Half Devil And Half Child
Written By Anton, My Silliest Soldier
“Take up the White Man's burden—
Send forth the best ye breed—
Go bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait in heavy harness
On fluttered folk and wild—
Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half devil and half child […]”
Rudyard Kipling A gust of wind hit Antog Hovsepian’s weary face and his brown beard, as he adjusted the warm coat on his back and slicked back the kubanka so that it covered all of his head. At times like these, the anthropologist regretted ever mounting this expedition. He looked onwards, and saw nothing but the same, repetitive landscape of hills, grassland and creeks. In the distance, he saw a forest, a welcome change in scenery. At this, he smiled, thinking of how content o Shanter will be at the opportunity to study plants. Antog never understood that vile midget, nor his obsession with nature. It started raining, or sleeting rather, and with that the explorer’s smile waned. Around him, the grunts and chatter of the expedition grew louder, as voices complaining about the meteorological occurrence arose. None of these men were prepared for an actual expedition, and the dwarf looked down on them for that. He sighed, adjusted his bag, and continued trodding forth. “The weather patterns are unstable to say the least!” Shouted von Kirchhoff, the resident meteorologist and geographer, while hiding his papers away from the rainfall. “It’s shit all the time, that’s stable!” Answered Sõares, the leader of the mercenaries hired for security. He started chuckling at his own joke, with his men soon joining in. The elf frowned, turning to talk with one of his own (though a Hanseatic), Leitner, the expedition’s eugenicist and Antog’s prime conversation partner. The two began talking about some happenings in Sylvania, as such Antog soon lost interest. The centaur porters were slowly but surely trodding through the never before touched land. The midget o Shanter was hopping about, checking seemingly every blade of grass and stopping to smell random pieces of dirt. As the sleet continued, the ground began turning into sticky dirt, and one would often hear someone slipping and falling, accompanied by a lot of swear words. And as such time went by, and around dusk, the expedition had reached the forest. Just as Hovsepian had expected, o Shanter went ballistic, even in the limited light. He ran off to study, collect and sketch the flora of the forest, accompanied by Kārkliņš, a very enthusiastic zoologist. “Put one of your guys on those idiots, wouldn’t want them getting lost or killed, even if it frees up space and rations.” Antog remarked to Sõares, in his raspy voice full of sarcasm and bile. The Nereid simply nodded and gestured towards one of his men, who went after the two biologists. The expedition stopped and put up camp, with porters putting down the carried goods. Soon, a fire was started and Carvalho, the cook, got to work. The night began to a crackling of fire and noises of cheerful conversation. Antog exited his tent, in which he’s already managed to make a makeshift office for himself, filled with academic books and treatises, his own writings written so far during the expedition, and of course the portrait of the great Generalmajor. The fire still crackled in the centre of the campsite, and quite a few of the expedition members sat by it, even though the majority had headed to their tents and gone to sleep. The only ones remaining were the less prominent members and Leitner. Now, the poor labourers had all succumbed to the ales and liquors taken for the trip, with the porters and guards being nothing but drunk. Only Leitner remained sober, as he conducted necessary studies, taking very important measurements of one, big skull. That was the skull of Porkie, the captured ogre. Yes, its’ silhouette was easy to make out, as the porcine was massive. They had captured it a good couple weeks back, because they needed a proper guide and Porkie’s more civilised predecessor was found out to be scheming against its’ gracious benefactors. As such, the expedition jumped the closest grouping of ogres they found further North, managed to kill Porkie’s companion before capturing it. Ever since then, they’ve been carrying it on a leash and utilising his skills to get forward. It was also a great resource for Leitner and Antog, who studied it intensely and tried hard to make him learn a civilised tongue. But the beast insisted on staying a savage creature, content with its gurgling tongue. Thankfully, it learned a few basic words and phrases, allowing for the expedition to understand it. At the moment, the elf was measuring the exact relationship between the beast's tusks and its skull. Porkie, beaten down quite often, had lost the strength to object. “Ah, busy with the Gods’ work I see, Herr Leitner.” The anthropologist approached the working eugenicist. “Hopefully the savage has not caused you any trouble, has it?” “No, no, Herr Hovsepian, it is all well, all well.” The academic answered with a heavy Elvish accent on his Nereid, while adjusting his ponytail. “I am getting priceless data and the beast is peaceful at last.” He jotted down something in his notebook. “It’s very fulfilling to be able to finally study these savages, a prime opportunity for the study of eugenics. Gods’ willing, I will turn this into a doctorate!” “I would be outraged if anything but that happened.” Antog patted the kneeling elf on the shoulder, before looking at the drunk and, or, sleeping labourers. “It would seem the rabble got their fun. Irresponsible on the side of the guards, I will have a talk with Sõares.” “That would be pointless, he was the first of them to drink.” The elf didn’t turn away from his studies. “Can sleep?” Porkie spoke up, his voice faltering and quiet, afraid of retribution. “You be quiet, filthy savage. Do not interfere with studies you could never comprehend!” Antog raised his voice, lashing out at the inferior. “You expect it to understand too much, Herr Hovsepian.” Leitner sighed and packed up his equipment. “I was done anyways, let us sleep at last.” With that, he patted Antog on the shoulder and retreated into his tent, yawing and adjusting his round glasses. Antog did not want to sleep yet, however. He was an anthropologist, godsdamnit! He had a savage on hand as well as much paper and ink to spare. Over the span of the trip, Hovsepian had talked often to the beast, trying to decipher its’ mongrel tongue and learn the backwards ways of its’ kind. Though Porkie was often uncooperative, the expedition had thankfully packed a whip or two. With that, the dwarf learned quite a bit about the ogres, though not as much as he would like. He sat down beside the porcine, stroking his beard in silence, before speaking up. “Tell me something from the lore of your folk.” He said, staring straight into the hopeless eyes of the ogre while gesturing in order to help the beast understand what he was saying. “A legend, a myth, a story. Anything.” “Ganbataar can tell. Can tell myth. Old myth, very.” Porkie spoke out, slowly and tiredly, yet his eyes lit up at the memory. “Myth of Aguu Negen.” Antog grabbed a pen and looked intently at the ogre. “Go on.” “Myth told old mother, when young. But told often others. About great ogre, biggest, strongest, powerful id shid-“ “Id shid? What is that?” The dwarf chuckled at the odd sounding words of a mongrel tongue. “When dwarf make light finger, or move ground.” “Magic.” Not uncommon for a mongrel to utilise magic, it seems that all ogres can do so, then. He jotted down the findings. “Go on.” “Powerful in id shid, more anyone else. Aguu Negen rule tribe, big years ago, lead to greatness, but die. Gods weep Aguu Negen, grant immortal life through descendants. Tribe sometime led Aguu Negen. Though no Aguu Negen years, shamans say yet come. But when come, tribe get great, slay enemies, number one.” “Gods…as in, The Trinity?” Antog kept on jotting down these findings, curious that these beasts worshipped The Gods, very curious, but in beastly ways, and this Aguu Negen reeks of paganism. “Is Aguu Negen a god?” “No, great spirit now, passed ever so often, when tribes suffer.” Porkie was getting tired, but his eyes were more hopeful than ever. Antog scoffed. “No force but The Gods have power, and They will not come to save your pagan dens. Do not worry, we will civilise you, we will bring salvation. Now sleep, you naive mongrel.” With that, he stood up, looking with disgust at this half devil and half child, massive in physique yet so small in mind. He headed into his tent, where the portrait of the Generalmajor hung next to a holy icon of The Prophet. The anthropologist began praying. He prayed for peace, for enlightenment of the savages, for science, his family and The Republic. That night, he dreamed of his hometown, Yegrevzor, and the sights and smells he longed for there. “A little lane – the brook runs close beside,
And spangles in the sunshine, while the fish
glide swiftly by;
And hedges leafing with the green springtide;
From out their greenery the old birds fly,
And chirp and whistle in the morning sun;
The pilewort glitters ’neath the pale blue sky,
The little robin has its nest begun
The grass-green linnets round the bushes fly [...]”
John Clare Merion Reese o Shanter awoke early in the morning, before most of the camp had done so. He got dressed in his usual get up, slicked back his hair and ran a comb through his ginger beard. The botanist was giddy about getting back to work, as he failed to achieve much the day before, in all the darkness, and with a guard on his back. Content, he drank a cup of tea and ate some toast before packing up his equipment, and heading out into the woods, looking behind, he saw the camp fully asleep, with only some of the guards, partly awake, mumbling something drunkenly. Merion disappeared into the pine forest, noting and gathering specimens. Couple dozen steps deep into the woods, he kneeled down to inspect the forest wood, densely covered in moss and grass. Upon touch, it varied somewhat in texture from the moss found in the rest of Ecumene. It also had a different, more toned shade of green. All this he put down in his papers, before collecting a sample. He continued walking, taking note of how the pine cones from the local pines were significantly larger than those in other parts of Ecumene. Pine rust was also scarce among the trees around him, only affecting one, maybe two. Fascinating resistance. Then, his eyes met a plant he hasn’t seen yet, in real life or in textbooks. About a dozen steps from him, in between all the brush, a red spot met his sight. He quickly got to the plant, kneeling down to inspect it. It was small, incredibly so. Its’ leaves were jagged, and relatively big in comparison to the red fruit, shaped like a crown. He carefully picked it and put it in his papers, safe. A discovery! “Gods! Gods! I have been blessed! Such beauty, such natural beauty resides within such a small plant! And what achievement, what pride! All within this minuscule plant!” The gnome jumped up in excitement, a wide smile appearing on his face. “This was far from pointless! One must keep going, this is far from all, I suppose.” He composed himself and looked onwards. Slowly, but surely, he continued his search. “[...] But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing [...]”
Maya Angelou Antog was woken up by the sounds of work going on at the camp. A lot of commotion, for nothing, he assumed. He got up, lousily, and got dressed. He did not care much for a morning routine other than that, he was in the wild after all, why should he. The dwarf exited his tent to see that indeed, not much was happening. The guards were mostly hungover, so were many of the porters. The midget botanist had apparently gone into the forest, hopefully to come back. He was followed by the Draconid. Von Kirchhoff made his way down the creek alongside an assistant, to map out some of the immediate surroundings. All in all, not much of anything was happening. Porkie was deep asleep, and the anthropologist did not care enough to wake him up. He approached Leitner, who was looking through and adding to his research so far. “The beast is still asleep, wasting our time.” He said, with complaint, while grabbing something to eat. “Let it sleep, Herr Hovsepian, even animals need to rest once in a while.” Leitner stretched himself while yawning. “How are we to civilise them if they are too tired to think even as little as they can?” “You are too soft on them, Herr Leitner. I do not see why we should take this humane approach of yours. Civilising pagans with steel and fire has worked fine, I don’t think it should change. I’ve analysed their beliefs, their culture, and I think it’s a puny, beastly and mongrel concept. It should be burnt down to the ground, alongside its proponents, if they want to block the way.” Antog would not back down. “Mercy is a virtue, so is knowledge. They are puny, savage beings, but we should strive to enlighten them, give them pious labour, maybe they will learn something.” Leitner was unmoved, he did not turn to face the dwarf as he spoke, concentrated with his writings. “Pointless, all that.” The anthropologist simply shrugged, before heading to his tent to edit through his papers. Such went a good bit of the day, up until noon. Carvalho tasked himself with preparing dinner, most of the labourers were still heavily hungover, including Sõares, who walked around the camp, limping almost, holding his head. The geographer returned, having mapped out the terrain. Kārkliņš did as well, he has discovered a new species of owl, truly fascinating. However, concerningly, o Shanter was nowhere to be found. The last thing Merion Reese o Shanter would see would be a hyacinth, an unusually large one, truly breathtaking. The gnome would turn to it, excited, before he heard the sound of something soaring through the air. The spear pierced his side, yet he did not turn away from the hyacinth. He could not. The intensity of the colour, the size, a red tint. It was a new species. “What…a…shame…” He could only gargle, as regret poured over him, and he fell to the ground. The sound of an ogre walking through the shrub and the singing of a bird would be the last sounds he heard. The whole camp was in disarray, concerned about the whereabouts of the gnome. “He must have gone deeper into the forest, it’s only obvious. There must be a number of undiscovered plants there, I saw a number myself, he will probably be back soon, hopefully…” Kārkliņš argued, nearly shaking while speaking about his fellow biologist. “The wildlife here…it’s not threatening…nothing bigger could have caught him, hopefully…” “That damn fool must have gotten lost, we should send a search party after him, lest he get completely lost and get kidnapped by the ogres” Antog argued, out of common sense. He did not care much for the botanist, but the whole situation was still quite serious. “The- guards…are not in a position to head out in search of some…midget…” The clearly hungover Sõares mumbled while drinking some water. “Well, that is the guards problem.” The eugenicist quipped. The dwarf sighed, this expedition was turning into a right old mess. He spent all the time, all the energy lobbying the godsdamn lizard government for money, he spent all this time gathering the needed materials, all this time writing, for some half brained midget to get lost. He was angry. Walking back to his tent, he kicked the still asleep Porkie with all his might and anger. “Wake up you fucking mongrel! It’s past noon! Have you savages not yet mastered the concept of time! I will whip you until your skin has turned into leather! I will make boots out of your whipped skin, you son of a bitch!” He almost tore his throat, yelling at the wretched ogre. All the stress and anger channels into one rant. The ogre shot up, as much as it was possible in his leash. He turned to the dwarf and spit in his direction, before sitting slowly down. “Coming free me. Flee. Go.” The ogre spoke, stoically and plainly. “Go, or get killed. Lot of blood.” All of the camp turned to the beast. Horrified. His kin were coming to free him? They knew about the camp? Their whereabouts? “Let’s fucking get out of here! Quick! By all that’s holy!” The lizard shouted out, gathering his things. “STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!” Antog shouted out, with a look of pure hatred. “I WILL NOT ABANDON THIS EXPEDITION TO WORDS OF A BEAST!” He punched the ogre right in the face. “YOU STAY DOWN AND QUIET, PORKIE!” Afterwards, he settled down after a few minutes of awkward silence in the camp. “Sõares, get your men to patrol the perimeter, stay on alert.” Sõares nodded. “What about Merion?” The zoologist squeaked out. “To hell with him, that idiot shouldn’t have gone out alone!” Antog replied, before heading to his tent in order to grab a pistol. “All, be prepared, if what the beast says is true, we will have a hard time.” All in the camp nodded, and began preparing. They were done just for dinner to be served, which they ate hastily and all noticeably stressed. Outside the perimeter of the camp, makeshift fortifications were built. All those able grabbed weapons and reloaded them. Fire was prepared, as it was said to scare off ogres. Porkie would be heavily guarded and beaten, as all feared what he would try during an attempt to free him. Yet, time passed and nothing was happening. Night approached, and not as much as a noise of an ogre approaching was heard. Many relaxed, started claiming that the whole threat was overblown, they started to yell for Porkie to be whipped, as punishment for scaring them in such a way. The ogre was whipped regardless, however Antog knew that night would be the ideal time for attack, and as such ordered that everyone stay vigilant. Night watch was sketched out as the fireplace was once again lit, and supper was being prepared. “Are you scared, Herr Hovsepian?” Leitner asked, calmly, while grabbing the handle of his sabre. “I, myself, am quite a bit, even if I’m ready to fight.” “Only a fool is scared and not ready to fight. A fool, who doesn’t know that destiny is his to take, his to decide. A fool of a broken culture, a decaying civilisation. I am a member of a mighty one. I am not scared. My body is ready. Whatever may happen.” Antog was stalwart, unwavering. This expedition could not fail. Inside, silently, he prayed. He prayed for peace, for enlightenment of the savages, for science, his family and The Republic. “If you are not scared, I am neither.” Leitner responded, plainly. Time passed, nothing was happening. All fell silent, awaiting, hopeful, even, maybe there was nothing to fear, maybe the night would be peaceful. Someone noted that Kārkliņš was nowhere to be found. Coward. He had probably run away. No matter, he would be of little assistance either way. Then, all heard it. The shouts, the yelling, the almost roar of an ogre attack. Within seconds, all were on the barricades, and within moments the ogres descended, wielding scimitars, halberds, old muskets, and other weapons, old and newer. The expedition members shot at the horde with all they had, a volley of fire that hit the first line, killing only some, wounding most, but the gray beasts continued. The fire only burnt them, they continued pushing at full force. The pistols and rifles made good work of them, but the fight soon turned into a semi melee, with the expedition using pistols, sabres and knives to try and survive a fight with ogres. The better equipped expedition, miraculously, was managing to beat back the horde. Von Kirchhoff fell to a swift blade, bleeding away, as his sabre fell out of his hands, his dark blue eyes turning to the skies, open. Carvalho, holding off two ogres, did not fall, but kneeled down, cut all over. He whimpered out some last words, only he could hear, before falling face down into the dirt. Yet, even as those civilised fell, the ogres were being killed. The horde was slowly, but surely, getting pushed back. At that time, Antog, who was shooting from two revolvers at the ogres surrounding him, turned back to see something that froze his blood. Ganbataar was meditating. His eyes were closed. All was drawn out. Only words of quiet prayer were heard. A beast, praying in a time of need. Then hell began. Fire shot right out of his fingers, streams of fire that began consuming all that stood around him, living things included. The metal leash on his neck twisted and turned as he stood up, now unchained. A beam shot out from his palms, cutting through the mercenaries, killing Sõares. Ganbataar was free. Antog froze. “Aguu Negen…” He whimpered, as his body gave way and he fell onto his knees, dropping his weapons. Leitner saw all this and simply chuckled. It seems that all have a possibility of greatness, even beasts. He did not think that it would end like this. Shame. That doctorate was his dream. The world is funny in such a way, the beast defeating its master, but only by brute force. Ganbataar approached the kneeling dwarf. “Came free me. Pointless the insults and whippings. Regret?” The ogre's face portrayed a kind of kindness, peacefulness. He was not furious, not angry, not bloodthirsty. Content because of freedom, but determined to keep it. His eyes were burning bright with strength of will, as pure magical energy surrounded his person. Antog could not speak, a tear ran down his face. His lips moved, but no sound came. He prayed for peace, for enlightenment of the savages, for science, his family and The Republic. Unwavering. His civilisation was a mighty one. He was not scared. From behind him, something wheezed through the air. Then, came darkness, and a lingering scent of thyme.
Send forth the best ye breed—
Go bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait in heavy harness
On fluttered folk and wild—
Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half devil and half child […]”
Rudyard Kipling A gust of wind hit Antog Hovsepian’s weary face and his brown beard, as he adjusted the warm coat on his back and slicked back the kubanka so that it covered all of his head. At times like these, the anthropologist regretted ever mounting this expedition. He looked onwards, and saw nothing but the same, repetitive landscape of hills, grassland and creeks. In the distance, he saw a forest, a welcome change in scenery. At this, he smiled, thinking of how content o Shanter will be at the opportunity to study plants. Antog never understood that vile midget, nor his obsession with nature. It started raining, or sleeting rather, and with that the explorer’s smile waned. Around him, the grunts and chatter of the expedition grew louder, as voices complaining about the meteorological occurrence arose. None of these men were prepared for an actual expedition, and the dwarf looked down on them for that. He sighed, adjusted his bag, and continued trodding forth. “The weather patterns are unstable to say the least!” Shouted von Kirchhoff, the resident meteorologist and geographer, while hiding his papers away from the rainfall. “It’s shit all the time, that’s stable!” Answered Sõares, the leader of the mercenaries hired for security. He started chuckling at his own joke, with his men soon joining in. The elf frowned, turning to talk with one of his own (though a Hanseatic), Leitner, the expedition’s eugenicist and Antog’s prime conversation partner. The two began talking about some happenings in Sylvania, as such Antog soon lost interest. The centaur porters were slowly but surely trodding through the never before touched land. The midget o Shanter was hopping about, checking seemingly every blade of grass and stopping to smell random pieces of dirt. As the sleet continued, the ground began turning into sticky dirt, and one would often hear someone slipping and falling, accompanied by a lot of swear words. And as such time went by, and around dusk, the expedition had reached the forest. Just as Hovsepian had expected, o Shanter went ballistic, even in the limited light. He ran off to study, collect and sketch the flora of the forest, accompanied by Kārkliņš, a very enthusiastic zoologist. “Put one of your guys on those idiots, wouldn’t want them getting lost or killed, even if it frees up space and rations.” Antog remarked to Sõares, in his raspy voice full of sarcasm and bile. The Nereid simply nodded and gestured towards one of his men, who went after the two biologists. The expedition stopped and put up camp, with porters putting down the carried goods. Soon, a fire was started and Carvalho, the cook, got to work. The night began to a crackling of fire and noises of cheerful conversation. Antog exited his tent, in which he’s already managed to make a makeshift office for himself, filled with academic books and treatises, his own writings written so far during the expedition, and of course the portrait of the great Generalmajor. The fire still crackled in the centre of the campsite, and quite a few of the expedition members sat by it, even though the majority had headed to their tents and gone to sleep. The only ones remaining were the less prominent members and Leitner. Now, the poor labourers had all succumbed to the ales and liquors taken for the trip, with the porters and guards being nothing but drunk. Only Leitner remained sober, as he conducted necessary studies, taking very important measurements of one, big skull. That was the skull of Porkie, the captured ogre. Yes, its’ silhouette was easy to make out, as the porcine was massive. They had captured it a good couple weeks back, because they needed a proper guide and Porkie’s more civilised predecessor was found out to be scheming against its’ gracious benefactors. As such, the expedition jumped the closest grouping of ogres they found further North, managed to kill Porkie’s companion before capturing it. Ever since then, they’ve been carrying it on a leash and utilising his skills to get forward. It was also a great resource for Leitner and Antog, who studied it intensely and tried hard to make him learn a civilised tongue. But the beast insisted on staying a savage creature, content with its gurgling tongue. Thankfully, it learned a few basic words and phrases, allowing for the expedition to understand it. At the moment, the elf was measuring the exact relationship between the beast's tusks and its skull. Porkie, beaten down quite often, had lost the strength to object. “Ah, busy with the Gods’ work I see, Herr Leitner.” The anthropologist approached the working eugenicist. “Hopefully the savage has not caused you any trouble, has it?” “No, no, Herr Hovsepian, it is all well, all well.” The academic answered with a heavy Elvish accent on his Nereid, while adjusting his ponytail. “I am getting priceless data and the beast is peaceful at last.” He jotted down something in his notebook. “It’s very fulfilling to be able to finally study these savages, a prime opportunity for the study of eugenics. Gods’ willing, I will turn this into a doctorate!” “I would be outraged if anything but that happened.” Antog patted the kneeling elf on the shoulder, before looking at the drunk and, or, sleeping labourers. “It would seem the rabble got their fun. Irresponsible on the side of the guards, I will have a talk with Sõares.” “That would be pointless, he was the first of them to drink.” The elf didn’t turn away from his studies. “Can sleep?” Porkie spoke up, his voice faltering and quiet, afraid of retribution. “You be quiet, filthy savage. Do not interfere with studies you could never comprehend!” Antog raised his voice, lashing out at the inferior. “You expect it to understand too much, Herr Hovsepian.” Leitner sighed and packed up his equipment. “I was done anyways, let us sleep at last.” With that, he patted Antog on the shoulder and retreated into his tent, yawing and adjusting his round glasses. Antog did not want to sleep yet, however. He was an anthropologist, godsdamnit! He had a savage on hand as well as much paper and ink to spare. Over the span of the trip, Hovsepian had talked often to the beast, trying to decipher its’ mongrel tongue and learn the backwards ways of its’ kind. Though Porkie was often uncooperative, the expedition had thankfully packed a whip or two. With that, the dwarf learned quite a bit about the ogres, though not as much as he would like. He sat down beside the porcine, stroking his beard in silence, before speaking up. “Tell me something from the lore of your folk.” He said, staring straight into the hopeless eyes of the ogre while gesturing in order to help the beast understand what he was saying. “A legend, a myth, a story. Anything.” “Ganbataar can tell. Can tell myth. Old myth, very.” Porkie spoke out, slowly and tiredly, yet his eyes lit up at the memory. “Myth of Aguu Negen.” Antog grabbed a pen and looked intently at the ogre. “Go on.” “Myth told old mother, when young. But told often others. About great ogre, biggest, strongest, powerful id shid-“ “Id shid? What is that?” The dwarf chuckled at the odd sounding words of a mongrel tongue. “When dwarf make light finger, or move ground.” “Magic.” Not uncommon for a mongrel to utilise magic, it seems that all ogres can do so, then. He jotted down the findings. “Go on.” “Powerful in id shid, more anyone else. Aguu Negen rule tribe, big years ago, lead to greatness, but die. Gods weep Aguu Negen, grant immortal life through descendants. Tribe sometime led Aguu Negen. Though no Aguu Negen years, shamans say yet come. But when come, tribe get great, slay enemies, number one.” “Gods…as in, The Trinity?” Antog kept on jotting down these findings, curious that these beasts worshipped The Gods, very curious, but in beastly ways, and this Aguu Negen reeks of paganism. “Is Aguu Negen a god?” “No, great spirit now, passed ever so often, when tribes suffer.” Porkie was getting tired, but his eyes were more hopeful than ever. Antog scoffed. “No force but The Gods have power, and They will not come to save your pagan dens. Do not worry, we will civilise you, we will bring salvation. Now sleep, you naive mongrel.” With that, he stood up, looking with disgust at this half devil and half child, massive in physique yet so small in mind. He headed into his tent, where the portrait of the Generalmajor hung next to a holy icon of The Prophet. The anthropologist began praying. He prayed for peace, for enlightenment of the savages, for science, his family and The Republic. That night, he dreamed of his hometown, Yegrevzor, and the sights and smells he longed for there. “A little lane – the brook runs close beside,
And spangles in the sunshine, while the fish
glide swiftly by;
And hedges leafing with the green springtide;
From out their greenery the old birds fly,
And chirp and whistle in the morning sun;
The pilewort glitters ’neath the pale blue sky,
The little robin has its nest begun
The grass-green linnets round the bushes fly [...]”
John Clare Merion Reese o Shanter awoke early in the morning, before most of the camp had done so. He got dressed in his usual get up, slicked back his hair and ran a comb through his ginger beard. The botanist was giddy about getting back to work, as he failed to achieve much the day before, in all the darkness, and with a guard on his back. Content, he drank a cup of tea and ate some toast before packing up his equipment, and heading out into the woods, looking behind, he saw the camp fully asleep, with only some of the guards, partly awake, mumbling something drunkenly. Merion disappeared into the pine forest, noting and gathering specimens. Couple dozen steps deep into the woods, he kneeled down to inspect the forest wood, densely covered in moss and grass. Upon touch, it varied somewhat in texture from the moss found in the rest of Ecumene. It also had a different, more toned shade of green. All this he put down in his papers, before collecting a sample. He continued walking, taking note of how the pine cones from the local pines were significantly larger than those in other parts of Ecumene. Pine rust was also scarce among the trees around him, only affecting one, maybe two. Fascinating resistance. Then, his eyes met a plant he hasn’t seen yet, in real life or in textbooks. About a dozen steps from him, in between all the brush, a red spot met his sight. He quickly got to the plant, kneeling down to inspect it. It was small, incredibly so. Its’ leaves were jagged, and relatively big in comparison to the red fruit, shaped like a crown. He carefully picked it and put it in his papers, safe. A discovery! “Gods! Gods! I have been blessed! Such beauty, such natural beauty resides within such a small plant! And what achievement, what pride! All within this minuscule plant!” The gnome jumped up in excitement, a wide smile appearing on his face. “This was far from pointless! One must keep going, this is far from all, I suppose.” He composed himself and looked onwards. Slowly, but surely, he continued his search. “[...] But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing [...]”
Maya Angelou Antog was woken up by the sounds of work going on at the camp. A lot of commotion, for nothing, he assumed. He got up, lousily, and got dressed. He did not care much for a morning routine other than that, he was in the wild after all, why should he. The dwarf exited his tent to see that indeed, not much was happening. The guards were mostly hungover, so were many of the porters. The midget botanist had apparently gone into the forest, hopefully to come back. He was followed by the Draconid. Von Kirchhoff made his way down the creek alongside an assistant, to map out some of the immediate surroundings. All in all, not much of anything was happening. Porkie was deep asleep, and the anthropologist did not care enough to wake him up. He approached Leitner, who was looking through and adding to his research so far. “The beast is still asleep, wasting our time.” He said, with complaint, while grabbing something to eat. “Let it sleep, Herr Hovsepian, even animals need to rest once in a while.” Leitner stretched himself while yawning. “How are we to civilise them if they are too tired to think even as little as they can?” “You are too soft on them, Herr Leitner. I do not see why we should take this humane approach of yours. Civilising pagans with steel and fire has worked fine, I don’t think it should change. I’ve analysed their beliefs, their culture, and I think it’s a puny, beastly and mongrel concept. It should be burnt down to the ground, alongside its proponents, if they want to block the way.” Antog would not back down. “Mercy is a virtue, so is knowledge. They are puny, savage beings, but we should strive to enlighten them, give them pious labour, maybe they will learn something.” Leitner was unmoved, he did not turn to face the dwarf as he spoke, concentrated with his writings. “Pointless, all that.” The anthropologist simply shrugged, before heading to his tent to edit through his papers. Such went a good bit of the day, up until noon. Carvalho tasked himself with preparing dinner, most of the labourers were still heavily hungover, including Sõares, who walked around the camp, limping almost, holding his head. The geographer returned, having mapped out the terrain. Kārkliņš did as well, he has discovered a new species of owl, truly fascinating. However, concerningly, o Shanter was nowhere to be found. The last thing Merion Reese o Shanter would see would be a hyacinth, an unusually large one, truly breathtaking. The gnome would turn to it, excited, before he heard the sound of something soaring through the air. The spear pierced his side, yet he did not turn away from the hyacinth. He could not. The intensity of the colour, the size, a red tint. It was a new species. “What…a…shame…” He could only gargle, as regret poured over him, and he fell to the ground. The sound of an ogre walking through the shrub and the singing of a bird would be the last sounds he heard. The whole camp was in disarray, concerned about the whereabouts of the gnome. “He must have gone deeper into the forest, it’s only obvious. There must be a number of undiscovered plants there, I saw a number myself, he will probably be back soon, hopefully…” Kārkliņš argued, nearly shaking while speaking about his fellow biologist. “The wildlife here…it’s not threatening…nothing bigger could have caught him, hopefully…” “That damn fool must have gotten lost, we should send a search party after him, lest he get completely lost and get kidnapped by the ogres” Antog argued, out of common sense. He did not care much for the botanist, but the whole situation was still quite serious. “The- guards…are not in a position to head out in search of some…midget…” The clearly hungover Sõares mumbled while drinking some water. “Well, that is the guards problem.” The eugenicist quipped. The dwarf sighed, this expedition was turning into a right old mess. He spent all the time, all the energy lobbying the godsdamn lizard government for money, he spent all this time gathering the needed materials, all this time writing, for some half brained midget to get lost. He was angry. Walking back to his tent, he kicked the still asleep Porkie with all his might and anger. “Wake up you fucking mongrel! It’s past noon! Have you savages not yet mastered the concept of time! I will whip you until your skin has turned into leather! I will make boots out of your whipped skin, you son of a bitch!” He almost tore his throat, yelling at the wretched ogre. All the stress and anger channels into one rant. The ogre shot up, as much as it was possible in his leash. He turned to the dwarf and spit in his direction, before sitting slowly down. “Coming free me. Flee. Go.” The ogre spoke, stoically and plainly. “Go, or get killed. Lot of blood.” All of the camp turned to the beast. Horrified. His kin were coming to free him? They knew about the camp? Their whereabouts? “Let’s fucking get out of here! Quick! By all that’s holy!” The lizard shouted out, gathering his things. “STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!” Antog shouted out, with a look of pure hatred. “I WILL NOT ABANDON THIS EXPEDITION TO WORDS OF A BEAST!” He punched the ogre right in the face. “YOU STAY DOWN AND QUIET, PORKIE!” Afterwards, he settled down after a few minutes of awkward silence in the camp. “Sõares, get your men to patrol the perimeter, stay on alert.” Sõares nodded. “What about Merion?” The zoologist squeaked out. “To hell with him, that idiot shouldn’t have gone out alone!” Antog replied, before heading to his tent in order to grab a pistol. “All, be prepared, if what the beast says is true, we will have a hard time.” All in the camp nodded, and began preparing. They were done just for dinner to be served, which they ate hastily and all noticeably stressed. Outside the perimeter of the camp, makeshift fortifications were built. All those able grabbed weapons and reloaded them. Fire was prepared, as it was said to scare off ogres. Porkie would be heavily guarded and beaten, as all feared what he would try during an attempt to free him. Yet, time passed and nothing was happening. Night approached, and not as much as a noise of an ogre approaching was heard. Many relaxed, started claiming that the whole threat was overblown, they started to yell for Porkie to be whipped, as punishment for scaring them in such a way. The ogre was whipped regardless, however Antog knew that night would be the ideal time for attack, and as such ordered that everyone stay vigilant. Night watch was sketched out as the fireplace was once again lit, and supper was being prepared. “Are you scared, Herr Hovsepian?” Leitner asked, calmly, while grabbing the handle of his sabre. “I, myself, am quite a bit, even if I’m ready to fight.” “Only a fool is scared and not ready to fight. A fool, who doesn’t know that destiny is his to take, his to decide. A fool of a broken culture, a decaying civilisation. I am a member of a mighty one. I am not scared. My body is ready. Whatever may happen.” Antog was stalwart, unwavering. This expedition could not fail. Inside, silently, he prayed. He prayed for peace, for enlightenment of the savages, for science, his family and The Republic. “If you are not scared, I am neither.” Leitner responded, plainly. Time passed, nothing was happening. All fell silent, awaiting, hopeful, even, maybe there was nothing to fear, maybe the night would be peaceful. Someone noted that Kārkliņš was nowhere to be found. Coward. He had probably run away. No matter, he would be of little assistance either way. Then, all heard it. The shouts, the yelling, the almost roar of an ogre attack. Within seconds, all were on the barricades, and within moments the ogres descended, wielding scimitars, halberds, old muskets, and other weapons, old and newer. The expedition members shot at the horde with all they had, a volley of fire that hit the first line, killing only some, wounding most, but the gray beasts continued. The fire only burnt them, they continued pushing at full force. The pistols and rifles made good work of them, but the fight soon turned into a semi melee, with the expedition using pistols, sabres and knives to try and survive a fight with ogres. The better equipped expedition, miraculously, was managing to beat back the horde. Von Kirchhoff fell to a swift blade, bleeding away, as his sabre fell out of his hands, his dark blue eyes turning to the skies, open. Carvalho, holding off two ogres, did not fall, but kneeled down, cut all over. He whimpered out some last words, only he could hear, before falling face down into the dirt. Yet, even as those civilised fell, the ogres were being killed. The horde was slowly, but surely, getting pushed back. At that time, Antog, who was shooting from two revolvers at the ogres surrounding him, turned back to see something that froze his blood. Ganbataar was meditating. His eyes were closed. All was drawn out. Only words of quiet prayer were heard. A beast, praying in a time of need. Then hell began. Fire shot right out of his fingers, streams of fire that began consuming all that stood around him, living things included. The metal leash on his neck twisted and turned as he stood up, now unchained. A beam shot out from his palms, cutting through the mercenaries, killing Sõares. Ganbataar was free. Antog froze. “Aguu Negen…” He whimpered, as his body gave way and he fell onto his knees, dropping his weapons. Leitner saw all this and simply chuckled. It seems that all have a possibility of greatness, even beasts. He did not think that it would end like this. Shame. That doctorate was his dream. The world is funny in such a way, the beast defeating its master, but only by brute force. Ganbataar approached the kneeling dwarf. “Came free me. Pointless the insults and whippings. Regret?” The ogre's face portrayed a kind of kindness, peacefulness. He was not furious, not angry, not bloodthirsty. Content because of freedom, but determined to keep it. His eyes were burning bright with strength of will, as pure magical energy surrounded his person. Antog could not speak, a tear ran down his face. His lips moved, but no sound came. He prayed for peace, for enlightenment of the savages, for science, his family and The Republic. Unwavering. His civilisation was a mighty one. He was not scared. From behind him, something wheezed through the air. Then, came darkness, and a lingering scent of thyme.
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