User blog:The Tally Man/Stranger in a Strange Land: Prologue

The great, iron doors slammed open, and all of the cloaked men and women in the room turned to look. Two large men, clad in cold, full-plate armor and wielding large hammers, dragged a smaller man by his wrists into the room. He struggled and dragged his feet, straining furiously against their unyielding grasp. “ANIMALS! GOOSE-STEPPING APES! YOU’LL ALL BURN FOR THIS!” The man screamed defiantly, hurling condemnations against the solemn knights as they pulled him further into the huge, dome-shaped hall. They reached the crowd of mages inside and forced the man to kneel, then held him still and awaited orders. “Magister Azatom, we have found a suitable subject. A Maethian investigator—Samuel, he is named—was attempting to enter the citadel without permission. We believe he might have ties to the Kevzish Inquisition.”

A tall, thin man stepped forwards. Clad in dark blue robes with shining purple and green stars and glasslike gauntlets and greaves, he smiled and nodded. “Very good, Kothell. You and Hacam may leave. I will offer my commendations to your quaestor.” The two knights bowed their heads briefly, then turned and strode out of the hall, closing the doors behind them. Azatom looked down at the man before him, his smile blossoming into an ear-to-ear grin. “Do not worry, Samuel. You are about to perform a monumental service to the War Lodge.” Azatom turned away, then addressed the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen! Today is truly a momentous occasion. Through a unity between the Order of the Star and the Order of the Scarab, our valiant volunteer is about to embark upon a journey to a land no mortal has entered in centuries: the First World, proving ground of the gods!” The mages clapped and cheered, uncaring that they were probably about to send an innocent man to his death. Azatom gestured in the air, and the room fell silent again.

Azatom looked down at Samuel. “You are a brave man. Many people would never dare brave the unpredictable environment and otherworldly creatures of the First World, especially with the Tane and all those dark fey running about.” He grinned again, with even more malice and a look of sick excitement. “Now stand, my courageous explorer. We are almost ready. You will be briefed on your mission, and then depart. Good luck to you. You most definitely will need it.”

Meeting the magister’s gaze, Samuel then looked out across the room. A row of large, brass machines led down to a huge arch in the center of the chamber. Countless tubes and pipes connected the apparatuses to each other, piping all manner of chemicals and energy to and from them. Armigers—apprentices of the various Orders—worked the machinery, calling out commands and information and making adjustments when necessary. A pair of golden rails stretched out from the arch all the way to the end of the machines, where a large, curious...thing was perched. It was not a chair, not a wagon, but somewhere in between. Clamps and chains on the armrests and bottom part of the device made it obvious it was not meant for voluntary use. Samuel had no doubt that he would soon be inside it. Desperately, he wanted to leap up and run for the door, and escape this hellish laboratory.

There was no choice, however. If he took even one step towards the door, he knew that the arcanists would instantly strike him down with all manners of arcane death.

Grimly, he stood up and faced the magister. Before he could open his mouth to speak, a pair of warrior-mages seized him from behind and hastily escorted Samuel to the chair. “This is an exploratory mission”, they explained with emotionless voices. “You will spend one month in the First World, cataloging the life forms and terrain found inside it, along with the civilizations, if able. After the month has expired, a retrieval team will be sent to escort you out. If, for any reason, you wish to stay, your supplies will be restocked. You will have to hand over all research compiled thus far, however.” An armiger came closer, storing various items inside a leather backpack. “We will provide you with basic living necessities, as well as some tools and a few weapons.”

The magi forced Samuel into a long, brown coat with a hood and many pockets, before fitting a backpack onto him. “Through magic, this pack will contain up to eight cubic feet of material of any kind. The coat will shield you from any kind of anomalous weather, among other things, though it may fail against significant disruptions.” After locking Samuel into the chair and making sure the locks were all secure, the first magus made some final inspections of the chair, examining it for any sign of damage. The other magus smiled artificially, as if he had forgotten how. “See? We are not animals. We are scholars.” The two of them backed away and nodded to Azatom. “Ready, Magister. You may begin at your leisure.”

Azatom placed his hand upon a large, red orb embedded in one of the panels. Casting his hungry gaze towards the archway, he spun his hand upon the orb and pushed it. With an almighty surge, the arch crackled and roared to life, a plane of green-tinged energy filling it. All around Azatom, arcanists, magi and armigers operated the machinery, as a humming noise filled the chamber. The carriage began to travel forwards upon the tracks, like a cart preparing to deposit its contents into the furnace. “Maethi is merciful. Maethi protects.” Samuel chanted softly to himself while staring at the pulsating portal, clinging to the hope of some kind of salvation.

Suddenly, the chamber began to shudder and shake, as fissures began to form in the floor and walls. The armigers scanned the room nervously, barely containing their terror. A disruption at this stage could completely disrupt the gateway. As another quake shook the chamber, their magister angrily called out “DO NOT STOP THE MACHINE!” His fiery gaze swept the room, filling everyone he looked at with fear. “What do you fear more? An earthquake, or ME!? DO NOT STOP THE MACHINE!” Trembling with fear, a slightly-built woman whimpered “It is the wrath of Maethi! Who are we to a goddess?” At this, Azatom’s eyes literally sparked with flame. “GODS! ARE! NOTHING!”

The next quake sent a pylon crashing down, crushing an armiger. The arch sparked and surged with excess energy, as the portal turned from a verdant green to an almost sickly pink. Samuel struggled as hard as he could, but it was no use. The chains held fast. Left with no other option, he screamed out of animal hatred and fear at the callous men of the Orders who had forced this fate upon him. Before anyone could stop the machine, the carriage reached the portal. Springing forwards, the chains released, catapulting Samuel into an unknown destination.