Enter Sheen MevedraA cascade of polished obsidian, waves of darkest night. Woken by the spirits of a new life dawning, are we dreaming?A dreamer disillusioned, eyes soft and gaze sharp. Decode the sci-fi intercept reception, we are learning.A strange musculature, whispers of vampirism and hardship. Feeding is function so the heart beats stronger, she is breathing.A lip curled into regret, bloodstained lips and apologetic tread. Physically drained but we alleviate the hunger, we are creator.A soulful hesitation, a conflict of wills plays through her. Wrestling with our fears like the Unknown Soldier, we are vanity.A subtle regret, friends kept at arm's length.
Quote 6 - Ideas and ReligionIf you think it is worth dying for, it is an idea.If you think it is worth killing for, it is a religion.
System Failure Opening1Scotch Glass and Ocean CrashFlanked by his friends Garred and Rajh-Saujkh, Michael Kearny strode into The Tinker's Tankard, a grimy pub far removed from the normal hustle and bustle of the main routes.Usually, when they went out for drinks, it was a joyous occasion. But not tonight, tonight did not deserve the glitter and glimmer of high-end bars. Tonight was not a night of dancing, nor was it a night of singing. In short, it was not a night for vodka and rum.Instead, tonight needed a drink to complement the sullen amber pallor their world had taken."Scotch," Kearny said, looking to his friends, they nodded. "Make it three."The bartender gave them a look that reminded Kearny of tanned leather, deep ponds and oiled hinges, Kearny couldn't explain how."Scotch is a drink for old men who want to forget, are you sure you don't want something else?" the bartender asked, a callused hand nonetheless drifting towards the bottle of scotch he kept behind the counter. He did not know why h
Short Story - QuiesetumQuiesetum - Rough Opening There were thirty entrants to Quiesetum. Thirty individuals of all races, creeds and planets who truthfully believed that they had transcended all boundaries and deserved to be a part of a galactic order so secretive and yet so honest. Dolcaen had been studying each and every one of them sporadically for the past three days. When she wasn't sleeping or meditating or practicing she was watching them. She tried to memorize every twitch, every nuance that might denote a character flaw or strongpoint. Tried was the keyword, for she noticed that many of the flaws seemed mechanical rather than ingrained, purposeful and practiced rather than accidental and involuntary. She recognized this because she herself had been feigning a b