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Eldritch Horrors

Posted on Tue Mar 15th, 2016 @ 1:57pm by Lieutenant Hel Samedi

Mission: Secondhand Woes
Location: Runabout, underway to Langport
Timeline: Current

A faint flicker of consciousness shimmered inside Anise's mind. It at least meant she was still alive. Or what counted as such. The flicker grew stronger, strengthened by pangs of pain wracking her every bone, her every joint, her every muscle. Including a slowly growing pounding sensation in that most important muscle that wasn't one to begin with, her brain.

"Jack?" she called, in as loud a whisper as she could muster, instinctively reaching out to the one who meant most to her. The one she had chosen to spend her life with. But no answer. So once again, "Jack?" A little bit louder now, the muttered name escaped her lips, out into the wild, to unhearing ears. But still no answer.

Mustering all her everso slowly returning might, for whatever little it counted, Anise tried opening her eyes. The left one cooperated. The right one not just yet. It almost felt glued shut. The left one though beheld the surrounding scene for the first time, yet had difficulty translating the imagery into signals Anise's pained brain could parse, could cope with. Red. So much red. Skin. Some white. Some black even, but mostly red.

Both eyes open now, Anise slowly sat up. She saw Jack. He was right there. Yet, he had not answered her call. And slowly the reason why he hadn't started to register in Anise's awakening brain. What lay before her was most of Jack. But not all of it. Gashes on his chest and shoulders, neck rend asunder, head only partially attached, cold and soulless eyes staring back at the woman who once loved the shredded remains of the man before her. And so much red.

Red on his torso, red on his neck, bones of white she could see through the red. Red on the ground. Red on her hands. Red on her face. The carmine of now lifeless lifeblood staining her lips, tingling on her tongue. "Oh god ... " she muttered. Flashes of memor


"Lieutenant Samedi? We're here."

The pilot's voice pulled the pale engineering chief out of 'the zone', that place she occupied when she wasn't Hel Samedi, but Alice L. Merriweather, horror author. Some would add the qualifier of 'bestselling' to aforementioned title - and Hel could only agree that it was technically correct, as her fourth novel ('Forsake me not') did reach the bestseller list, but she just considered herself an amateur author at best.

Still, at the pilot's announcement she put the PADD containing her newest work 'The desolation of Anise' away and made her way to the front of the small interstellar craft delivering her to her new posting.

Both Hel and the pilot just sat there and stared in barely concealed disbelief at the sight before them. All Lieutenant Samedi knew was that she was to become the chief engineer onboard the Excalibur class USS Langport. She knew that the Excalibur class ships were getting a bit venerable by now. But 'venerable' was an understatement for the ship prominently visibly in the runabout's forward viewports.

Weathered. Battered. Bruised. Beaten up. Patched up, seemingly again and again. Scorched scoring still evident, some buckled plates, scuffed paint, the registration barely legible. What lay before her was not a proud ship-of-the-line, but something that proud ships-of-the-line looked at with pity and whispered about amongst eachother.

It was Hel that spoke first. "Looks like I won't be lacking for inspiration for eldritch horrors."

Now it was Hel's turn to gather an incredulous look, as the pilot just kinda looked at her.

 

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