A Prelude to a C0DA
They say I have an old soul. Not in that romantic way people used to describe young children wise beyond their years. But literally, they can tell that now. They test for it. I remember my test, the Test. I was sat in a strange room as my entire body and soul were scanned against the Dreamsleeve Database.
The results caused a sensation among the nobility, and word of my existence spread all the way to the Velothiid, ancient capital of the Empire. By and large, in my little settlement on Secunda called Jakhajiid, I was left mostly to my own devices, but they were watching me. Studying me, seeing the kind of person I would grow into. Perhaps they feared me, and well they should have, considering who I have become.
Wisely, they told me nothing about who I was, who I am. There were no hints, an impressive feat given the circumstances, and I am proud of my parents for allowing me to be a normal child, and for not treating me as any different from my siblings.
The first indication I had that I was different was when I first took up the sword. I was prodigious, disciplined and passionate from a very early age, outstripping my masters before I turned fifteen. It was then that the decision was made to send me to Velothiid on Masser. In a cosmos where destiny has been broken for eras, a chain of events unfolded that I could not have fought even if I had wanted to.
But I did not fight it. I have always been ambitious. I always will be. It’s what holds me together, life after life after life.
A knock at the door tore her away from her memoir, a delicate brow furrowed in irritation. She set her pen down on the desk made from the wood of a forgotten tree, somewhere in the Aether. She flexed her dominant hand, her left hand, examining the lacquer on the short fingernails that topped her long callused fingers. The black polish was shiny, almost bright, and devoid of any chips or imperfections. Her thumbnail was grown long, a fashion she pioneered when she had risen to power, and painted half gold, half blue. A reminder of who was now in charge. He found it annoying, but she did not care, in fact, his petulance added to his allure.
She gathered her papers and slowly and neatly arranged them in the locking drawer next to her right knee, and pulled her split skirt over the pale grey skin that was left exposed above her boot, smelted from the finest glass in the Aurbis. There were other, more expensive materials she could adorn herself in, but she liked glass best, and no one was going to argue with her. He would perhaps be willing to argue, but had long ago learned to choose his battles.
“Come in,” she finally said, her voice quiet, authoritative and surprisingly youthful. She hated her voice, and preferred to speak with people face-to-face, lest they confuse her for an adolescent.
It was Kyne, in her Nordic form, a form long extinct, but held together by the shards of her memories and a stubborn streak that won her the respect of many. She was tall, pale, her face ageless and stern, framed by wisps of white-gold hair, and dark, angry eyes glowering over a straight nose and a full mouth that stopped just short of sensual.
Kyne sat down in the chair across from the dark elf behind the desk, with an ease and familiarity granted to very few. Suddenly she pixelated, and was a high elf, swathed in red silks and holding a sprig of yet another forgotten tree. Her delicate golden brow furrowed and she snapped back to Nord, the pale, feathery eyebrows looked irritated.
“It still happens, doesn’t it?” asked the dark elf behind the desk, a hint of pity seeping through her voice.
“It has always happened, I think. It’s just more noticeable now.”
“How can I help you Kyne?”
“My L-”
The dark elf woman hissed between her teeth, that appeared slightly yellow in contrast to the dark red stain she had applied to her lips that morning, “I do not need that title from you.”
Kyne cleared her throat, the window rattled, the wind howled, thunder rumbled in the difference. Her agitation was obvious. “Very well. It is time for you to fulfill your part of the bargain. We need the echo-shard. The Psijics say that the time is almost ripe to try and send it back.”
“This is a most inconvenient time for me to be asking her for any favours. Of all people, you should know that,” the dark elf sat back in her chair, crossing her arms under her breasts, exhaling thoughtfully as she regarded the Immortal in front of her.
“I know, but it must be done, and soon, or we will miss the opportunity and I don’t know what effect that will have on the Immortals if we do not do this thing.”
The dark elf was silent and thoughtful, her dark red eyes smudged with the sooty cosmetic goop favoured by the nobility. She nodded, “It must be done sometime I guess.”
“There was a time when you were friends, you know.”
“That is something I am constantly reminded of, although I do not remember it myself,” the elf kept her gaze fixed on Kyne, but it seemed her attention was far away, “it is hard to trust someone when you know the statistical probability of betrayal in this life time. I am sure that such technology did not exist when we were friends before.”
“You have almost united the entire Aurbis under one banner, she would not dare move against you.” Kyne shifted in her seat, seemingly more at ease now that her demand had been made.
“You don’t know her all that well, do you?” asked the dark elf, cocking her head at the Immortal.
“Not so much, but my husband is somewhat familiar with her nature.”
“I see. I will talk to her tomorrow, hopefully she complies in the next few days.”
Kyne stood up, saluting the dark elf, right hand to her left breast. “Congratulations, by the way, on your great victory over the host of Mehrunes Dagon. It is the dawn of a new Era.”
“I could not have done it without you and your ilk,” the dark elf smiled. “I will unite all the planes of the Aurbis.”
“Now that you have a proper Empire, what shall we call you? Empress?”
“Hortator.” The dark elf smiled and shook her head, running an index finger along her long painted thumbnail. “Tell them all, I am the Hortator.”
Kyne smiled back, her stern face relaxing for the first time since she entered the room, “Hortator then,” and took her leave.