A lone unicorn wearing a dress not suited for travel by foot (or hoof) heads along a path that she can only "see" with some obscure sense, passing by all manners of oddities and horrors. Further away from the mountains, she is now on a rolling plain buffeted by winds that blow clouds of obscuring dust and sand on occasion … and, when they clear, the scene has changed again. First sandy dunes, then twisted ruins, then jungle, then crashing waves eroding a cliff… The sky changes as well, shifting from day and night and all manner of seasons with no reason or order.
Turtle sighs deeply, bowing slightly under her crossbow as she continues to walk for what seems like forever. Her legs are moving mechanically beneath her, and perhaps it's a good thing they apparently continue on their own, because her will had collapsed sometime before.
There's a gust again, and the scene changes. Unlikely rock formations thrust up from the ground, pointing upward like tusks or teeth of some beast of unimaginable size. All about, there are pools of bubbling, red liquid that in some ways suggests lava … or perhaps boiling blood instead … or something far more foul. Here and there, wails and cries can be heard, intermixed with cackling and taunting.
Various pitiful, twisted creatures can be seen tormented by creatures just as hideous, the latter holding whips and sharp weapons. The tormentors laugh, cracking whips, prodding and poking. For the time being, none notice the unicorn. It is as if she simply does not exist to them.
Turtle shakes her head, and continues on, carefully stepping around the pools and jutting rocks. By now the illusions have tired her so that any new horrible things revealed are simply shut out as she obligingly trudges onward.
Nearby, one of the tormentors stumbles from his rocky perch. He lets out a shriek as gnarled hands of his "prisoners" pull him down into their midst. They struggle and crawl over each other … and at last another one of their number pulls free from the pit, holding the whip the monster once held. Enjoying his freedom … he now begins to whip those still in the pit … taking on exactly the same role as the tormentor who fell from his perch.
Turtle snorts, and silently prays for the wind to change and just get this over with.
The wind blows again, kicking up ash and foul fumes. Ahead, the smoke clears enough to reveal a large cluster of rocks … that look suspiciously like a fortress. Any part that is focused upon retains detail enough for examination, but as soon as one looks away, or looks at another part of the fortress, the rest of it seems to have changed when one looks back again.
Ahead is the gateway. Or, at least, there it is, until another wind might come to blow it away!
Turtle stops and stares up at the large rock structure, not willing to believe it after this long. She finally looks behind her, trying to gauge how far she's come, as if that were in the least bit possible in this place.
The horizon is impossibly far away, across a vast ocean that the unicorn could not have walked across, surely. There are no mountains to be seen … only massing thunderclouds limned by the red of the setting sun.
Turtle closes her eyes a moment, wondering if they will ever work right, almost as if it were their fault all these false visions were being relayed to her mind.
Finally, she returns her gaze to the fortress, not sure if it will be waiting for her gaze by now.
The fortress is still there, though it has, near as she can tell, changed its form again. Nonetheless, the gateway is still in roughly the same place … and it is open, revealing a brightly lit grand hall inside.
Turtle sighs helplessly. "Star, let me be doing the right thing… " She trudges towards the gate, not sure what else to do.
Inside, everything is topsy-turvy. There is a main floor to the hall, indeed, but the staircase leads up, and twists off in some odd direction that seems to suggest that the only way you could traverse it would be if you could walk on ceilings. And, indeed, a continuation of the ballroom floor can be seen on what must be the ceiling, and off at an incongruous angle, there is something that looks like a ceiling, and a hanging chandelier, but from what should be a wall…
Space twists upon itself, and through windows here and there, different scenes at different times on different planes of reference can be spied. On one of the "ceilings", which looks more like a floor, a little Cervani girl in a frilly dress plays with several dolls and a tea set, sing-songing to herself.
A clicking noise can be heard. Approaching bootsteps … or hoof-steps? Turtle can glimpse a dark form in flowing robes out of the corner of her eye.
Turtle gasps and turns, frantically scrambling for her crossbow.
Gleaming like an oversized black beetle, an armored figure strides toward Turtle, heavy boots rapping against the solid hardwood floor. What is armor, and what is his scaley or chitinous hide? There is no telling the difference, and he seems to subtly shift shape even as the unicorn watches. For now, his face looks vaguely shark-like, though several stubby horns protrude from where his "forehead" might be, forming a crown of sorts. "Welcome, Inquisitrix," rumbles the voice of the monster. "I am Overlord Nosh'ma. Please put down your weapon. It will do you no good here."
Turtle's fingers drop the weapon, but hardly out of obedience. Her hands tremble despite her efforts to retain her usual cool air of confidence. "Staaar," she almost whines under her breath, before her voice locks on her.
Far above … or beyond … or does direction really make any sense here? … the Cervani child, apparently oblivious to the encounter, hops up (at least on her plane of reference), and begins dashing about, pirhouetting to music only she can hear, giggling gleefully.
Meanwhile, the spiked, draconoid monster glides across the black and white marble floor, soundlessly, save for his brushing robes. "It is a pity the Inquisitor could not make it," he says. "But there are worse things that could have happened."
Turtle swallows hard, trying to stand her ground. "Such as?" she snaps bitterly, partially out of terror, but also out of rage at the mention of the Inquisitor.
The armadilloid creature twirls around, a cruel smile forming on his beak. "You could have filled him with holes. With or without consecration, it would have been rather deadly for him. Wouldn't that have been ironic?"
Turtle gapes, shocked, "And why would I do that? I… I'm… " She stops, not certain what the emotion she's attempting express is.
The six-winged, multi-horned equinoid strides across the sandstone floor on four leonine paws. "Please, it is not proper to leave sentences unfinished. But I take it you are fairly fond of him. So, it is with great regret that I must inform you that, even while you were looking for him, you abandoned him some distance back, left for dead."
Turtle cringes as a hot unpleasant rush comes over her. Her limbs feel limp and liquid. "You lie!" she says, her voice quivering, "That was not the Inquisitor; I looked all over and could not see anything that made him resemble the Inquisitor." She pauses a moment, then shudders out sadly, "Oh, Star, what have I done now? Can one such as I ever be forgiven? Oh, but if you could only end all this, and bring him back to me… "
The snake-like being settles back on his coils, his tongue flitting about. "There is a limit to what one can see by merely LOOKING. What wonders voluminous robes can do in an environment where not everything is as it seems, and where the viewer is suffering from extreme exhaustion. Speaking of, would you care for some refreshment? I keep some stocks that are consumable by outsiders, for just such occasions."
"I would rather not," Turtle grumps, folding her arms tightly around her, trying to cover herself physically and shut the magic out that way.
The huge minotaur-like creature shrugs, a thick saurian tail sweeping the floor behind him. "Very well, then. But I see you are at your strength's end. You must have some great strength to draw upon, to have even made it this far, but even your immortality has its bounds. Besides, in your condition, you would never make it back to the Sanctuary … and then where would the child you came to rescue be? Or, for that matter, where would Melchizedek be, if you decided to abandon this quest and rush to his aid?"
Turtle says, "If you do not mind, I woud prefer to discern such things on my own… "
Turtle scowls. She does not trust this monster or his rations in the least, or even if what he says is the truth. How can she really trust what she saw was Melchizedek? How does he really know what strength she has left? She tries to remember what amount of rations she has left of her own.
The monster grins through tusks and fangs. "Very well then. So, what shall you do now, Inquisitrix? Shall I have a room prepared for you, so you may rest before making any hasty decisions?"
Somewhere "above", the Cervani child plays with her dolls, telling them nonsense stories that she must be making up as she goes along. But they all end, "… and they lived happily ever after."
Turtle lifts an eyebrow. "A room? I hardly expected this to be an extended stay. I have come for the child, pure and simple." She continues to whisper prayers under her breath, as her trembling self becomes less panicked and more alert.
The monster frowns faintly, with a downturn of his mandibles. "And abandon your dear Inquisitor to an uncertain fate? And, even worse, depriving this dear child of her dreams. After all, I am a benevolent Overlord. I only give my subjects that which they desire."
Turtle says, "I will deal with the Inquisitor afterwards. My business with you is the child," she pauses and watches the little girl on the ceiling, "You offer dreams, yes, but the question is how many of them are really nightmares."
The creature slides across the floor, making scraping noises like bone against bone. "That is perhaps a question with no answer. You have seen the 'horrors' outside. But is that not what you expect to find in this land? Your expectations color what you find here. As for the beings you saw in the pits, they were once mortal, but desired power and control. They now have it. But I am fair, and so it is that they must share – by taking turns."
"The child, you may not know, was born unable to walk. Here, she can dance and leap and play as she pleases. Is that such a cruel thing?" the monster says with a toothy smile that spreads from ear to ear, literally.
"And no one can tell her what to do. No one to order her life. No one to make her do anything she does not wish to… " the creature hisses.
Turtle scowls. "You expose her to a lie. Anything based on a lie will never last. It will only make her weak and eventually destroy her, just like every other thing here."
Turtle's prayers have become almost chant-like in her mind and under her breath while she's not speaking. She attempts desperately to grab on to hope.
As if in response to Turtle's last observation, her vision changes as she sees the Cervani child playing so peacefully. She sees the child in a different light … seeing beyond the seemingly harmless scene.
The child is much as Turtle "saw" her before, but her legs are indeed withered, with knobby joints. The child should not be able to walk upon them, let alone dance or run. Nonetheless, she does so … but doing so is doing further damage to that which already cannot support her. Magic is taking the place of the damaged cells. More and more, as the child lives here, her material being is being replaced with that which is insubstantial … sealing her fate, should she ever wish to leave this place.
The process has not gone very far. In a way, it is as if Turtle can "see" the likely future underneath the lies of the present. Rescuing the child is the only way of stopping the inevitable … but the child's stay so far will not be without cost.
The monster grins a lipless grin. "You are correct. Bosch destroys individuals. But I am beyond that, for I am many. We are those who came to Bosch, seeking a way for our dreams to come true. Only by casting aside our individuality could we find hope. I offer the child that chance. She will no longer have a name of her own. She will be part of something greater. Together, we will be greater than any. We shall be immortal. We shall outshine any Star."
Turtle anger is beginning to rise. "And you shall live a life based on a lie. You will be the cause of your own destruction – In fact, you already are, and the Star will shine down forever on what useless wreckage is left."
Nosh'ma looks at Turtle with a radiant face, like that of a celestial being. "Things are not as they initially seem. That is the nature of life. Is that not to say that life itself is, to some extent, a lie? What I offer the child, I offer you. I know your feelings for the Inquisitor – and you know well how they can come to naught. But here is a way that the two of you could be together, forever."
"Is this child – whom you do not know, not even a name – worth more to you than the Inquisitor?" Nosh'ma adds in an angelic voice.
Turtle is surprised by the sudden radiance – surprised, but not fooled. "And we shall go down to our destruction together as well?" she snaps, forgetting herself. "You offer me nothing but emptiness when I came for something. The child. I have met your demands of coming here after her, now I wish you to hold up your end of the agreement."
Nosh'ma still subtly changes forms, though the overall shift is obvious. No longer does the Overlord slide between various black, spiked forms, but rather appears vaguely angelic and benevolent, glowing and radiant. "Very well then," the being says in a chiming voice, "you may take her."
Turtle snorts, and picks up her crossbow to drape over her back. She tries to keep from resting her eyes on the deceptive figure. "The Temple is grateful. Please, bring her to me."
Nosh'ma sighs. "Very well, then. But you insisted." The angelic being slowly fades out of sight. So does much of the interior of this building…
The child looks about in alarm … as suddenly the distortion in space fades … and she really IS up on the ceiling! Gravity begins to take its usual effect upon her being.
Turtle gasps! She does her best to dive under the falling child.
Past hanging chandeliers, waterfalls, twisted furniture, statues, and other things that are terribly out of place in their arrangement, the child plummets … but the nature of this place is that the distance wasn't so great as it appeared. The child falls all of the height of the unicorn from her place on the not-quite-so-far-away-after-all ceiling.
Turtle winces and looks down at the Cervani. "Are you hurt, child?"
The Cervani blinks back up at Turtle, and just shakes her head from side to side. "Not really, ma'am."
Meanwhile, out of the corner of her vision, the unicorn notices a shadowed movement through the entrance to the hall. Someone is entering.
Turtle flattens her ears as she stands up, child in arms. Another encounter is the last thing she wants now. She faces the hallway with disdain.
The person standing in the archway – or, rather, leaning against one of the supports – is obscured in a voluminous, tattered, coarse-fabric cloak. A high-peaked hood obscures his features. Here again is the one who stood in the path.
Turtle's heart beats faster. If this is yet another trick of the land, she seems to only halfway care now. "Inquisitor?" she calls out, very self-conscious of her own voice.
The hood nods. A voice rasps, "You are hard to keep up with, Inquisitrix. But thank you for pressing on. I have had quite the challenge to just keep a grip on reality… " The cloaked one slides down, falling to the floor, a few crimson strands of hair straying from under the folds of the cowl.
Turtle jogs as carefully as she can with the child in her arms up to the fallen Aeonian, her face unconsciously in anguish. She quietly continues her prayers as she kneels over to examine him.
It's Melchizedek, yes. He's definitely seen better days. As the Inquisitrix comes closer, he forces himself back up onto his hooves. "Here. We'd best be going. This is not a safe place."
The child looks bewildered, as if having woken out of a lovely dream, and finding herself … well … in Bosch.
Turtle shoots a disciplinary look up at the Inquisitor. "And you are not in a safe condition to travel, it appears."
The Inquisitor leans against the wall. "What is your recommendation, Inquisitrix?"
Turtle shakes her head and attempts to shift the child where she can dig at her rations. "Have you eaten anything lately, to begin?"
The Inquisitor instinctively tries to help, but he's of little use. "If I ate anything recently, it was against my will, and not that I recall."
Turtle finally manages to retrieve something. "Please, eat. And then we shall deside how to take our leave of this repulsive area."
The Inquisitor looks like he's about to protest, but it's far easier to just comply for now. He makes short order of the ration, then slowly moves out of the archway … back outside.
Turtle stands up and follows, cradling the child in her arms. Her mind works hard on the problem of returning, but right now the only solution appears to be walking. She hangs her head gently.
Melchizedek pauses outside the archway. The pits full of tormented beings are not to be seen. Instead, a mountain slope can be seen … and the Sanctuary of Gears not that far away at all. If the scene is to be believed, the two unicorns must have traversed a circular path.
"I hate Bosch," the black unicorn mutters.
Turtle smiles sardonically. "I would not want to be the one laying singular claims on that if I were you."
The unicorn just looks at Turtle for a few seconds, then turns away and begins half-crawling up the slope. "Correction. WE hate Bosch."
Turtle watches Melchizedek helplessly. "The only ones that do not have long been corrupted past saying anything as a singular." She shudders, recalling the Overlord's address of himself as a collective being.
The Inquistrix then follows at a weary plod, now not gaining as much speed over Melchizedek as she did before. An ironic thought crosses her mind as she continues, "I just pray I will not find this place again in my nightmares"
