treave
Arcane
- Joined
- Jul 6, 2008
- Messages
- 11,370
The Ei route in Beirut, a treave CYOA.
Biruta. Berytus. Beirut. The city had stood for millenia under the auspices of many names, and had been burnt and rebuilt countless times. Tonight, the city burned again, and below it, the guardians shivered. Karim took a drag on his cigarette, the embers glowing even brighter than the dim yellow bulbs lining the walls of the rocky tunnel. Were they the last? He did not know. He did not know anything anymore. Not why things had come to this, not why he was here, not why he had not yet fled the country with his family. Well, with what was left of his family that had not yet been turned into ravenous ghūl.
Even then, with the undead ravaging the world above, guard duty was tedium. Karim yawned in spite of himself, the rifle slung around his shoulders almost slipping off.
“Whoa, careful there, Karim.” A sudden greeting jerked Karim back into a state of alertness. It was the other guard, as tall as Karim was short, and as bearded as he was clean-shaven. Which is to say, not very.
“Ah, I’m okay, Nabil. Just… does it matter anymore?”
“Does what matter?”
“You know. Guarding… this.”
Nabil shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Karim. I’m just a fresh initiate. I have no idea what we’re guarding. I wish I could commiserate, but…” He shrugged, and Karim slapped his own forehead. They had shared some meals and some women in the past few weeks, before things had all gone to hell, but Karim realized that he just did not know Nabil all that well.
“That’s right. Sorry, I forget that you are not from around here.”
“That’s alright. So, what are we guarding?”
“The… tablet of Minet ehr Mohr. The Necromancer is searching for it.”
Nabil’s eyes opened wide, and he asked, “The Necromancer? The one that the Grandmaster fears?”
“Yes. That’s the one. He’d cause the deaths of millions without a pang of pity, as you can see from what has happened to our beautiful city,” spat Karim hatefully.
“Actually… you can blame that on your masters.” A polite voice rang out from the shadows, almost apologetic in its interruption. “They unleashed the power of the tablet all by themselves. My assistance was not required.”
Letting out a curse, Karim immediately turned his rifle towards the voice, shouting out, “Who’s there! Show yourself!”
A sigh of assent followed in response, and a young man stepped out of the darkness. An ebony cloak with a golden trim was wrapped around him; the fabric shimmered as he moved, reflecting speckled light in a way that evoked a brilliant night sky. Karim was suddenly reminded of that night with his wife and child, at the peak of Qurnat as Sawda. Happier times. More peaceful times.
“You can have those times returned to you yet, if you put your weapon down, Karim al-Jabbar.” The man spoke quietly, not a trace of emotion upon his bespectacled face.
Karim snarled, angered at the invasion of his thoughts. “I know you. Necromancer. I will not let you pass through to the sacred ground! Not on my life! Nabil, let us take this heretic down!” His grip tightened, he aimed at the man through the rifle’s iron sights, and his finger hovered over the trigger.
There was no affirming battlecry, no joyous thundering of gunfire. Instead, Karim watched his hands slide off, cut cleanly at the wrist. The rifle tumbled uselessly to the ground, the metal and wood gleaming darkly with the spray of his blood. He turned, looked at Nabil and saw that it was not Nabil any longer, but a formless shadow wearing his clothes. It laughed the clear laughter of a child, and the shadow coalesced, gathering into the shape of a short, young girl. Her long black hair flowed down to her knees, and the ragged guard’s clothes dropped to the ground, instantly replaced with a shimmering cloak similar to the Necromancer’s. Karim fell back, a curse on his lips. “The puppet. The Necromancer’s puppet! How… how did…!”
“It took you long enough, Acchan,” smiled the girl mischieviously, ignoring Karim’s surprise.
“I would have been here sooner if you did not waste your time playing around with the cult, Ei-chan,” shrugged the man, the faint hint of a tender smile flickering across his pale lips. “Liam and Mori-senpai are waiting for us at the airport. We will be flying out of here as soon as I have concluded my business here with the Order.”
“Aw, come on, Liam nii-san is flying again? I still remember that last flight… it was scary!” pouted the girl, stomping her feet.
The man in black sighed, said, "What can I do?" in a manner implying that it was a problem even his powers over life and death could not solve, and walked over to Karim.
“W-What are you trying to do, Necromancer?” Karim growled with the last vestige of his strength. “Don’t touch me!”
“I would rather not,” said the man serenely, taking off a black glove to reveal his bare hand. “But in the absence of better candidates, you will have to suffice. Do not worry. In death you will serve a far greater cause than you have ever known. There will be no need for thought, no need for fear. You will know only obedience.” He reached out for Karim’s forehead, and clasped it with his hand. His palm felt cool to the touch; somehow, it soothed the pain of Karim's missing hands.
No matter how Karim tried to struggle, he could not move any longer, and his vision began to darken. As his consciousness began to waver and slip away, he heard the Necromancer’s puppet speak.
“You’re going to make him moonwalk naked into the Council Chamber where the Grandmaster and his elders are, aren’t you?”
“Hush, Ei-chan.”
And then, for Karim, everything went black.
What travesty is this?!
The travesty of the Codex's choices.