Outpost 23

 

“The path to immortality will bind you to a dying world.

Your mind will unravel into threads carried away by small birds to make their nests.”

                                                                                                -Necromancer Zorgnaut of the 12^th Circle, IC 1101 (Virgo constellation)

 

Currently the known universe holds society together by trade, travel, and the avoidance of deadly cosmic phenomena. There are endless cultures of humanoids, who resemble a common ancestor, the first creature to throw their genetic information into the reaches of space. Years later the fruits of their genetic seeding blossomed into a garden of galactic connections. Terraforming, deep space colonization, stellar engineering, they all created habitable places for life to grow.

 

On the edges of civilized starlight, deep in interstellar voids, another group of creatures live. These are the necromancers, creatures obsessed with immortality. They safeguard the secrets to long-duration biological stasis and leverage this process to keep light-dwellers away. Necromancers avoid photonic light; any exposure degrades their bodies. 

 

However, interaction with necromancers is inevitable if you wish to travel to Galaxy IC 1101 in the Virgo Constellation, with a point of origin of Sol-3 in the Milky Way. You must cross the vast distance, and to do so, you must make a deal, an exchange of goods or services with a necromancer. Their needs and desires can vary depending on the sector and distance. The going rate for 100-million-year flight, with complete resurrection might cost a small asteroid of ionized uranium, or data on exotic stellar formations.

 

The most common method of undeath is a tincture of syrup which slows the traveler’s body into a chemical lock, a state for which no electron exchanges are permitted. Then the creature is smuggled into interstellar darkness, transported through unknown routes of gravitational turbulence, and arriving at the desired location. Then they are resurrected, and hopefully whatever civilization exists nearby is accepting of the traveler.

 

Necromancers are primarily interested in the quest for immortality, commonly called Undeath. There are countless ways to replace or preserve your physical body. The difficult preservation is psychological. Due to the amount of time required for moving around in the universe, certain personalities emerge as smooth surfaces, glassy enlightenment built in darkness.

 

Even enlightenment has a training period.

 

Zorgnaut was a newly stationed necromancer, a fresh face of decay, wrapped in ceremonial preservation cloth. The 12^th circle meant new responsibilities, which meant he would be overseer for 12 parsecs. The promotion meant new access, the Preservation Cloth for example was now readily available. His skin would no longer require constant repair, a task which occupied 6% of his mental focus. Zorgnaut considered metallic replacement for his skull, maybe adding in a few superconductors into the structure, but surgery with his body was too risky.

 

As a necromancer, Zorgnaut displayed enduring obedience to the rules and structure of necromancy; an art with multiple roads leading to an elongated existence. Necromancy is defined by a large variety of methods for enduring the vast stretches of time needed for intergalactic travel. Some necromancers use robotics or nanotech, yet some form symbiotic relationships with bacteria or virus for perpetual existence.

 

Zorgnaut was a stockbroker of souls, a market developed to exchange in partial souls of conscious creatures. A cursed haunt or troubled ghost could be resold on the necromantic stock exchange. A successful soul-hunter could retire to the paradises of Seltris-5 by the age of 1600 without having to interact with any galactic authorities. Soul-hunting is not without its risks, but entities like Zorgnaut pay generously for fragments of anyone’s soul goo.

 

Zorgnaut is unique among necromancers in that his personality eventually dominates whatever soul energy occupies his body. A vibrant personality could last thousands of years, but eventually the wheels of time grind the personality down into an emotionless creature, which then begins to express the will of Zorgnaut.

 

 

The station was called Outpost 23 and had a service frequency of 1 traveler per 15 million years. Zorgnaut would be in his own stasis most of the time, waking to service travelers. They would have to activate the station’s computer personality for the request. The computer would then start the resurrection process for Zorgnaut, and once he awoke, he would trade with the visitors.

 

After 17 million years the first traveler arrived.

 

Zorgnaut was barely awake and had been for the last 3 million years. His eyes were closed, they rarely opened even when fully away to avoid photon corruption of his optic tissues. The notifications and alarms were all audio. The ship waited while Zorgnaut prepared to greet the traveler. He sent over spreadsheets, informationals, travel plans of places he could take the traveler. The flood of information was to allow for a full understanding of the details before opening audio channels.

 

None of this made any difference. The traveler had no need of any of Zorgnauts services. The traveler was a ship, or rather the appearance of a vessel. A black clipper ship in the style of an ocean-travelling ship of ancient earth when vessels used sails and wind to propel their hull across the surface of water. The ship was large enough to accommodate humanoids such as Zorgnaut, and a spectrum scan revealed no emission of light or electrons.

 

The ship had no crew, no electronic signatures, and no obvious means of propulsion.

 

Zorgnaut used a robotic arm to store the vessel in the repair dock, and started looking through communication records, perhaps he forgot an important date or contract. The frantic search revealed nothing, all the loose ends were trimmed, nothing was out of place. He wondered if the ship has been adrift. A few weeks of answerless efforts and Zorgnaut was bored. The ship was ignored, and quietly kept to itself.

 

2 million years later, a marauding storm of xeno-annihilationists star-entities rampaged through the system. Brilliant magnetic storms surrounded the Outpost.  Any escape would be intercepted by the star creatures and incinerated without hesitation. Their destruction would result in 16 parsecs of stellar scantling, ionized clouds, a redshift reset.

 

As the storms got closer to Outpost 23, a telepathic message bubbled up in Zorgnaut’s sub processors, or perhaps a distortion of magnetic turbulence, regardless Zorgnaut heard the words clearly in his brain. “The hull of the ship is beyond the fire. Find shelter beneath the deck.”

 

He had to try something; the fire would soon consume the outpost and him with it!

 

So he hid in the cabin of the black ship, listening to the roar of a firestorm as it dissolved planets both large and small, asteroids, comets, and all the other dust within the parsec. It burned for days, and weeks as Zorgnaut listened to its hypnotic and destructive power.

 

The burn became a static buzz, a humming shoreline made of plasma. Outside the hull of the black ship flaming stars scorched the sky erasing all organization of life, matter, all structures, space stations, colonial satellites, everything burnt into the wind. Yet the ship did not relent, and Zorgnaut lived.

 

Zorgnaut fell into unconsciousness after 3 months within the cabin, and the storm showed no signs of slowing.

 

However, as the thick curtain of dreamless sleep washed over Zorgnaut, a falling sensation was also felt, something exaggerated, elongated, a descent in something distant, something which sounded like a river, then joined by many rivers. The burning choir was replaced with the crashing of waves, and then a single wave rose up in an impossible silence and reflected a terrible noise which could not be contained. The noise bled into Zorgnaut, and he screamed, adding to the avalanche of sound.

 

Zorgnaut opened the cabin door, and the photons of an unknown light illuminated a horizon with 2 suns, a shoreline filled with alien and unknown vegetation. Purple-leafed creatures fluttered nearby.

 

Of the 2 suns, 1 was rising, casting a green sunset over the waves and Zorgnaut’s exposed skin. He resembled a bandaged ghoul; Preservation cloth covered wounds as their edges exposed scars of timeless wounds. The green hue gave him a plantlike appearance, a green lord of the jungle dressed in royal decay. His electronic implants resembling clusters of rotten fruit, and the tubes of neon that of luminous moss. His grimace appeared as a pale plum, pitted with the marks of hungry birds. Beneath his scowl, a nest of ancient experiences stretched into a cruel mesh. His arms like bark, frayed with dry growth wrapped in mummification cloth.

 

With a steel finger placed upon a crystalline button Zorgnaut turned on his proximity shield, shielding him from most of the solar light. Then he attempted to access his soul market for some soul replenishment, some eager personality to drive his corpse around. However, there was no connection, there was no connection to galactic authorities, or any local systems.

 

He did not want to decay further in this strange place, and the cabin of the ship was shelter enough from the green light of the sunset.  Zorgnaut retreated to the cabin below the deck of the ship. He prepared for longer duration sleep, checked his Preservation Cloth, and hid himself away from the land of 2 suns.

 

There Zorgnaut slept, beyond chemical decay, hibernating in the vessel until the world around him changed. Entombed and at the mercy of greater tides, the necromancer fell into undeath, and waited for resurrection.

Fountain of the Jaguar

 

The search for the fountain of eternal youth has mesmerized many people. The rumor swirls in the deep cracks of history, and sometimes takes slightly different forms. It might be a sacred river like the Ganges in India, or a Grail cup for which all who drink from it remain young.

 

Some say spirits occupy such waters, haunted, or perhaps blessed. Singular spirits such as the Lady of Lake, or groups of creatures like nymphs, sirens, or undines. Regardless of the rumor, some find need to escape death so compelling they plan voyages and expeditions to chase down the slightest chance such a thing could be true.

 

Fanatics will risk everything for eternal life. With eternal life, the promise which follows is great power through living long enough to learn all the rules to all the games, to sit upon a mountain of wealth, to see the world fall into order, and transcend life through magical waters.

 

In such a search most find death and disappointment, and like typical creatures of existence, they died thrashing in complaint, wounded with strife, torn with tears and left a husk of dried sorrow. Such stories are trivial and mundane for human beings and I will not burden the page with the details of failures.

 

Success is rare, and despite rumor and superstition, a pool of eternal life did in fact exist.

 

If was found in a cave in Peru nearby a buried Mayan temple, overgrown with limbs of a sleeping jungle.  An expedition of missionaries stumbled upon it by chance. They were searching for other human beings who had not seen the light of their civilization. Thinking themselves righteous they marched into the jungle.

 

However, the jungle like many things, sleeps in the restless nightmare of neglect. An unknown kingdom lurks in those places waiting to reclaim its territory. I affectionately refer to this place as the Kingdom of Dust. Its boundaries are marked by the increase of dust, or the rise of sea water. The corners of this kingdom might be a warehouse full of abandoned explosives, teetering towards a lethal release. Or perhaps an avalanche perched on the edge of a mountain waiting for the time to roll down and erase a village or town. Such is the method of the Kingdom of Dust and its reclamation of its rightful property.

 

The jungle had swallowed the Mayan temple and was halfway through digesting its ancient secrets when the missioners gazed upon its stone face. A large jaguar was sculpted into the limestones. Within its mouth were 2 orbs. One was smooth and metallic as if made form hematite or mercury and the other made of a red and yellow amber. The missionaries muttered their charms of Christ, and let curiosity drag them into the temple entrance.

 

Light from their electronic devices they saw a fountain about 3 meters in diameter, and a large stone spire rising from its center. A trickle of water could be seen flowing slowly from the top of the spire. The water was dark looked as if made of ink until the missionaries shined their light on the water.

 

They were elated to find clear water, and after some inspection of the pristine quality, began drinking eagerly.

 

Then a metal clink was heard. Beyond the light of the clear water a figure twisted in the water. A small goldfish was seen, not a Coy, not a mundane goldfish, but a fish made of lustrous gold. A shiny metallic fish swam towards the edge of the water where the missionaries here drinking. They were startled, and further amazed at the mystery of the location.

 

Then a *Kachunk* was heard and the fish began growing larger. The group was frozen in terror as the fish grew to fill the fountain pool. Then the mouth flashed into a terrible size, as if it where opening its mouth from beyond another world. The mouth drew over the group and their light revealed golden rows of teeth above. The water rushed out of the pool, and down the steps of the temple. It rose past their paralyzed ankles and feet. Then the fish grew long, and the fish resembled a serpent whose coils filled the room, crowding out the light of the temple entrance, swallowing all who drank the water.

 

The rows of teeth slowly passed overhead, and rows turned to segments and the golden parade started. A tunnel of gold stretched and flexed as the temple entrance traveled down the throat of the serpent, as if standing in a moving river of water and glimmering shine. Hours passed and the group started to shake their paralysis, screams echoed in the belly of the metallic creature.

 

Soon the electric lights went out, terror set in completely.

 

Many in the group emotionally unraveled, unable to understand exactly what was going on. The room started to grow smaller, and screams grew more distant. Those who clung together eventually released to feel the edges of the temple, only to find the warm walls of dull gold, and the rising water.

 

A pattern was noticed by someone near the walls. They cried out that the walls grew closer each time the mechanical *Kachunk* was heard. The serpent was shrinking every few minutes, shrinking with them inside.

 

Time flowed in a lightless emergency, and the water crawled up over their mouths and into their lungs, but they did not die. The walls closed in and soon entombed them in a prison of gold and water, and the fish thing returned to its mundane and small shape within the pool. Their arms and legs pinned, their heads covered, smashed into a golden stomach, airless, breathless.

 

I know these things to be true because I am one of the missionaries, I am trapped in this golden cocoon. I have been here so long I have forgotten my name, and the names of those trapped here with me; those silent prisoners likewise doomed to unknown future, perhaps living forever in the golden fish of the Fountain of the Jaguar.

The Crowded Darkness of Khundrukar

A group of sword-seekers, adventures aligned with the quest to acquire great sword of ancient power. So great, perhaps to turn the tide of a slow defeat by the hordes of goblinkin. Currently their quest has taken them to the dwarven ruins of Khundrukar, where perhaps a sword is buried within its dark halls.

 

One such sword-seeker was Answald.

 

Answald found himself hearing the familiar buzz of an approaching swarm. He had many previous encounters with stirges, and each time he grew more terrified they would kill him. His fear sweat made him an easy target, and soon the swarm was upon him. He wore leather armor, and patches of his skin was exposed.

 

As a single creature they are easy fight off.  However, continuous exercise increases someone’s body odor, especially enhanced by the acrid sour of cold terror. Eventually a single stirge will get its long mouth on the neck or abdomen and begin its blood consumption. Weakness follows, until unconsciousness. Large swarms can overwhelm a group of adventures if they are not prepared.

 

Striges are very personal creatures. When they smell someone, their focus becomes single minded. You can hear striges before you see them. Their wings are little engines, they have a 1-meter long proboscis, 6 legs, but not an exoskeleton. Their hairless legs are pink webbed limbs, sleek, taut, and oily, resembling the chitin of a giant mosquito. Underneath, they are ordinary bloodsuckers, opportunists obedient to the thirst. 

 

Which was exactly what Answald was doing. His rapier gripped tight like a symbol against the darkness, ready to stab and strike anything emerging. The Striges crossed the thin line of darkness, their small flesh mosquito mouth grinning with thin teeth. Answald stuck reflexively, skewering the creature, as its momentum carried it down the rapier.

 

Then the swarm descended. The arcane words “INFLAMICUS” echoed in the tall ceilings, and the swarm was engulfed in fire, only inches in front of Answald. Their wings vaporized in molten patterns of bright orange. Answald was grateful to travel with a wizard, and to escape an encounter with all his blood intact.

 

Other such horrors crawled in the subterranean network of tunnels leading to the halls of the deepest chambers of Khundrukar. For the sword-seekers found a small tribe of troglodytes, lizard folk who are remembered for their unique and unforgiving stench. Further down an infestation of greks blocked the path. Greks are and egg-laying gigantic worm nearly 2 meters long and a mouth which opens like the petals of a flower. The size of the infestation had grown purely from scant adventures and an occasional orc who ventured too close. Their lair was filled with the glittering trash of those poor souls. The greks were dangerous, but once again arcane fire and lethal force cleared out the dusty corners of the corrupted ruin.

 

Beyond the grek lair, there was a waterfall leading to the ancient storerooms of Khundrukar. The currents of an underwater stream caused the collapsed of a tunnel near the buried fortress. The stairs were covered in slime, and a portion of a staircase remained behind the waterfall. A slime had claimed much of the walls leaving no handholds for descent. The adventures tied a rope to each other and slowly descended with careful footsteps.

Further downstream there was an entrance to the main hall of Khundrukar. However, another perched opportunist waited for a lapse in perception, a roper; a large tentacled predator who can disguise itself as a rockface or cave wall. The roper waits for passing fish from the stream, or adventures carrying food. Its massive body, weighting greater than an elephant contains a central mouth of serrated teeth of concentric circles.

 

The monster nearly devouring Garuth as she hacked with frustrated rage. Its skin can withstand collapsing rocks, swords, and most magical spells. However, its eyes proved vulnerable to conjured icicles, and multiple scorching blasts of arcane magic. Once the roper blinded, the half-orc barbarian Garuth finished the creature as it helplessly flailed its tentacles for the source of the fire and ice.

 

Companions of Garuth and Answald were two arcanists, a wizard and a warlock. The wizard was Tristan; a high elf who had spent many years studying the diagrams of arcane geometry and the utterances of practiced tongues. He specialized in divination the art of foresight, something which plagued the elf for many years, compelling him to face the great darkness of the goblins and hobgoblins by finding the swords of ancient power. The warlock was Xeno, a wood elf, who came by magic through a book made of vines and whispers to other worldly creatures in the graveyards of dead wizards.

 

The result was the same and after the roper was completely dispatched and Garuth calmed down a little. They ventured into the ruin. They came to a dead end, three statues glared at them and the back of a dark hall. One carried a shield and an axe, and the others carried two axes. The dwarf figure was exaggerated into a 2-meter statue. At first glance, groves could be seen where the axes of the dwarven statue struck the ground.

 

Goblinkin had a hard time deciphering dwarven symbols, their vague language permitted very little. Hob goblins might understand the statue is a representation, but not that the axe symbolizes anything else. Orcs can notice the axe killing a goblin and learn not to stand in the same spot but might never suspect a secret entrance.

 

After a few minutes, the 3^rd statue containing the shield provided a lever to reveal a passage to the main hall.

 

The low tunnel stretched through the stone, until coming to a face depicted on the wall. A bearded stone carving faced the group with eyes closed. Every detail was added to the face, eyebrows, nose hairs, wrinkles on the forehead, a crease in the lips. A sculpture crafted in masterful realism.

 

When the group approached, the eyes burst open and the mouth uttered a phrase in dwarven as it scanned the room with quick glances. No one knew dwarven, and tried to inch past the face, to continue on the stone steps leading to the main hall. As Garuth passed the face, it began yelling, cursing, and repeating some sort of alarm in loud bellows. “Ish Kakreen! Ish Kakreen! Intrusk, Glorten Glorten!” The stone became animated, and the giant dwarven face angrily scolded them.

 

They all reflexively ran, darting past the stone face. Moments later, as the disembodied voice faded behind them, they whispered preparations. If they were anyone or thing still within Khundrukar they were probably alerted.

 

As they crawled through the darkness, the path gave way to a larger cave, and then a pillared threshold of dwarven make.

 

The group knew they would have altered anyone here, but saw no bodies, no people, only a campfire and some nearby sleeping bags made of scavenged burlap. A disembodied voice echoed in the halls; broken common speak with an unplaceable accent. It boomed out from behind a pillar, claiming to the sovereignty of the hall, and demanded the party hand over their jewels as tribute.

 

The party of sword seekers would not hand over their jewels for nothing, especially to a creature they could not see. However, they would be interested in trading for information regarding any swords of legend which might be kept in the great hall. The disembodied voice began to laugh, and after hearing that the group possessed jewels, began weaving an arcane spell. Tristan recognized the spell as invisibility, and recalled the counter; a spell to see between the weave, and sent a knowing glance towards Xeno. The twisted dwarfs thought they had the element of surprise.

 

What sounded like the heavy footfalls thundered through the hall, and the group prepared to defend themselves, negotiation was over. Within second, a gigantic dwarf appeared with an axe swing at Garuth. However, these were not dwarves of the mountain hall, but deep dwarves, dwarves with gray skin and small spines running down their back. They normally lived deeper in the Underdark; evil combinations of dwarven blood and foul things beneath.

 

What followed was the unsuccessful robbing of a group of adventures. The deep dwarves were unprepared for the variety of skills they possessed. Tristan was able to dispel some of their magics with quick utterances. Xeno summoned a magical darkness and disappeared. Garuth rent into a rage of extreme duration, relentlessly pursuing the muggers. Answald easily dodged the clumsy dwarves, even when invisible, their presence and location was unmistakable. Perhaps the deep dwarves had better luck with orcs, or some wandering insane archaeologist caught in a fever dream.

 

Down in the dark, there are no prisoners, no surrender. Garuth slated her bloodthirst and Answald chased down the last dwarf by the light of a molten forge. The deep dwarves had squatted the once splendid hall and were using the great forges to make weapons and armor fashioned in the metals of the Underdark. There was a recently finished suit of scaled armor made with the black gloss of large scales.

 

As they explored the dusty ruins of Khundrukar, they found no evidence of a sword of legend. Ghosts, phantoms and ancient forges, but no swords. They also found several secret passages, leading behind different rooms of the ancient hall. One path led to a makeshift ladder leading down into a dark chasm.