Turtle sits quietly at a table in one of the many librarys at the Santuary of Order, looking over a book loaded with pictures, her eyes skimming over them carefully. She tosses her mane back over her shoulder, and thumbs the corner, turning the page.
Reproduced in the pages are representations of major works of art of times past, though of course inferior to the original works, since Sinai lacks sophisiticated means of reproduction save for a feat comparable to that of the artist originally making the work.
One particularly poignant work depicts a young Aeonian girl (most likely a matter of imagination on the part of the artist) smelling some flowers in bloom – the flowers are Momentary Blossoms … flowers that bloom only for a single day each year, and represent the transitory nature of life. The artist, perhaps knowing of the long life spans of the Aeonians – and the irony of showing an Aeonian child – may have put the two together with some message based upon the contrast.
Turtle stops for a moment, looking the work over, then measures with her fingers the lengths of the dress on the paper. She then studies her own long blue velvet princess-style gown, trying to figure how to refit the other dress for herself.
A Korv acolyte waddles into the room, and hops up onto a large perch nearby that happens to give him a good position from which to look over Turtle's shoulder, which he does so, curiously.
Neekto remembers himself, then softly caws, "Good day, Inquisitrix. I'm not really sure what time it is, or else I'd wish you good morning or evening. Days pass so strangely in Bosch. *KAW!*"
Turtle looks up, startled. "Why… Neekto. Yes, I suppose they do." She returns to the book a moment, catching her breath.
Neekto nods and sighs. "Sorry to disturb you, but there has been some bad news. Some of the pilgrims were preparing to head back with a returning convoy, but the unthinkable has happened. A child cannot be found. The monks know this entire complex by heart, since they do not venture beyond its walls, and the Skeeks here could easily go anywhere a Cervani child could. They fear the unthinkable."
Turtle sits there, staring at the book, seemingly unmoved in either direction by the news. However, she is thinking.
Neekto caws, "Sorry to disturb you, again. It does not concern us. But… I just felt like you ought to know. Melchizedek was furious when he heard. Everyone is keeping clear of him."
Turtle furrows her brow a bit. "Why should he be so upset?" She turns back to Neekto, closing the book and pushing it away. "I wish to see him anyway."
Neekto caws loudly! "Inquisitrix! That may not be wise … He is unreasonable at times like this. The legends may speak of Aeonians being docile and patient … but he seems bent to disprove all of them from time to time."
Turtle reaches out and grabs Neekto's beak softly. "This is a library," she hisses in a gentle whisper.
"*MPH* Besides," the crow says in a lower, muffled tone, "there was a visitor … a messenger from the Boschians. Apparently they're going to send an emissary, and he's expected to meet with them. You know … " he says, starting to cock his head sideways, but restricted by the hand on his beak, "… THEM."
Turtle looks even more conserned and thoughtful. "I will not let that hinder me. Take me to him." She says that firmly, with a touch of coldness.
Neekto muffles from his clamped beak, "As you wish, Inquisitrix!"
Turtle releases the crow's beak and puts her book away.
The crow hops down from his perch, fluttering on his downward arc to the door, then waddles on out of the room and into the outside corridor.
Neekto pauses, turning his head sideways to caw, "Inquisitrix, he's up in the Observation Decks again. Are you sure you want to visit him there?"
Turtle crosses her arms, and looks at Neekto sternly. "I do not say things I do not mean."
Turtle inwardly panics a bit. The outside of this place is crawling with magic.
Neekto cowers a bit, then waddles along, at a quicker pace. "*KAW!* As you wish, Inquisitrix… " He leads the way to a set of spiraling stairs, using his wings to help him as he hops up the steps several at a time toward the roof, making up for his much shorter gait compared to that of the Aeonian.
Turtle strides gracefully up the stairs. She holds her skirt edges in her hands as she follows.
Neekto stops at a landing, where a couple of monks keep vigilance at the doors. They nod at the Inquisitrix, and open the door to let her through, with her assistant.
Turtle enters and looks around. In the light of this new area, small roses delicately embroidered into the velvet flash momentarily into view as she moves.
This is but one of the "Observation Decks" circling the top of the near-cylindrical complex, very thick and sturdy windows providing a panoramic view of the strangeness that is Bosch.
Only one observer is seated here – a black unicorn who fumes, collapsed back in an old couch that has been patched many times – painstakingly so, though one of the cushions doesn't match. A few papers and forms have been scattered about, apparently thrown, and with no one daring to pick them back up again.
Turtle raises an eyebrow at the papers as she walks past them, to stand behind Melchizedek.
Melchizedek doesn't turn to look. His gaze is fixed somewhere outside, where there is something going on outside. Some imps are converging upon the Sanctuary, and being met by some banner-carrying monks.
Turtle's stomach turns nervously at the sight of the imps, as well as the more present figure in front of her. Finally, after a moment, she asks, "Do you know what you will say to them?"
Melchizedek says, "I am still formulating that. But I cannot, until I know what they will say to me. But these are not the emissaries. They are just trouble-makers."
No sound can be heard from the confrontation outside, but the imps – of greatly varying sizes, but most of them no taller than 4 feet or so – appear to be hopping about, making rude gestures and nasty faces … a redundancy, considering the state of their visages to begin with. The monks stand their ground, until it appears the imps are looking to be more violent in their taunts … and a lumbering hulk slowly weaves its way through them … nay, simply marching THROUGH them and crushing several in its wake, as it marches forward toward the line of monks.
Turtle looks down more fully at the black unicorn, a bit surprised at not receiving a ranting answer.
The hulk has a grayish-green hide, and a goblinesque head, somewhere between the features of a rat and a human, but with a single lidless eye. It has three arms attached in no particular order on its twisted torso, and one leg is digitigrade and hooved, while the other is slender and human-like.
"I would offer assistance, but I am afraid diplomacy is not one of my virtues, as you may have noticed." She shudders violently inwardly at the sight outside.
Melchizedek ignores Turtle's self-depreciating remark, and explains, "They seem obliged to harass the monks from time to time. And diplomacy is a strange art here. Politeness is rarely rewarded. But neither is brashness. Near as I can tell, only perseverance and boldness has a chance of making headway with the Boschians … and a steadfast focus on one's goals, despite their attempts at distraction."
Turtle snorts softly. "Sometimes I think destroying them would be the only way of negotiation." She walks around to sit lightly beside Melchizedek as an excuse to look at him rather than the scene outside.
The black Aeonian's gaze drifts to the quiet Korv that has been huddled in a corner. "Please ask your assistant to leave," the Inquisitor says.
Turtle nods at Neekto.
Neekto looks to Turtle, then nods, waddling to the door. He pecks at it to get the attention of the monks on the other side, then hops through as soon as it's opened. Once it is shut, the room is quiet once more.
Melchizedek says, "It is tempting to think of such, but Bosch is a place where reality is not always what it seems. Many of those creatures out there are not real at all – not really alive. The forces that govern Bosch could just as easily regenerate millions of them to flood this land, for they are constructed of magic, most of them. The rest are Degenerates – once normal, but twisted by chaos into their present forms."
While he talks, Melchizedek looks at Turtle's expressions, trying to read them. "Do not worry. You are safe here."
Turtle gives the Aeonian a wry look in return. "It is the magic behind them that bothers me the most. Is there any way to destroy it? Or at least render it useless?"
Melchizedek sighs. "If there is, it is a mystery as great as all the Forbidden Zones of Sinai. Bosch has been here for as long as anyone knows. But I believe that what we see here is not simply an act of nature. Behold these nightmares. They are not any sort of nature. They are the products of nightmares and fantasies. I believe that the so-called Overlords in some way are responsible for this."
Turtle says, "Overlords?"
Melchizedek nods. "Overlords, they dare call themselves. They were once beings like ourselves, but who, like many others, ventured into Bosch in search of power untold. It is, after all, a place where dreams come true … good and evil."
Turtle allows herself another glance out the window and shudders again, this time a more outwardly.
Melchizedek says, "In the end, though, the 'good' is purely subjective. In the end, it all comes to ruin. Mortals play at being the Creator. They are all touched and warped by the land. Most die in such a wretched state, or pass into a state of being that can only barely be called life. A few 'survive', after a fashion, supposedly gaining great power, but they are ultimately slaves to the land, unable to leave Bosch, or they would disintegrate once deprived of its magic."
Outside the window, the monks have backed away, as the lumbering hulk advances, his mouth wide in what must be bellowing and roaring. From amongst the monks, a few glittering forms can be seen … and puffs of steam. Someone is walking forward to face the hulk … someone very large, in bulky suit of armor that is covered with … tubes and pipes?
The oversized suit of armor is adorned with the symbol of the Knights Templar, and a bronze-colored cape. An oversized representation of a raccoon's tail, ringed in alternating black and white, sticks out of the back of the armor.
Turtle closes her eyes for a moment, feeling disgusted, then stops and glances back at the strnge suit.
The suit moves in a slow, laborious pace toward the hulk. The monks part way, keeping a wide berth of the armor. Occasionally, there are bursts of steam, and a pipe or tube breaks, causing the armor to pause … and then the escaping steam stops, and it continues again. At last, the two oversized warriors meet midway. The hulk begins pounding on the armor with all three fists, causing the armor to shake and rattle, a few bolts flying free, and making a few dents.
"The Champion of Order," Melchizedek explains. "Also known as the Champion of Gears. His Lance is special, hand-picked by the Technopriests."
"How… unusual," Turtle cannot think of anything else to say about this strange mechanical knight.
After some more pounding by the monster, the mechanical knight at last raises one gauntlet – By the shaking and jerking, it seems to be some effort, as he has taken quite a pounding. The hand's fingers curl into a position, with the tip of the index finger meeting with that of the thumb. This is brought up to the nose of the monster. *FLICK*
One can almost hear the "pop". The seemingly solid monster is hit in the nose … and it is much like a waashu or a bubble melon that has had a hole poked in it. Foul green vapor spills out of the nose of the monster, and the creature shrivels and shrinks in size, shooting into the air and zipping about, scattering imps as they try to keep clear. At last, the limp mass collapses onto the ground, and slowly sizzles away into nothingness.
Turtle involuntarily pulls her hands to her face, as she turns away.
Melchizedek comments, "I would have never guessed. But then, the monks have studied these monsters more than anyone else. They should know their peculiar weaknesses. The greatest one is that each one of their weapons and each piece of the Champion's armor is carefully blessed. That seems to have some effect on the Boschians … like the parchments you threw at that stone hulk. The monks only use specially consecrated parchment, because they fear that the forces of Bosch somehow might otherwise alter what they write."
Turtle leans back, still half-covering her muzzle with her hand. "This place must rely heavily on belief more than I could have ever imagined."
Melchizedek watches the monks rout the disorganized and demoralized imps. "Yes. One must have that to persevere in the face of such madness, or else one would succumb."
Turtle's stomach eases in relief as the imps are chased away. "At least that affair is done with now."
Melchizedek nods, and turns to look at Turtle again. "So … how … have you been?"
Turtle considers a moment. "Dealing a bit with boredom, but the books in the library have taken up my time." She looks over at Melchizedek, then hesitantly asks her question, "How are you?"
Melchizedek says, "I am … troubled." He looks back out the window. "A child vanishes, and then I learn that we are to be visited by the Boschians. I suspect they know full well where she is. They will want to bargain for something. And even if we get her back, she will be marked for life by the madness of Bosch. No matter what happens, they have nothing to lose, in their twisted manner of looking at things."
Turtle just stares at the floor, not sure what to say.
Melchizedek asks, "Do you remember what it was like to be a child?"
Turtle answers, "Vaguely. I do not like to think about my childhood much, however. It was one of my most pleasant times." She starts to say something more, then falls into silence.
Melchizedek nods. "Understandable. I remember next to nothing about our world before Sinai … and so little of my arrival here. I remember the Helmet for the first time. I remember being taken where I did not want to go, and being helpless, and seeing so many bewildering things. It is not easy, being a child."
Outside, the monks roll out a wagon … and heave and ho as they push the Champion of Gears until he falls unceremoniously backward onto the wagon. They wheel him off, pulling the wagon with the help of a couple of Dromodons, heading back to the safety of the Sanctuary. Apparently they've suffered no casualties this time.
Turtle nods and moves the hand at her mouth up into her hair, brushing absently through it.
Melchizedek just looks at Turtle for a few moments, saying nothing.
Turtle continues to brush, occassionally glancing back at the black Aeonian for a change in expression.
Melchizedek's gaze falters, as if he's discarding some thought, and his muzzle drops, as he looks away. As fate would have it, some banners can be seen cresting a hill outside the Sanctuary. "It looks as if we will be having guests," the Aeonian says drily.
Turtle follows the Inquisitor's gaze to the banners. The Boschian ambassadors. Her nerves tense again.
Melchizedek looks back at Turtle, and then looks down and reaches for her hand.
Turtle tenses even more, looking back at the Inquisitor. Does he perceive the fear she feels and is trying to comfort her? Her head swims a bit, dizzily,
Melchizedek pauses to remove his gloves, and then reaches again to Turtle's hand, taking it in his. "Pray for us, will you? And the child."
Turtle nods, closing her eyes as her head moves downward, then uses her free hand to make a small star in front of her. She curls the fingers of the other one hesitantly around the black Aeonian's bare hand.
Melchizedek closes his own eyes as well, and just sits there for a while.
Melchizedek opens his eyes again, looking back out the window. His usually stern visage he doesn't keep up right now. His brow is creased in uncertainty. But then, what is there to be certain about Bosch?
Turtle raises a brow at this, but does not say anything about it.
Finally, Turtle speaks, her stomach growing ever tighter as she realizes the time for the meeting is approaching. "Do you wish me to go with you, Inquisitor?" she asks, not quite sure what he is expecting now. Most of her hopes he would decline her, but for some strange reason of emotion, she wishes to join him. She shivers a bit, wondering at that.
Melchizedek looks at Turtle, then says, "That is a question I find difficult to answer. If I would wish for you to accompany me, I would wonder if it were for purely selfish reasons. If you wish to go, however, I will not stop you. Our kind have some small resistance against the influences of Bosch."
Turtle is slightly confused by 'selfish reasons'. She concludes he must be afraid of them himself. "Perhaps it is best I should. Let me call Neekto for my crossbow… " She rises to her feet, and strides femininely across the deck.
Melchizedek replaces his gloves, looking at the window, and stands. "It is good to be prepared. I would suggest we might try consecrating your bolts, but I do not think we will have time."
Turtle opens the door, looking for her assistant outside.
Neekto is outside, waiting as patiently as he can manage, though he still looks typically nervous.
Melchizedek comes up behind Turtle. "I suppose they are waiting for us. I shall be down as soon as the Inquisitrix is ready."
Turtle nods, and looks down at Neekto. "Do get my crossbow. And hurry."
Neekto says, "*KAW!* At once, Inquisitrix!" He spreads his wings, and flies down, rather than hopping down each step.
A short while later, the Inquisitor and Inquisitrix are outside the Sanctuary, not far from its gates, a contingent of Guards and armed monks flanking them as they meet a contingent of similar strength of warped creatures of Bosch. Unlike the diminutive imps, these creatures are closer to humanoid form, but still noticeably deformed, many of them with disjointed limbs and crooked torsos, walking with a painful-looking gait, their features obscured in long tattered drapes and masking hoods.
Turtle winces at the creatures, flattening her ears. She clutches her crossbow tightly.
One individual in glistening black carapace-like armor rides forward on a mutated Drokar. Where his armor ends and his flesh begins, one cannot tell, and it probably does not matter to these types. He carries a scroll on wooden rollers, which he opens up as he approaches.
Turtle perks her ears back up at the knight, glancing over at Melchizedek.
Melchizedek has his attention focused on the armored warrior, as the latter begins to speak in a death rattle, "Greetings, puny mortals of the so-called Temple, that blistering mound of refuse floating upon the skyways … " He goes on and on in this vein, spewing insults upon the Temple, Rephidim, and those present, and their parentage and presumed habits, but all in a tone as if he were reading the titles and credentials of an esteemed dignitary.
Turtle's eyes narrow even further. His manner intensely annoys her, but, fortunately, she is too terrified to say so at present.
The armored warrior continues then along the lines of, "… These greetings are extended on the behalf of Overlord Nosh'ma, Ruler of All He Surveys, Omnipotent and Omniscient, Greater Than Any Power That Is Or Ever Was Or Will Be, Eternal… " And so on, he makes boasts of the power and influence and accomplishments of his exalted lord, using terms that are nothing short of blasphemy. Nonetheless, Melchizedek doesn't even twitch as he listens to this.
Eventually, the warrior gets on to something past boasts. With his rambling style, it is best paraphrased as, "You violated the pacts made with Overlord Nosh'ma, by taking hostile action toward citizens of Bosch before any of yours were slain… " and he proceeds to recite some legalese, citing articles and lines and further details that should cause even a lawyer pause.
Melchizedek says, "That is absurd. Those attacking us claimed not to be of Lord Nosh'ma. We had no reason to think we had any cause to give them any special consideration."
Turtle snorts quietly.
The warrior replies, "That is no excuse. They could have simply been lying. There is no clause to allow for being mistaken about the identity of those meeting you. You are in clear violation. And, furthermore, one of your number has ventured off into our lands, in violation of our treaties."
Melchizedek says, "The child? Have mercy on a child who wandered off without guidance, if you dare play at being a knight!"
Turtle grips more firmly on her crossbow, tensing for readiness as the negotiations start to appear volatile.
The warrior's helm … or so it appeared … splits into a wide, sharklike grin. It does not move as the warrior replies, in a higher-pitched voice, "The child was encouraged to stray … but it was her choice to do so. Never fear. You will not be punished further. Simply let the child be, and we will consider the matter settled."
Turtle raises an eyebrow darkly, "Let the child be? In your possession, you mean?" Her voice has the slightest hint of sarcasm.
Melchizedek's eyes narrow to slits, a chance breeze stirring his red mane so that it seems to leap like a hungry flame. "Overlord Nosh'ma knows full well I cannot permit that – nor can these," he gestures to the monks. "We are not monsters, that we would abandon a helpless child. What is your price for the child? Name one, or we shall set one for you."
The armored warrior laughs, in a voice that suddenly sounds pleasant in tone – oh, so pleasant and reasonable. The shark-like grin remains frozen in place. "Price? No price at all. In fact, Overlord Nosh'ma is willing to show his boundless generosity. You may have the child back, then … but you must come and take her back yourself."
Turtle gives the Inquisitor questioning eyes, as a cold chill runs through her of horror. What horrible part of Bosch could this child possibly be in?
The Inquisitor says, "I don't know what game your 'Overlord' is playing at, but you give me no choice… " He looks to his guards. "Prepare me with some supplies. I will go. None of the Guard will go with me. You will complete our mission here. If I do not return in time, assume that I am dead or worse, and report back to Rephidim without me."
Turtle starts to visibly tremble as color drains from under her fur, unvoluntarily grasping for Melchizedek's arm.
The warrior's grin melts back into a featureless helm. "Oh. How TOUCHING," he says, dripping with sarcasm. Literally. It runs in rivulets down from the chin of his helmet, dropping onto his breastplate.
Turtle's head swims. At the last sight, she stumbles forward, half-unconscious.
Melchizedek swings to the side, dropping his walking stick, catching Turtle in his arms, even as the mounted warrior bellows with mocking laughter. The stick clacks as it heavily hits the ground.
Turtle lifts her head slightly, looking up at the Aeonian holding her. "Are you insane?" she finally manages to hiss through her teeth. "I came with you, and I will follow as well." Is she insane? That thought crosses her mind as soon as she says that. Bad enough that he should go…
Melchizedek looks down at Turtle. "I am sorry. I cannot abandon a child. Surely you understand. And I cannot risk anyone else for this. This is not a battle in any sense most would understand… "
Turtle tries frantically to regain her senses, but before that she blurts out, "I have training as a warrior. Surely you should have someone along like that."
"No time for sentimentalities," spits the warped warrior. "If we go, we go NOW. You carry what you have on you. Overlord Nosh'ma is very busy, and may change his mind if you tarry. And you have chosen well to go alone. You two may come, but no more."
Neekto caws, "Inquisitrix!" Whatever else he had to say breaks down into a few alarmed "KAW"s.
The Inquisitor looks to the Inquisitrix. "Very well then. As you wish. We will put the fear of the Star into these who think themselves so high."
Turtle flattens her ears, and stands back up onto her own feet, adjusting her crossbow. She just wishes she could use that for the fear that has gripped her so tightly already.
