One Giant leap for all Mankind

July 20th 1969, Apollo 11 is making its final approach.

“I’ll see ya later Michael, keep my seat warm would you,” Buzz smiled affixing his helmet to the spacesuit. The suit hissed as the seal pressurised, the sound brought moment home to him, he was about to do it, years in the making, expanding the bounds of humanity.
“Heck kid, you won’t need this seat on the way back, you’ll have plenty of room in history books, cheers, fan fair and all that jazz,” Collins said priming a set of switches. He was putting on a brave face and everyone knew it. He didn’t look down as Buzz joined Neil in the pod, the contempt in his expression too hard to hide.

Buzz twisted the hatch shut, knocked twice and slid into his seat beside Neil.
“Ready to play amongst the stars,” Buzz said, his head bobbed in the helmet like a giddy kid. Neil gave a disapproving look then turned back to the controls.
“ready for departure in 3,2,1,” he said systematically working his way across the control board. “Come on Neil, three days and you’ve been nothing but humbug,” Buzz said flipping the switches on his side of the cockpit.
“I’ve done nothing but do my job, we don’t get a second shot at this. I’m not dicking about, not this close,” Neil said tutting to himself. The pod shook with the sudden jolt of acceleration. They leaned forwards together to see the silvery dusted ground rising to meet them out a set of triangular windows.

“You're not even a little emotional?” Buzz asked seeing tiny pores growing into craters, his eyes wide with amazement.
“The completely opposite, but i’m not doing this for me, i don’t need to reveal in my own self satisfaction,” Neil snapped. He flicked the radio dial then spoke “Huston, All instruments good, we are on final approach copy over” static lingered for several seconds.
“We copy, god bless Apollo, safe landing, over.” Huston replied. Neil switched off the radio and turned to Buzz.
“There, go nuts, we’re landing on the moon in a minute,” he said, his expression was like the tone of his voice, bludgeoningly professional.
“Is this the story you’re telling your grand-kids? You came, you saw, you grumbled,” Buzz said crossing his arms in the cumbersome suit.

“The golden boy said before the decade’s out we’d be here, here we are. We beat Russ. This isn’t my story cupcake, this is the USA’s story,” Neil said looking back to his dials. Buzz laughed and clapped his hands.
“cupcake? pretending to be your drill sergeant? Or has the radiation finally infused you with a sense of humour” Buzz reach down and flipped the burners to slow their descent. The lunar surface specs had blossomed endless expanse of grey pits and raveens. They fell like a feather moving at a crawl for the last few meters.
“You got the flag?” Neil said. Buzz looked around.
“left it on with Colin” he said smirking. Neil flushed red, his fists tied into knots
“what?” he asked in a cold sterile voice.

“Kidding,” Buzz said producing the flag from beside his seat and handing it to Neil. Neil snatched the flag and shook his head as the craft shook, they had reached the surface.
“I think we’re on the moon,” Buzz said.
“Show time,” Neil said. Making his final checks, he pulled down on a lever and the lander opened unveiling the alien wasteland. Only a thin pane of glass in their helmets between them and the void. Neil stepped out and fell slowly to the ground. His feet pressed into the dust and he pushed off leaving his first American boot print on the moon. He looked up to see earth shining blue in the night's sky. A watery mass encompassed by an endless sea of stars. His heart sank to new depth knowing just how small he really was.
“Unload the rover while i make the broadcast” Neil said, dragging his thoughts back to the present. Buzzed nodded and began the sequence to unload the rover. The casing was fiddly and despite having being trained by the best, the performance felt far less fluid. He fumbled and yanked but found the forces he usually relied on conspicuously absent. Moreover he kept looking up, as if watched by the eyes of the world, all three and a half billion pairs.

By the time he’d unpacked the rover and got it ready Neil had finished his broadcast.
“One small step eh?” Buzz asked. Powering on the vehicle, it was little more than an electric buggy stripped down to relieve itself of all unnecessary weight, a lightweight space machine just like Neil. He climbed in beside Buzz and pointed out a crater ahead.
“Collins came in after the broadcast, said he saw something odd ahead, we’re going to go check it out” Neil said. Buzz nodded and pressed the pedal. The vehicle crawled forwards not much faster than a normal walking pace but up here it felt like a sprint. Tire print tracks followed in their wake.

They dismounted twenty minutes later at the edge of the crater, the pod still visible in the distance. Buzz took two long strides gliding through the void. his eye caught a golden gleam in amongst the grey dust. He blinked hard once and then several more times for good measure “what the…” he said bending down reaching for the object. “Over here,” Neil said over the radio. Buzz turned to see two mounds at Neil’s feet. Neil knelt down and dusted one off. A black spacesuit, sleeker than theirs , its face down in the dust. Neil flipped the suit over. The reflective vision was down, Neil turned off the radio reached down pensively to lift it up. Buzz watched the silent motion as Neil shot back. pushing away from the spacesuit with all the haste his own suit would allow. His arms waving through the air like he was trying to swat a fly as he fell onto his back.

Buzz gasped, at once he began moving over to Neil. His eyes caught on the golden object as the suits side. He stopped glaring at it, curiosity tantalised, heart racing in his chest. He bent down to pick it up, dusting it off as he lifted it up. His hands shook with a faint tremor, a golden eagle. It sat atop of dusty pole, as he pulled it up some of the dust fell away revealing a red flag. “Oh god above no,” Buzz said as he dusted off the centre of the flag. A swastika sat screaming out emblazon in the middle. Buzz dropped the flag and turned to move over to Neil. He ran over perhaps quicker than he ought to, sweat beads touching his brow. He helped Neil to his feet the man had gone pale as their space suits. Neil’s Microphone clicked back on.

“That's fucking Nazi flag, what the hell is going on here, did brass tell you about this.” Buzz sped through the words frantic and short of breath. He could feel a cold sweat dripping down the nape of his neck and he shivered in the cold of space.

“I’m as surprised as you,” Neil said steadying his own breathing.
“We need to tell Housten,” Buzz said. Neil shook his head.
“Broadcaster is back on the lander, we’ve only got enough charge in the rover for thirty minutes more driving,” he said resting a fist against his visor.
“You're suggesting we stay?” Buzz said looking around at the expanse with alarm in his voice. “This is a historic revelation, we’re going to learn all we can with the means at our disposal this mission cost twenty five billion and you want to cash out on the count of a little fright, grow a spine man,” Neil said walking back over to the suites. He inspected the face inside the visor. Frozen streaks of blood jutted from his eyeballs, his expression was a eternal scream.
“We’re not alone up here Neil,” Buzz said anxiously.
“Don’t get paranoid Buzz” Neil replied. Buzz shook his head hopping from one foot to the other, wriggling inside his suit.
“There’s no wind up here right,” Buzz said. Neil thought about it for a second.
“That's what the instruments said,” Neil answered, probing the suit for tears.
“Then why is any of this covered in dust?” Buzz asked with a dreadful weight in his voice.

Neil froze. His eyes following a trait of foot prints that lead away from the bodies and towards the lip of the crater.
“You ready to turn back yet,” Buzz said. His right cheek nervously twitching. Neil ignored the question, he crept along the trail with deliberate low gravity strides. As he drew close he saw a arm jutting out the side of the lip, covered in dust and easily mistakable for a natural formation. He grabbed the hand and pulled. A body sprang from the dust in a space suit of its own. The helmet looked like a Bicorn hat crossed with a rudimentary gas mask. On is crest it bore an emblem of bee’s atop the french flag.

Buzz came up behind.
“that looks borderline Napoleonic,” Buzz said pointing at the flag.
“How so,” Neil asked.
“It was part of napoleon’s family crest, worked it into a lot of his iconography as emperor,” Buzz replied.
“You don’t mean to suggest...?” Neil left the absurd idea behind in his tracks. As he moved deeper into the crater.
“Look we can bring it back, maybe get a photo at the ship,” Buzz said but Neil was already pulling out another body, this one was covered in a thicker layer of dust but Neil now knew what he was search for. The helmet of this suite had a helmet that looked like a large onion that sat atop the thin glass visor, the glass rough and not quite smooth or as transparent as their own. On it was engraved the a star rising over a crescent moon.
“That an Islamic symbol” Buzz said catching up. “almost looks like a Janissary” he poked the layered mesh the made up the suit.

“This is just bizarre,” Neil whispered creeping yet further forwards. A metal plate was sticking out the ground its surface again covered up. He wiped it down tensing for what secret it might hold.
“A two headed eagle” Neil said to himself. He looked behind the sheet to find an even more primitive looking space suit with Greek letters scrawled along one side.
“Is he meant to be an ancient Greek?” Neil asked. Buzz looked him over then looked at the crest. He sat for a moment thoughtfully.
“Byzantine probably, that is the mark of their flag, plus they were meant to have moved away from Latin to Greek,” Buzz said, his anxiety had given way to infantile curiosity. he poked and prodded. Felt and flicked at every available surface. “This is amazing, how did any of this happen. I knew they had Greek fire but this is ridiculous,” Buzz said twisting dials clearly made of iron fixtures.
“It’s fake, it had to be,” Neil stammered.
“We should leave, none of this is right,” Neil said turning to walk back up the crater.
“ if this is real the last people here were at least thirty years ago, we’re in no danger,” Buzz said Standing up, hands on hips.
“It's messing with my sense of what is and isn’t. It's too odd to be believed yet here it is,” Neil said looking around teeth gritted.
“We’re explorers, so let's explore,” Buzz said.
“I’m a pilot,” Neil corrected but Buzz was having none of it, he walked on deeper into the shadow of the crater. When he bumped into a standard laying on the ground. The letters SPQR surrounded by leaves carved into its surface.

“No way,” Buzz said elated as he waved it above his head chanting“Hail Caesar,” over and over. “When did you become an historian?” Neil asked skeptically. Buzz set the standard down and frowned.
“they’re called hobbies Mr. Pilot,” he said as his eyes noticed another trail of footsteps, these were actual naked footprints, he pointed at them and Neil looked down and sighed.
“Now that's clearly fake,” Neil said dismissively.
“Those weren’t here a second ago,” Buzz said, the excitement fizzling out in his voice.

Neil turned to see something floating out the shadows, a stone tablet with rows of pictorial characters etched in the surface drifted out. He grabbed the tablet hands shaking inside the suite and turned to Buzz.
“Aramaic,” Buzz mouthed. The two moved in back to back, rotating in the shade of the crater seeing movement in the dark. Buzz caught sight an imprint on the ground, it looked like it had been an animal head on a human body.
“Egyptian mythology?” he thought briefly as terror shook his nerves. He heard Neil squeal. His radio but out. Buzz swung round but the suit was slow and Neil was gone. He scrambled for the crater's edge moving as quickly as he could over the bodies, there were so many bodies, dead bodies. The realisation hit him at once.
“a graveyard,” he said aloud. He leapt out the crater into the light, towards the rover.

A figure sat in each seat. Pronounced brows, strong jaws, big noses. Bodies exposed to the open vacuum of space but unlike all other he’d seen. They were moving. He looked either side to see more of them crawling out the craters, bodies draped in furs. Clubs in their hands. He froze in place and fell to his knees as they surround him and beating his suit with their clubs, his metal visor dropped down. shielding him from the sigh, it rattled with every impact, his bones snapped from the force of the blows, he screamed out in pain, his ears rang and he realised he’d gone into shock. one pulled back the visor, it grinned apishly with stained teeth and a club swung smashing the glass.

The vacuum pulled the air from his lungs, it burned his senses with an array of pain that cut through the shock, it was mere seconds before he lost consciousness. One giant leap for mankind...

Moonage fashist

The singular droning ping of the scanner echoed out on the moonbase command module. A green dot appeared on the scanner, flickering into view for a moment and then was gone. 3485 tapped the scanner dial, tongue running over his dentures. He blinked a set of pale yellow eyes. Then leant back in his chair. His implant twinged as Dorris (Direct oversight risk reward interactive system). Came online, the sun’s rays blasted the solar collectors outside spurring her from a temporary hibernation cycle.

He felt the sharp edges of the program squirrel around in his brain, digging up half formed memories that even a factory reset couldn’t sponge. His face twitched as the program touched the edges of his nervous system, scanning for tension and strain. It said nothing while it worked, that’d be inefficient, burdening with 3485 with information that might distract from his role. 3485 dabbed the tears from his eyes as the pain receded, dorris knew all she needed, every imprint and reflex about the green dot had been archived, so 3485 did the best he could to try and forget the ordeal and sink back into his shift watching the scanner.

The shift ended ten hours later. The lights rose in the command module illuminating the grey and black floorboards and panels the made up the module. 3485 rose from his station and saw the other do likewise through narrowed eyes. They waited a moment for their eyes to adjust, the scanner looked so much dimmer in full light, harder to see the green dot which stuck the screen, had that always been there? He wondered blinking away the thought as his stomach began to rumble and mouth salivated.

A ringing in the room let him know it was time to report to the mess hall. He and the others filed out while a fresh group of units filed, 2365, 1393, 6798. Their numbers tattooed next to their neural interfaces.They watched him as they watched them, pale yellow eyes darting from number to number. Learning, thinking, forgetting. 1393 took up his station, he didn’t seem to notice the green dot, maybe he was defective?

3485 was allocated a portion of Nm#tvd. Standard focus unit ration. It was a fresh shipment from the fatherland, the cognitive stimulants were still ripe in this batch, they helped him numb his memory and focus on the radiant future they were building. The fatherland had taken to the stars and he was a part of the machine that was taking them there. A future free from from decay and impurity. He looked around at the crop of yellow eyed citizen’s. he saw himself in them as they saw him in themselves.

As one by one they finished their plates, their heads drooped while DORRIS checked their nutritional uptake and recent memories. 3485 set down his cutlery as DORRIS wondered in, he felt his stomach twist and contort as the nerves were plucked at, dorris lingered browsing through his recent memories, something important in the command module, 3485 clenched as dorris plucked up half remember fragments of thoughts, then receded from his mind.

He was left shivering and cold, teeth chattering. The others watched him with disgust, he could see the judgement in their yellow eyes. The bald heads glistening under the low hung lamps. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell them he wasn’t a deviating, that dorris had just been… his lips shut, better not impede their freedom with his thoughts, it was unbecoming of members of the father race, to speak out in pain, that would have been the true deviation. When he said nothing they slowly let their attention wander keen to get back to the important work of forgetting.

3485 retired to the cinema complex on level three, it was time for recreation. there he sat back in a dark room watching the screen. News cycles warning that the weakened liberty forces were ready to strike back at any moment but that the father land would crush them when they reared their heads. The lesser devolving mutants cast out from the homeland of father mars had taken up residence on a savage and wastelands of the blue planet, there they festered like a tumor for 200 years an insult to the homo superior, That was the fact.

On a small port on deck four the planet was visible, he had stared at it once and found the contrast of water and land distasteful, impure and utterly savage. Water belonged in a cup, life belong in cage, that was the way of things.

The lights came on in the cinema, the screen became harder to see and they each stood up. One stood aside from the rest, drawing stare of derision from all around, he dragged himself out the room moving like a puppet on a string under DORRIS’s command 1393, yes he had been an odd one. All knowing DORRIS must have found him out, he didn’t need to know, DORRIS would do it for him he could just get back to forgetting, While he watched with hateful eyes. Defective.

He left to retire to the dorm, walking along corridors of black and grey. The lights low, the screens bright. The sound of an airlock depressurising echoed out across level three,

“Why would they do that, shipment just came yesterday?” 3485 shook his head, there was still more to forget. He thought about the devolvers on the blue planet below, pigmented skin, hair, coloured hair. Lines of wire touching the skin. He felt sick to the pit of his stomach and swallowed to stop himself from regurgitating, he owed the father land for the bounty he had received, to throw it up would be a rejection of wotan’s body, the body of the born again messiah. 

He reached his alcove on deck two, opening up a side panel to pulled out a pair of wires, one for his neural implant, the other slotted nicely into an implant in his belly. He felt a twinge of pain as the implants in his arms, legs and torso synchronised with the central database.

He checked the side panel: 2% somatic deviation; muscle mass wastage, eye strain, cardio underperformance, other. 7% neurological deviation, excessive memory formation, other. 4 hours somatic reconstruction, ongoing neurological realignment on ad hoc application D.O.R.R.I.S. 3485 clicked the cold metallic side panel and pressurised the chamber, a pop in his ears signaled the processes was complete. the area scarcely bigger than himself filled with a thick bubbling grey ooze.

He awoke shortly after the neurological strain of the reconstruction procedure had been scrubbed from his short term memory, then checked the side panel: no somatic deviation, 3% neurological deviation. He gazed down at pigmentless skin, pure of as the fatherlands ice caps, his chest swelled with pride of his heritage. The read out clicked, neurological deviation, 2%. He pulled out the wires and tucked them back into the side panel and waited for a new uniform to be allocated. The previous having been dissolved along with the deviations in his body. He sat waiting, unsure of what needed forgetting, at a loss of what to do. Dorris would come by any moment and correct the matter, then he could get to work forgetting it ever happened.

The lights came on one alcove at a time as others reawakened from their procedures. Soon deck two lay strewn with citizens waiting for their leaders command. Hours past with them stood in a line waiting for Dorris to step in. time past without punctuation. The deviation crept in, slowly at first, a twitch here, A fidget there but after twenty eight hours an anomaly took place citizen 2365 took a single step forward, drawing the eyes of most his neighbours, though most worryingly, not all.

They stared at him with glaring yellow eyes willing him back into line, pushing out with the will of wotan’s sons. When dorris did not come 2365 simple left, walking down the corridor along a hallway of stares and silent derision. The sight made 3485 lurch with a strange twinge of hate he’d not felt before. After that the twitching and fidgeting got worse, 5673 found a hair growing on his arm and began screaming to get back into his pod only to find the alcoves unresponsive. He hammered on the door while one by one the citizened filed out to report for work, unable to wait for the order to proceed.

3485 reached the command module on deck on and slipped inside, the room held an odor, his thoughts ran through chewed up memories, looking for a comparative experience but none was forthcoming, the closest thing to it was a bodily smell, with all it’s flesh and sinew. There were citizens manning their stations. Dark fuzz had formed on their head and faces. Their skin had turned and unpleasant faint peachy colour, they looked up at him with eyes that were just a shade off yellow. 3485 leaned over unable to stifle his disgust, he dry heaved, coughing up nothing but spit and phlegm that fell from his mouth in thick viscous ropes. The sight of that made him heave again, and again until he could do so no more.

“Where is your uniform?” Asked 4536 sat at the scanner station. 3485 looked down at his form, the skin around his groin had begun to protrude, his chest had become polluted with a pair of tiny dots. It was almost enough to make him start retching again, he flushed a deep red and trembled as tears trailed down his face, it felt like dorris was there, but she wasn’t. This time the shame and hatred came from within and not from their leader.

A blip caught the eye of 3485, a dot on the scanner, the single dot had become three and they weren’t disappearing. He looked around unsure of how to proceed. The others all stared at him. here he was the outsider, they focused their disgust on him rising up from their stations with fists clenched eager to restore their status quo. At the sight of the gather mob 3485 felt a new emotion bud into his mind, it stung his senses making them sharper. His heart raced faster and his legs bustled with energy, he let the impulses them take the lead as he turned and moved down the corridor at a pace he thought obscene, one leg striding out in front of the other flapping his protruding skin one way the the other.

He ran through the mess hall, where a series of fist fights and brawls were ongoing, citizens lay nursing broke arms and ribs on the ground, others lay motionless in pools of blood dentures knocked clean out, while each fight’s victor proclaimed,

“I AM DORRIS!” drawing another citizen to come at them, fists raised. Each bout growing bloodier than than is predecessor as the citizens learned and remember how to hurt one another.

The sound of the marching command crew came echoing down the black grey and red corridors so 3485 kept moving, deck to deck eventually taking refugee in a service tunnel on deck three. Narrow and cramped it felt like his old alcove, he scratched at the support beams trying to find the wires that’d help remove his deviations. He’d stopped forgetting some time ago, memories began to creep back into his mind, things that had not happened on this station. Unable to hold still with his beating heart he crawled down to deck four the storage and loading bay.

Only the 1-series came down here but most of them were embroiled in the contest of dorris up in the mess hall. The air down on this deck was musky and tinted with the scent of rocket fuel. It was here he found 2365, he sat without uniform splayed out on a bright yellow cargo container, his eyes had turned a shade of blue while his lips had discoloured to a deep pink hue, 3485 felt a rousing hatred stir inside him, this 2365 had become was utterly contemptible, his skin blushed a deep red and he felt himself drawn to the inhuman creature by an insatiable drive. He reached out and grabbed his hand holding on tight.

The tears started up again. Rolling one by one neat and orderly down his cheek “there there” 2365 said sliding down off the container. He plucked up 3485’s freehand. And held it to his chest, smooth and supple. It didn’t burn like the alcove, nor did it sting like dorris, he felt a warmth flood over his body, the tears drying in his eyes.
“Yours are green,” 2365 said.
“Yours are B..b..blue,” 3485 stuttered feeling his dentures press against something in his jaw.
“You want to see something blue and green,” 2365 said. 3485 shook his head and stepped back. 2365 looked back at him still holding his hand. He was smiling, 3485 smiled back.

“Fine,” he said as 2365 lead him down to the only viewing port on the moonbase. From there he could see the primitives planet, a blue green marble floating in a dark sky. They stared out arm in arm watching the object from afar when the space in front began to shimmer, a rocket ship appeared bearing an insignia that was not that wotan's. They turned around, the airlock had begun to pressurise.

“AI disabled, beginning rescue”

Search for the hero: the dim Tower, chapter 1

Chapter 1


Long ago, in a land forgotten, the dark lord's armies were intent on devouring both the worlds and heavens. Only one could stop them, a fabled chosen one called out by prophecy would hold the fate of all the realms in their hands. Their final clash destined to take place at the gates of heaven themselves; Only when the dark lord arrived things didn’t go according to plan. The chosen one was; well, a no show I suppose. The dark lord, deeply troubled by this, sent forth acolytes across the lands to scour for the missing chosen one, so they may be brought before him to bring about the final battle to determine the fate of everything. So too did the agents of heaven send forth angelic messengers to bring the hero to stand before evil and smite it.
But neither side has been having much luck, with that so tonight’s tale takes place in this very land where Urang axeslayer, Magellan Maneater and Simon the bald were on an adventure.

In the mist covered valley forest of Haven there is but a single road that twists and turns throughout. Intersecting upon occasion the river Moolen maw. Upon this road an event transpired, it was one fair, albeit fog ridden day, as most days tend to be in Haven. A trio of seekers were about chasing the chosen one, prophesied to be to topple the dark lord Gestalt. 

Danger was around every corner as agents of the dark lord roamed the lands, causing the general kind of mayhem which if often alluded to but rarely seen. Though in this valley such things are common for aforementioned reasons. They: the seekers, travel in a carriage searching high and low for their quarry. The time is about quarter to noon or as close as one can get to discerning that it’s not quite lunchtime, without the use of a sundial.

“Why are we fucking here, nothing we try here seems to work?” Urang groaned swinging his beefy war axe at a dangling overhead branch. The branch flung off into the brush bring forth the sound of birds, flapping wildly to take flight in panic.
“As far as I’m aware incidence of copulation have been few and far between as of late,” Magellan retorted. She pursed her thin purple lips and glared off into the fog.
“You know that’s not what I meant, I don’t see the merit in twisting my words,” Urang said clutching his axe like an infant, despite the bumpy road he stayed stood up in the open top carriage, eyeing up low hanging branches to take swings at.
“You see no point in poetry then?” Magellan retorted, a noticeable air distraction in her voice. Urang scoffed. 

“Course not, a hobby for queers,” said Urang, the driver, Simon the bald, pivoted round a hairless brow focused a set of deep sunken eyes to give a harrowing glare of utter malice. The cart began to veer towards the edge of the track.
“Eyes on the road Simon,” Magellan suggested wistfully. His stare continued as the horses began to mount the verge.
“Sorry!” Urang snapped. Simon let a slither of a smile slide across his lips, turning back to the road.

“It’s best not to vex Simon,” Magellan said, bringing her gaze, along with her plush round features back to face Urang. “Your next nap might be your last.” Urang considered this for a moment. 

“Orcs don’t sleep,” he said flatly.
“Not the point,” Magellan replied curtly pulling up a set of long black silk gloves that reached to her exposed upper arm. Urang furled his brow running a thick rough nail along crocodilian olive skin. He paused a long moment before concluding,
“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said.

Magellan pulled out a burgundy leather bound tome and began to thumb through the pages.
“Well,” Urang grunted insistently flashing a set of boarish tusks. Magellan’s emerald green eyes peered above the book for an instant, before submerging back to recommence the perusing.
Urang rolled his eyes before a scent on the wind caught his attention. He sniffed wildly drawing the smell to his nose. It filled with promises of honey glazed ham, roast veggies and flowery rich lamb broth.
“Food,” he let out in a low murmur.
“You’ve already eaten, two loaves of bread for breakfast, and you can’t still be hungry,” Magellan spoke into her book, irreverent.
“I could go for another, but no, I can smell food cooking, not my kind though,” Simon gave the pair a glancing over his shoulder.
“Where about?” Magellan sighed, snapping the tome closed in one hand.

Urang scanned the air, craning his neck on way and another, punctuated with a set a grunt like sniffs.
“Ahead, half a mile,” he said, then paused. “There’s something else…” an arrow skirted past Magellan’s head, narrowly missing her fizzled curly locks. The cart came to a standstill as Simon calmly laid the reins to one side, sitting calmly, straight backed with crossed arms. “...Bandits,” Urang finished.
“Hadn’t noticed,” Magellan retorted with a heavy glaze of sarcasm.
“Your money or your lifes,” shout a green tight clade figure stood ahead in the road, Bow clasped in one hand.
“Lives,” Magellan replied with a look of disdain.

The figure looked flustered for a moment, a grandiose pose dissolved into a cacophony of fidgets, he dusted himself off and coughed loudly, clearing his throat.
“I am Sir Crow the green. Here to right wrongs and redistribute excess profits to the populous that originally produced them, so as to challenge hegemony of our feudal state and see our workers empowered in this ongoing class struggle.” Urang gave the man a long stare, face perplexed.
“You’re not green, you’re just wearing green,” said Urang.

Sir Crow strolled up to the carriage his cheeks flushing red.
“That’s what you took away from my introduction?” he asked offense woven into his expression. Urang nodded, then pointed at the man
“Now you’re a red crow,” he said, amusement playing brash in his voice.
“You oaf, how unruly a comment,” Crow stammered. Magellan leaned over across the cart.
“You did just threaten his life, you’re in no position complain about unruliness,” Magellan observed. Crow slapped his thighs are let out a theatrical chuckle.
“You’re surrounded by my fellow revolutionaries, I think you’ll find you are at my mercy,” he spread his arms out the the surrounding smattering of foliage: bushes, shrubs, ferns and fallen logs.

Magellan smirked, “I don’t see anyone.” Simon glanced over, a worried expression showing on his smooth pale face. Crows bottom lip upturned with the crease of on his brow, they weren’t taking him seriously, a fact the required remedy.
“That’s it I’m done playing around with you fascists, Kill the bald one!” Crow shrieked veins popping on his forehead. The whistle of an arrow came from the brush striking Simon in the neck. He erupted into spasm as a spray of sulphurous smelling blood ran down his neck. He clutched at the wound making inarticale noises through coarse rasping. His tunic soaked through with the rapid exodus of blood.
“Someone put him out his misery,” Crow called looking away from the sight, gut churning. his call brought another arrow. This one planted itself through his skull, ending Simons torment.

Urang and Magellan exchanged looks.
“What did you do that for?” Magellan asked slighted with annoyance.
“You weren’t taking me seriously,” Crow retorted looking away, chin raised. Magellan rolled her eyes face glower, pulling out a book from her bag. She sprung it open and began to read.
“What is she doing, is that some sort of sorcery? I’ll kill her too you know!” Crow spat the words at an indifferent Urang who seemed preoccupied picking food out his teeth.
“She doesn’t like people who kill to impress, says they’re…. Melodramatic,” Urang said in a flat tone.
“She has a name,” Magellan sassed from behind her book. The red on crows face deepened to a brilliant purple.
“You’re really testing my nerves. Witch! put the book down or orc dies,” crow hissed, he was frothing at the mouth with a look in his eyes like a rabid dog. Magellan paused for a long moment to consider, eyes flickering back and forth like a pendulum between the book and Urang, real strain showing in her expression.
Urang’s jaw dropped in horrid amazement. Crow prepared to raise his hand and give the order before Magellan snapped the book shut and set it down in her lap.

“Was it really that hard?” Urang asked aghast. Magellan averted her gaze.
“Not at all, my hands were just a bit stiff. I’d never let your life get in the way of my reading,” she blurted the words and when urang’s scowl didn’t dissipate she ran back over what she said. she corrected herself with a raised finger, “other way round.”Urang kept scowling.





“Anyway, where do you get off threatening people for not listening?” Magellan asked crow in a none-too discrete Segway.
“I’m am an agent of the oppressed, a freedom fighter against tyranny, we are a social movement to end exploitation!” Crows fists flew back and forth from his chest to the air in an ignoble fluttering of passions. Containing her amusement with ease, Magellan watched on, stroking the spine of her book as if it were a cat, she cast another glance into the bushes.
“Yes, well I suppose the question is what about that gives you permission, in your eyes, to harm us,” she said. Crow looked at Magellan as if she were slow of mind. He flicked his chin up triumphant.
“You’re fascists, members of a corrupt exploiting ruling class, you’ll do anything to perpetuate your system of class warfare, so we must we willing to act in turn.”
Urang leant over to Crow then whispered in his ear.
“Simon was a baker.” crow slapped Urang’s scaly face with the back of his hand.
“He was complicit,” crow screeched. Urangs face remained in unmarked, his expression unchanged. Crow clasped his throbbing hand with the other, blowing on it and prancing on the spot.
“Bloody orc, your kind always facilitating the capital driven violence,” Crow said. Magellan looked the man over the strange man in green tights with one emotion coming to mind, pity.
“That’s racist,” Magellan posited, staring at her nails.
“At the least an unhelpful stereotype,” Urang followed up. The rush of purple struck back into crows face with vengeance. His lip quivered and his eyes became bloodshot, sweat cusped on his brow.

“Hand over the goods or I kill you. Now!” crow barked. His teeth grated as he drew the string of his bow. Magellan reached into her pocket and pulled out seal and began to twist it round in her palm idly.
“Stop that,” crow shrieked, eying the seal. “What is that thing, some sort of foul witchcraft.” Magellan shook her head calmly with a reassuring smile, humouring the man before her.
“It’s your death warrant,” Magellan’s smile dropped like a curtain. As she tossed the seal to Crow. The green tight clade bandit/social activist thumbled around, juggling his bow and the seal at once.
He slung the bow over his shoulder and peered at the seal, on it marked in silver was the symbol of the dark hex. A single open eye surrounded in a hexagonal cage. Crows eyes shot wide.

“You… you killed the dark lord's servants?” Urang took his turn to roll the eyes and swept back a dangling strand of the long hair, fallen from his knotted braid.
“Or,” Magellan queried.
Crow choked on his own phlegm. “Or you are servant for… The dark…urmm.. Yeah I’ll be going now, I think.” He turned from the carriage and set eyes on the dead driver. “Wasn’t he bald a moment ago,” crow remarked aloud, looking up a tan man with tied back locks of reddish hair and a flour stained apron upon his front. “Even his clothes have…” crow hesitated to finish the thought.
“I told you he was a baker, well I guess he’s a bandit now,” Urang chuckled, standing up in the carriage and appearing to stretch.
Crow turned round to face the orc. “what’s that supposed to mean?” a look of worry crossed his face. He felt a tapping on his shoulder and spun around. He peered into the fog, the panic rising in his heart.

“He’s behind you”, Urang and Magellan shouted in unison. Crow turned around again, face to face with a pale man in a black tunic. His breath smelt of the same broth crow and his men had eaten round the fire last night. The man’s eyes were wide with a hollow excitement, keen but muted in emotion.
“But you were dead,” Crow took a step back; but as he did Simon stepped forwards. Refusing to leave Crow’s personal space.
Crow looked down and noticed blood and dirt on Simon’s hands and with it surmised his follower’s fates. Conflicting urges pulled on his crow, the urge to at once turn and run away from the man before him, competing with urge not to leave himself exposed. he was not alone, in the woods with a trio strangers. His hands wriggled.

“How is he alive?” crow squealed, Taking another step only for it to be echoed by Simon. “It’s more fun if we don’t tell you but I assure you, his is the birth of tragedy,” Magellan replied handing a length of rope to Urang.
Crow took another step his hands becoming clammy. His foot caught on an outstretched stone and he fell down landing bottom first in the mud.
Urang chuckled as he approached,
“it looks as though you crapped yourself,” he said. Magellan tutted, bring her book back out and burying herself in it. Crow moved to climb back to his feet, now overrun with panic. An arm slipped around his neck and held him in an arm lock, He could feel Simon breathing heavily down his neck. He kicked wildly sending up spurts of mud into the air.
“Calm him down a tad would’ya,” Urang said knotting rope in his hands a few paces back. Simon squeezed pulling Crow up against his cold moist skin. He stilled an expression of revolt on his face.

“Feels like a frog doesn’t it” said Urang conversationally while binding crow’s feet.
“Please let me go, this is all a mistake,” crow whimpered. Urang shrugged and turned to Magellan.
“Attacking a band of acolytes was a mistake. The kind of thing anyone could have blundered into, but you’ve been very rude,” Magellan said, eyes stayed fixed to her book.
“I say we keel haul him,” Urang suggested. Magellan set down her book and pointed at Urang with an upturned hand.
“I’ve told you before. That only works on a ship,” she said, Urang looked at the rope once more.
“Tie him to the back of the cart then, it is my turn to choose after all,” he said. Magellan gave a dismissive gesture, returning to her reading. Urang began to drag crow through the mud towards the cart.

“You’re lucky it’s not Simon’s turn,” Urang remarked cheerfully. Simon peered over with an eerie smiled eyes flickering over to crow’s knees while twirling and arrow between his fingers.
Back over at the cart and simon pushed the baker’s body from the driver’s seat and reacquiring his position on the cart. Urang tied the rope to the cart with practiced elegance. Crow looked up distressed.
“Please let me go” he asked, his proud voice now frail. Urang squatted down beside him and began rifling through his pockets.
“Is your father a major general or something?” Urang asked, Crow eyes darted around looking for a way out of the deepening madness he found himself In.
“What are you talking about? How is that a relevant question?” Crow replied, Urang looked at him with stern conviction.
“Need a good excuse not to eat you, ransom might do,” Urang said, his voice grizzly. Magellan let out in a snigger as crow worked frantically to try and shed himself of his bonds. Urang flicked through the content of crow’s pocket emptying then into the palm of his hand. A cut throat razor; rusty handled but with an expertly polished blade, a small black pocket book worn along the spine and a small pot of hand moisturiser. 

“Some man of people you are,” Urang scoffed.

“This’ll set you back a fair handful,” he waved the pot in front of crow’s eyes shaking it like a petite bell.
“I seized it from a landowning fascist,” Crow insisted regaining some composure.
Magellan spoke with words drizzled in condescension.
“Redistributing their wealth to the neediest, that being yourself?” 

The cart took off dragging a screeching crow in its wake. upon the first rock, larger than a fist, they encountered crows head strayed into its path, swifty knocking the man into unconsciousness.
“Stupid, barely two minutes and he’s out cold, we should have gone with Simon’s idea,” Magellan declare before gesturing for Urang to retrieve him from the ground. He did so grumbling.