find a man who walks unseen, to pay for a job he apparently forgot.

Baryx's knuckle-draggers give me a helpful shove back into the sunlit areas.  But I can't stay for long.

And, because I'm worried things are going to get buried since I am posting a whole bunch of stuff in the same sub-forum, here are some links to other new content I just posted:

   Armageddon Animated Gif

    The Armageddon Tools Website

[James de Monet]

Rescued this one from RAT. Remembered it since LM posted it at the same time I was working on these.

FAITHFUL LORD DICK TRACY!!!!!!!!!

I don't know why I wrote this.  Maybe it's just one last paean to separate templar orders.

A Crowded, Dusty Office [N]
This office overlooks a cramped back-alley in Tuluk, a pair of half-shaded windows peering out into the city.  Sounds of a busy tavern below echo dimly through the floor. Streams of light pass through the windows, casting the shadows and light in the room into high contrast, dust motes dancing in the air.  A battered, glass-paneled wooden door leads into the cramped hallway to the north.
A beat up, agafari-wood desk is here in the middle of the room, overflowing with papers.
A bone and antler coatstand stands just beside the doorway.

Someone pauses in the doorway of the office, feminine sillhouette visible behind the dusty glass panel.

Pacing in, the ice-cold-eyed Lirathan templar perches on the edge of your desk, smoke trailing from the end of her carefully rolled tube of spice.

The square-jawed, dark-haired Jihaen templar turns from the window overlooking the alleyway, adjusting his yellow, goudra leather trenchcoat, blocking hazy streams of sunlight with his bulky form.

The ice-cold-eyed Lirathan templar plants a palm on the desk amidst the papers and leans forward.

The ice-cold-eyed Lirathan templar says to you, in sirihish,
     "Listen Dick, I got a job for you."

Feeling narrative, you think:
     "She was a classy dame, and I was down on my luck. Still, I had a feeling that this was gonna be a dodgy job."

The ice-cold-eyed Lirathan templar says to you, in sirihish,
     "I know what you're thinking.  You think this is gonna be a dodgy job."

Out of the corner of his mouth, you say to the ice-cold-eyed Lirathan templar, in sirihish,
     "Start talking, Sister."

Taking a hit from her cigarette, looking at you with a half-lidded gaze, the ice-cold-eyed Lirathan templar says to you, in sirihish,
     "We're having trouble finding Kul and his boys. Made off with Muk's crown. He's furious. They've been giving us the slip ever since."

Feeling narrative, you think:
     "I told her to start talking. Sure enough, it was dodgy alright. Kul and his boys have been running Under Tuluk for a long time."

Sparking a flint and starting to light his weathered, baobab pipe, you say to the ice-cold-eyed Lirathan templar, in sirihish,
     "What makes you think I can find Kul's boys if you haven't had any luck?  That's right, Sister. I know all about your little racket."

The ice-cold-eyed Lirathan templar leans across the desk and grips the collar of your yellow, goudra-leather trenchcoat in both hands, looking at you intensely.

The square-jawed, dark-haired Jihaen templar starts backwards, spice spilling from the bowl of his pipe.

Feeling narrative, you think:
     "But I was out of sid, and I didn't wanna cross one of Eunoli's girls either. She was a hard one, this dame.  I didn't know if I wanted to hit her or kiss her."

Passionately, giving you a shake, the ice cold-eyed Lirathan templar says to you, in sirihish,
     "I need this, Dick. I've gotta get the crown back. My career's on the line here. Just do it."

Pressing a heavy pouch into your palm, lips moving to your ear, the ice-cold-eyed Lirathan templar whispers to you, in sirihish,
     "I know how you feel. You don't know if you want to hit me or kiss me. I get a lot of that. But believe me, you'll appreciate the payoff."

Gruffy, out of the corner of his mouth, you say to the ice-cold-eyed Lirathan templar, in sirihish,
     "I'll do it."

Feeling narrative, you think:
     "So I told her I'd do it. Worse comes to worse, she'd owe me a favor, or I'd be dead."

The square-jawed, dark-haired Jihaen templar moves to the door, grimly adjusting his trenchcoat.

Placing it onto his head, you get a wide-brimmed yellow hat from a bone and antler coatstand.

Tipping his hat to the ice-cold-eyed Lirathan templar, you place a wide-brimmed yellow hat onto your head.

[James de Monet]

This one is a fictional account of a recent meeting between Tek and Muk Utep.  Clearly, there are some inaccuracies, here, and the concept might be a little stretched, but I thought it painted an interesting picture, so...

Tea With Tektolnes

On a Starkly Shining Crystal Plinth [D]
You are standing on a gently rounded plinth of transparent crystal, its surface a hundred cords across. There is not enough air here to support a breeze, but something is driving fine particles of sand across the pellucid surface, which sings in faint tones beneath their rough caress.  As the sand reaches the edge of the crystal, it falls away, drawn by the gravity of the yawning, brilliant sun below, its rays reaching back up to suffuse the platform with a soft, shining light.
A small table of air and liquid citrine sits unpretentiously in the center of the platform, laid for two.
The immense, crimson-braided man sits in a crystal chair, staring into the blackness of space, beyond.

Every particle of sand on the platform rises into the air at the same moment, hanging there frozen for a fraction of a second before exploding away from the plinth as a gaping, tortured hole tears itself in the fabric of reality.

A massive black dragon steps through the portal, its iron claws sawing piercingly on the immaculate floor.

Lifting his teacup to his lips, still watching the movement of the stars, the immense, crimson-braided man says:
    "Good morning.  Kind of you to come."

An earsplitting ethereal scream rings out of the other crystal chair as it sunders itself, exploding in shards of blinding red sunlight, only to reform in a grotesque, misshapen mockery of its former self.

Lowering its bulk into the now much larger chair, the massive black dragon says, tonelessly:
    "Utep."

Closing his ages-old eyes for a moment as he inhales the aroma of his tea, rapturously, the immense, crimson-braided man says:
    "I got your little present.  I haven't the faintest idea why I would need a mountain of fire..."

Nothing moves about the dragon's face, the razor-sharp plates which might be armor, or flesh, or both, hiding any glint which might issue from its eyes, but something about the creature twists into a mocking smirk.

Continuing, after a sip of the tea, the smell of verrinbloom wafting from the cup, the immense, crimson-braided man says:
    "...but I am certain I will figure it out."

The plates of the dragon's maw do not move, but the sensation of its mirth slips away, sourly.

The sound seeming to manifest itself more than to issue from any mouth beneath its impenetrable exterior, the massive black dragon says, flatly:
    "What do you want."

Turning his hermetic eyes on the dragon, finally, the immense, crimson-braided man says:
    "I was curious.  About what you meant to do, should He return."

Snappishly, the massive black dragon says:
    "What does that matter?"

The soft light seeming to falter in its dance as his night-black frame looms forward over the table, the massive, black beast says:
    "I am the dragon, now."

The faintest glimmer of a sad smile touching his features, the immense, crimson-braided man says:
    "I am certain He will be relieved to hear that His burden is lifted."

The air of the table and the pure gold of its citrine seeming to rot and darken with his mood, the massive black dragon warns:
    "Don't mock me, petty chieftain.  You KNOW that I could reach across this table and unmake you before you were born."

Quietly stating, the immense, crimson-braided man says:
    "And you and I both know that your claws would find only empty air."

The immense, crimson-braided man continues:
    "And what's more, that you will not do it."

Looking to his guest with poise, the immense, crimson-braided man says:
    "We both know where we stand."

Rising to the shrieking cacophony of its claws on the pristine glass, the massive black dragon says, as it turns:
    "You assume too much, and know little."

Reality howls in protest as the black dragon pierces it with a fist, slashing open a dark portal to another place.

The black beast steps through the rent, and for a moment, an empty palace of dark gold can be glimpsed.

With a whimper, the threads of the world reach out to one another, closing over their gaping wound.

Taking a sip of his tea, the immense, crimson-braided man says, to himself:
    "I know that you will be back."

Setting the cup and saucer down on the ethereal table, the immense, crimson-braided man says, as he rises:
    "You do so enjoy our little chats."

The immense, crimson-braided man pushes his chair in, stepping away from the table into nothing.

With a soft, contented sigh, the crystal plinth seems to gather itself for a moment, then bursts into a shower of bright, otherworldly motes, dancing down on the solar wind to the waiting sun below.

[Reiloth]

haha, I liked that.

[path]

I'm seriously into the Finder. He should call me.

[Inks]

The Finder story is awesome. Write more! Would buy the book.

[bcw81]

Ehem. So I might be a little too drunk at the moment, but apparently being Drunk makes me proactive.

Please follow the following link to listen to audio books of all the following logs. (Please note I was super drunk on Templar Dick Tracy and decided to make him Mickey Mouse.)

(I was also pretty drunk for everything else.)

https://soundcloud.com/brad-wullenwaber/sets/armageddon

I'm going to sleep now, but tomorrow when I get drunk I'm going to make more of these if they come up.

[James de Monet]

Oh man, I didn't even make it all the way through the Tea version. I kept cracking up, thinking of you wearing a smoking jacket with a big, leather-bound book in your hands, a la Masterpiece Theater.   

[bcw81]

I want to start reading more stories like that and recording them - Well, actual stories, logs get a bit repetitive when read aloud. If anyone has a story they would like turned into an audiostory (make sure it's already been posted on the website or somesuch), let me know and I'll get drunk again.