BoP: Prologue

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Literature Text

The Blood of Primus
Part One: As The Sun Rises

Seeker Ritual of Death:
We have arrived!
And we are waiting.
As the sun rises,
has the fallen also risen?
Negative, Key Keeper,
The Fallen still lays in an everlasting sleep.
Then we shall collect them,
And take them to their place by the everlasting flame.

August 22nd 1994

The sky was darkening to a deep blue-green, splashed with hot pinks and orange as the blue sun was setting and illuminating the scattered clouds with its final burst of green light. This made the already alien landscape even more beautiful, the razor grass was a natural silver-blue which reflected the hot pinks and oranges that scintillated with the wind. To an observer from another world, the field might look as if it was on fire.

It was one of the natural beauties of Cybertron. Along with the giant sun flower-like forests. The great photovoltaic leaves of the trans-organic plants not only blocked out the sun, but collected its energy. The flower-like heads illuminated the ground below with a haunting actinic light. As a result the flora that thrived under this canopy developed a phosphorescence and was the most spectacular on the planet.

The location was a natural wilderness, with an ancient history, one of the former Skycities, Vos, had been sunk into a deep canyon millions of years earlier, and time had melded it almost imperceptibly with the planet.  The ecosystem of the Skycity spilled out onto the Cybertronian mega-continent. Only being contained by the remaining deep chasms that surrounded it. The planet itself reached out and grafted the formerly floating city and merged it with its systems maintaining it as a part of itself. New sigma lines burst up through the ground to feed its soils with its energies.

The Vossian Fauna also spread out across the landscape, taking up new niches, evolving, adapting. Many of the Vossian creatures had natural resilience to the razor grass which made up the vast majority of the wilderness. It was punctuated by silver bushes and copper trees. Many of the indigenous Cybertronian creatures fond this material hostile, yet some found it an ideal location to live. The smallest rat-like or rabbit-like creatures could live just under the razor sharp leaves. Only hunted by silicon snakes or the keen eyed Razorclaw Eagle, both which were fairly immune to the razor sharp grass blades.

Most Cybertronians took to beaten paths through the fields to the sunflower forest not wishing to run afoul with the razor leaves, which could cut into their metal bodies like a hot knife through butter. However there was one smaller Cybertronian creature who had adapted to survive in this environment. Adapting himself to suit it by wearing remnants of his prey as a crude form of armour. He had learned how to adapt shortly after blundering into the field years before. He then learned how to use that hostile environment to his advantage.

He stalked his prey from the edge of the sunflower forest, slowly closing in on it as it grazed on the more tender plants that used the razor grass as a shield. This hunter was considered quite small reaching a maximum height of five feet, or almost one and a half meters. His garments was in the form of a tightly woven mat that covered thin sheeting. It flexed with him, allowing full range of movement, although it did hinder him some. Less dangerous grasses were allowed to hang off it which broke up his distinctive outline, much in the manner of a ghillie suit.

He crouched as he approached the unsuspecting petrol rabbit. Then knelt down to leopard-crawl, slowly, deliberately. Any exposed areas of him was coated in a mix of oil and dirt to make a thick paint which hid his unusually bright natural colouration, silver, red and blue. His red optics pierced the darkness, yet somehow the prey did not notice this. He held a small slingshot in his right hand, and the destabilised energon crystals he used as its shot in his right. Between his teeth was a crudely shaped, but very sharp blade- like knife. He was within firing range of his prey, and slowly, carefully he rose to his knees. The ghillie suit flopped over his optics, shielding their light. He loaded a crystal into the pouch and took careful aim. Aiming a bit higher than his target, based upon the weight of his shot. He took note of the wind that tussled the grasses around and then calculated how much pull he needed to make killing shot.

He drew back on the band, it creaked gently and he focused on the prey. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then slowly released it. As he did he let go of the shot pouch. The sparkling crystals flew through the air and hit the ground with a small explosion. The prey barely uttered a cry before it fell over dead, torn up by the shrapnel of razor grass and crystal fragments.

Success! The tiny hunter squeaked in a cry of delight and raced through the foreboding grasses to retrieve his prey. He snatched it up then paused, looking around to ensure he was not being followed. With speed, he fled under the cover of the Sunflower-forest and hurried back to the chasm. The hunter dropped his prey over the edge to a ledge below and then quickly with extreme agility flipped over himself. He landed, with a deep knee crouch and looked around once more then took his prey into a small cave opening.

Once inside he removed rocks from notches in the wall, and glowing crystals illuminated the area. The hunter felt safe and secure, he leaned over to shrug off the ghillie suit which he folded on a flat stone. He stood bare of any garments, a small immature Seeker, barely a decade or two old. He crouched near a flat stone and began to cut open his prey, seeking the energy rich fuel tank. Once he had this, he tossed the carcass aside and then drank down the rich energy it contained.

The young Seeker appeared to be entirely on his own. Having no apparent guardian, which made his situation unusual. Seekers were gregarious by nature, keeping in large groups, family units rearing young together; This young Seeker was entirely on his own. Strangely he had been doing unusually well. His optics were bright with extreme intelligence. He had to be in order to have survived on his own.

Yet in spite of his seeming intelligence, he was also extremely ignorant. He did not know he was a Seeker. He did not know he could transform. The Seeker had no idea he was a class of higher life form. He had no idea that he had the innate gift to transform and become a master of the sky. All he knew was he needed to eat and not get eaten. He bore the marks of a recent encounter with a Razorclaw Eagle, his ghillie suit also contained the metal feathers of that same eagle.

About his throat was a small double terminated crystal point, held carefully with a twist of wire and bound to his throat. He reached up and rubbed the stone. He could not remember where he had found it. Or was he given it? It was a long time before. He rubbed it gently. Ever since wearing the crystal he seemed to have luck and protection. He looked out the cavern into canyon.

For a moment he could see an alien wintry landscape, a field on fire, a yellow sun suddenly go red, swirling angrily followed by utter blackness and then out of the darkness, an ominous, terrifying sensation. Misty tendrils of deathly darkness that reach out and grabbed him. He was suddenly filled with images, of war and destruction so strong that he sat bolt upright, wide awake and uttered a scream that was like a laser scalpel to raw nerves.

He sat for a moment and looked around. The room was dark, the only light came in trough one of the portals to the ocean outside. The light then was limited, glowing blue-green on the floor near the foot of his platform. His dust cover, was slipping off his feet and he placed his head in his head in his hands. It was a nightmare, but unlike nightmares he had before this one felt like a dread warning. Hinting at things that would come. His tanks churned uneasily as he slipped to the edge of the platform  and grabbed the glass of neutral fluid that was sitting by his clock. His hand trembled as he drank it down, and then he shook his wings. The feeling stayed with him. The feeling of impending doom as if something was telling him that he would die within the decade. It filled him with pure dread.

Realising there was no chance he could get to sleep after that, and feeling fully awake. He pulled his safe box over and opened it. he dug around in the bottom until he found the soft leather-like bag near the bottom. Within in it was a small crystal, the same one he had in his dream. Its wire was rusted and nearly crumbled as he touched it. The twine had long ago broken, but he still had it. It was the only object in his possession he believed he had owned since his earliest life.

He held the crystal between his fingers and looked at it in the dim light. It was an exceptional specimen. Being quartz-like, with double terminated ends. Within the crystal was a tiny echo of its larger self, a hazy phantom. He kept it for luck, but it was far too small for him to wear around his neck anymore. He considered it for a moment and decided to see if he could get it set into a ring. The weapons smith was also skilled at making wearable trinkets or charms. He would see if he could make it into something attractive, such as a ring. He felt like he needed the luck that it would afford him, but he would not admit to it being anything more than an embellishment.  

Shaken and still at ease, he cleaned up his platform and set it ready for his next usage. At the way he felt, he was not sure he would ever sleep again. Still. It gave him thoughts. There were faces of of people, of places he had not seen before that flicked across his mind. He sat down, a number of wild ideas had entered his head, ideas he felt would benefit Cybertron and himself. He wanted to discuss these with Megatron, but not before he had a solid plan, an outline to propose to Megatron or else suffer being mocked.
Okay, This fic appears to be a longish one. I will be writing it in two parts. The first part is completed - just not edited and fixed up. My grammar skills need work, please feel free to point out stuff, send me a private message is best.  Constructive crit is welcome. Destructive crit will be removed one way or another.

The writing at the start, the Seeker ritual, is not a poem, but something said between two groups of people at the end of a Seeker's Wake -  Check Purple Light for how it works out. -  not sure how to center my text I would otherwise.  Its more to set the tone.

Edited: August 7th 2019,

Small improvements.

Winds of Change
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