N/A
The Sun and Moon’s Mediator
“May thou, man before I, thy Father, be blessed with his divinity, for his faculty hath been stripped of thou before I. Go. Liberate him, and bring order to these lands, our Savior of The Sun God, Savior of Humility.”
Jackson has no idea what a single one of those words meant. “This is pure nonsense…” He sighs vehemently, grabbing his coffee cup- filled with more sugar than coffee to the point he might as well just ditch the coffee pot and steal the entire stock of the cafeteria's sugar. He perches the cup's rim to his lips, about to take a sip before he’s abruptly halted by the door swinging wide open. He already knows who it is.
“My Lady,” He stands, saluting his only superior- The Chief of Lorian Knights- bringing his left palm to the right of his chest. The Chief returns the greeting, her salute opposite in direction. “The documents are almost done, My Lady,” Jackson says, his voice professional and calm, yet groggy and tired. It wasn't hard to tell he’d been gagging from the sound of phlegm in the back of his throat. “Just… a few more signatures…”
Thank god, I’m almost done. I can’t believe I’m already this jostled at noon. Jackson thinks.
“Good, thank you, Captain.” The Chief answers, grabbing the finished- but quite scuffled- documents off the table and walking out of Jackson’s office with a wave.
Jackson grumbles, his eyes drifting from the door to his old, dusty lab coat. It always made him self conscious. In fact, that entire uniform he used to wear embarrasses him. It even maddened him. He took that job, he took that chance, and like a stack of dominoes, it all left him here, in Loire. A… Captain, all because he was worried for others’ safety, even with his history of fear and crippling anxiety, he still did it somehow anyway. He wasn't sure what he was really mad about in truth. He had a job, and he did it right while grieving- hurting, but he knows that’s not true. He was a complete mess at that job, he was a whole nervous wreck, he wasn’t even able to remember to sign his own name on documents, because even that was lost to him with all the stress. What if I hadn't worn that suit? What if I didn't clean that stupid sword?
I hate it here, he thinks. The sword, the people, the responsibility, everything is just putting me on edge- every single second of every single day!
Jackson sighs, looking at his coffee and taking a sip. Lukewarm, and it still needs more sugar (despite the already revolting amount of sugar he’d already added previously). He cringes at the taste, setting it back down on his desk. I’m better than this. Right? Jackson ponders. I just don’t want anyone getting hurt. Is that so hard to ask for? Jackson groans at his own irrational worry, Why is it so hard to just get something done? Why can’t I just… manage everything consistently? It’s so easy for everyone else, so why can’t I just handle drinking water and eating consistently? Ugh, if I can’t get everything together, I’m gonna lose it soon, I swear.
He really has to get used to this place.
This transition placeholder text is homosexual(cannon)
“Let go, you- grr!” Jackson sneers, thwapping a Siklyn* off his bag, stomping it with his black military-grade boots.
“Bedbugs?” His comrade catechizes.
Jackson sighs, swinging his bag across his back. “Yep, Peripatus Malvaceae.” He grumbles. “We really need to find a way to get rid of those things.”
“How about we burn the mattresses in the city and sleep on hay instead?”
“Ha-hah, you’re so funny, Jonath.” Jackson retorts, not in the mood for fun and jokes. All he wants to do is find these samples and get back to the city so he can sleep- no, work on very important things that definitely don’t relate to sweet, beguiling unconsciousness. “Why do you always want to do commissions with me, Jon? And don’t say it’s ‘cause you don’t have any friends, I’ve seen you at the tavern. In fact, I think every knight, maybe even every citizen in Loire City knows about your drunken stand-up.”
“Uh- of course they do Jackson, I’m the funniest guy in there!”
“Yeah, yeah… but seriously? Why me?” Jackson ponders, “I’m the busiest guy in the knights entirely. …I mean, excluding the Chief.”
Jonath chuckles lightly. “Well… I suppose you’re just a pleasant person to be around.”
Jackson cracks a small grin, surprised anyone would compliment him with such simple, yet impactful words. “Thanks, Jon.” He says gladly.
In the midst of Jackson's silent appreciation, both men hear a low, deluged growl. The two both promptly swerve around, facing the unusual, yet eerily familiar rumble…
(Word Key: [Sylkin] Scientific Name: Peripatus Malvaceae. Common Name: Sylkin (Plural: Sylkeyi, Pronunciation: sil-kin/sil-ken[single], sil-kai/sil-kay[plural]) Definition/Description: A myriapod with a plated grey exoskeleton and a salmon-colored underside. Contrary to common belief, they do not eat cloth, rather Sylkeyi naturally look for warm and safe areas to home, they eat the microbes present on cloth, and it’s their waste that causes the cloth to deteriorate.
Guys, I Think She’s Gonna Hit The Projector (English Class Ref. That Nobody Remembers)
“Get down!!” Jonath barks, shoving Jackson onto the ground and tanking a lunge from the feral monster. “Gah…! Stupid-” Jonath throws the beast down, pinning it to the muddy ground and baking its mutilated figure into the earth’s unforgiving sin-riddled soil, blade sharp against thick and hungry flesh. He throws the carcass to the side, looking back at Jackson.
“Are you alright?”
“Ugh… shouldn't I be asking that question?”
“I guess so. Ooh, what’s this?”
“What?”
“Look!” Jonath points to a book buried in the ground where he had conked the brains out of the creature. “It’s like the gods put that there.”
“Huh…” Jackson kicks at the dirt keeping the article, pulling it up from the ground and dusting the cover off. “The gods, huh? You make it sound like we're in a novel.” Jackson flips through the pages, inspecting the symbols scribed down on the yellow pages. “I… can’t read this.”
“What, did you magically become illiterate?” Jonath walks over and stares over Jackson's shoulder. “Oh, that's Calvic! Wait, calvic is an ancient language only used in recordings of the celestials.”
“Recordings of the celestials?”
“Yep! The only people who can still read this stuff are Quarriers.”
“Quarriers? So… like priests?”
“Uh… yeah! Unfortunately, there aren't any in Loire City… and nobody teaches it either.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Yeah. Most of the most recent readings are from the Saviors. People don’t really talk about them anymore though. They’ve gotten so used to the eclipse that it’s considered normal now, and worship of the celestials has lowered quite a lot. Even if they do worship either, it’s considered taboo.”
“Uh…”
“Too many words?”
“No, just… continue. Why is it considered taboo?”
“Okay! Worship of the gods is considered wrong now because of how weak the sun god is, and the acts of the moon goddess. People don’t worship the sun because if they do… well, it’s dangerous.”
Dangerous? Jackson isn’t sure if he can believe that. Isn’t that who that spirit guy told him about? Savior of the… what, Sun god or something? “Why is it dangerous?”
“The moon goddess- Negra,” Jonath says, “She’s become a tyrant. She’s evil. She trapped the Sun God Blanco for her own power. Her own husband. If she finds out someone is worshiping him… even the readings haven't recorded the atrocities.”
“Wow… that's… horrible.”
“She used to be good, too. Nobody really knows what made her turn to sin, not even the Saviors.”
“Are there any Saviors now?” Jackson felt stupid asking that. He knew well that there were, and considering this so-called ‘Negra’ is targeting worshipers, a Savior of the literal god she’s trying to get ‘rid’ of is probably a high-priority target.
“We don’t know. We haven't seen a Savior since four generations ago.”
“Four!?” That’s a lot, Jackson thought. Is it really that hard on him- just to commission a single Savior? Wow, the Goddess must be wringing the poor god dry… “That’s… a lot.”
Despite being chosen for the job, Jackson doesn't know what he’s doing. When all is said and done, all he knows is that cryptic message delivered to him by the angel or… spirit- or whatever it may be when he was first sent to Loire City. Or rather, a cave he panicked in and calmed down by eating a smushed granola bar in his lab coat pocket, before defending Loire City from a monster invasion. That was how he became the Loire City Protection Committee's Captain of Knights. Jackson still wonders how the Chief even thought of making a foreign stranger who just suddenly appeared and took down an entire horde of monsters, the second in line of an entire defensive force, but what happened, happened. He still has no direction, nothing to go off of for these past few busy months, but this book just may be the key to uncovering the first steps of his mission.
“C’mon, let’s get going! Daylight doesn't wait for you, you know!” Jonath surprises The Captain with his words, tugging at his forearm like there’s no tomorrow.
“Oh- right. Coming.” Jackson clears his throat, making haste to return to the dirt path. While they're walking, Jackson is closely eyeing the aged book, someone could even think he’s entranced by its many pages.
“Is it okay if I… held onto the book for now?” He clenches his left fist, his jaw tight. He needs to see the contents of that book, even if he has no idea what the words are, he’ll find a way to read that crusty old book if it kills him.
“Oh, sure! Make sure ya don’t lose it, Captain.”
Jackson takes the book as quickly as his hands get the signal from his brain to do so.
“Woah, you really got your hands on that quick. Did your reflexes suddenly get ten years younger?”
“No…” Jackson says, defensively, “I’ve always had good reflexes. I could probably bite a moving bullet!”
“Mhm… like anyone could actually do that without their jaw gettin’ blown off.” Jonath snickers.
“Well, at least I know how to balance my responsibilities.”
“Woah, woah, now that’s too far! I can handle myself just fine!”
Jackson laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get back to Loire before you get screwed up by a horde. You’re lucky you didn’t get ripped up into little bits of confetti earlier.”
“I coulda let you help, I guess. The entire thing happened so quickly, all I could think to do is ensure your safety.”
Jackson smiles. “As Jackson, I appreciate your protection, but as Captain… don’t do that again.”
“Understood, sir. It won't happen again.”
“Thank you.” The captain nods.
“Uh… Hey, Captain..? Where are we?”
“What do you mean? We’re heading back on the…” Jackson's face- no, entire body- drops with unadulterated- and certainly irrational- dread. “We’re on the wrong path. No… no, no, no…” Jackson starts to break into a cold sweat. He can feel the hairs on his arm go up, even though it's already cold outside. We're screwed. Jackson thinks. He has absolutely no clue where the two men are right now. “We… we’ll retrace our steps! We’ll return safely, before nightfall!” This is horrible. Horrible, horrible, horrible. How will they get back when Jackson barely knows his left from his rights when stressed, let alone without casualties?
“Jon, you know this land better than I do. You gotta know something, r-right?”
“I mean… I know one thing, and it’s that this place is a hot spot for hordes.”
“Thats- thats not helpful, Jonath! I mean, it is-... you!”
Jackson curses himself out, kicking up the dirt marking the path. He pays no mind to how irrationally he’s acting. “We’re screwed!”
“Captain! It’s just a small hiccup. We aren’t gonna get anywhere if you panic the whole time!”
Jackson sighs vehemently. “Right. Right… I gotta stay calm.” He takes a deep breath and gets familiar with their surroundings, straightening himself out and scanning the area thoroughly.
“We came from that way. If we work together, we can make it back together before nightfall.”
Jackson feels Jonath limply lean against his shoulder, and he playfully mocks him.
“Already? C’mon, we’re just getting started, don’t start moping already. Haha, weren’t you just motivating me a second ago, Jon?” Jackson looks down at the grass beside him, and his heart drops to his feet. On the forest floor, from the end of the left of his neck to the side of his hip, Jonath’s severed left half lies lifelessly on the floor, armor and all, as if whatever severed it off was so sharp it could cut through nearly anything.
Jackson doesn't have enough air in his lungs to scream, so he shoves the other half of Jonath’s corpse on the ground and turns away, not able to keep himself from hurling up whatever partially digested food was left in his stomach until he started to cough up his own bile.
“Awh, pooey! I missed ‘em! Well, what a shame…”
Jackson swerves around, wide-eyed like he just opened his eyes for the first time. He sees a man up in a tree with an almost neon green suit that reaches three- fourths of the way down his legs, dress shoes, a black top-hat decorated by a green ribbon, just like his suit, and one perpetually closed eye. The other one's pupil a bright tantalizing pink, the ‘white’ of the eye dark, dim, and black. “You!!”
“Me?” The assassinator chuckles, his voice like a grating, noisy, and squeaky rubber duck. “What about I? I’m just doing my job, dear Savior!”
“S… Savior?” Jackson looks at the man with a boiling pot of fear, disgust, and confusion. “...How… How do you know who I am?”
“Your identity? Hoh-hah! I’ll be completely honest with ya, my friend, I have no idea who you are! You’re a new face to me~” The man says with a wanton laugh.
“I am not your friend.” Jackson sneers in disgust, looking at the magician with a revolted glare.
“Awwwh… Why not?” The magician disappears right in front of Jackson’s eyes in a quick fwoosh of pink fire.
“Finally–”
Jackson jumps at a hand suddenly placed on his shoulder, followed by the magician throwing an arm around his shoulder, his weight shifted onto Jackson.
“But, having friends is the best part of life! And, now you have a spot open to replace!”
Jackson punches the magician straight in the nose, knocking him on the ground and holding him there without any chance of letting go. “You are so– aagh! What do you know about the Saviors, you filthy degenerate!!?”
The man looks up at Jackson with that same snarkiness, not paying any mind to the blood pooling from his nostrils. He’s acting as if he’s completely unbothered, not phased by the pain as if this is something commonplace for him.“OOOH! Wait, what’s degenerate mean–”
Jackson hits him again, “ANSWER ME!!” He looks like he's gone mad, he has zero sympathy for this man’s safety, and certainly no hope for his sanity either.
“Alright, alright, Jesus!”
Jackson didn’t know what the expression ‘Jesus’ meant, but he just scoffed and let him continue.
The man clears his throat. “Ahem. The Saviors, tsk-tsk~… Well, the ‘Saviors’ are little human flesh-bags that Sunny the dum-dum poo-face forces to try and save him from Mother… And- of course, none of them come even close to liberating him! Nonetheless came close to her level of power, haha! I uh… don’t know much… but, may I make a small request?”
“What?” Jackson scoffs.
“Ehehe, wow-ie! How courteous~. Make sure you… don’t mention this to that little… committee of yours. And… if you keep our… little secret, meet me the day after tomorrow in the heart of the Redbark Forest, and I’ll answer all your questions. Also, make sure you’re alone.”
Alone. Jackson thinks. Is it really worth it?
“Okay.” He says, reluctantly. It’s risky, sure- a confrontation with an evil magic wielding freak that just sliced his friend in half, but if he wants to make progress…
He’ll need all the information he can get.
MORE TRANSITION!!!!!!
For Jackson, the following day is… not pleasant. In fact, it’s quite horrible. A meeting coming up regarding Jonath’s sudden death, the Chief insisting he opens up, and worst of all, Jackson doesn't feel grief. He doesn't feel regretful, sad, or depressed, he feels… numb.
Everything he experienced yesterday hasn't left any room for mourning… Or perhaps, he doesn't have any left of the normalized feeling to spare for his late comrade.
He feels like he’s been hollowed from the inside out, gutted so wholly and true that his skin feels ghostly cold and lacking; and for the past hour he’s been shaking like a crude zombie, slowly being ripped of any comprehensible thought.
Jackson stares down at his desk, his eyes drifting towards his freshly brewed mug of coffee. Slowly, he reaches out and grazes his fingers against the hot ceramic. It hurts, but for some reason, Jackson doesn't pull his fingers away. Instead, he lies his fingers flat against the cup. He doesn't flinch or move away. He just slackens his body and forgets about all the dreary realities that he has no solution for. His mind's been buzzing like mad, the morbid image of Jonath's body eating him alive, but the pain finally silences it.
For a while, he just stays like that.
Jackson inhales sharply, instinct taking hold and a sudden snapping back from his hand. His skin sticks to the ceramic. It clings to the mug, ripping away from his body like melted wax. The mug topples over, spilling scolding coffee across the desk and his hand. His flesh screeches from the heat. Jackson's eyes widen and he quickly grasps his wrist with the measure of protection he’s reserved for an infant.
Jackson yells at himself. He grabs his flashlight, rushing into the bathroom. He turns on the sink. The cool water bites his skin with a harsh, cold sting.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Aah!!” Jackson jumps, turning around quickly, his hand hidden behind his back. He stops, and the blood seeps away from his face. “You’re–”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m that evil guy who killed your friend! Hi!” The man laughs, grinning with a wide, deriding smile. “Before you start going off, ‘oh no, a murderer, an evil man!’ Just listen.”
“Why the–”
“‘Why in any sense would I listen to you?’ Right? Well, I was too impatient!”
“Impatient?”
“Yeah, you know your words! I didn’t wanna wait! I got bored! Plus, I like looking at your funny face!”
“What’s wrong with my face?” Jackson scoffs.
“Doh, nun of the sort, You’re quite the handsome fellow! You’re late wife certainly–”
Jackson’s eyes widen, the man’s vicarious statement stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t you ever talk about her, I don’t wanna hear one word out of your mouth about my family!! Not ever!!”
“Oops. Maybe shoulda bought a better car then…” He says quietly with a suppressed chuckle.
Jackson ignores his last statement, save for a disgusted scoff. “I can turn you in, right now. You know that? The penalty for harassment is high, but killing a knight is higher. And I? I don’t give people like you the chance to even think about getting a trial.”
