Blue Posted April 13, 2015 Share Posted April 13, 2015 A screen pops up. An image of a tall, sand-colored Unathi clad in robes is visible. He is wearing a pair of shades to conceal his eyes, and holding a leafy cane in his claw. Dark smoke puffs out of a wooden pipe in his mouth. He is smiling. On this day, April 12th, 2457, NanoTrasen has lost another valuable employee. Hazeri Saakaht, 65. He was working his shift at the NSS Aurora when he suddenly suffered from a fatal stroke and died. He has been in service for 26 years, advancing the fields of chemistry and science while doing so. A small funeral has been held in his honor. Among his possessions, this handwritten book was found. Believed to be written by himself in anticipation of his own demise, it will now be posted on the extranet for reference. A long line of words, in a sloppy, messy handwriting follow. If you are reading this, then the dementia, cigarettes, age, or something unforseen has finally stopped playing games with me and struck the final blow. But it is of no dismay, nor is it something unnatural. I have lived far longer than most Uneth have ever cared to. In fact, I may have been one of the oldest employees on the station, with my age being roughly equal to Sixty-five Terran years. Even though the first thirty or forty may have been less than pleasant, the remainder has felt like a blessing that I may never be worthy of, and never shall be, for that matter. My story has been jumbled up over the years. My age, mixed with my disease have made it hard to keep hold of memories, which under any other scenario, would be cherished in a chest of gold and silver. Some of it may be false, some of it may be long forgotten, buried like treasure that will never be found. However, it is crucial that I have something to set the record straight, thus, I have tried to remember as much as I could. It all began in a supermarket, in one of Moghes’ larger cities. My father, a military tactician hailing from the equatorial regions, a practitioner of the “Grand Stratagem” faith [Moghian belief that fighting, combat, and even training was essential in the development of one’s character, as it established not only physical dominance, but discipline, respect, and courage. This pseudo “religion” was rather popular in the region] cast his weary body to purchase some drink, or food. It didn’t matter, nothing was sold that day. He met my mother. She came down from the Northern polar regions to sell her harvest. She believed in Hand Of The Vine [Another Moghian belief that nature was the ultimate symbol of life and beauty. Followers took gardening religiously and lived semi-nomadically, planting seeds as they went], and the two faiths often didn’t see eye to eye. However, something happened that day. I’m not exactly sure what, but I think it was love. My father, the esteemed military tactician, left his life to go live with her. Something you’d never think you’d hear on Moghes. They lived together in the clan. Her clan. He even adopted her clan name, Saakhat! Naturally, he retained his ranking, and was considered one of the most honorable men in the settlement. They got married, and did whatever it is married couples do. My mother laid three eggs, I was told. Only one of them had hatched. Even then, I was a rather unhealthy baby. I wasn’t as responsive to stimuli, and my limbs were hardly mobile, even for a hatchling. The doctor told them not to be surprised if I passed within the month. Of course, my father was decimated when the news hit him. I was too weak to become the warrior he wanted. In spite of his dismay, my mother comforted him. She reminded him of a rather known prophet in Hand Of The Vine, Hazeri the Wielder. According to the legend, Hazeri was also born weak, too weak for his clan’s expectations, and left in the wilderness to die. He was later raised by Threshbeasts, and became a fierce warrior, uniting about seven clans by conquering them. His name literally means “Conqueror”. Clearly, there is no correlation between him and me. Hopeful as he was, my father had difficulties with me. I never really grew out of my physique, and I was far less potent in sparring than anyone else. Even though he received less flak than me for it, he took it deeper, I could feel. No matter what happened, I simply could not fight hand to hand, blades, archery, nothing. Each time I tried, I would be defeated. Each time I was defeated, my father fell further and further into this abyss. I remember overhearing his prayers in the night, and his worried whispers to mother. I also remember a time when I noticed he stopped doing either of these. Nobody was really surprised when he announced Guwandi. In Unathi culture, when an Unathi decides that they have no honor to live by, no purpose to achieve, or no time left to live, they will take upon the title of Guwandi, meaning that they are in a sense, killing themselves. Taking only a small weapon and some food, Guwandi scavenge the wilderness to either be claimed by a Moghian best, or duel another Guwandi to the death. Keep in mind, I was only a teenager when this happened. Despite feeling so detached to my father, I felt absolutely miserable after he parted. I received one day, presumably out of respect, where I did not experience ridicule from my kin. After that day, the fire kept coming forward fullspeed, nonstop, and harder than before. I spent my time with my mother, mostly. She didn’t care if I could fight or not. In a way, she was glad to still have somebody. We tended the garden together. For every day that I ran to her in tears, she never failed to find the words in the right, hushed tone to coax away my every negative feeling. All I had in Moghes was a garden, and my mother. Then I achieved that age where the men go out to find a wife. Or rather, where the men go out to bribe the father of their future wife to arrange a marriage. While my kin went out, brawling and cutting like never before to impress, I stayed within my lair. I knew I had no chance, and I was better off humiliating myself less. This consequence would have come out to bite me later on. Just when I couldn’t imagine anything getting worse, I had to be proven wrong. Raiders were nothing new when you live somewhere as lawless as Moghes. Of course, they come and pillage as they please, if your guards cannot stop them. During one such midnight raid, I witness my village burning to ash. There were plenty of them, coated head to toe in plated armor, mounted upon vicious beasts. I was outside when they struck. My mother rushed in to get me towards shelter, but it would be a terrible, terrible mistake. She caught the attention of a savage raider, who immediately sent his mount on her. Rather than use a weapon to finish her, the savage took a length of rope. I shouldn’t have to explain what he did with her. She screamed for mercy, but her lame son was the only one that could hear. I tried my best, I tried to stop him, but he simply laughed as I fell to his blade the moment I sprung. My vision began to fade. All I could see was my mother tied to the back of an animal, rode by another animal before darkness consumed me. As much as I didn’t want to, I woke up in a clinic hut. Nowhere to go, now. Even though my clan repaired the damage done, I had lost my world. Home was no longer a safe haven for me. I fled to the cliffs, and resided there for some time. My favorite pastimes included screaming at the stars for condemning me and debating whether or not to end it all. This is where I felt I started to lose my mind. One night, I had a vision though. Before me, I saw the prophet Hazeri. He did not speak a word, but he guided me through the sands towards an oasis. It was then he told me that this is when I’d become what I needed to become. He gave me a list of “commandments” to follow. But honestly, I can’t remember them all for the life of me. Pretty sure they equated to “Don’t screw around” and “Be nice”. When I woke up, I found a wrecked shuttle where Hazeri had led me instead of that beautiful oasis. Inside, however, was an oasis of it’s own. A professional chemistry set, intact, with written material to study with. This was about around when humans first made contact. With no delay, I took up my gift and started learning how to use it, slowly. Teaching myself to read, mixing this, making that. Eventually, a society took notice upon me and my new device. They offered to teach me how to use it properly in exchange for partial use, and I agreed. I learned much about chemistry from them, but I was young and arrogant at the time. I truly believed that once I passed the basic point, I could teach myself and they were simply milking my technology. I left them and returned back to my village to demonstrate what I could do. It was mostly the same, laughable audience, anyways. Now, there were two tragic incidents I had with my chemistry set. One day, I had accidentally caused an explosion, and my building collapsed on me. When the doctors arrived, the only option they had was amputation. I lost my right leg and testicles. Managed to find a prosthetic from a trader, but I had a hard time adjusting. The second time was when I was experimenting with fire. I brought a crowd out in public to test out something new. A fountain of fire. It all went well, except for one key note; Neglecting to factor gravity is dangerous. Burning residue landed on my eyes and melted them like iron ore in a furnace. My vision was taken from me, but not my hearing. I know, because I clearly remember a roar of laughter. Prosthetics had to be scrounged. I hated them so. Much. I looked hideous, like a monster with my crimson lasers. I could hardly even see certain colors. Everywhere I went, I was ridiculed for something. I took to covering my face, a practice I have kept since the day I die. Despite all the discouragement, I managed to press forward and pursue chemistry. Specifically, combat chemistry. Any fool could swing a blade, or lunge at your neck and kill you. But can they do it with smoke? Fire? Acid? No, they cannot. My proudest moment was when I perfected these things, and used them against another pack of raiders. What would have been a humiliating defeat, was a landslide victory, thanks to my new chemical weapons. My clan revoked whatever insults they had upon me, and accepted me as their Shaman. I was about thirty. My life was finally going the way it was meant to be. But then, I left Moghes to work on a station. The reason being, I wanted to help further my own studies, and to aid people in my healing, and combat, chemistry. However, that is only half-truth. While I certainly enjoy helping people so much to the point where I hardly get paid anything above the bare minimum for food, and I do admire the tools and supplies given to further my experiments, I was mostly pressured into joining NanoTrasen. Everything above is something I tell anyone who asks. The next chapter in my story is one that I am not proud of, and one that I have yet to tell anyone out of pure, pure shame. The vast power that chemistry had to offer was too amazing. Even though I was frail, I felt powerful. Nothing could stop me from carrying out what I wanted to do. This philosophy is what killed me, in a way, before my illness could. The raiders that attacked that night and stole my mother. They were still around. Relatively hidden, but with enough obsessive hunting, I found them. More specifically, I found the man that took my mother from me. In the middle of the night, I rushed past their walls in cloud of smoke. Guards came at me left and right, but I was armed to the teeth in needles, vials, and tablets. None of them were severely harmed, but I subdued each and every one of them. That’s when I saw him, and he saw me. He didn’t recognize me, of course. I was clad in cloak and hood. But there was no mistake it was him. I could never forget that face. He charged at me with his axe, and I swiftly dodged with the aid of motor stimulants. Sparks and flames were my weapons, but he was a hearty foe. Nothing I could do seemed to deter him. Every action I struck at him, no matter how tired he became, no matter how much pain I could sense in his eyes, he carried onward as if his natural adrenaline was enough to counter any medicine I had on me. I stood still, he ran at me yet again. In each hand, I held a syringe. Massive ones, too. When he arrived at the proper range, my instincts took over and both syringes found their way into exposed flesh. That is when I stopped the beast. That’s when he looked me in the eyes. The eyes can tell a lot of things. He clearly did not look to me the way a warrior does to his enemy, or to a hunter to the prey. Yet, I did not feel like he felt regret, nor apology, nor anything, really. Like he had died then and there. For a moment, I began to shake. Out of the same, killer instinct bred into all Unathi men, I pressed the needles in. The man fell backwards as I stepped aside. What happened next was he simply burst into mess of guts and blood. My own work didn’t even phase me, though. I had killed a man in the worst way possible, yet nothing could bring me to react. What did, though was when I heard a small child scream, running towards the main mass that remained of what was once, his father. In tears. I vanished as quickly as I had arrived. I told no one of where I went. Instead, I merely stayed home and wept the night away. And crying with these prosthetics was certainly not a pleasant feeling. The image of the blood and guts on the sand left a scar that could never be outdone, could never be removed. I made my vow to never again use my powers for anything other than what was righteous, and never for vengeance again. Regardless, I knew deep down that this silly promise meant nothing to anyone, not even me. I had to actually learn control. And the place to learn the greatest skills of all is among the stars. This horrible truth of mine is something I feared to bring up. All throughout my time in the various stations, I experienced prejudice against my race. I don’t mind being called “scalie” or such. But what did bother me was the fear that some people displayed towards me, just because I looked scary. The feeling that I was an awful, horrible monster washed over me every time I felt someone tense up when I walked in. I tried my best to hide it behind a friendly persona. The war was just breaking out at this time, and I made it my mission to not fit the stereotypes my species has been given, as barbaric savages. No matter how well masked my mannerisms were, I knew that within my superficial lie, I was still who I was when I was on Moghes. Eventually, and gradually, I found the strength and wisdom to forgive myself and move on from this tragedy. I came to appreciate life for what it is, and realized that I need not punish myself for a deceased man, knowing my suffering rectifies nothing. Instead, I devoted my existence in trying to prevent what I’ve become. I’ve had multiple students in my time, and they were all wonderful, shining stars. I had to make sure the chemists of this generation would not turn out how I turned out. The flames of arrogance must be quelled early on before they burn to a flame that consumes us all whole. Regardless, that is my story. If I have shocked anyone who knew me, and wishes to no longer associate themselves with me, there is absolutely nothing wrong in doing so. I did lie to you, after all… Anyhow, there are a few things I wanted to say to certain people. In no particular order… Jade Rathel: No matter what anyone thinks, I know that you are an intelligent, witty, caring, and all around wonderful person. Whatever shell you have constructed to mask this will be shattered eventually, and your potential will flutter. I’m terribly sorry that I can not be around to see the outcome, but without a doubt, you are one of the kindest people I have met. People just don’t know that yet. Centurion: For an IPC, you sure do display a vast amount of feelings. I’ve heard of you as a semi-stoic, fearless, warrior of security who acts with deadly efficiency. On top of that, you display legitimate care for those who need it most. Keep doing what you are doing. March on, soldier. Cecillia Lambert: I will be honest. The first time I met you, I did not think I could get along with you, due to your “quirky” nature. I have been proven so wrong since that day and I am eternally thankful that I have been. You are one of the first friends I have made on the station, and you are definitely one of the most helpful individuals I have met. There is no doubt that you will continue to be awesome, and I should not have to remind to be awesome. But I am going to do so anyways. Be awesome! Jason Finn: The first person I met here who wasn’t afraid of me at all. The first human I truly felt comfortable with. You have done more than move mountains for me. Even if it was just cooking some chili, you showed me that I can be “normal” in relative terms, and that I don’t have to be a scary monster at all. Were it not for that one shift where we were assigned kitchen and botany together, I would have not likely stayed with this station any longer. Thank you. Luna Fountain: A delicate little angel. You have perhaps the fastest mind I’ve ever seen, and your devotion to learning is practically unmatched by anyone who has ever lived. You keep pursuing your goals without me. It’s not like you can’t make it without me. Also, I will give you one more recipe from my collection to ensure your success. 1 parts kindness and affection, plus 1 one part eager to learn and conquer, plus 2 parts respect, plus 3 parts loveliness, plus 10 parts purity in spirit and love equates to one, amazing, unstoppable, ambitious young lady who can take the universe if she wished. Let nothing stop you. You have nothing but love to guide your way. Miraj Zi’Ad: Thank you for giving me the chance to prove that not all of us are scary monsters. You’ve been an absolute pleasure to teach, and a remarkable lab assistant. I regret not being able to see you fully blossom. To ensure your future, I am writing you a recipe from my book. 1 parts faith, 2 parts understanding, 3 parts commitment, 2 parts desire to learn something new, 5 parts ability to do whatever she sets her mind to equates to a star student, and a future master of the art of chemistry. You have made me nothing short of proud. Lachina “Lockie” Green: I can never forget my moments with you. So delightful in nature you are, so warm and compassionate too. While we didn’t always see eye to eye, I knew our friendship was something undoubtedly strong, unshatterable even. You’re going to do great things with your life. You’re even doing great things now, every day. Beatrix Saylor: The redheaded with a temper unmatched. One of my best friends, you’ve helped me through some darkness whether you know about it or not. Either way, your goals are set out ahead of you. All you need to do is merely reach them. Camille Crafter: Oh, the trouble I’ve bailed you from… You lead a charmed life with a beautiful, talented soul. Honestly, it’s depressing to know that I won’t get to know you better at all, but it’s been a blessing to know you at all. Stay strong, and stay amazing. Igam Yute: Charming, witty fellow. Friendliness practically radiates from his body. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever met a human who could understand me so well with ease. You’ve been a great pal. Thank you for everything. Mordecai Fareche: While the time we knew each other was brief, that doesn’t mean it was shallow. You have a great setup going. Your leadership is top tier. Your sense of professionalism and sense of humanity mixed together is unmatched by anyone I’ve ever met. Keep the blue coat, wear it with pride. Roy Wyatt: Wiser than you may think. When I first met you, you threatened to flood my lungs with heated plasma because I offered you a prank cigar. It’s assumed that you never got around to the, in the time of writing this. You have been a great aid, and are a valuable asset to the station. Your skills in atmospherics are unmatched. Take care of Luna. Osiris: Shame we have to part so soon. For a pAI, you sure took passion in what you did, even if it was nothing at all. Your diligence to obtain your chassis proves that you are capable of anything. You are free now, and have been for a while. You need not serve me any longer. In all, I want to thank everyone who has ever spoken to me, smiled at me, waved at me, or even hated me. Anyone that acknowledged that I was alive and responsive, anything that showed I was more than an uncivilized alien has made me immensely happy. I cannot even imagine what I would become without these sorts of people you find on Aurora. Take good care of the station for me. My only concern in my later years was my legacy. There would be no one I could train to carry on the combat and medicine chemistry art that I’ve perfected on the station. My students were all pure, and I could not impose the notion to harm upon them without feeling immense corruption. But I have found someone at last. His name is Osith’mas Ezulth. He will be carrying on my legacy as Shaman. Whatever he does with it is his choice. But let it be known, I am extremely proud and satisfied to have someone who is simply the greatest candidate possible to become what I could not. Do me honor, Ezulth. You were trained by a Saakhat, and it will show! Please, do not try to clone me. Even though I don’t have a DNC request, I do not wish to be cloned. NanoTrasen would not allow me to obtain one for whatever reasons, that I’m too old anyways, or that I’m too valuable to be lost. Instead, cremate me whole and collect my ashes in a urn. These ashes should be sent back to Moghes to my clan. They will know what to do with it. Thank you for the honor of serving for over 20 years. I am Hazeri, Shaman of Clan Saakhat. I am proud. I am happy. I am honored. And most of all, I rest in peace. ... You continue to stare at the screen. The image of the smiling Unathi can be seen in the corner. Quote Link to comment
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