Scion, 1325 - Epilogue 1

Comakk stood in the command chamber of the Thaumacore complex, overlooking the courtyard that stretched out between him and the wing built into the eastern side of the wide ravine. He cracked his jaw, working intently to focus his frustration there instead of the message held tightly between his hands.

Since the moment Horkk had transcribed the holographic message, Comakk had wanted to rip the sheet of parchment into a thousand individual bits, but he’d refrained. He still refrained, no matter how many times he read it. Holographic communications themselves were never saved, so he’d made a practice of transcribing and filing them, in the event such a record ever proved beneficial.

Against his better judgement, Comakk read the sheet again, knowing full well it would stoke a flame that hadn’t diminished since his last reading.

In light of the oft referenced, nearly catastrophic failings at your facility, we again deny your insistent request for additional resources, be they asura, fiscal, technical, or otherwise. This is our final response on the matter, Operative Comakk. Should you make such a request again prior to the year’s end or your site’s achievement of satisfactory results in its prime directive, we will send more qualified personnel to assume leadership of the Thaumacore facility. You have two seasons to prove your efficacy as an overseer.

Seething, Comakk crushed the parchment between his hands. Maybe he couldn’t put torn pieces back together, but he could iron out creases—or one of his people could.

He glared out the open window at a pair of crossing technicians in the courtyard below. Inquest command was made of bureaucrats, Alchemy-cursed bureaucrats, every one. They’d failed as badly as he had to spot Kikka’s self-consumed disloyalty, and now they were taking it out on him, expecting his success without providing an ounce of their own investment.

Since Kikka’s actions Comakk had been running Thaumacore on fumes and threadbare tenacity. It had been a season, but the events of that day in the dead of summer had left their headcount at less than half its former number. Not just the guards but a large number of the engineers and analysts had been lost in the wake of their conflict with the human bandits. It had left them understaffed and cost three fortnights of productivity to the work of salvaging and rebuilding, to say nothing of the time lost in honoring and cremating the dead.

Comakk was hardly loyal by nature, but in the balance of the Eternal Alchemy he knew there was a sort of quid pro quo that must be obeyed, particularly where krewe members under his command were concerned. If the members of Thaumacore station had given their lives to that wretch of a krewe chief, it was his duty as the new chief to dignify them accordingly. As such, each expunged asura was granted the customary cremation and a recitation of their achievements in the hearing of all the survivors.

He’d made one exception, though: Kikka. She was one person to whom he’d actually offered his loyalty, and when he’d done that, he, like any self-respecting person, expected the same in return. He hadn’t gotten it. None of Kikka’s krewe had.

After the conflict had ended that fateful day, he’d found dead and wounded krewe members all over the complex. To his surprise, though, Kikka was among them, the sole survivor of some fight that had happened in the test chamber. Surrounded by shattered equipment and an array of dead creatures and gore, Comakk had found Kikka pinned beneath the weight of her precious golem enforcer, her leg shattered and her mouth full of demands and curses. With no living witness to her survival or his actions, Comakk’s decision was as easy as it was fast. Pulling an energy rifle from the nearby corpse of a guard, he took aim, absorbed a final battery of her weak verbal abuse, and put two shots in Kikka’s head. Then he fired again, for good measure and personal gratification.

After she’d been discovered that way by a search team, Comakk had allowed her to be cremated with the rest of the deceased. She had, after all, been killed by the same invaders as everyone else, or so the rest of the station now believed. But he disallowed any respects be paid to her in that process, casting her back into the Alchemy like the honorless, self-obsessed waste of animation she was. After all her disloyalties had been brought to light, no more than a few begrudged him that decision.

The recollection of that was one of just a few things that could still bring a cold smile to his face these days.

Now, under his new leadership, the remains of their krewe had gotten back to the original charter: finding a means of drawing stable power from chaos magic native to the Brisban region. But without proper means, and operating three seasons behind schedule thanks to Kikka’s obsession and the catastrophe she’d caused, Comakk had no idea how he would reach command’s desired results and maintain his new role.

He sneered as he stared out at the opposite end of Thaumacore. The near-black stone of the structure’s walls disappearing into the shadowed, earthen bluffs behind, it all blended together as he lost the details to his wandering thoughts once more.

A voice broke the silence, snapping him out of his furious reverie. “Chief Comakk?”

Grimacing, Comakk turned to see Horkk, the asura who’d become his personal aide in the wake of the last season’s events. Most recently Comakk had set him in charge of resource acquisition, sending a handful of engineers to various asura settlements in hopes of bartering equipment that wasn’t strictly necessary for the things Thaumacore really needed at the moment: food, weapons, building materials, and the like. If command wasn’t going to provide for them, Comakk would find another way. Alchemy knew there was enough tradable excess in what remained of Kikka’s pet projects.

“Have you received word from the acquisition team?” Comakk asked.

Hunched and clearly nervous, Horkk shook his head. “No, not yet.”

If that wasn’t what Horkk had come for, Comakk didn’t know what it was, but he couldn’t afford to ignore anything his krewe saw fit to bring to his attention these days. “Then what is it?” he snapped, cracking his jaw again.

“There’s a— communication for you. Another communication, I mean.” 

“Alchemy take me,” Comakk complained, gritting his sharp teeth. “I can’t take any more ineffectual interruptions, Horkk!” Still, with a bitter sigh, he extended his hand to receive whatever missive Horrk had brought.

Horkk swallowed, scratching his dark cheek the way he did when he didn’t want to say what he had to. “It’s the human.”

Without thought Comakk balled the letter from Inquest command again and pounded the sill. “Alchemy, I explicitly instructed you not to interrupt me with that imbecile’s proposals. Not one more time. Incinerate the message like the others.”

“That is not possible,” he replied, even more uncomfortably. “Or at least it would prove inexpedient. He’s here.”

“What? Here?” Comakk nearly coughed the question. He squared up to his assistant, straightening in an effort to match the other asura’s height. “I assume your intended meaning is that perimeter guards have him in custody?”

Horkk looked away, unable to maintain eye contact. “Not precisely. Two guards are holding him at his current position at the northern edge of the canyon. But— well, he came with a force as populus as our entire remaining krewe.”

Comakk suddenly understood why his predecessor had so often screamed her frustration, but he refused to follow her example in anything he didn’t have to. Instead, he shoved command’s letter into Horkk’s chest. “Straighten that and file it. I’ll deal with the human.”

Storming out and down to the lower levels of the western complex, Comakk wasted no time in reaching the nearest guard station. He collected the additional bodies he could, demanding they arm themselves to the ears and follow him out. He hit an alarm that would direct any additional resources to the northern edge of the complex, threw an energy rifle over each shoulder, and made for the courtyard. Three more asura joined their thin numbers, and less than a hundred yards before he reached the spot, Comakk saw it. All of them did. A large platoon of human combatants stood at the entrance to the ravine, held at bay by two, anxious guards.

The sight set Comakk’s teeth on edge, casting him right back to the last time he’d seen this situation, when Veritas and his lot had entered their territory by the very same path. The whole complex still showed the scars of what that had led to, and this instance was worse. Not only were there more humans this time, and far fewer of his own people, but this group seemed to be aware of the complex’s defenses, waiting just outside the reach of the automated electro-turrets. The Thaumacore krewe had held every advantage the day Christoff Veritas had arrived. Not so today.

Pulling one of the rifles around into his grip, Comakk stepped past the two perimeter guards, sensing the other asura joining their ranks behind him. He curled his lip into a snarl, scanning the mass of physically imposing but intellectually deficient figures. “Which of you bookahs holds authority here?”

A tall man, his hair done up in a cheap approximation of a mohawk, stepped forward, not swaggering per se, but also showing no signs of discomfort. “At your service. Allow me to introduce myself. Da—“

“Bandit Daren Thorne,” Comakk interrupted. “Yes, I comprehend. Even if not for the six inane messages you’ve pestered us with this season, We’ve done more than sufficient regional intelligence gathering to know who you are.” He hefted the weapon in his hands and calculated which among these humans would be the easiest first kill. Shock could go a long way toward cowing even a large crowd of opponents.

“Oh, you people do not disappoint,” the man said with a knowing grin. He raised a finger. “Except in the matter of hospitality.” Pausing, he made a show of glancing beside and around Comakk and his few defenders, in faux search of something. “I would have expected a seat. Some shade. Maybe a quality beverage. It seems only right for a parley between friends, especially after all we’ve done for you with the Vigil.”

This man was precisely as pompous as his messages had made him seem. That bolstered Comakk’s confidence: excessive pride was an easily exploited weakness.

“I have no time for you, your messages, or your yammering about hospitality,” Comakk spat back. He wasn’t going to touch whatever nonsense the man was spouting about the Vigil. “Evacuate my station now.”

“Hospitality indeed,” the man sniggered. He eyed Comakk measuringly but shrugged. “Alright, I can provide the drinks as well. Sheridan?” With a wave of his hand, Thorne summoned a slender, scraggly man from somewhere amid the larger bodies of his crew.

This Sheridan approached with a bottle and two wooden cups. He grinned in a way that mirrored Thorne’s smug expression, already pouring a clear liquid into each receptacle. He handed the first to his leader, who proffered it to Comakk.

For a moment, Comakk merely sneered at the cup. He had half a mind to shoot it out of the man’s hand, but as satisfying as such a gesture would be, it would trigger a conflict that none in his party would walk away from. Instead, he released one hand from his weapon and took the cup, already smelling the subtle sting of ethanol and evergreen in the air. Without pause and without looking, he flipped it, pouring the foul liquid to the ground. Alcohol was a waste.

It was, if only for an instant, the first time Thorne looked genuinely offended at any aspect of their exchange. “You really aren’t interested in etiquette, are you?” With some visible effort, he resumed his flippant demeanor. “Very well. More for me.” Taking a quick, pleased sniff, he threw back his own beverage and held out the cup for another pour. His manservant obliged.

Swirling the cup, Thorne returned his attention to Comakk. “I can see you’re a man of business. I can appreciate that. It’s Comakk, correct?”

He held himself from any outward response, but the fact that this moron knew his name caught Comakk by surprise. It was conceivable that his people had made the all too basic error of mentioning his name in the human’s presence, but he doubted it.

He scanned the assortment of human flotsam surrounding Thorne, and one caught his attention: a stick of a man, beak-nosed, tall, and characteristically nonplussed. There was a rifle slung over his back, and when Comakk met his gaze, he merely arched an eyebrow, smirking and nodding acknowledgement. Alchemy, it was Veritas’ lieutenant, the one called Remi. And like that, all the pieces fell into place. Comakk didn’t know how the man had escaped the battle in the courtyard, but he clearly had, and he’d fled back to this Thorne character with information, far more information than Thorne was letting on.

“You should be expunged,” Comakk barked at the rifle-toting scarecrow.

Daren Thorne glanced aside, following Comakk’s gaze. “Yes, of course. I should have guessed you’d recognize my newest cell member. I can assure you, though, neither he nor I mean any harm to you or your people. You’ve suffered more than enough of that in recent memory, in no small part thanks to my old friend Christoff Veritas.”

The mention of that name drew Comakk’s furious attention back to the pale, mohawked man.

“Yes, he has that effect on people.” Thorne almost laughed. “Had that effect, I should say. Always ambitious, but he lacked the sense to see the bigger picture. I don’t blame you for putting him down. I almost wish I could have seen it.”

“I could arrange that,” Comakk said, reveling in the snide pleasure it brought him.

Thorne eyed him circumspectly, only adding to Comakk’s sudden enjoyment.

This bookah, of course, couldn’t know it, but Veritas was still alive—in a liberal manner of speaking. The man who’d catalyzed their unmitigated disaster had suffered for it quite serendipitously, surviving all that had happened with his crystalline monstrosity only to single-handedly absorb every ounce of its maddening magic. Now locked in a cell deep inside the complex, he’d been whispering incoherently to himself ever since. Never sleeping, seldom rising from the floor, and unaware of anyone around him, the once cocky human was functionally a vegetable now, and he was the greatest warning against unsanctioned projects that Comakk could wish for. Depending on how this interaction with Thorne played out, Veritas might prove to be a valuable warning against outside interference as well.

“I’m not here to waste your time or mine, so I’ll cut to the quick.” The human took another pleased sip of his liquor. “Your group and ours have come out here to the wilds for essentially the same reason: freedom. More populated places are full of rules and authorities who lack our more fluid sensibilities.

“To this point, your people and mine have each done our own work in isolation, but the winds are changing; those authorities are creeping into our territory. Hence your tussle with the Vigil.”

He’d said this twice now, and despite himself, Comakk couldn’t let it go this time. “What in the Alchemy do you keep referring to? We haven’t interacted with the Vigil in approximately a year. That is not a group I am remotely concerned about.”

Pointing to Sheridan and Remi, Thorne spun a story about a small Vigil force infiltrating Thaumacore during their conflict with Veritas. His spy claimed this alleged team had slunk in from the south, entered the eastern wing, and actually helped the bandits raise their massive magical construct at the center of the courtyard. It sounded ridiculous—or at least it would have if it didn’t perfectly explain so many previously inexplicable parts of the conflict, not the least of which was the state in which Comakk had found Kikka, her golem, and the entire test chamber. In fact, this narrative finally gave explanation to particular debris found in the courtyard: debris from the containment cylinder of mursaat magic that should have been in the heart of Kikka’s golem.

Comakk ground his teeth, his hands working to wring out the weapon in their grip. His pride wanted nothing to do with this human’s tale, but his reason couldn’t ignore it. He didn’t know if he hated Kikka, the Vigil, or Thorne most.

“So,” the human said, finishing his frustratingly cohesive exposition, “in the spirit of entrepreneurial fraternity, we’ve dealt with your Vigil problem. According to my latest reconnaissance, they’ve abandoned their position with that other asura krewe, heading south as we speak. They won’t be a problem for you again.”

Comakk sneered, distrust pumping through his veins. Curiosity had wriggled in as well, though. He gestured at the assortment of armed humans at Thorne’s back. “Fraternity, indeed. Is that how you describe this threatening display of force?”

As if he’d forgotten the other men and women were even there, Daren Thorne glanced over his shoulder. He chuckled, straightening his hair as he turned back to Comakk. “Oh, no, you misunderstand. This is a demonstration of resources. They aren’t here to threaten you and yours; they’re here to demonstrate what we bring to the table as your allies. And believe me, they’re only the start.” He threw a thumb in a northwestern direction. “We have this many and more holding the fort in Vandal’s Claim, and our sylvari associates have similar numbers to the east.”

Now it was Comakk’s turn to bark a laugh. “Allies? What are you blathering about allies? The Inquest have no allies.”

“I dare say you’re right,” the man replied all too quickly. He held out his now empty cup for Sheridan to collect before crossing his arms thoughtfully. “You don’t even have allies among your own people. I’ve had someone watching your little ravine here since Remi joined us.”

Comakk’s finger tensed upon his weapon’s trigger as he scanned the tops of the buttes. They’d had unknown entities watching them for a season?

The man kept right on talking. “You haven’t seen an ounce of help from even your own organization, but we’re here and already helping.

“My vision is simple: three seemingly separate groups, each harying the other’s opponents and making this landscape so wild, so unbalancing, that it won’t be worth the cost for any official governance to try and take it from us. Seraphs come for my people? The Nightmare Court pops up to nag their steps—they’re an odd cult, but they’re cutthroat. Sylvari wardens make a move on the Court? Asuran golems appear out of nowhere before they can get there—once you’ve rebuilt your strength, of course. And when you see the encroaching attention of, say…”

Despite himself, Comakk filled in the gap. “Inquest command.” The thought was too full of possibility.

“Inquest command,” the man repeated, musing on the idea. “Yes, your own command comes for you, and what do they face but human bandits suddenly taking an inexplicable interest in their movements.” He smiled more broadly than he had yet, clearly seeing Comakk’s wheels turning in his direction.

He let the thoughts fester for a moment before casting his final net. “Look, I can see you don’t trust me, and I applaud you for that skepticism. It’s that very trait that keeps professionals like you and me alive. But you have to ask yourself: do you just want to survive, or do you want to thrive?”

It was a disgustingly trite hook, but it did keep Comakk’s cogs turning.

The man watched him with calculated patience. He was withholding something, though, some ulterior motive. Comakk could smell it. And given Thorne’s relationship to that detritus, Christoff Veritas, he knew with a nearly unquestionable degree of certainty what it was.

“Cease wasting my time,” Comakk spat. He flipped the gun back to rest against his shoulder, its barrel skyward. “You humans are all alike in your White Mantle cult. That is your affiliation, correct? The same as Veritas, with his Unseen Ones nonsense?”

Thorne shrugged, grinning arrogantly again. “There’s no getting past an asura, is there?”

“No, there is not,” Comakk snapped, refusing to let the man get another word. “There is also no reality where the Inquest pursues any further acquisition, manipulation, or dispensation of magical energies derived from the work of your petty deities. Our last krewe chief was a nearsighted, self-serving fool who derailed our true assignment for an opportunistic grasp at power that was built on something she couldn’t control. I will make no such mistake. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

Silence held between them for a moment, but the elevation of Thorne’s brow and the tilt of his chin made it clear he was only waiting his turn, not backing down. He sniffed, without letting the slight curl of his grin fall away. “Christoff really did leave a bad taste in your mouth, but I’m not interested in anything he was. Not really. Getting my hands on a few ounces of magic, or teleporting in one measly construct—what good are those things? Christoff, like your predecessor, was a shortsighted fool, who couldn’t see any opportunity beyond the one he could hold in his own two hands.

“The truth is, I do want something more, but it’s nothing you don’t already have.” He straightened his hair again, pushing the edges as vertical as they would go. “I understand it was an accident when that jade construct popped into your lab. What I have difficulty believing is that you asura keep no information whatsoever on what you’ve spontaneously found or where it came from. Aside from our general alliance going forward, I only want coordinates, to know where that construct might have come from. That’s all.”

One of the guards behind Comakk stepped forward to his side, gun trained on the human. Thorne’s implication, it seemed, wasn’t lost on Comakk’s people. The man sought as many of those constructs as he could get his hands on—or maybe someone stationed above him did.

Comakk rubbed his chin, performing a calculus of potentialities.

The man was right, of course. They had kept a log of data on each of the anomalies brought into their facility through spontaneous chaos rifts. They would have been idiots not to. Kikka had been an overreaching fool, but she wasn’t an idiot. And Thorne, Comakk was certain, wasn’t lying about his disinterest in overrunning Thaumacore. If he’d wanted it, his band could have taken the valley by force at any point since the catastrophe with Veritas, but they hadn’t. Instead Thorne had sent half a dozen letters asking for this very parlay, which he’d finally just come and taken.

Given all that, there was hardly a way for Comakk and his krewe to lose in an alliance with the humans, which would keep both Inquest command and the peacemakers out of his affairs whenever he wished. Furthermore, if Thorne were telling the truth about only wanting coordinates, it meant that he’d pursue his real goal wherever Comakk would send him; getting rid of the man would simply be a matter of furnishing him with what he wanted, or at least some convincing facsimile. If pushed to it, Comakk could really send the man anywhere in the world, a surprisingly effective insurance policy. A partnership would be tenuous, but the benefits of accepting far outweighed the risk.

Comakk sniffed, maintaining an aloof position in spite of his words. “I am inclined to accept, but I do not operate by half measures—and I do not trust you. My assistant will draft terms of our agreement that I expect you and these sylvari to abide by.”

The man smiled openly. He believed he’d won. “I would have it no other way,” he said. “And vice versa. I’ll arrange a symposium at a neutral location in, say, a fortnight? You, Carriadar, and I can define the nature of our little triad.”

Comakk gave the slightest tip of his head, not an actual nod. He already wondered what troubles he was courting. They wouldn’t be worse than those he’d already engaged, only different. How different? Well, that was the mystery, and at the moment, he didn’t like mysteries.