NationStates Jolt Archive

By the very nature of her existence, Lorain had outlived almost all of her friends and relatives, and gained few new ones. Given hope by one of them returning to her after millenia, she, with the support of the only two comrades she still remained in contact with, set out to revive an old friend who had been unfairly torn from this world so long ago.

Months of research passed and she was able to arrive at the conclusion that given the sheer time said friend had been apart from this world and his formerly great stature, that she would either have to use terribly corrupting magic or seek out a technological means with which to accomplish her aims which would simply have not existed in her younger days.

She decided to start with searching for the magical means, something she at least had a lot of capability in to begin with. One of her two comrades made a passing remark that day that reminded her that these days, there were indeed some, maybe even a lot of creatures she would call dragons, and that she should start there. That place her companion called the Kingdom, Britmattia, home to a society! of dragons, something Lorain would probably never truly get used to.

Lorain had personal experience with just how..regimented dragons could be, and so she would travel not on her vassal, but with, under her own power. When they reached Britmattian airspace they counted on being intercepted by the local airforce, and so hoped the sight of a flying woman and a giant almost insectile dragon would not cause them to be shot out of the sky on sight...

Of course, this is Ns, and thus weird shit like this is a daily occurence.

As the dragon glides into the Kingdom's well-patrolled and heavily sensor-seeded E.E.Z there are already Hammerhead fighters clawing upward from the airbases scattered among the chain of islands that trail into the vast emptiness of the north Atlantic.
The big aero-spacecraft cruise along at a sedate Mach 7, thundering into an intercept and overtake quickly enough that the dragon is overhauled but a few miles into the E.E.Z.
Throttling back, gray and white camouflage-painted fuselage glinting oddly in the sunshine, the majority of the standard six-fighter-formation maintains a cautious distance, with the leader, aircraft decorated with kill markings, squadron insignia and scattered runes flaring oddly, rolls the oddly-shaped ship closer to the airborne monster.
The cockpit clears from it's opaque blue to reveal a black-uniformed figure, genderless behind heavy helmet and all-concealing flight-suit.
The figure's mirrored visor considers the dragon for some moments before the cockpit becomes clouded again and the fighter moves smoothly back into formation around the monster.
The formation is maintained for the hours it takes the much-slower dragon to travel the hundreds of kilometres from the edge of the E.E.Z., until the horizon is filled with the haze of land, the fighters' manouevering to guide the dragon lower, shepherding the beast over the waves, moving it smoothly toward an enormous island sitting in the vast 'mouth' of the titanic and somewhat lazily-named "Crescent Bay".
As the island grows closer, it's revealed to be a vast port, ships of all sizes shuffling in to be examined and passed onward to the cities ringing the coast beyond.
The Hammerheads move in tighter around the dragon, the odd little formation scudding over the island, manouevering the enormous creature over a vast and odd airfield, covered in various fantastic beasts, the buildings teeming with the billion and one entities that make their homes on NS.
The lead fighter rolls in close again, cockpit clearing as the pilot pushes back the opaque visor of their helmet, making eye-contact with the dragon's rider and pointing downward firmly, before rolling the fighter further so the rider can clearly see covers being flicked off the fighter's weapons' toggles, before the cockpit roils over blue again and the fighters climb away, leaving the dragon and it's rider to decide whether to comply or not.

Lorain cared about appearances enough to attempt to purchase some clothing that didn't make her look like something out of a science fiction movie. Disguising a giant dragon companion was far harder, however, and so she opted to leave him back at the port-something he opposed only a litttle. She may be here for her own reasons, but he wants to explore this place and munch on the local cattle!

He lazes about, bloated and slow from a recent meal, only casting occasional hungry glances at passing beasts. He guards Lorain's possessions like a good pet, though he certainly doesn't think of himself as such. Lorain assesses the local population by way of her own exploration on her quest to purchase clothing, taking in all the sights and, out of ancient habit, military presence.

She likes what she sees, and relaxes only a little. After the clothing, she takes time to learn about the local dragon population by way of what texts she can find. She avoids actually asking the people anything about them, at least until she has a vague idea of what she's talking about...
She's still used to hostility from foreigners-considering her past, and is somewhat pleasantly surprised.

Her journey is made relatively simple, the dragon is immured within the Customs Fields, along with thousands of other restricted species, though, given it's obvious kinship to the standard Draco Equus, perhaps a little more freedom than most.

Hunting areas are provided, along with a stern injunction from the enormous, white, Draco Rex who is responsible for the Customs Fields, that any unauthorised hunting will see he, K'rnnhax the Ivory, beat seven shades of shit out of the incomer, kin or no kin.

As for Lorain, her clothing is unremarkable within the Kingdom's context, tunics and trews are just as common as smart suits, the inevitable mail-and-leather of the Dwarves as common a sight as the autumn-toned robes the Dwerry favour for dealing with CentGov in it's formal aspect, and Muir Island is the single largest CentGov administered territory within the Kingdom proper.

The military, Lorain notes, is present on Muir to a limited extent, the majority of visible personnel in dress uniforms, Marine Corps royal blue or Fleet navy blue more common, with the green of the army being rare enough to be noticeable.

Far more common in fact are the red and blue of His Majesty's Interior Forces, the police force and Coast Guard.

These uniforms are so common as to be ominpresent in every area Lorain finds herself, they're all armed and most seem to be patrolling, the patrollers recogniseable by red flak-vest, mirrored blue helmet and slung rifles.
They are unfailingly polite and helpful to the visitor, if she looks lost, sooner or later, and generally sooner, a duo will wander over to enquire how they can help.

What she may note as unusual is that apart from the military personnel routinely carrying side-arms, the police have the only post-muscle weapons visible, visitors have their weapons peace-bonded if they're muscle powered and confiscated till their leaving if they're not.

It doesn't affect the populace much, who're all armed to a greater or lesser extent, the longbow-and-seax combination most common, shifting more towards swords the further up the socio-economic scale the individual is.

She will also probably note that the more impressive the weapon, the more uniform-styled the clothing, the best quality weapons being borne by people with the various arms of the high aristocracy displayed on their House uniforms, sliding back down in quality and the uniform colour-combinations being rather brighter and clashing.

This all of course applies to the citizens, foreigners dress in their usual manners.
And there are a lot of them, tourists who've come to wander around the almost universally-medieval cities of the Kingdom, N.D.A citizens enjoying their free access, migrants from less liberal regimes than the King's enjoying security without oppression, businesspeople taking in the air before dealing with yet an other round of the inevitably-protracted negotiations with the dwarven-dominated business conglomerates of the Kingdom.

There's even the occasional refugee from a more "liberal" regime, who has discovered that adoption into a clan that won't let you starve to death if you can't work beats the shit out of being "free" most of the time.

Lorain's search for information, and her encounters with the R.B.I.F. see her bounce from bookshop to library to tour-guide to, inevitably, the local branch of the Tower of Silence's mage-order.

The acolytes within listen to what she seeks, consider it for a while, then deign not to help her.
She is, however, told that the dragons who dwell in the far north of Anjou may choose to help her for their own reasons.

After she leaves to acquire transport to Anjou and the Ash Wastes therein, the Ordo's preceptor contacts the Internal Observation Bureau and files a report on the foreigner who searches for such powerful necromantic magics.

Big Brother is watching you after all.

The whole being watched routine didn't annoy Lorain. If anything, it made her feel more at home. Long dead though that is, the dwarves, the feel of the towns and the armed citizens all served to remind her of her country of origin.
Dwarves controlling major business is nothing new to her, and neither is the Big Brother 'theme', but the inquisition was more than just a word to frighten children where she came from. One thing she thinks this place lacks is the harshness of the 'old country', which is still a part of her and has been for thousands of years, something reflected in who she currently associates with. And being a liberal? No such thing. She would be considered some form of a conservative in the 'modern' world.

The Ash Wastes. A repeat of last time? Heh. Haschel would have something to say about this. And his grandson.

She also notes these people carry a lot less firearms than certain other countries she has passed through in her time, giving her the feeling that they had just reached eleven thousand years into the past and stolen her culture. She's pleased, though still watchful and mindful of the fact that she still has a job to do, and that they aren't just going to fall over for her. The actual form of transport there isn't something she really pays any notice to nor cares about. Though with all this particular nations familiarities, it's still part of a world Lorain feels she can never truly fit into or find a place in, which is something her territory bound associate is more than happy to solve.
Uncertainties aside, it's still a vastly foreign place, and she isn't exactly a citizen. As she once said so long ago, she feels naked without being able to make use of her sword, though she puts up with it for the time being, as if she actually had a choice...

Lorain's trip north will be inevitably protected, given the distances involved and the somewhat difficult Bathamian laws concerning air travel and mythological beasts.
Thus, she finds herself, after a lengthy sojourn aboard, alighting from one of the vast trains used for long-haul transportation in the Kingdom, on a platform with a decided bat motif, evidence enough to a local that she'd arrived in Bathame Duchy.
She could have flown of course, but Bathame is a paranoiac duchy, and as it contains vast portions of the armed forces at any given time, CentGov doesn't take much issue with it's decision to ban air flight over it.
Hence, the train.
Even with all the vastness of the Kingdom's interior behind her, her arrival in Anjou is still well short of her destination on the far North-East coast, but visitors heading into the Ash Wastes are required to be vetted before heading through Ravenpeak Pass and out to the empty, blasted lands beyond.
Anyone who doesn't get vetted, approved and issued the requisite token announcing this visitor has permission to be there, is traditionally assumed to have been eaten by the smaller Draco Vulgaris which also inhabit the region.
Certainly, heading into the Ash Wastes without authorisation is a one-way trip.
Hence Lorain finds herself in the Ministry of the Interior offices within the vast and echoing assemblage that is Anjou Train Station.
The duty clerk, a slight, pale-blonde Dwerry woman smiles as Lorain hands over the requisite documentation.
"Come a long way have you dear?"
Regardless of Lorain's response, the woman keeps up a stream of chattering small talk as she enters numbers and compares photos, all the necessary bureaucratic folderol until pausing abruptly.
"Oh. That's odd. I'm afraid your application has been flagged for a lengthier interview with someone from the Bureau of Internal Observation. They've got an office just down the hall there."
She rises slightly to point, unable to keep the curiousity from her face.
Lorain is left with little option but to head into the indicated offices, decorated with the All-Seeing Eye over Crown motif of the B.I.O.
Once inside, an other clerk, this time a human woman, equally as pale-blond as the dwerry, ushers her into an office where two men are seated around an unmistakeable interview table, both seemingly human, though the larger, dark-haired one of the two's slit-pupils argue for some thought on the matter.
The smaller, older man, remaining hair grey, indicates a seat for Lorain to take, then smiles, bald head wrinkling.
"Ms. Lorain. A pleasure to meet you. This" he waves at the larger man, who smiles, displaying disconcertingly large canines, "is Agent...Lacerta, yes, and I'm Agent Drake. We'd like to ask you a few questions about why The Atheist's Reality's former Enforcer of Laws is visiting our fair province.."

Lorain always ends up having to explain, and surprisingly often, but she feels these ..agents of a foreign power deserve a little more.
She has to go into some detail, though she will leave some extras out for them to figure out on their own if they don't already know.
She doesn't bother to sit down, instead staying still as she slowly pieced together some positively ancient memories...

She looks ..distant, for a while before "I'm sure many archives hold my peoples particular creation..myth, but after so many years and due to the nature of our existence, our world, it only holds true for one person in this day. Me. And my personal history could not be told in a single day, nor even a week, month or year, so I will keep it short. I may have a companion or two now, and even once more a dragon, but it has taken many thousands of years after a period of..isolation.
That and I have carried many names throughout my life, though the one I wear now is Lorain.

I give you now the location of my first home, dust and ancient ruins though it is now. It is far from here, and you will find little except rubble there, but I feel only that can ..truly explain why I am here."

She knows what they'll find, though she thinks they're of the sort that won't care. And that at least it gives her enough time to complete her task here.

The two dark-suited men exchange a look, and Agent Lacerta leans forward to stare at Lorain.
"Ma-am, we asked that question out of courtesy, in the hope you'd not feel the need to obfuscate and generally mess us around."

As close as the Agent is, Lorain probably can't help noticing that he smells sharply of brimstone and that there's something disconcerting about the shape of his teeth. Whatever he is, he isn't pleased with her, that much is obvious.

"As you obviously do, let me blunt. We know who and, more importantly, what you are. We know your history. We also know what the creature you're seeking to resurrect is, and what sort of damage it could do to an unprepared enemy. So asking us to go chase myths is not the best way to ensure your stay continues, much less is a pleasant one."

Agent Drakes smiles pleasantly at the woman as his colleague subsides, addressing her in a calm voice quite contrasting to the irritation evident in his partner's.

"Quite Agent Lacerta, quite. The Kingdom is not unprepared, Ms. Lorain, to deal with your 'friend' should it become necessary. We don't care who you are or what you've done, if this friend of yours comes over the horizon toward us, it'll be a decision it, and you, won't live to regret, I promise that."

An other blindingly insincere smile.

"So. Now that that is established, we're not in the business of interfering with the lives of foreigners more than is strictly necessary, so you're free to go and see if any of the dragonkin can be bargained with for whatever it is you need to resurrect your friend. Just make sure you bring it back overseas, or his second coming...will be brief."

In defiance of her upbringing Lorain would have to bow to these people, these creatures. They oozed a sense of confidence and of ignorance in this matter, but she would follow their rules, their guidelines. After all, she knew only the barest facts about this exotic place, and one wrong step could mean imprisonment or worse.
She keeps a mental list of everything she encounters, to avoid committing any more cultural crimes than she might already have, though this distracts her from her mission only a little.
And to further said mission, to keep on track, she puts forth the needed question.

"I couldn't care less if you hold back information from me, and I will find out all I can that's publicly available...but I need to know what *not* to do. If you want me to follow your advice, I require minimalist guidelines.
And finally, I can -guarantee- my friends obedience should I get what I need."

Drake cocks his head, miming puzzlement.
"We don't intend to hold anything back from you ma'am. We don't even really want anything other than you not to bring your friend anywhere near the Kingdom should you succeed in your...quest."
He looks at his colleague, who's eyes have slit in thought.
"Agent Lacerta, any advice for Ms. Lorain?"

Anger and something else, a hissing sibilance, showing as the agent's temper frays, the not-quite-man replies.
"My advyess? My advyess would be for Mss. Lorain to abandon her quessst, but obvioussly she iss...foolish. Ssso, I say only this; those you wish to see lair in the Ash Wastes over the mountains. They are subtle and quick to anger. Be obfuscatory as you have with usss...and your quessst will end. Ssswiftly."

He takes a breath, shrugging.
"If you can resisst the temptation to be difficult, the older of the Kin may be able to help. You had besst have ssufficient...endewsssment for them, however. If all that worksss..then you may well have the meansss to return your friend to exissstence."
He shrugs, a far more fluid gesture than it should be, almost as if his bones don't quite work like they should.
"Provided that you do that outssside of Hisss Majesssty'sss landss, we have no isssue with your traffic with necromansssy. Bring him back here and you and he die. Ssssimple, isss it not?"

Lorain dislikes being forced to be dramatic, but she is indeed so far beyond her natural life that even if the Agent's threats in a debased language meant something to her, she would not care. And so she responds with the utter lack of empathy she has accumulated over the years.

"Die. Yes I'm sure we will. And thank you for your generosity."

Her last thought before she turns to leave for the given destination is
Simple? Ha. That's the most entertaining line these people have ever put forth. They may /want/ it to be that simple.

For someone quite obviously out of her depth and experience here, she doesn't look *too* odd or arrogant. The only real problem she had here was convincing her 'friend' that he didn't have to go on a rampage, and to that end, she would give him a name that tied his existence to hers, a tradition few in this day and age held to with any kind of sincerity.

What she sees next is entirely dependent on what the agents of this Kingdom want her to, for in said day and age noone really regarded her as any sort of demi-god anymore...