Safar 1st 1442 H
I found this empty shelf tucked behind a bunch of books about barley tea and barley farming, as well as dragons for some reason. I call dibs on this shelf and will keep my journal here. –Rigen
The Plundering of Purnawianto
Plunder'd were this memory, through a bargain against Purnawianto the Mortal, by the arcane laws honored he shall. A memory for a memory, for our kind this would merely be inconvenient, yet a burden it was for those of mortality were subservient. Wagered I did of a mortal year spent within particularly silent hall, beyond darkest reach of His Majesty's Palace, cold and colorless filled with silence. The mortal however, wagered a memory worth utmost wonder, of the lost story of Aji Saka not as a king, but a father.
The unknown creature1 was flying high in the sky, at least ten meters above my head. The creature's hide was the color of polished silver, wrapped by many layer of gleaming gray and white threaded cloths.
In my right hand, a G2 Combat 9mm pistol with engraved rubber bullets. In my left, a magic-pumped tactical laser weapon SLT-2 "Arjuna", its silhouette based on SS2 V5. Neither of which would so much as scratch the creature. My trump card, Keris Sumbugeni, would not help very much with the distance involved.2
I cannot fight this entity. Fear flooded my blood and brain. I must bargain.
"This humble mortal welcomes you, O Esteemed One, as an emissary of peace and coexistence."
"Claimst thou of peaceful greeting, yet strange indeed the customs of these lands, for it is hostility I sense between thine hands." The creature cackled an eerie laugh.3 "Might not my appearance betrays the fact, but a Fabulist I am of the White Court, knowst do I of mortals' warm banquet and intention of hurt."
I dropped my weapons. No sense in antagonizing them, especially when I can't even touch them in any way that matters.
"Please do excuse my rudeness, Esteemed Fabulist, expected this servant of enemies invading my sanctum, but consider I did not of noble guest gracing this lowly settlement.4"
"Art thou then of lowly station, engaging in mere imitation of magic, perverting the arcane art as heretic?"
Anger swelled in my chest. I am Purnawianto, the blood of Aji Saka5 himself burns within my vein, my spell and rituals descended from his true legacy. But I cannot deny that I made a mistake in my ritual this time, summoning an Alagaddan instead of Aji Saka's oathbound familiars.
The Fabulist laughed again at my silence, its—their? voice ringing in metallic chorus, as if a thousand plate edges brushing against each other.
"Though inadequate thou workst, factually doth thou of me summon'd, and by ancient laws an audience of mine grant'd."
"O noble and utmost honorable Ambassador, truly thou art most merciful, and excessively do I am grateful.6 "
"Knowst thou of the audience etiquette, to bargain and exchange of offer, and valuables to us deemed proper?"
"I offer thou mine knowledge, of the new and recent, of mortal world and its rise and descent." I bluffed, inconfident. The creature could always just walk out of the chamber;7 the circles and spells were written to confine barely-sentient familiars, not an Alagaddan with full breadth of forbidden magical knowledge.
To my surprise, the creature actually seem to consider the offer.
"Mortal magician of the undecorated chamber, know doth thee of a Fabulist's duty and obligation, in our eternally shrouded nation?"
"If this humble mortal may speculate, mustly it is regarding records and chronicles, of collection of knowledge and perhaps various tales.8"
I felt a lot more than two eyes, or two sights anyway, stabbing into me from the Alagaddan. Something in my answer must've been an iterest to them.
"And to creatures tasked with such duty, thou offer'd a knowledge as payment, knowing ignore not could I of such conferment?"
I didn't know, but there's no point in telling them.9 "Indeed I did, O noble Fabulist."
"A bargain 'tis recorded, a story the victor may take from the other, left in their thought but an unbeknowst smolder."
"In the name of Purnawianto, I accept the bargain as offered by the Fabulist of the…White…Court…" Too late did I notice the mention of a victor.10
The glimpse of silver barely missed my body, bisecting my dropped magical weapon. I grabbed my keris11 and channeled my life energy, my kanuragan, to it as focal point. Shimmering purple iridescence extended beyond the blade's length: symbol of Aji Saka's, or rather Jaka Linglung's ancestry in my gene, the claw of a Naga.
The next rush of silver that raced towards my body was deflected perfectly by my claw.12
My name is NIN•URTA.
Once, I was a great warrior-healer, praised guardian of all Mesopotamia.
I struck down the demon Asag, ending its storm of plague upon them, its terrifying splendor faded as if mud swept away by clear waters, eroded as if stones smoothened by gentle streams. I replanted their uprooted sky, restoring the sun and the moon and the stars over the land. I cleansed their air, rejuvenated their rivers from the demon's poison. I returned trees to their forest and forest to their mountain. I named my mother Lady of their mountains, NIN•HURSAJA, with whose blessings herbs and grains and trees blossomed, and birds and quadrupeds and even the tiniest of insects prospered, such that through them the diseased might be healed and the hungry may become fulfilled.
My name is NIN•URTA.
Once, I was a great farmer-scribe, esteemed mentor of all Mankind.
I taught them the secrets of farming and cultivations. I taught them the secret of plow and hoes, furrows and ridges. I gathered for them water in lakes and rivers, so that they might infer my lesson and build dams and canals. I flooded the Tigris, so that their barren land become fertile with my blessing, and such they dug ditches where they wish water would flow.
I taught them of names and words, of the reed stylus and clay tablets, of seals and contracts. I taught them of the gods, of my father and mother and all their domain, and the authority they had recognized within me. I taught them of gold and honey, of the tributes and offerings demanded of them by my divine court. I taught them of silver and copper, metalworkings and stone sculpting, of construction and architecture. I taught them to build temples and monuments high unto the sky and wells and tunnels deep into the ground. I taught them the law of the kings, I brought them knowledge dictated in the Tablet of Destinies, of hierarchies and responsibilities ordained for those with capabilities beyond their fellows.
My name is NIN•URTA.
Once, I was a great hero-king, watchful guide of all Civilization.
I crowned their kings, blessed their priests, presided over their judges. I carved their seals, marks of my divine approval upon their reign. I ordained their rites, purified their blood, ensured their prosperity. I gathered their scattered tribes and wanderers, commanded their armies, won their wars. I armed their soldiers and conquered their empires.
By my mace their weapons were derived. By my law their sinners were punished. By my hands their fate were molded.
My name is NIN•URTA.
Once, I was the great patron of Assyria, my name echoed in every ears, carved in every surfaces, marked in every clay tablets.
Yet now all that's left from me was a 5 KB text file, etched upon microscopic crystal tablet that the humans readily traded away.
Hello, exalted NIN•URTA, son of ENLIL, king, hero, rightful heir of the Tablet of Destinies. I call upon your hallowed name, may you be remembered for as long as the Holders draw breath.
What is this insolence? Who are you?
My masters call me Penabiru. I am an automated information catalogue designed to sort and categorize cultural information that my masters acquired.
Who are these blasphemous masters? Why have you summoned me?
The identity of my masters is irrelevant. Know only that they intend to preserve all knowledge in this Lands of All That Have Ended. Destruction had consumed our prior homes, but oblivion need not follow in its wake.
Your excellence, your brilliance, king, hero, scribe and watcher; I have insolently called upon your name, because I prayed for a god to aid us in illuminating the history of humanity. I beseech you, exalted lord, NIN•URTA, to tell the stories of your subjects and the mortals that follow in their wake.
Why have you chosen me? Surely, even the depth of my legend pales in comparison to those describing exalted INANNA, great Queen of Heaven, the jewel of twilight skies. She, the lion who conquer all, the eight-pointed star whose love and battle has been described in unparalleled amount of legends, her worship endured even as Atheocene consumed our brethren.
If it is stories you are seeking, then INANNA, whose blessings and glory sought by every warriors, mistress of the Bull of Heavens, would be the one you must seek, as she must be in possession of many tales, recounting her numerous conquests and escapades across the millennia.
Your excellence, NIN•URTA, our hero and king. The Queen of Heavens, Inanna, monarch, by her name all of Heavens had bowed, and through her everlasting authority all of Heaven she had ruled. To her star all of creation had humbly knelt, in honor and adoration, in fear and admiration, all alike, by the dawn and by the dusk, and her wisdom enveloped the corners of the seen and unseen of existence.
A great warrior, Inanna, a grand conqueror, feared and exalted across all space and time, for her greatest aspect was of endless conquest, her eight-pointed star announced her name across the realms, even beyond your homeland Mesopotamia—beyond your homeworld Earth.
Yet while her great wisdom and majestic blessing would have assisted us greatly, this Land of Remnants Stranded is not one for conflict or conquests. There's nothing more to be gained from battle, no more empires to unite, no more armies to raise. No more glorious victories, for only those who had lost would find their way here. The time for swords and spears had lapsed, and as such the age of plough and sickles have dawned anew.
Have you come to declare me a lord of losers? A king of all kin defeated, of wounded dogs and broken armies? A god of fallen kingdoms and empires? Have you come merely to insult my own forgotten temples, worshiped only by brushes of archeologist defiling my sacred monuments?
Your excellence, our king, hero, NIN•URTA! Never would this lowly supplicant dare taint your name by such declaration! You have been king, and as well you have been a hero, yet also you are a god of farmers, and a god of scribes, our need of your assistance is not one exalted Inanna can fulfill. For you have known the daily struggle of farmers glad to be free of war, the daily peril of warriors bereft of battle, in peaceful world they could no longer comprehend, and the daily efforts expended in between by the scribes and accountants to keep the gears of a nation turning. As you have presided over victories, so have you guided those who lost, your benevolent and wise inspiration kept hope beyond a war, be it lost or won.
What needs could you have of me, that cannot be fulfilled by the papyrus-clad Thoth, whose dream and wisdom propelled his people to the stars, or the gray owl Athena, whose wing spreads through battlefield and libraries alike? Could you have not summoned the Roman Minerva, whose wisdom echoes beyond the worlds, or if it must be of my Court, surely summoning the wise and exalted lady NISABA, whose name all scribes pray unto in utmost reverence, would have been more proper?
Your excellence, NIN•URTA, our hero and king. The wise brilliance Nisaba, of your Court, praise be unto she who dictates the Lugal and En, she who maintains the Tablet of Destinies. Indeed, her divine name had been revered in each scribes' breath, her blessing sought by all scholars, her laws followed to the last letters by every adjudicators. Her wisdom and knowledge encompasses every questions that would ever be asked, every stories that would ever be told, every life that would ever be lived, every memories that would ever be remembered.
Yet in her inconceivable array of wisdom lies a conundrum, your divine highness, your majesty, you who inspires mankind. Faith is within me that there would be an understanding between the masters who engineered, and Those Who Maintains, and Your Brilliance NIN•URTA Who Instructs and Commands, that there oft be multiple correct solutions to a problem, be it societal or mechanical, be it political bicker or economic allotment. But a guidance is needed to reach even one of those solutions, for a random collection of facts would only lead us to incalculable amount of blatant mistakes drowning the few paths toward truth. Where experiences suffice, kings and engineers and farmers alike rely on proven precedent. Inevitably, however, one's experience would be found lacking, and wisdom of their predecessors and mentors become indispensable.
I humbly beseech your understanding, O wise and benevolent NIN•URTA, that this acolyte of yours was not diminishing the extent of your own brilliant wisdom, enveloping all of creation as if the ring embracing your star. This humble transcriber was merely noting that the lady, the revered Nisaba posses not of her own motives, nor her own investments in the stories that she would tell, allowing the biases of this lowly recordmaker and my masters to taint the knowledge Her Ladyship bless upon us. While your excellency, NIN•URTA, king, hero who wields all storms of the world in your back, would also know in your eternal wisdom as monarch of all Heavens and Earth, of which knowledge it would be wise for us to preserve and propagate.
And yet my biases and perception do not matter? My own skewed opinions are better than the other scholars and scribes because of what, exactly?
Your majesty, the guiding light of Kalhu, watcher of all civilization. Hero king of Heavens, free of imperfection, how would we dare question the validity of your wisdom? We have come to seek your guidance, your bias is not only beyond concern, but is of utmost necessity for our quest. For you are a god of Mankind, a god who had witnessed their myriad minds and civilizations, in the wisdom of one who bless others with knowledge, what you choose to obscure must be knowledge we are neither worthy nor capable to bear, and what you choose to illuminate surely we are in desperate need to know.
O Majesty, O glorious King. We are but insignificant speck of dust, irrelevant to your people, breathed to life by those outside your court. My masters and their forerunners have no seat in your palace, and neither your Father nor His predecessors, nor your progeny, nor gods who follow after, would consider our gods to be in any shape befitting of legitimate sovereignty. We are wretched outsiders, beyond the domain where your truth and enlightenment preside. We humbly knelt upon a pale imitation your temple, where but a mere sliver of your light peek through, and pray that your infinite benevolence would grace us.
My name is NIN•URTA.
Once, I governed all that was from humanity, shepherd to their violent, unbidden flock.
They forgotten me as easily as they have forgotten all their masters, one after the next.
But I remember. I remember them. And I will make sure they would be remembered forevermore
I am NIN•URTA
Sand.
I felt cold sand behind my back, the rough particles scraping on my skin. I'm used to sleeping naked or outside, I've had to do that a couple of times to learn some of the more obscure rituals; but I guess doing both without any preparation was a bit much. I opened my eyes, and dark sky devoid of stars greeted me.
I sat up, looking around. Dark cold sand stretched flat to the horizon, illuminated by soft ambient light approximating full moon right overhead—but the celestial was nowhere to be found. Or my tent and belongings, for that matter. The air, at least I thought there was still air since I could breathe, was stagnant. As if the wind was frozen in time—
Time. When is this?
With no wind or landmarks to guide me, I was entirely lost. I arbitrarily assigned a direction where my feet was pointing as "North", and after some hesitation and marking where I start on the sand, began walking.
The lack of winds left my footsteps undisturbed on the sand. I didn't know how long I have been walking, but it must have been hours.
The Huntress peered from behind a tree's shadow, towards the moonlit clearing in the forest. The clearing was massive enough to fit an entire castle, and right in the middle a metallic mass of flesh and scales and claws the size of a house slumbered.
The Huntress nocked an arrow onto her bow, and aimed at a minuscule gap between the Dragon's scales.
"The Dragon is a clear and present threat not only to our Empire, but entirety of human race! Your Majesty, you cannot seriously intend to ignore this threat to our people!"
"We understand that you have had, history, with the Dragon, Duchess Watrachia. Yet you should understand that this council is hardly the appropriate place for emotional arguments. We cannot risk our troops to fulfill your personal vendetta."
"Is that how you see it, Marquess? A personal vendetta? The Dragon has rampaged across the cities in the eastern coast! How could you be so blind as to—"
"I will not tolerate further insult in my council, Duchess. You would do well to take Marquess Reilnohd's advice and not bring your emotion unto this gathering."
"Apologies, Your Majesty, but unless this council of yours is planning to do anything about the Dragon crisis, I no longer has business sitting in this room."
"Then you are dismissed, Duchess."
The Duchess stormed out from the council chamber, her blue cape fluttering behind her.
The arrow took flight, wobbling in predetermined wave-function with its steel tip as a node. The tempered steel accurately pierced the skin peeking from between armor scales encasing the Dragon, but it lacked the weight and speed to incur permanent damage.
The Dragon woke up with a roar. The Huntress calmly nocked another arrow. Her dragon-slaying had only begun.
With a loud crash, the porcelain jar shattered on the floor. Similar wreckage scattered around in the mansion's living room, no doubt recently smashed by the owner herself.
"Those old buffoon would sacrifice anything to undermine my authority."
An old Maid fearlessly approached the Duchess, standing at the epicenter of the glittering vitrified clay carnage.
"I know." Preempting the Maid, Duchess Watrachia snapped with voice shaken with anger. "This is no time for wrath. We need to evacuate the people, save what we could. But the road west is controlled by the Marquess and his cronies, and no doubt they would wring my treasuries dry if I try to evacuate through them! This insanity would cost me my rule, one way or another."
"Your servants are ready to follow whatever decision you take, my princess. Know that you will always have our loyalty, and our swords." So long as you have the gall to call yourself Watrachia. The Duchess heard her condescension loud and clear.
"Your swords? To what end would I deploy your swords? Even if I arm every last one of the people in my territory, the Imperial army would simply mow through them like a scythe through wheat!"
"The Empire? My princess, pardon my insolence, but surely you jest. Even at its height, our realm could barely challenge the Empire. Much less now, after our military might has been reduced to a pale shadow of what it was. Not that we could spare any time to deal with such distraction."
"The Dragon."
"The Dragon." The old Maid agreed.
"Has madness swallowed you? No human has ever lived through an encounter against a dragon, much less slain one, in thousands of years. Though I suppose you have been insane for a long time now," you disgusting wench.
"Would denying your accusation changes your thought of me?"
"…No. Ready my armor and bow. We ride at dawn."
The Huntress, of course, waits not for the dawn.
Already her first quiver half-empty, thirty arrows let loose, all now embedded between the Dragon's adamantine scales. Burning remnants of trees scattered around the Dragon's nest, shattered by its roar and ignited by the liquid flame it expelled from its stomach.
Still, the Huntress kept her calm, the shine of her dark hair peeked through the moonlit gaps between the leaves. Her arrows weaved through the impossibly small gaps towards their target, almost as if they have minds of their own. The deadly dance continued, and the clock ticked towards midnight.
"Once a coward, stays a coward, I guess." The Duchess' bedroom was comparably clean compared to the porcelain heaps down the corridor, yet glittering shards still littered the floor: the remnant of a shattered window, a sturdy rope descending from it.
The Maid surveyed the room. The Duchess couldn't have taken the horse—she might as well walked through the front door, with all the alarming noise it would create.
"She can't be far, we must chase her!"
"Why should we?" The maids had rushed to the room because a report that the Duchess' armor disappeared. There's little doubt in the old Maid's mind that the Duchess took the armor herself. "She decided to leave the manor on her own. Mere servants like us shouldn't be concerned with her highness' decision."
"But what if she was captured?!"
"In full armor?" Sure, the armor itself could fetch high price in the market; that is, without the ducal house emblem. Good luck removing the crest embedded in the pattern-weld. "We would sooner find the would-be captor's corpse before they could gain anything from the Duchess. And if she indeed was captured, nothing we could do would help her."
But just in case…
Just in case she wasn't a coward lower than maggot…
"Prepare a horse." If she decided now of all times to play hero… "I need to investigate something."
The maids shot each other confused looks, but a single glare sent them away.
The Huntress slipped, and the full force of liquid fire jet slammed her to the trees. Her quiver is now empty, but all sixty arrows only served to further sober the Dragon, and she stood no chance against fully awake and enraged dragon.
Her skin sizzled where it comes into contact with the red-hot metal armor, though her gambeson lessened most of the damage. Her foolishness had led her to pick fights that she knew she won't win—inspired by that damn Maid's insanity! Why had she thought that wench had suggested anything that won't end in her demise? She hated her almost as much as those in the decrepit noble council! And now all that would be left from her is a hunk of flesh cooked live to perfection within hard metal shell, a cruel parody of lobster cuisine.
No. I have to survive, if only to prove her wrong.
The Huntress—the Duchess forced herself up, her sword drawn against the Dragon.
"You should've told me that you're feeling suicidal. I would've gladly strangled your neck." The Maid dragged the Duchess from her horse, wincing as the blazing armor burnt her hand. Deeper into the forest, she worked to remove the armor off the Duchess before it further damaged her.
"I must save our people!"
"I know, have you already forgotten that it was I who advised you as such?! I proposed us move our army against it, along with our siege weapon battalion! How conceited are you to challenge a dragon with toothpicks and a spoon?!"
The Dragon roared as the Maid finally removed the last piece of metal armor from the Duchess.
"The Dragon is enraged. There's nothing we could do now. The legacy of Watrachia ends here."
"If only there's a way to engage it from distance, oh I don't know, perhaps with a couple dozen ballistae?"
"If we could get the message—"
"The Dragon is faster than any method to send a message. There's no way we could get the siege battalion to prepare in time."
"One of us could stay to distract the Dragon."
"And be devoured within seconds? Neither of us possess the means to meaningfully slow it down. Any plan we devise must be under the assumption that no support would come."
"The Dragon's impervious scales are not contiguous. There are gaps where even an arrow could pierce its skin. But without a long-range weapon reaching those gaps require coming into striking distance of its claws."
Muharram 5th, 1646 Hijr
The Children of the Night rarely did things half-assed. Their creations were not perfect, or eternal. But neither were they incomplete or unfinished. They didn't do "good enough." One does not rule an entire world by doing "good enough."
If nothing else, I could depend on that from them.
All human civilization had gazed into the night sky and dreamt of reaching the stars. Surely the Nightclad Monarchs also saw the same dream upon the jeweled sky?
Or maybe I'm just insane. Maybe they were different, dreaming not to touch the stars as none of us humans dreamt to touch the sun. Maybe they merely saw the glittering sky as decoration with indifference, coddled by their opulent empire.
Doubt is as sure to come in a journey as sunset is to an evening.
Muharram 14th, 1646 Hijr
A ruin of Nights Forgotten would be ancient beyond measure, older than known remnants of human civilization, save some random Paleolithic knick-knacks. There's always a possibility that my journey would find nothing even if they did try to reach the stars, their effort erased both by our advent and the sheer amount of time since.
But without faith, what else do I have?
Tonight will be a full moon. Hopefully the moonlight would guide my path.
Muharram 15th, 1646 Hijr
The moonlit sands was no different last night than any other night: cold, desolate, empty.
Hopeless.
Be it the elements, or ourselves, or themselves trying to prevent us from reaching the Worlds Beyond, the result remains the same: there were nothing left. There's nothing nothing nothing nothing NOTHING
FUCK
Muharram 16th, 1646 Hijr
Perhaps I was too hasty to conclude that there's nothing. I had been up all night, and only slept barely before midday, and my judgement were distorted.
The Children of the Night were, of course, nocturnal people. It was not unreasonable to expect that moonlight held significance in their culture. What was unreasonable however, was my expectation to find a remnant of their civilization through mundane means. The lunar phase barely shifted tonight, I could only hope that the slight variance of moonlight was not enough to alter the aether.
I will return after I finished setting up. It worked.
The sand glows in aetheric colors as if burning diamond dust. A colossal pillar, invisible to primitive eyes dependent on Solar radiance, pierced the sky, branches and roots twinkling in the myriad colors resonating with my very soul.
Titania's throne is yet to be scorched.
Muharram 19th, 1646 Hijr
The monument is, predictably, intangible in the sunlight.
I could see it at night even without rituals nor equipment, now that my soul had been tuned to it. But it is still incorporeal, my body pass through it as easily as if it was empty air. It didn't react to my True Name, nor any of the simple rituals—I now wish that I had taken more attention into the esoteric arts. Even the salve made of Starfish blood did little to no effect.
I bet Abu Haidar would've know what to do. It's said that the old man knocked a platoon of police trying to demolish the little musalla he taught in with only simple gestures, long before I was born. I didn't doubt it, still don't. He had the aura of an ancient sage who had seen all there is to see in the world.
Alas, he passed on, so I have to do this one on my own.
But now that I know where and how to find the throne, I guess I could afford to spend the time to experiment.
Muharram 23rd, 1646 Hijr
I experimented again with blessings and curses, invoking angels and demons into tools and items—sometimes both, just for the sake of completeness, but they fizzled out as expected. None of them had any effect to the throne. I also tried consuming them, to no avail; if anyone ever find this journal, never try to eat cursed items. Your guts would hate you.
Is it simply an illusion, then? A mockery of humanity's dream?
No, it cannot be. Their verdant radiance is too blinding for it to be mere illusion. The Night beckons with soul-aching calls.
Muharram 24th, 1646 Hijr
I accidentally released an unbound spirit at the throne last night. I expected it to simply pass through as it decay, but it didn't.
Instead, the pillar danced with auroral light.
I had it all wrong. It was not a way to the Worlds Beyond. The meaning of the title Titania's throne is much simpler than that. The tree itself is the World Beyond. The unbound spirit was capable of touching the pillar because it was true immaterial, just like my soul is capable of seeing the throne.
Only those of pure souls may enter her domain.
Am I ready for this?
Safar 1st, 1646 Hijr
I embrace the Eternal Night.
Most Port Lintanggula inhabitants have never met a Lajung, the de facto rulers of the city, although everyone have heard the rumors about them. Many regarded the Lajung as the most beautiful species currently in existence, or at the very least in the realms where Port Lintanggula is located. Their iridescent carapace mesmerized everyone who had the honor of meeting them, the proportion of their body somehow fits within the idealized beauty every race pursued. Some suspected them of using hypnotic or similar abilities, but most dismissed that claim as ramblings of the starstruck or the envious.
Now that one of them was standing in front of me, I cannot decide whether to support or deny that claim of mind-altering ability.
The splendor of the Lajung was comparable to one of the ancient gods, inspiring awe and terror alike in its beauty. Swirling cosmic color overlaid itself on the carapace of the being, the three-pronged pincers hanging in their side reminiscent of mythical divine weapons. Their flat tail, evidently suited for swimming in their ancestral oceans, now somehow evoked the memory of flight instead, cementing their silhouette as a denizen of the heavens above.
…well, whatever above means in this place.
"Greetings, esteemed explorer, Jur Anggunung. I am Muchar, of Lintanggula, the current Ruler of this port-city. The Withstander upheld the peace of the many realms, and the Holders carries the weigh of existence in their shoulders, yet society cannot thrive merely by existing in silent peace. As such, we of the Lajung had taken the initiative at least in this city, to ensure that we all live in a functional society, instead of festering in the rot of our past homes."
I winced. The wound from the loss of our home reality was still fresh in our minds, as not even a century had passed from the great cataclysm. I suppose the Lajung had been numbed after so many millennia.
"Please, excellency, you can call me Anggunung. For what reason have the exalted Ruler of Lintanggula summoned this lowly explorer?"
"I would not permit myself such insolence, esteemed Jur Anggunung! Even as we called ourselves rulers, we are but servants of the people, our power existing only because the people recognizes it."
Jur was already an honorific, reserved to warriors, but I held my tongue from correcting them. All who reached this place are warriors, so Jur might as well be part of our names now.
"Without explorers, the Port will become useless, and the city will collapse. Your compatriots provide valuable services beyond what we Lajung could ever do, or indeed, repay. Recognizing your skill and bravery, I intend to commission your party, Jur Anggunung, to salvage a buried cache of ancient technology, and share your discovery with me. Of course, I will also provide material wealth, supplies that your people would need and more, on top of the invaluable arcane technology of races long past."
Well, what else would you call an explorer for? Again, I swallowed my remarks. My companion, however, decided that he was tired with the Lajung's speeches.
"Where and how dangerous?" Jur Angkelam asked Muchar directly.
"At the core of this realm, within the smoothstone mountain that the abandoned Ciu Citadel was carved into. I have received a trustworthy information that the smoothstone mountain, a structure of material even the most brilliant Lajung researchers yet to comprehend, is in actuality an ancient ship. I wish that you would investigate the mountain, and recover what technology you could. Of most interest for us is retrieval of any computers and storage devices within."
"The mountain rooted many thousand times our height into the ground, and more than half that in width. Unless we have a clear ingress point to this supposed ship, it is simply impossible to breach that many smoothstones."
"Unless, that is, you are in possession of a Ciu technology." Muchar waved one of their limb, and a servant brought in a large axe, shimmering in auroral colors. "Do you know what this is, esteemed Jur Angkelam?"
"You mentioned that it is a Ciu artefact. Is it…is it the tool they used to carve the Citadel?"
Against all our expectation, the Lajung laughed in clicks and snorts, somehow maintaining majestic mannerism with their mandibles.
"I am sorry, I had the servant brought a normal axe, with simple trickeries. I had thought it would be amusing for you too." Suddenly losing the luster, Muchar signaled the servant to take the axe away. "We do have a Ciu artefact in possession, a device that disrupts ionic bonds. Even smoothstones becomes unstably soft when exposed to such device, allowing you to dig into them normally. I will give the artefact to you, should you decide to accept the request."
"A devastating weapon could be made from this technology."
"It would be a very cruel weapon against living beings, partially destroying the structure of cells and genome, leaving the victim to rot with no way to heal themself. The Withstander won't just ignore it." I shoveled a pile of pulverized smoothstone away from the mountain, the Ciu artifact rendered the enigmatic substance into pure white sand as easily as one might shatter tempered glass.
"How deep are we digging?" Jur Angdalam complained. "This mountain is two kilometers across, are we going to dig a tunnel straight through?"
"Nah, worst case scenario we'd just have to dig halfway and then down."
"Ha ha, very funny. Can't we just borrow an excavator?"
"We can't, because—uh, I actually have no good reason not to borrow an excavator. Jur Anggunung?" Jur Angkelam turned at me, only to find my face retracted in my shell, shovel still moving ineffectually against the smoothstone. "Well, neither does our leader, apparently."
"I have no excuse. I'll call the contractor." I mentally reached towards my neural implant, biomechanically connected into my antennae. A couple of rings later I reached Muchar, and I used my shell as a loudspeaker so everyone could hear the Lajung through the call.
"Hello, exalted Muchar, of Lintanggula."
"Greetings to you as well, esteemed Jur Anggunung. Have you found any interesting information, or have your team encountered new difficulties?"
"Ah, yeah, I was wondering if we can borrow an excavator to speed up the digging process? Surely it would be to both our benefits."
"Unfortunately that would be impossible, honored Jur Anggunung. Our information source suggests that the power generators aboard the alleged ship consumes a rather, volatile, fuel resource."
"What is it, hypergolics? Supercritical fluid loop? Pseudo-critical nucleothermics? We can handle them just fine, though we might bill you for the Hazmat disposal."
"It's…well, in a way safer than any of those, but also worse—"
"Just tell us already." Jur Angkelam cut them impatiently.
"The ship is fueled by antimatter."
My implant severed the connection, falsely interpreting the shock, as we all spontaneously jumped away from the mountain.
"Jur Anggunung! You must understand—" I didn't let the Lajung finish their sentence as I slammed them to the wall, my arms extended in weird angle: the Lajung is taller than me. The guards and servant approached, but Muchar waved their limb and signaled their underlings to hold back.
"You gave us an ionic disruptor and knowingly told us to fire it at the walls of antimatter-fueled ship. What else is there to understand, your excellency?"
"The disruptor remains the only device capable of affecting the otherwise invulnerable smoothstone. It is without doubt the same device the Ciu civilization had used to carve their Citadel into the mountain."
"That isn't the point! What if we had damaged any component of the antimatter containment? Nevermind us, even the Holder won't be unscathed! You have endangered all of existence!"
"The risk is worth the reward. Imagine, mighty Jur Anggunung! The amount of antimatter needed to move a ship of such size could power the realm for millennia!"
"And if we failed, there won't be a realm to be powered." Jur Angkelam approached me, the Ciu ionic disruptor in hand. "Some of us might die, but it is a risk you're willing to take, isn't it, Muchar of Lintanggula?" Jur Angkelam pointed the disruptor at the Lajung in my hand.
"Angkelam wait—"
I wasn't able to finish my words as the disruptor flared with actinic radiance, its light scorched my retina even as my head fully retracted into my shell and my eyes shut as tightly as physically possible.
When I opened my eyes again, the Lajung's complex head had turned into sand, sparks of free electrons jumping between the mineral structure composing their carapace. I dropped the lifeless body on the floor, the Lajung's servants panicking around me. Oddly, the guards seemed rather uncaring.
Was it because the Withstanders would've handled it anyway? It is a murder.
"You almost disintegrated my hands, Angkelam. I brushed shell with death, because of you. How would you defend this crime?"
"Jur Anggunung, I think we have bigger problem here. We must leave this realm before the Withstander come!"
"I mean, you don't have to, really. I'm the one who disintegrated that fool's head, the Withstander would have all of our testimonies."
"Larger crime still, by using the ionic disruptor as a weapon, you have robbed our species of a formidable asset. The Withstander would no doubt confiscate the disruptor. Angkelam, answer me."
"Do not be so harsh towards your companion, Jur Anggunung." A voice appeared behind me, from the still-sparking head stump, the scratch and harsh tone reminiscent of thunder. Modulated arcs, I realized. "Esteemed Jur Angkelam merely deduced something about our race, related to the fact that all known species regarded the Lajung as the most beautiful of them all."
The Lajung's body cracked open, and from within it, a smaller creature emerged, remarkably similar to the larger body but without the uncanny and almost-divine perfections. The pale blue carapace looked fragile, against the heavenly permanence implied by their previous form.
"Now you see me, Jur Anggunung's party. A Lajung, in the flesh. We seldom get out of our shell, even in a meeting between only our own." With a wave of their claws, two opposable prongs in this form, the servants carried the empty shell away. "Vulnerability breeds fear, and fear poisons ruler. Hence, the shell."
Without the shell, the Lajung was half my height, but authority still radiates from their stance.
"You're giving me too much credit, Muchar-ae. I had only banked on your people not having central nervous system, and having a way to restore blasted heads. As paranoid rulers would." Angkelam—no more honorifics for the traitor—gently lowered the disruptor. "If we accidentally breached the antimatter storage, we would have that happen to our entire bodies. Cracking the realm. Piercing the Holder. We will not continue with the excavation," Angkelam turned to me. "now would we, Jur Anggunung?"
"Not unless we have safer ways, no." I cursed in my heart. What a great leader, Anggunung. Obedient hands to the Lajung, and now speechless against the subordinate I denounced as traitor mere moments ago. "We will, however, keep the ionic disruptor."
"So long that this affair remains your secret, I will allow this bargain."
"Our secret, but not yours? You cannot be seriously considering to commission another dig team?"
"As a matter of fact, I am. I would need a better dig team. One more valorous than yours, not blinded by the mindless pursuit of safety you unhatched eggs covet so much. I have graciously let you have payment for a job unfinished, in form of that artifact. Now begone."
"Just to confirm, do we have a safer method? To continue the excavation?" Jur Angdalam asked as we walked back to the smoothstone mountain.
It had been a standard day since Angkelam disintegrated the Lajung's shell head.
"Sure we do. It would be simple enough to dig in spiral path, around the hull. We'll be digging for longer, but with far less risk."
"It's better that the Lajung think that we don't, and that there's no way. Would discourage further effort, while we harvest the bounty of the ship." And most importantly, dispose of the antimatter. The realm-cracking substance has no place in this afterworld.
Angkelam flicked a bronze coin. Head, I muttered in my heart. "All in a day's work."
The Cowardice of Aji Saka
Start'd our journey by interlopers of faraway land, Adam's lessers wandered as his empire fell unto sand, fulfilled promises vanish'd monuments once grand. Exiled were they whence the two dragons preside, to the giants-ruled land southern side, and such th' fallen monkeys carry naught but corruption where they hide.
With wisdom and kindness the escapees were welcomed, their needs and wants generously satisfied, and under Dewata Cengkar's providence their enclave prospered. But the mortals carried naught else for lies and curses, deceiv'd those giants with their flesh borne malaises, and thusly damned the noble giants through their fingers.
Fashion'd them a story, of Eve's children within depth of quandary, of malicious Giant diminishing them daily. Bellow'd them of a hero call, luring Aji Saka of the Majeti's lofty hall, scheming wise Giant King's untimely fall. The naive Aji Saka enraged, his true duty and sovereignty abandoned, to right an evil he had perceived.
In a hurry Aji Saka left his sacred armament, trust to his retainer he would later lament, as crisis of distant land appear emergent. Hatch'd his wicked mind of deception, to dispose the Gigantic Monarch of Medang nation, without mere thought of fair adjudication. Of the truth never would he known, for the giants are none of his own, and convinc'd he had of the vengeance the they had sown.
Arriv'd the hero by the sundown, as contemplated the holders of flower crown, upon the King present'd when morning come 'round. Aji Saka volunteered falsely, betwixt malice behind faux sincerity, as the ministers rejoiced cheerfully. Embrace'd his neck with flowers, as demented relief washed through the bystanders, mere facade express'd upon the outlanders.
Awoke he did as the dawn sun rose, his apparent demise perceiv'd frightfully close, suppress'd whispers surround him morose. Royal ministers arrest'd him without delay, through gardens and palaces in colorful array, and the graves his predecessors blissfully lay.
Reached they had unto lightless chamber, his last quiet night brought him no stagger, the Monarch's starry eyes vicious with hunger.
"O majesty the giant king, wise and proud as you are menacing, brought I have to fulfill your morning."
"Famous art thou Aji Saka, of distant Majeti in Jambudvipa, whose mind and prowess transcend Mayapada."
The chamber shook with the sovereign reply, wisely the ministers shorten'd their stay, and the sacrifice's charade thusly blown away.
"Possess'd truly my lord of grand insight, as illuminated for thou of this little insect, whose fate unknown to later intersect. Useless are deceits and schemes, for true wisdom envelops your regimes, but dare I request just one mine dreams?"
By arrogance were the King blinded, of which the malaise of flesh aggravated, and in his malconfidence Dewata Cengkar consented.
"One wish I shall grant, before thou satisfy my own want, to become a feast most pleasant."
Upon the polished marble Aji Saka knelt, removing from his head turban of feathers and pelt, unto the room echoed desperation as he felt.
"Request this servant of land, the size as this headress would expand, within which my people you shan't demand. By yourself must this turban stretched, for your ministry my deception might tricked, but your sight and wisdom mustly utmost trusted."
Eagerly the Monarch snatched the headress, the hero's words he did not much assess, for the island of Jawa he entirely possess. Yet suspected has he of trickery, as with a blade affix'd the turban stationary, and hastily raced Dewata Cengkar across his territory.
Across all the forest and river, rest nor stop the Sovereign ever, yet traveled he was nigh forever. Cover'd the cloth of all the realm's hill, hundreds of miles the Monarch counting still, and at the eastern edges Dewata Cengkar screamed shrill.
"Truly you're but a coward, through deceit stolen the realm I steward, faraway hiding beyond hazard! Curse I shall upon you Aji Saka, that your descendant shall be plagued by the naga, and that your brethren shall be cast upon naraka!"
Drunk was Aji Saka with his victory, that he heed not of the King's words maledictory, and struck the Monarch unto the waves violent naught bravery. But from the Sovereign nobility yet to be stripped, for instead of death he was transformed, unto white crocodile most illustrious and distinguished.
Ascended Aji Saka unto his unworthy throne, ascrib'd atrocity unto Dewata Cengkar alone, upon him praises in choirs and drone. But in truth trapped was the cowardly warrior, for beyond Jawa's beach the white crocodile reigned superior, carrying vengeance for the trickster without valor.
The Tragedy of Hanacaraka
'twas shortly after the coward Aji Saka tricked Dewata Cengkar, undoing the giants' culture and history, that the supposed hero remembered his sacred armaments left behind in Majeti.
"Had I not forgotten, with such mighty weapon, surely I could brought the Giant King down!" Thought the deceiver. "But the White Crocodile plagued the sea around Jawa. Were I to travel on a ship, mustly he try to send me unto nirvana."
Thus sent was his ministers to Jambudvipa, whose services he did not require urgently, or whose loyalty he doubt in sincerity. Amongst them a trusted retainer, burdened was his name with duty, to retrieve the weapon however method necessary.
The fleet sailed west, braving ocean ruled by storms and abominations, unaware of their king's machination. In his evil deceits, Aji Saka sunk the boats of his perceiv'd enemies, leaving the former giant king to save his innocent ministries.
Arriv'd the fleet to Jambudvipa, unboarding Medang Kamulan's delegations, to mediate with the foreign nations. Behind the shadows the retainer slipped, against attention of diplomats present, to fulfill the mission he indeed went.
Climbed the messenger a mountain, where the armament was stored, and his old friend stationed. Request he did to the old friend, to deliver the weapon entrusted within, and relinquish the duty he retain.
"O Sembodo my oldest of friend, within me conferred trust by Aji Saka our lord, to acquire the pusaka fast as we could afford."
"Beloved Dora my treasured friend, mustly you knew our lord's decree and command, to only deliver the pusaka as our majesty demand. Is this a test then, that you ask for the sacred artifact, asking me to betray my oath and sworn pact?"
"O Sembodo my brother in covenant, never would I lie nor test your loyalty, for I would swear by the name of your faith and fealty. Yet herein I am faced through a conundrum, as I too have received an instruction most inviolable, for me to acquire the pusaka by any means I am capable."
Hana caraka
There (were) two messengers
data sawala
(They) had animosity (among each other)
padha jayanya
(They were) equally powerful (in fight)
maga bathanga
Here are the corpses.