25 Jan 1999. Zoltan finds Herbir at last in the Pit of Himar.
(Planet Abaddon) (Himar) (The Search for Herbir) (Space) (Spheres of Magic) (Wynona) (Zoltan)
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Aboard the Southern Star, an "Expedition" zeppelin (motorized airship) crewed by a mix of Jupanis and humans, Zoltan is in one of the workrooms, helping a reptilian Lancer by the name of Malachite to carefully refit some pieces of black armor with leather straps and attachments.

Also in attendance are the cheetahs that Zoltan rescued. They are adorned in simple robes, with cloth hoods that cover their faces. During the brief time that Zoltan managed to see their faces, they looked remarkably alike, as if they were all close kin. However, there are no such indications in their behavior or mannerisms. They do not know the term "Savanite", but are referred to as "Silent-Ones". The sign they use for themselves might as well just be translated "People" or "Us", lacking any firm context in Savanite Sign.

Zoltan carefully pulls a black armored glove onto his hand and inspects the fit. "Do you know anything about the knight whom this armor belonged to, Malachite?"

Malachite has a green hood over his face. The Knights and these Silent-Ones seem to have a thing about hiding their faces for some reason. "The Champion of Shadows, I imagine," the Lancer says, suppressing his hiss for the time being.

"Yes… but… " the Vartan sighs and removes the glove. "Who was he… or she? I saw the Citadel near the Confederate life dome. There had been some kind of horrible battle and I found this armor, empty of any signs of its wearer, kneeling in front of a panel that was a fraction away from the end of a destruct countdown."

The cheetahs have names as well. Four out of the five are male, and the fifth, Keeper-of-Promises, is hard to tell as such from the rest. The eldest is Torch-Bearer, who seems more priest than warrior. The youngest is Tomorrow's-Hope, who seems perpetually eager to prove his worth (and quite curious about this world called Sinai). Of the remaining two, there is the reclusive Born-in-Shame, and the haughty Bringer-of-Light.

"That sounds in keeping with legend," says Malachite. "And, no, I do not know the gender of the Champion of Shadows. Knight lore does not say, does not care, since the Champion had no mate and no offspring. Legend suggests that the Champion of Shadows was as black as his – and I use that as a generic pronoun – armor, but evidently you were not a descendant, in case you harbor such thoughts."

"In any case," says Malachite, "the last Champion of Shadows lived millenia ago. This was during the age of the Exodus of the Knights from Abaddon … on their journey to the world of Sinai. Legends had spoken of others of our kind who had gone to that world by means of star-sailing ships, but who had been grounded by a great storm."

Malachite continues, "The Knights were weary of their failed attempts to unify the people of Abaddon, and looked to the stars for help – or for someone else to save. Their reasons are lost to time, but most of them departed. A great war broke out, as the nations of Abaddon did not wish them to take part in this journey. Some of the Knights had to remain behind to make certain the departure of the star-ship would be possible. The Champion of Shadows fought valiantly, and sealed himself within the sanctuary of his citadel, guarding a device capable of great destruction, in order to force a stalemate in the confrontation. He stayed in there, for as long as it took … and never emerged again."

Zoltan looks down at the armored glove in his hand. "So Shadows stayed there until he died. I… I hope I can serve his memory properly and stop Cambio as well." He coughs and looks over to the other Cheetahs, "And you… are you with the Knights as well?"

The cheetahs shake their heads. The eldest one – who has some slightly different patterns marked on his mask – seems to be the "speaker" for the group for now. "No. The Knights stole many of our traditions, but we hold to the true Code."

Malachite carefully attaches several of the sharp wing-feather sheathes together. They're made of some un-Sinai-ly material, to be sure, and they seem almost magnetically attracted to each other, as they fit together. "I think there is hope yet to revive this armor. It is coming along more nicely than I expected. The original Knights built their armor and weapons to last for ages, for they expected their Order to be required for that long."

"How were you all captured?" the hippogryph asks as he starts working on one of the simpler pieces of the armor. "Was it by Herbir's army? Have any of you met him?"

Torch-Bearer signs, "The human ambassador, Riddle, came to visit our citadel to speak terms of submission. The Lancer had similar intent. We were fallen upon by the Confederates, and I know not whether this 'Herbir' was among them. Our retinues were slaughtered, and we alone were spared because they thought the Progenitor would enjoy feasting upon us."

Zoltan's ears flatten. "Herbir would have looked like me. A black."

"A pity he is your father," signs Torch-Bearer. "Yes, a black one was among their leaders, and only one."

Keeper-of-Promises – if that one is the female – signs, "He enjoyed the battle."

The Vartan places his armor piece down, lest his shaking hands damage it. "Did he say anything? Do anything? … oh Star… "

Keeper-of-Promises signs, "He slew many, along with his alien brethren. He fought with a hate stronger than any other Confederate holds for us. He was possessed by a Spirit of the Void."

Zoltan carefully picks up the helmet and stares into its dark eyes. "And he knew what the Progenitor would do to you? Was… was his anger focused mainly on the Knights and the Silent-Ones or has he killed those of the Expedition and the Imperials just as readily?"

Malachite attaches some more pieces, and says, "It is as you say. He was concerned with the Knights and the Silent-Ones. He would seek them out, ignoring other threats, leaving the others to his comrades."

The Vartan leans his head against the helmet and closes his eyes. "Tonight he will either kill me and invade the Pit or he will be stopped. May the Star give me the strength to do what I need to do… "

Bringer-of-Light signs, "This one calls upon the Star? This one of another world? Priest, is that blasphemy?"

"Hold your hand, Bringer-of-Light," signs Born-in-Shame, earning what might be a glare from the previous one. "The Star shines upon all worlds. It is just that we understand the Light better than most."

"MOST?" signs Bringer-of-Light. "Dare not to correct me, you of no father!"

Zoltan looks to Torch-Bearer over the top of the helmet. "I once believed in the Sky Gods as most of the Vartans on Sinai do. Then one of your people became my best friend and I came to know your people. The Star has been with me ever… " his words trail off as he watches Bringer-of-Light's signs.

Born-in-Shame signs, "You dare to sign this way about one who has saved our lives? Who has destroyed the PROGENITOR? You have lived a pampered life, being handed your adult name rather than earning it!" It looks like a fist-fight might break out. It would be worse, but none of the spotted felines have weapons at the present.

His patience already thinned by anxiety, Zoltan drops the helmet and stands up. "BOTH of you stop. I have children at home who settle their differences more calmly than this. We all might be dead in a few hours when we meet up with Herbir, don't you think we have other concerns that should take priority right now?"

The two cheetahs stop their hand-signed bickering, and seethe quietly. Keeper-of-Promises' arms are crossed in a sign that she most certainly has nothing to state about the matter.

"There," says Malachite, putting the finishing touches on the harness. "It will take some time to assemble, but it is workable. And I am qualified to fit you when you decide that the time has come."

The Vartan sits back down and takes up the helmet again, polishing off the scuff marks drom its sudden drop. "Have any of you heard Herbir say anything about Rephidim or Sinai… or maybe even about his family in the time you were with him? I know a great deal about him, but the more I know, the more tools I will have at my disposal."

Malachite says, "It was widely known that he was from Sinai. Whatever this Rephidim was, he hated it dearly. And the Temple."

"Did he ever say why? Or did he make accusations towards you?" Zoltan asks. He picks up one of the other pieces of armor and taps at it, testing its strength.

The armor is thin, but durable. Some of the pieces flex, but look as if they are fashioned to stop piercing by sword or arrow … or bullet. The cushioning salvaged by Malachite provides some additional protection under the armor.

Malachite responds, "He believed us to all be perversions and servants of the Temple, despite claims to the contrary. I am of the opinion he thinks he is still somewhere on Sinai. As for the Silent-Ones … he called them 'treacherous conspiring Savanites', and kept choosing 'slave' as his insult of choice."

"Then it's just as I thought. We'd best hurry and get the armor ready… I hope Wynona is feeling up to flying." He holds the piece up in his taloned hands and inspects it in the light. "Will I need to perform some kind of ceremony to wear this? I do not wish to dishonor the name or the spirit of the Champion."

Malachite bows his head. "You are not of the Knights, but the putting on of the armor is indeed a ceremony in and of itself. Alas, there are parts missing – artifacts written of in the ancient tomes – but those are not necessary to gain its full protection. There is no better time to start than the present." He looks to the Silent-Ones. "I would appreciate any aid in this. Our ceremony, after all, is derived from those traditions set down by your people."

Bringer-of-Light looks absolutely offended by the notion. But the others of the five nod, with varying degrees of enthusiasm or lack thereof.

The Vartan looks to the Cheetahs as well. "I would be honored to gain your assistance, I am doing this not just for the Knights of Rephidim… but also for the Silent-Ones of Sinai."


A black-armored Vartan stands on the outer deck of the Southern Star as it approaches the Pit of Himar. Sunken into the earth is a great hole, rimmed by cliffs the same color as the earth that stretches out to the horizon. A canyon – not as deep as the pit – runs up to the edge of the pit, stops there, then is continued on the opposite side. The nearer canyon has a river running through it, lined by thick foliage of wild colors, and a dam stops its flow where it would otherwise cascade into the pit.

Various air vehicles can be seen in the distance, flying patrols along the perimeter, but not venturing inward. A few plumes of smoke rising from wreckage visible inside the pit give testament to the cost of learning the problems that this place presents to technology.

On the near rim of the pit is also a structure that looks vaguely reminiscent of the Temple, only smaller, and with more out-buildings surrounding it. The central structure is oddly-designed, having two great "wings" that jut out at angles, giving it a faint resemblance to the "metal bird" from Paradys, though considerably larger, and with no pretense of being able to fly.

The 'knight' takes slow deliberate steps across the deck of the ship, getting used to the feel of the armor on his shoulders. His eyes scan outwards at the encampments as he searches for one in particular.

( That must be the Winged Citadel. I wonder who it belongs to? ) The armored Vartan shrugs and begins searching for Wynona.

Wynona is on the deck as well, hanging onto the railing, looking as if she's restraining to her best ability the urge to leap out and fly all the way to Himar.

Nodding, the knight moves over to the Eee and taps her shoulder.

Wynona squeaks and turns toward the knight. "Eeee! Oh! Hello there! I mean … wait! Is that you, Zoltan?"

"Yes," the Knight signs. "But while I am like this, call me Shadow."

"Ahhh … wiggly fingers. Wiggly … you … uhm … this is so weird," says Wynona. "It's like I can kind of understand you somehow, like I actually LEARNED something in that dream where I learned lots of mysteries of life. I almost think you're saying I should call you 'Shadow'."

"I am," Shadow responds, punctuating his signs with a head nod.

"Oh! Ah … Sir Shadow!" She giggles, then curtseys. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Shadow … of the … Black Lance? Oh, no, wait, that's already taken, by the Champion of Ashes. Hmm."

Wynona snaps her fingers. "Purple Lance! Purple is the color of the robes of the mages of the Sphere of Shadow. Don't ask me how that was established. Or maybe 'Violet' would sound better? Or … " She looks at the Champion. "Well, you don't have a cape, anyway. I guess that didn't survive."

In the distance, another airship can be seen. The Intimidator! Or … no, of course, it COULDN'T be that. Besides, that's a Star on the side, not a Star and Anchor.

The Knight looks back over his shoulder. No cape. "Purple, violet… I will trust your word. Cambio cannot know my real name while I am in this armor, otherwise it would defeat the whole purpose of my wearing it." His head jerks suddenly in the direction of the giant airship. It seems someone decided to bring out the big guns if this is anywhere near as powerful as the one on Sinai…

Wynona turns to follow Zoltan's gaze, and lets out a squeak at the sight of it.

The Naga Knight slithers out onto the deck as well, and follows the gaze of the Vartan and Eeee. "A Titan Carrier. If they have brought that one, then the Silent-Ones have surely prepared themselves to raze the Pit rather than take it."

"Down there!" cries out one of the lupine spotters. "They're in the Pit!"

"We must act quickly then," Shadows signs. "The Silent-Ones here… can they be brought to the Titan and told of the death of the Progenitor? Perhaps that will convince them to postphone their attack at the very least."

The Knight moves to the railing and looks down into the pit.

Since the zeppelin is not flying directly over the pit, there is a blind zone that is blocked by the cliffs. However, further into the pit can be seen a clearing on a hill, where a large bug-ship has been parked, of a variety unlike the one Zoltan rode in. This bug-ship has a swollen abdomen that is pointed up into the air, and its legs are spread out like some sort of supporting framework. Several Vartans can be seen working around it, carrying large amounts of vegetation up to what must be the head. By how bare the surrounding ground has been rendered, the great bug must have a voracious appetite.

Many areas within the Pit are flooded, and the water is stagnant. Much further in can be seen a city – the city of Elamoore! But it is beyond the Vartans, and their encampment around the Bug-Thing.

Inside the helmet the Vartan's eyes narrow. He looks at the men on the ground and tries to spot one color in particular…

Black. Yes, one of the Vartans is black, and by his posture – visible even at this distance, to keen Vartan eyes – he is clearly the one giving the orders. The large bug's abdomen twitches and convulses … and something launches out of the back end, and into the sky! A glowing egg rockets upward, in an arc that appears to be taking it toward … the Winged Citadel. Several craters surround the structure, and as the zeppelin gets closer, it looks like the out-buildings have taken hits.

Shadows moves over to Wynona and taps her on the shoulder. "It is time to see Herbir. Are you ready?"

Wynona gulps and says, "I gue – EEE!" There is an explosion where the egg hits the ground, striking another one of the out-buildings around the Winged Citadel. "Yes, I guess we'd better get going!"

The knight leaps off the deck of the ship and starts to descend towards the Confederates on the ground. He keeps his flight slow so Wynona will be able to catch up.

The two fliers shoot past the cliffs. A few "paka paka" sounds can be heard, as some soldiers somewhere on the ground below make panic shots, but nothing gets anywhere close to the knight or the mage. As they get closer to the great bug, the activity of the Vartans indicates that they've been spotted … Three warriors take to the air. The black one is not among them.

Wynona says, "I hope they ask questions first and shoot later!"

"Herbir should recognise you… and I won't let any of them harm you." Despite this, the Knight keeps his descent slow and his movements as nonthreatening as possible.

The Vartans spread out to flank the two fliers, and the middle one scrawks, "Turn back now! Any closer and you will be struck down, Templar! And your lackey, too!" It's a different accent to the Vartanspeak than Zoltan has been hearing on Abaddon. The accent sounds distinctly … Himarian.

The Knight hovers in the air. "Wynona… tell them to tell Herbir that Wynona Windcaller from the Lalee Papu is here and would like to see him along with her escort who is willing to come unarmed," he signs to the Eee mage. His eyes fall to the ground, looking at the black Vartan there.

Wynona Vartan-squeaks, "I'm Wynona! Wynona Windcaller, Journeyman of the Collegia Esoterica, of the Sphere of Air … former crew of the Lalee Papu! Please tell Herbir! He MUST let us see him, unharmed!"

The knight bunches up his fists. (… please… )

The middle Vartan scrawks, "Circle and keep your position! If you come any closer, you WILL be cut down!" He breaks away, while the two remaining Vartans circle Wynona and Zoltan.

The knight nods his head, doing his best to keep as rigidly with the indicated flight path as possible. "Be brave. You're one of the bravest people I know, Wynona."

Wynona tries to smile. She may be brave, but she's also scared, as anyone can see.

An uncomfortable time elapses. At last, the Vartan comes back up. "You may land," he scrawks, "where we indicate. Any false moves … and you WILL be killed! We're not afraid of the Templars out here!"

( Oh Star… oh Spirit of the Champion… Third-Eye… my children… be with me now. I will need all your strengths to hold me up. ) The Knight shows no hint of the boiling emotions under his shell; he simply dips his head and prepares to land where indicated.

The landing place puts Zoltan and Wynona a short distance from the great bug-cannon. The malformed creature, some mutated relative of the bug that made the vehicle that Zoltan rode in, gobbles every bit of foliage shoved into its mandibles by the busily-working Vartans. Its rear-side throbs in preparation to launch another egg. A black Vartan looks up in disgust as an underling addresses him, and he gets up, stomping over to the two visitors. "OUT! GET OUT! You get out! I no care – Wynona?" He scrawks the whole tirade in Rephidim Standard.

Inside the armor, Zoltan can feel his heart rising up in his throat and pounding in his ears. The knight takes a step forward to stand beside and slightly behind Wynona.

Wynona sputters, "Hi, Herbir!" She goes back to Rephidim Standard. She's obviously more comfortable with it than Vartan-speak. "I came all the way from Sinai! Can you believe it? And I heard you're a hero and all, but … ah … oh dear. A lot of really bad things happened, but … ah … " She looks to the Knight. "Well, I think this fellow has some important stuff to sign to you. I mean, it's REALLY REALLY important. You just don't know HOW important it is! Please? Herbir?"

Herbir looks as if he's still recovering from the shock, as if he's just seen a ghost. "Wynona?" he scrawks again, then shakes his head as he looks at the Knight. "No! I no talk to no STEENKIN' Templars! You go back to Citadel and get boomer drop on you head!"

"Please," the Knight signs. "In the name of the Procession. I plead with you to give me just a moment of your time."

"Please?" begs Wynona.

(Now I see where I got my slur from. I wonder why he prefers Standard… Oh Star, I think my heart is going to explode… ) The chill of the armor against his flesh is all that keeps him together, like a reminding hand on his shoulder.

Herbir's face turns into a look of disgust. "And no wiggle-finger! I no care about Procession! I no have time for this!"

Scowling, the knight nods. "If you prefer I can speak in Vartan… " His voice sounds a bit more strained as he switches dialects, "or Standard."

Herbir seems taken aback. "Haw!" he laughs in any language, then chooses Vartan. "So, you're not one of those Vow-of-Silence types, eh? Fine with me. All right, then. What's your business here? If you're pleading for mercy, you'd better make a good pitch. I've got a BIG Dromodon with the Temple!"

"I am aware of that," Shadow says. "May I speak with you privately? You can keep a weapon trained on me the entire time if you like."

"Privately?" scrawks Herbir. "Do you take me for a fool? Oh, I know about your code and all … and how it's all tossed aside when convenient. No, you can say whatever you have in the open."

The Knight nods. "I am here to tell you that I think your intentions for what you are doing are nothing but noble… but your methods and wrong and ill-informed. I know why you are in this fight, Cambio Herbir. It is because of the corruption you saw when you served in the Rephidim Temple as a guard, and the friends you lost on the Lalee Papu."

Herbir makes an "oh, really?" expression, putting his talons to his waist, but he makes no verbal comment. He's listening, at least for the moment.

"Inquisitor Sanguine is dead. Arch-Inquisitor Moffat is gone and has been presumed dead," the Knight continues, his voice as flat and emotionless as his handsigns were. "And the Savanites were insturmental in saving Rephidim when the Babelites attacked with their Plaguebringers."

"What?! What is this? Saving Rephidim? Savanites?" the elder Vartan sputters.

"If you polish a dirty stone hard enough, you can bring the shine through, Cambio. When you served the Temple, was every soul you met corrupt? Was every Savanite you ever brushed against out to destroy you?" Shadows rubs a spot on his wrist.

"What's this? You want me to show mercy to the Spotties?" scrawks Herbir. "Those good-for-nothing beast-brains? Those treacherous scoundrels? Have you SEEN how they live in the wild? I'm doing Sinai a FAVOR by helping the Overseer wipe out every last one of them!"

Shadow tugs at his glove. "Even the babies? Even the old men? Is that why you destroyed the Rotten Eye?"

Herbir's voice rises, as he scrawks, "The spotties revolted! They killed EVERYONE! Why should I let them LIVE … let alone ESCAPE?"

"So a life for a life then? Return every evil with another evil and let the bitterness and the hatred grow." The knight pauses; his tone remains flat. "You were called a hero by those I spoke to in the Confederate life dome. Does it please you?"

"Dagh right it does," Herbir says, puffing out his chest. "About time I found my place in life! Serving the Overseer, and kicking spotted tail! And since when did the Templars care so deeply about slaves? Lose one of your pets, perhaps?"

"Again, your vengeance blinds you. I care about the Savanites because if it were not for them, my children would be dead, as would all my friends on Rephidim. Would you not be grateful to someone who had saved the life of your child?" The Knight folds his hands together. "All you seem to know is fighting… and you are so willing to throw yourself into a fight. First as an idealistic Temple guard, then as a crewman of the Rotten Eye… and then came the Lalee Papu and your subsequent life as a hermit in Himar. For quite some time it was rumored that you had died."

Herbir narrows his eyes. "You seem to know so bloody Dagh much about me, eh? So bloody MUCH! Well, let me tell you … you know NOTHING! Idealistic? Yeah, YEAH, I was idealistic! I thought there was good and bad, and the Temple stood for something! But it was ROT! Well, I learned a lot, and I don't plan to stand around and let the world fall apart. I'm going to DO something. And if all I can do is FIGHT … then so be it! And if you don't like that … well, I'm willing to take YOU on, too! Just name the time and place!"

The tail end of the bug-cannon convulses, about to fire another salvo at the Winged Citadel.

"I will not fight you. You can kill me where I stand, but I will not fight you." Shadows shakes his head. "You hold pride in your role as a hero here… What about your role as a hero on Rephidim? Your accomplishments here pale in comparison to Rephidim."

Herbir grits his beak. "What are you getting at? If you think this is some sort of JOKE, I'm not laughing!"

"No joke. There are two children in Rephidim that are told stories of your exploits at night before they go to bed. There was a man who went to do honest work in the docks of Rephidim because he wanted you to be proud of him. There was a man who discovered the island of Paradys and looked upon the visage of Shokar and saw your face instead, and did his deeds there, inspired by you. There is a man who fought the Babelite Plaguebringers and killed eight of them because of your inspiration as a guard." One of the Knight's fingers slips under his guantlet.

Herbir clamps his beak tightly shut, his talons folding into fists at his sides. The air fills with a thunderous boom, as the bug-cannon expels another egg toward the citadel.

The Knight's head snaps in the direction of the Citadel and then swivels back to Herbir. "There is little time left. Look at the destruction… You claim to be doing your actions for good, but look at the destuction. How can there be good in death? How can there be growth in destruction? Are you the hero of the Overseer or the Hero of the man in Rephidim?"

"Who is this 'Man in Rephidim'? What LOON would think that I did anything noteworthy THERE? Who would remember MY name, and even CARE?" scrawks Herbir. "Anyone who ever CARED about ME is DEAD!"

The Knight's hands tremble as he rubs something in his palm. "Zoltan cares. Zoltan cares very very deeply for you. He thought you had died, and he riddled himself with guilt for never saying goodbye to you. He blamed himself for you becoming a crewman on the Rotten Eye and did everything he could to make you proud of him. When he discovered Paradys, when he fought the Babelites… and then he went to Himar to find you… "

"Zoltan? Zoltan? You got that name from some tongue-wagger in Rephidim?" The elder Vartan laugh-scrawks bitterly. "Well, that's where you made your mistake, Templar! Zoltan CARES?!? That boy ABANDONED me! He cost me Riskah, and then he grew up to be a sullen, ungrateful, hateful BRAT who never cared a THING about what I gave up for him!"

The Knight takes a step back as if physically struck. A small charm held in his palm drops to the ground. "I didn't know… I'm sorry… " The armor feels like ice around him. "Then it was my fault… I never knew… It was all my fault."

Herbir gives the Knight a disgusted look. "What is WITH you? What – " His eyebrows rise. "What – ?"

The armored Vartan drops to his knees, his head down. "Forgive me… "

"Out with it! I don't know what sick game you think you're playing, but … WHO ARE YOU?" scrawks Herbir, his voice shaking.

The armored Vartan pulls off one of his gloves, revealing the yellowish skin underneath and think metal guantlet his wrist. "I am a sullen," he pulls off the second glove and drops them both on the grass, "ungrateful," he puts his shaking hands on his helmet, "hateful," he pulls the helmet upwards, showing his blackfeathered face and his violet eyes, streaming with years and unable to look up at the elder, "spoiled little brat."

"No," scrawks Herbir. He backs away, eyes wide. "No! No … you can't! You … how DARE you! NO!" He grabs a gunsword from one of his minions, and shoves him aside, bringing it up. "TRAITOR!"

"No!" Wynona screams as well. "HERBIR! He's your SON!"

"I'm sorry I never told you that I loved you, Father," Zoltan says, picking up the locket. "And you will always be my hero."

Herbir stops in mid-swing, cleaving into the dirt with the gun-blade. He leans on it, heaving at the sight of the locket. "Riskah… You killed her. I had her … then she died laying YOU … you … " He pants for breath, but his eyes are still aflame, uncertain, angry.

Zoltan doesn't move, not even with the weapon pointed at him. His wings feel like lead, and his legs feel rooted to the ground. "I never even knew her name… " He sobs and then for the first time looks up at his father. "I killed her and I killed you. I killed you when I heard you had become a pirate. I felt angry and betrayed because the image of the noble protector in my mind had been killed. And now… and now you can return the favor. You can kill her, and you can finish killing yourself… because that's what I am." He puts the locket to his beak, kissing it. "You can kill me… but you will kill her as well if you do. And you will never know… I will never be able to show you what I've done. You… you'll never be able to see your grandchildren."

"I have TRIED… I have tried so hard… and I looked for you so hard to show you, but they told me you were dead." Zoltan sobs, not bothering to wipe his cheeks.

"No … " The elder Vartan shakes his head, and repeats this several times. Then, he snaps his wings open, and with a loud Vartan shriek, takes to the air, flying away. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!"

"COME BACK!" Zoltan yells. The scream of his father sends a surge of adrenaline coursing through him. All his searching, all his travels… He can't let him get away, not now. With one great leap he launches himself up into the air and after the elder.

The Vartans at the bug-cannon are evidently alarmed at this turn of events … but they stay by the weapon, "loading" it with more vegetation, as quickly as the beast-machine devours it.

Herbir flaps away as fast as he can … but no more motivated than Zoltan, and no younger. It is not long before he is overtaken. "Get BACK!" he scrawks, as he aims the gun-blade at Zoltan.

"Why are you RUNNING?" Zoltan screams back. "You can run as much as you want… and it won't change the fact that I love you. You can cut me up into little pieces but every piece will love you. My son… I named him after Enos … the uncle you said taught you how to fly. Please… I beg you with all my heart. I just want to be with you… I want to give you the love I never did as a child. I want nothing in return except your company. I want to show you the things I have done… Paradys, the war in Babel, my children… I… I even own the Shiny Shoppe in Rephidim now. I take in people that need help as workers… please… let me show you!"

Herbir dives down, almost crashing as he lands on the flood-soaked ground. "Show me WHAT? How wonderful Savanites are? How lovely the Temple is? Oh, everything is pala-fruits and roses, ah? And you, who treated me like dirt, LOVE me? Has the whole WORLD turned inside out?"

Zoltan follows, landing almost as hard. "People can change. I almost lost my life to a gang after you left… They left me to die and I was taken in by the Shiny Shoppe owner. I started working for him and when you never came back I realized… I realized it all. How horrible I was… I was everything you said. So I changed, because I wanted to see you come back from your trip and find me doing good work. But you never came back." He holds his hands out. "You accuse me of painting things in whites… Well, you paint things in blacks. I've seen the evil and the good… and I've BEEN the evil and the good. So have you. But evil begets evil, and good begets good. A child was born out of love… and a father was lost because of hate. I… I just want you to see… "

Herbir says nothing, but digs into the muddy earth and gravel with his talons.

"I love you. I searched through Sinai to tell you that, I came to Abbadon to tell you that. I… " Zoltan moves closer, kneeling next to the other Vartan. "I was hurt badly by a Savanite. She blinded me… she lied to me… she used me… but then… I didn't give up on her. Because she felt that what she was doing was for the right reasons. I picked her up when she fell, and stayed with her after she hurt me. That Savanite then cared for my children… whom I adopted from Paradys itself. That Savanite led the army that defeated the Plaguebringers that would have destroyed Rephidim and enslaved or murdered your grandchildren. No… not all Savanites are good, but not all evil remain that way forever."

Herbir scrapes more mud and grit with his talons, his face and beak rigid.

Zoltan trembles. He can't sit here so close like this and do nothing, not after he's searched so long and hard. He doesn't care of he's struck, or slashed, or anything else – he reaches out and puts his arms around his father, leaning his tear-filled face against his shoulder. "You don't have to forgive me, you don't have to love me… just… let me love you… "

"Let me go," Herbir says weakly. "You're asking me to call white black and black white. I'm a hero here … and you ask me to turn traitor. For a son who hated me and who now loves me. What are you asking of me?"

A double-winged aircraft of the Imperials glides overhead, its engine stilled, but still airborne.

Zoltan shakes, trying to control his sobbing. "I want you to stop looking at black and white. You haven't been here long enough to know the truth… You owe these people a chance to explain themselves to you instead of you passing sudden judgement. I saw the Progenitor… and I saw them prepare to use it to kill seven people over dinner as though it was a show. Are these the people you wish to be the hero for? No side here has their hands completely clean, not even you or I. A hero doesn't fuel hatred… not a real hero. A real hero builds and protects. If you close your eyes and swing a sword, you risk hurting innocents as well as the guilty." He pushes back a little, his hands still clasped on his father's shoulders. "I want to take you home, to Sinai. Our presence here only fuels the death and the hatred. Tell the Confederates to stop. The Imperials to stop. The Silent-Ones, the Expedition, and Knights. That is bravery, Father. That is strength."

Some scrawking can be heard from the direction of the bug-cannon. The Imperial aircraft is dumping something out and onto the insectoid weapon, though exactly WHAT is impossible to say.

"But – " stammers Herbir, looking lost. "What in Dagh's name?" He looks up, as a couple of small red meaty chunks fall into the mud nearby.

Zoltan stands up, keeping his hand on his father as though it were an anchor. For the first time he's aware of everything around him. "Wynona… Wynona is over there! Oh no… "

Herbir goes over, picking up the chunk in his talons. It looks like a little piece of Progenitor brain mass.

The younger Vartan jumps into the air, hovering a bit as he tries to get a better vantage of what's happened.

Near the bug-cannon, the Vartans are reacting with horror and anger, as the pieces are rained down upon them. Some of them scrawk in fear and fly off for the trees, abandoning the still-feeding bug-machine.

An Imperial's voice, amplified by unknown means, can be heard, hissing in Vartanspeak, "The Progenitor isss DEAD! Your fight isss OVER!"

Herbir clenches his fist angrily, shaking. "Dagh take them."

The younger Vartan lands. "Father… I… I… " he looks back up to the Imperial ship.

The Imperial aircraft soars on past, not making another circle. Herbir hisses, "Fine. I get to take the loser's way out. And they all lived happily ever after." He seethes.

"STOP!" Zoltan rushes up and puts his hand on Herbir's shoulder. "This isn't about winning or losing… This is about right and wrong. You need to rally your men before they do something crazy… and the Silent-Ones are still coming with their Titanship with intent to destroy this whole place. Stop your bombing of the Citadel… We might have allies in there, and together we can keep this one last fertile patch on this dead world alive. That sounds like a victory to me, and you have the resources to do it."

Herbir stops, breathing heavily, then nods. "You're right. Blast you, but you're right. MEN! CALM THE BOMBARDIER-QUEEN!" He starts scrawking orders to those of his comrades who remain, and flaps back over to the scene. The bug-cannon stops throbbing, and relaxes, greatly slowing its pace of the consumption of vegetation.

Zoltan grins and rushes over to find Wynona.

Wynona is cowering under one of the wings of the cannon-bug, recoiling in fear from the motionless bug-brain chunks scattered on the ground. Her eyes are wide, and she looks ready to bolt for the air at a moment's notice.

"Wynona… Wynona… it's okay." the armored Vartan pulls her up. "Do you feel up to trying to blow an airship out of the skies? Remember the storm on Paradys?"

Wynona shudders, and recovers as Zoltan helps her up. "If need be." She holds out her hands. "I can feel it. Magic here. But … it's like there's a limited supply. I feel like if I wanted to cast a spell, it would be easier than ever before … like there's nothing holding the power back … but once it's gone … it's gone."

"Do you know how much you can do?" Zoltan scrawks, glancing over his shoulder to see how Herbir is faring.

Herbir is scrawking orders, as the bug-cannon powers down … and starts folding out its wings. Perhaps in preparation for a hasty retreat.

Wynona says, "I think I could blow the top off of this place. If it had a top, that is."

Zoltan nods. "Start figuring out what you need and how much time it will take you and what exactly you can do to the ship. I'll go try and help my father… "

Wynona gulps, and nods. "I'll … start making preparations."

The younger Vartan moves to stand alongside his father. "Alright. I have some friends on the Expedition who can probably lend a hand… and the citadel might have some allies in it as well once we can convince them we'd like to team up. With the help of the people of the Expedition we should be able to do that. Your big bug thing might be able to put a dent in the Titan ship as well, and Wynona can lend a hand to that. I think that if we can convince the Silent-Ones that we can give just as well as they can then we might be able to get them to back off without hurting anybody… and keep Himar from becoming a poisoned mess like the rest of this planet." It feels so strange to be working alongside his father like this… but perhaps he can be shown. There was a treaty here once, maybe with all of their help there can be one again.

---

GMed by Greywolf

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Today is 15 days after Candlemass, Year 29 of the Reign of Archelaus the First (6128)