Madness of Maena

[The Lurking Presence]

Dreamy nights, on nightmarish Maena; wrapped in the sultry shadow of a somber sky, that wept ash. Seething neon, sprayed outward wide and far, glittering like pseudocolor static; saturating all it touched with a spirituous glean, that seemed to inebriate sanity. The New City of Idd-yha stood tremendous and terrible, the roaring fire of it's vertical cityscape, reaching out even in to the silken blackness of Space - tempting the eye of every transient miscreant, beckoning them as moths to come nearer it's morbid flame.

The Maenan autumnal equinox had arrived, and with it, a swell of ghastly tourists of all make and manner. Hoping to satiate gruesome hunger; at all of the macabre feasts, this frightful World had to offer. Sordid degenerates, bleeding with desire, to quench their thirst with the ugly delights of the planets most honored Season of Tradition. In all of it's pristine and grisly delight.

From the 600 Cities of Idd-yha's cavernous belly, and across the entire World, the spirit of Halloween left no inch of ground untouched. Corpulent feasts of the most sumptuous viand, opulent soirees of fornicating flesh, and lurid Rituals. Sensational gore, splattered across every HoloScreen, through every Cineplex, and at every Stage Show. Each viewer and attendee drinking in the grimness that was put on display, minds lost in the kodachrome bloom, that lit the dark rooms behind locked doors.

In the Black City of Kr'ylland, where [member="Matsu Xiangu"] and her Apprentice were preparing long journey towards, this was considered the most sacred Event of the Maenan Calendar. Bereft the pageantry of offerings available for Idd-yha residents and holiday adventure seekers, this was a place where only the traditions of Old Maena were observed. Where only the perennial tongues took stride through the streets and over obsidian sands. Where every imperishable Cult and Religion was invited and had Temple. Where their appalling Rites knew but only one Law.

Never act in opposition of the Sacred Black Idol, around which, the entire City had arisen to envelope at it's center.

Alchemists of every color; Black, Red, White, Gold. Necromancers, Sorcerers, Wizards and Ash Priests. Shadow Paladins, Dark Templar's, and Mages. Oracles, Augurs and Witches. Nether-Walkers, Void Seers, and Demonwives. Slavers, Torturers, Inquisitors. . . even Jedi and Sith, all welcome to perform their foul labors. But on these days and eves, their zealotry grew more feverish. So sinister and putrid, it could shatter the mind like brittle glass, if ever it were witnessed.


Perhaps one day, the Stars of this vast Galaxy would coordinate just so, affording the Pale Apprentice opportunity to expose his Master to such celebrations. Such busy lives, they two lead. Between their work with the Saaraishash, and Sith Empire, joined with the monumentally laborious tasks of birthing an independent Intelligence Agency, while remaining vigilant in action there at the highest towers of the New City. Spare time had largely become a mythical concept.

While great portion of their duties saw them required far from this heinous and wonderful World, quite luckily, a vast portion of their endeavors for the Lord Inquisitor, [member="Darth Saarai"], saw them able to entrench their efforts deeply upon Maena. The construction of Section 13, the countless avenues for Investigation and Study in to the far-flung Force Traditions that cratered every crack and crevasse of it's surface, potential recruitment of innumerable Mercenary Soldiers, Agents, Assassins, Slicers, Outlaw Technicians, Death Squads, Pirates, Bounty Hunters, Scoundrels - the spectrum of possibility ranged to an almost limitless degree.

One day,

one day.

For now, Belphaegor found himself content, hysteric passion thrumming the bones of his body. The impending journey would more than suffice, her eyes would witness the unholy beauty of his home, and already, he could taste that foul air.

In the interim, here, at East Haven, they found themselves making the final preparations before the intrepid trek. Ministering final orders and dispersing tasks through their various networks that they wished completed by the time of their return, some months from now. This place also provided all of the necessary provisions they could possibly require, enough to get them to the next settlements where they'd resupply, with enough to spare should something run afoul - in Belphaegor's experience, whatever could go wrong, always did.

East Haven was primarily a Trading City, known by a number of names: The Maul, the Wound, E'yz Sh-aaudyr. But while this place served a purpose, it was the unobservable aspects of it, that truly astounded. There it sat, where two portions of the slope of Idd-yha opened violently; twelve days from where the monstrous mountain yawned and the New City plunged downward, and nearly three times that distance, by foot and along paths, to the base.

Compassed by sheer cliff faces, and steep inclines, East Haven swelled outward from an immense laceration of rock. A Wound, they said, placed upon Idd-yha during one of the Wars between the Eyaer and Zsha-thu, so distant in Maena's past that none even knew the name of this great conflict, or the outcome of it. For most, they knew not even the name of the peoples. Merely that in some fashion, it was between the Heralds of Xoth-Za and their most Ancient enemy.

Shaped and built of block, with entire buildings and structures carved and sculpted directly out of the Stone. East Haven spread out and became sprawling within it's hollow confine. Bridges extended vast distances between sectors and squares, massive markets and settlements mazed through tunnels and caverns. It was a City that knew more than a hundred thousand transient travelers and perpetual residents, but were one not shown where exactly it resided, none would ever even know that such a place existed on the outside of the chaotic neons of the New City interior.

It was a fact that even impressed the Inquisitor, this Ancient Volcano, so vast and mammoth, that one could gaze upon it for a lifetime - and still not contemplate just how large it actually was.

It was there at the very edge of the Settlement's limit, [member="Matsu Xiangu"] and her Apprentice found themselves currently. Ash snow drifting in lazy sheets across the neon haze that bled up and outward from the riotous spire, it's luminous sheen touching them even now, so far from the highest Levels of it.

"I suspect you've gotten your fill, of dear [member="Six-O"]? " Belphaegor asked gently, huddled under a hooded cloak with a scarf clutched loosely across his face.

Not but moments prior, the Droid had departed back for the the uppermost Towers of the New City, aware of it's goals, as they rarely ever changed. It knew exactly how to maintain what thin veil of order they controlled there in the Upper-50. That, however, was the easiest thing to count upon. When the organic element was removed, rarely, did one have to worry and account for possible failures.

"Not much of a view from here, sadly. " The Pale Apprentice continued, gazing back out through the thick waves of soot that drifted silently through a blistering, but soft, breeze. "Food, Master? "

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

There was a skill to packing and provisioning oneself for the type of journey they were partaking in, a combination of careful planning and artless bag stuffing that she had deferred to her apprentice for when the time came. She was no stranger to journeys, long stays in inhospitable conditions, anything of that nature - but Maena, as much as she wished it, was not her native land. For this journey, Belphaegor would know best what they might need and when. Their route along the planet’s surface took them past countless places to restock both mapped and unmapped, the latter residing in Bel’s native memory alone. And the first was East Haven.

Truthfully, Matsu was looking forward to the experience for reasons beyond the main point of becoming intimately familiar with the wild breadth of culture on the planet and becoming acquainted with the locals. In this, all the details of the woman the galaxy saw would be gone. No nice clothes, no heels (even if she’d done her best to try and give Belphaegor a fit of impatience by pretending to pack them), no power that scared the galaxy, no myth. Just Matsu, closer to the little girl than she’d been in decades, trying to rewrite her roots. And...to let Bel see her as she really was. Beyond the ribbings they were constantly trading, the teaching moments. She thought she’d felt it once or twice, that comfortable and familiar peace found in silence while studying together from the miles of words he brought home from one place or another.

But oh, the ribbing would be constant.

Her first reaction to his question was a thin ribbon of irritation. Six-O seemed like low-hanging fruit and besides - there was that part of her that ached to leave him behind, that would miss him like someone had unplugged her power. Always harping, always using him as an insult…

But it disappeared, instead giving way to a sly smile that curled one half of her mouth. “Oh, yes,” she said simply, leveraging the power of too much information against Bel in return. “Food, definitely. For ourselves first and then for the trip? Saying goodbye to Six-O did leave me...hungry, after all.”

Sharing of purposely inappropriate things complete, the pair dipped in to the stream of citizens and travellers and let themselves be carried along. Traffic stuck to worn trails in the ash, preventing the worst of it from clinging to pant legs and skirt edges - life unbothered by inconvenience, those whose jobs it was to keep walkways clear taking to the task with the gusto of practice. A flake alighted on Matsu’s unnaturally pale cheek, smearing across a too-defined cheekbone as she reached up to brush it off absently. (If she’d seen it, she might have wished it to be the token it seemed - a Maenan’s mark.)

Even without being purposely somewhat vulgar to bother Belphaegor, she truly was hungry. Eating was something of a task between old damage to her jaw from Dromund Kaas, worsened exponentially when Zymus had caught her with a knife - in this very city - in the left temporomandibular joint during one of the battles with the Last Fathers, cracking her jaw like an oyster’s shell. The result was a fairly repulsive clicking as she ate, and a need to chew slowly to avoid the joint creaking out of its socket again. Her surgeons on retainer assured it could be corrected almost to original function, but she’d elected to leave it until later. This trip had been planned for too long to postpone for something as trivial as that.

The City had trained her to eat while moving, food wrapped in bread or folded for quick consumption - or, at a more expert level, simply eaten off a plastic plate with a plastic fork while speed-walking and tossed when finished. Of course the City prided itself on sit-down dining from the supremely classy to the dingy and dirty but it was more than common to see people on the move with food in hand. There was no rush on their journey but even still, Matsu found herself gravitating to food that would allow them to keep moving. Even more interesting was the distinct lack of seafood on offer. The City spared no expense in the transport of imported seafood, carefully preserved to taste as fresh as possible or even trying to find ways to cultivate it in the city itself. But outside its exorbitant walls and this far from Maena’s main oceans, fish was a luxury. And up this high, meat was also very particular to whatever traders had dropped off recently or had been imported in - with the exception of course, of several local delicacies. Huge, horned goats had learned to climb the outcrops surrounding the carved bulk of the city, seemingly defying gravity as their hooves found purchase. Lizards attracted to the humid heat of East Haven’s cavernous areas, various rodents, insects. It was all on offer, as unique to itself as it was to Maena.

She traded for goat stewed in withered tomatoes tucked artfully in to an herbed flatbread folded a dizzying number of times. She could make out blood onions, their distinctive bright red darkened with heat, sauteed to crisp edges nestled in to the sauce that coated the meat. Beans and peas snapped between her teeth as they walked and ate.

She savored it. Their meals between destinations would lack the passion and art found in this one. Instead they would stock up on cured and dried meats, vegetables that would keep, nuts, and anything that provisioners had seen fit to can. It would be about energy to make the journey, not the pleasure of a good meal. She didn't mind - it would make trying food in each destination all the more enjoyable.

Even still, her last bite was mournful.

Meal complete, they set to the task of stocking up on food for the journey between East Haven and the next stop. They picked through the variety, palming cured goat, lizards packed in salt, root vegetables that would keep a decent enough time, canned volcano-vulture shot from the sky outside the city, and - blessedly - canned fruit for some variety. (There was a moment where she wondered what the galaxy would think of her there, a mentalist-witch stuffing lizards and fruit in a bag next to a jacket that would help protect her from sudden storms. Which was the real one? The Matsu they knew, or this one? Did it have to be one or the other?)

In the process of shuffling things between their bags to make things easier to find and distribute weight, Matsu found the words coming out before she really knew the impulse: “Do you really dislike him? Six-O, I mean?” Silly, it might have seemed, to ask when she could just look. But anyone that knew her even a little was aware she never pried in to the minds of those she respected without incredibly good reason.

[member="Belphaegor"]​

 

[The Lurking Presence]

Snaky paths of Ash, enameled by the Neon Sun of the glittering New City, broke apart gracefully. Down one, the cobbled trail continued through the open face of East Haven's limits. Vast and bristling, picturesque as it leaned under heavy soot snow. Dutiful custodians as far as the eye could see through the confines, brushing and sweeping, keeping all lanes clear. As young Maenan children, with scheming eyes, descended en masse.

This year, the Witch of Idd-yha, had been the costume of feverous devotion. Tiny Matsu's too numerous to number, garbed in the battle gear of a new idol. The mask, however, needed many adjustments. The scarring was off, the eyes so slanted it would border on offensive to much softer and social minded sorts. But the hair. Of course Belphaegor had to point out that ratty and tattered doll fuzz.

Naturally, however, he steered them off course. Removing them from the roving packs of rabid juveniles. Little Maenan's, more often than not, were more dangerous than adults.

Their path, on this eve, lead deeper in to the Wound. Where corridors, furrowed through stone, wormed through the surface of the massive mountain. Some so long it became dizzying, lit by flares of murky torches, hung on bolted revels. Others were short and narrow, barely wide enough for them to squeeze through side-by-side. All lead somewhere.

Theirs?

To a grand square, so immense, it felt torn from some scripture of fantasy. A whirling Market - something Maenan's seemed obscenely attached to, Markets - scrambling frenetically with life. They would skim through many of these on their adventures, and perhaps, in some way, it explained Belphaegor's proclivity for judging entire Planets based off a single browse through whatever random bazaar they found themselves at.

"Z-shae uut, yog xi vy tr'az-kax! " Yelled her Apprentice quite suddenly while they were moving towards an expansive stone bridge on their prowl for food. A pale fist, extending from oversized cloak sleeve to stroke furiously once against something that seemed so large it appeared like a simple wall. "We're walking here! " He yelled once more over the bustling crowd.

When suddenly, from high above, a voice so deep and alien arrived. It could turn the Maenan Sea to ice. "Yog uuk ot za r-yek'u la zsh'ekt! " A behemoth-sized Dowutin boomed down at them, having quite nearly backed in to the pair. As it was tending it's trade goods of weaponry.

"Hi'sheth su ut, vrr'axt-uul! " Belphaegor breathed with fiery Maenan passion, flicking his hand from under his chin up at the beastly menace as he and Matsu continued on over the bridge towards the Food Stalls and Shops.

"Psh'iiz va kuu'za-wy eth! " The black Dowutin returned in kind, raising a fist so broad it was nearly the full length of Matsu's torso.

"Drz'utt hy zey. . . " The final words her Apprentice shared with the creature, before, as suddenly as his little scene arose. Life just went on.

It was unusual, maybe, curious; their choice of toothsome cuisine. Matsu had aimed more traditional, more true to life outside of the New City. Belphaegor, the exact opposite. He chose something from her World. Their World. Maenan, in every way. But by no means native. Of course he haggled with the grubby, grease stained, Duros. Although, to an untrained ear it really rang out like a vicious exchange where certain death was going to be the final verse.

But, eventually, he was served.

Gamorrean Cheek, braised viciously in Maenan Ash Ale, of course, that's what had set the whole tirade between the two off. Where was the Gamorrean from? Was it a rare, white, Gamorrean like the menu said or was there trickery afoot? But it was indeed, exactly as advertised. Served with Crimson Vodran Swamp Pickles, which added an exceptional sourness to the entire savory bite, and oozed excessively with Thala-Sire, Green Cheddar Cheese Sauce on a Maenan Lava Roll.

Impulsively, Belphaegor had insisted that she have a bite. That she needed to taste the complexity of it's rich umami essence. But, this was a side of the two rarely witnessed. Something shared only between the two of them. They were almost entirely different people. . . almost.

"I don't hate it, Master. " His answer came almost immediately, while he extracted the troublesome bag from her grasp. "I appreciate Six-O, it is a very complex. . . beautifully dangerous. . thing. " His tone was surprisingly gentle, yet accepting. "Six is a Droid. I'm fine with that, but. . " he paused, shifting his gaze around the area cautiously, and, out of habit.

"But, I am not always sure you can perceive the difference. Or exactly. . the nature of what it, might think of you. "

They had about an hour to kill before one of their Contacts would meet with them at the Slaughtered Rancor. But they also had a lot more supplies they'd need to gather, thank Ultroxium, he'd managed to separate her from her wardrobe and shoes. "There's a Bakery in the next chasm over. We've got time to get there and back. "

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

She was pushing a napkin through the folds of the metal comprising her hands, removing some of that delicious green cheddar sauce that had been on Belphaegor’s meal. When he’d insisted she try, there was no hesitation - despite her reputation, she could not be accused of being afraid of a little mess. She wondered, just for a moment, what they looked like; all pretense gone from anyone looking at their interaction, just two people who looked like they’d grown up in Kr’ylland (and at least one had), sharing a meal. Maybe a mother and son. The thought made Matsu’s stomach twist.

The act of cleaning however, gave her the time she needed to think on his answer.

Ever since that day - decades ago now - that she’d promised no one would ever touch her mind again, she’d set on the task of separating all things and storing and keeping them in her mind where she wanted them. Conceptually she thought of it as a smaller version of the New City in her mind. Practically, it allowed her to retain a truly formidable memory of facts, places, events, and knowledge because she organized them carefully in to her mental space. Functionally...it kept anyone else from finding things either. Should someone ever somehow manage to break past her defenses, they would have to contend with the dizzying streets and apartments and restaurants and storefronts in her mind. Information about her powers were in that apartment three floors up on the left down an alleyway with an opening not easily visible from the street. Information about her assets was in the storefront that had the glowing neon frog on it, a toe on one rotating leg broken.

But some truths were underneath the duracrete that made the walkways. Those she hid even from herself. She KNEW the truth - she’d buried it under the road itself, had analyzed it thoroughly. She understand that Six-O was a droid.

And then she’d buried that under the road to forget.

“I know the difference,” she said quietly, the thinnest stream of pain underlying a usually casual voice. She would only ever say it once, and then it was going right underneath the duracrete again. To be trod on by millions and forgotten. “But I still see his treatment of me as something else. Something beyond programming like everyone insists. I could tell you more about it, if you like,” she said, purposely ending on a note punctuated by a vulgar grin to defuse what was quickly burdening her when she wanted it least.

The climb-and-shimmy over to the next chasm was blissfully free of any oversized aliens yelling at Belphaegor. As strange as it was, something had nagged at Matsu’s hindbrain in the presence of something so much larger than her. She could live with never being that close to a Dowutin again.

A bakery would be a practical stop, of course. No doubt it would provide dried breads of which travellers on the planet were so fond but...Bel had to know about her insatiable sweet tooth. It had burgeoned some time in her childhood when, dirty and in clothes she’d been wearing for eight days straight, she’d peer from the bottom of some shop window and dream of filching a cake. And it continued even when she could get a cake any time she wanted. She coveted them, that sugary symbol of all that was out of her reach as a child.

So when they walked inside to the shop carved in to the stone, ovens artfully carved even deeper in to Idd-yha itself, it was some kind of heaven. She was acutely aware they had an hour and she could easily browse for longer.

“I just have to pick one thing to have here,” she said as if begging permission from a patient friend, eyes depicted obscenely in Halloween masks as round as ever in the face of so many options.

What ended up catching her eye was a meringue - crisp on the outside, like marshmallow on the inside - streaked with curd from Roonan lemons and the blood of Roonans themselves. The meringue melted in her mouth, the tartness of the lemon nearly puckering in its intensity. The Roonan blood was odd: salty, irony, but with a strange fruity aftertaste. Altogether, it had her insisting Belphaegor try it just as he’d traded meals with her.

There were, as noted, practical purchases as well. Enough lavian bread to hold them out until the next resupply was packed in to bags nearly bursting. Baked in the earth instead of ovens, dried precisely to eliminate the scourge of moisture, and then wrapped in paper to keep anything from landing on it to grow, it was known to last weeks before it spoiled - a welcome change from dried meat and canned vegetables.

The taste of meringue and iron in her mouth, they entered back in to the chasm and started back towards their rendezvous.

“The Herald’s High Priestess - Rael Rus? She came to see me while you were away. She asked for my help with some group called the Eyaer, should it come to it. From everything I’ve read and everyone I’ve talked to, I thought they were extinct or close enough to it that it wouldn’t matter. But she didn’t seem to think so. She seems to think they’re a threat to the planet…”

[member="Belphaegor"]​