NationStates Jolt Archive

The Glowing Dark


The deserts of The Infinite Crucible were divine in nature, of that much any man could tell. They stretched from horizon to horizon and then pushed on further straddling the curvature of the earth. Across them a divine wind blew, it nagged and pulled at the traditional robes of the ancient nomads, bellowed through the tarp of the many encampments, rustled at the windows of the innumerable settlements, and lifted the spirit of man. Oceans of the rolling golden sand gave way to infallible crags which fell into sun bleached salt flats from which sprung lush green oasis. The spine of the desert was the Divine Chain, a series of mountains that spanned the whole of the nation, pressing up to heights of twenty seven thousand feet. Its snow-capped tops mingled with the clouds and heavens alike. There is little doubt why the people of the nation felt so strong a connection with the divine.

In the remotest regions of the desert, under the shadow of a towering dune, from which the wind whipped specks of bronze stone, stood a series of white tents. They were arranged in a circle , and the drifts of sand had begun to grow high about the camp. In the center of the small encampment there was a dark hole. It was shielded from the spraying sand by high walls of canvas. Dark figures, men and woman’s whose skin was burnt black and brown by the all seeing sun, emerged and descended into the darkness. They carried many objects, tools and lights went in and great sealed crates came out.

Robed figures patrolled the crest of the over watching dune, guns in hand. Although this was God’s land, sinners still existed, marauders and bandits more specifically. A faint thrum could soon be heard over the eternal wind and the watch fired a green flare as two helicopters with the markings of the CDF, Crucible Defense Force, emerged from the haze of heat. The figures in the gully below looked up and began to hurry about, numerous assembling. The two black helicopters blasted the top of the large dune as they pressed over the camp and slowly descended on to the smaller opposing dune overlooking the opposite edge of the camp.

The two whirling machines detached their large undercarriages and then pressed back towards the horizon. From the freshly abandoned undercarriages emerged twenty one figures. Twenty wore the official fatigues of the CDF, one a crisp suit that seemed lost in the primal world. The suited figure pressed down the dune stumbling slightly on the shifting sand as he went, shielding his eyes from the wind. A trooper in the back chuckled silently as the formal figure was blasted by the elements. The figure was Dr. Fouad Shakir, head caretaker of The Crucible Museum of Natural History. He was not a man accustomed to field work, and it showed in his improper dress. Despite his apparent naivety to the wild, he was brilliant and compassionate, truly one of the greatest scholars of the time.

Two figures from the camp below trudged up to meat Shakir. They were Dr. Lucille Osanne and Dr. Sotirios Andreas, both long time archaeologists. There field gear was dark with the stains of sand and work. Both were brilliant in their own right, and willing to travel to the ends of the earth in pursuit of history. Osanne was not a native of The Infinite Crucible, and she was a good deal fairer and more burned than here companion. Andreas was the son of a nomad chief, he was proud in his own way but was hardly aloof.

The two groups met about two thirds of the way down the dune. Osanne and Andreas both shook the hand of Shakir with admiration... and a slight smirk at his quickly deteriorating suit. Shakir attempted to speak but the wind cancelled him out with ease and he was muted.

“You’ll have to yell to be heard over this, the wind is funneled down through the dunes, and we are on the tail end of a sand storm!” yelled the good Andreas. Shakir frowned and tried to speak again but sputtered as sand filled his mouth.

“Why don’t we get down to the camp!” shouted Ossane. Shakir nodded wearily and the twenty three figures moved down towards the camp now again alive with activity. After a minute Ossane, Andreas, and Shakir entered the main tent. The surroundings were modest to say the least. The walls were lined with large crates, airbrushed with FRAGILE and C.M.N.H. A sturdy computer with multiple uplinks sat on a table made of plywood and cinder block. A couple of bedrolls were spread on the sandy ground, around them a series of chairs and equally basic desks. The desks were covered in tools used to the examination of artifacts. Andreas took three chairs and arranged them in a small circle and the three sat facing each other.

“So as I attempted to say out there, it is a pleasure to be here, a discovery of such magnitude could not be missed in its opening examinations... even by someone as inexperienced with the field as me,” he spoke slowly.

“Its and honor to mea....” both Ossane and Andreas spoke together and smiled sheepishly at each other. Andreas bowed his head to Ossane.

“I think I speak for both of us that it is an honor to meet you Dr. Shakir,” she smiled.

“No, no, the honor is all mine, I am sure that it will be you, not me, who goes down in the history books for this immense discovery,” he returned.

“You do us too much honor, but may I ask one thing before we continue?” inquired Andreas.

“Of course.”

Andreas looked out the flapping entrance to the tent at a heavily armored and armed CDF trooper. The nomads and CDF had never been on the best of terms, their respective cultures and goals clashing over the years too many times. He returned his gaze to Shakir, “May I ask why the CDF are here?”

Shakir nodded, having expected this from the son of a nomad, “With news of the discovery making its way around the country, and undoubtedly world soon enough, the government wants to ensure the site is secure.”

Andreas frowned, “We already have protection, the best there is to offer.”

“While I, nor the government for that matter, hold any doubt as to the skill and devotion of nomad mercenaries,” he spoke carefully, “we feel every layer of protection that can be provided should be provided.”

“No one knows the location of the dig, its been kept a strict secret,” sighed Andreas.

Shakir raised and eye, “Can we be so sure, lets not forget how it was initially discovered.” Both the archaeologists nodded in agreement, it was true. As chance and irony would have it, a group marauders were the first to find it. Their leader initially planned to butcher and gut the site, taking the plethora of artifacts and selling them on the black market making him and his men a kingly sum on which they could retire themselves and eight generations down upon. However, upon exploration of the site the men stumbled upon the burial chamber, and in a moment of divine inspiration realized that the destruction of the site would be a sin not even they could shut out of their conscience. They radioed the proper authorities and told them the whole story. The archaeologists arrived and the marauders were moved to a secure location and pardoned of all crimes. However, none can be sure if the whole story was given and the marauders did not radio any of their compatriots before the government.

Shakir continued, “The CDF has three battle groups ready to move in and defend the position should we be attacked, and these two squads to provide constant protection.... but enough of this, lets move on to other things.” He paused glancing at the rippling tarp, “So what exactly is the entrance at the center of the camp, surely they were not a subterranean culture?”

Ossane replied, “We do not believe so, what is at the center of camp appears to be a... chimney of sorts for the sacrificial chamber.”

“We have not been able to locate the main entrance that they would have used as of yet, there is a great deal of sand down there, but we are making extensive progress,” spoke Andreas.

“The sheer level of preservation is incredible, nearly everything seems to be in original condition!” burst Ossane. The two archaeologists continued raving about the wonders of the site. They spoke of the ingenious technology, beautiful art, and impeccable architecture.

After a long while Shakir smiled and spoke, “I believe I should inspect the interior, I don’t think the inner child and scientist can wait much longer.” The two paused and quickly realized that Shakir had been massively accommodating of their long ravings, and that he must be dying to actually see the site.

The three pushed back into the open air and were greeted with a blast of desert sand and heat. Shakir smiled, “I really think I need to get some better clothes, but that can wait until...” He was once again overpowered by the wind. “But that can wait until I see the dig!” he shouted face turning slightly red as he exerted himself. The two nodded and they pushed towards the center of the camp. They were passed by many dark and wind worn figures, many of whom wore great circular goggles to protect their eyes from the sand and sun. The two archaeologists took similar goggles from their pockets and donned them. After a moment Ossane handed Shakir a pair.

The trio approached the hole and paused. Shakir thought for a moment. Here, in the middle of nowhere beneath a copper dune heated to blistering heat by the sun, through a single dark hole in the ground was a discovery that would rewrite history as all mankind knew it. The three descended from sunlight to florescent light as they passed into the ruins. Hand over hand they descended the steel ladder into the glowing dark below.

Shakir sneezed slightly as he descended the last bit of ladder into the chamber below. He slowly looked about himself. The fibrous wire coils that had hung beside him during the descent broke into a multitude of individuals coils and clusters. The long black threads wound across a worn stone floor towards lights, amongst other things. Long shadows danced with the engraved walls as men and woman worked about the room casting these flickering displays. Shakir looked to his feet and realized he was standing on a raised platform with long groves that ran the length of its sides, like a cutting board. The circular moat broke in two places and moved to the edge of the stone slab and fell to the floor where it continued along towards small holes in the walls. The slab itself was stained a deeper red than the majority of the room, a testament to its years or even centuries of use.

Shakir stepped down from the sacrificial alter and glanced up at Ossane and Andreas who were just entering. He did not wait for them. In a moment he was at the wall, examining the extensive engravings. The engravings flowed across the wall, each symbol giving way to the next the way waves wash over each other. He ran his fingers along a symbol, slowly tracing it as it fell and looped about the stone. He took a step back in astonishment at what he saw. For a moment his mind fumbled and he believed that he had been wrong about the engravings on the walls, surely this could not be a language However, it was.

Andreas approached from behind, “Have you ever seen anything so magnificent?” Shakir slowly shook his head. As the symbols ran and danced there very meaning seemed to jump from the rock. “As far as we can tell, you do not have to read this language...” Andreas paused at a lack for words, “I guess, a picture is worth a thousand words... and there are a thousand pictures here... all working in unison to tell a tale.” As Shakir’s eyes continued across the walls he could feel it, the rhythm and tone, the intention and theme, the story and moral. Everything was there.

“My God... this... this language... it conveys its meaning in a way I have ever seen...” murmured Dr. Shakir.

Ossane nodded, “We have dubbed it High-Speak, however, throughout the majority of the ruins there is Low-Speak.”

Shakir looked over, “Low-Speak?”

“It seems to be a more traditional language, however, it is very... simple and concise,” continued Ossane.

“Linguists have always said that the simpler the language, the more beautiful and perfect it is,” responded the awed Shakir.

The three continued their discussion of language while dashing about the room in complete awe at the words that flowed before them. Through each of their minds passed a single thought, it bellowed in a need to be answered and echoed deep into the black reaches of their minds, “How is this possible?”

After an hour of lingering in the sacrificial chamber the three took the south passage and weaved through countless individuals who toiled at the rock. The flowing speech of the room before had given way to great works of art which adorned the walls. When the ruins had been covered in a sea of burning sand the structure had baked, all the clay and works of art were solidified into history. Shakir paused at an unoccupied bit of wall and turned his eyes to the painting before him. Figures slowly walked down a long painted hall, in their hands mighty gifts of every sort there held outstretched. Two particularly massive men carried a cow that seemed to be trailing a bit of blood, that spattered about the neck. Hefty woman win great headdresses walked with bowed heads and musical instruments. It was an offering to their forgotten Gods.

“Do you know how they got the color?” said Shakir as he turned to his companions.

Andreas nodded, “As far as we can tell it was a complex combination of clay, berries, and other materials we have yet to be able to identify.”

“Berries?” Shakir tilted his head, “We are in the middle of the desert.”

“Yes, but scientists have long believed that this land was once lush,” responded Andreas.

“I agree, that is the most plausible explanation, however, that makes this civilization old, unimaginably old,” said Shakir.

“That would support what we found in the uppermost burial chamber...”

Shakir nodded, “I think it is time we visit that... room.” The two others nodded and the men of science descended even further. They passed through hall after hall of beautiful art, broken up by only more magnificent rooms and chambers. High-Speak was replaced with the angular Low-Speak as they descended. The sand began to pile higher, and drifts became more common as they moved into the new parts of the excavation. As they descended yet another flight of stairs they came upon the last archaeologist, a massive sand vacuum in hand. He bowed his head upon recognizing Dr. Shakir.

The masked figure pointed to a high drift, “That is the burial chamber, no sand in there, it was sealed off.” Andreas sighed inwardly, they were perfectly capable of leading Dr. Shakir. Ossane noticed this out of the corner of her eye and shook her head slightly. Shakir, however, noticed nothing. He was entranced, slowly stepping up the drift into the dark chamber. After a moment he fumbled with his head lamp and continued. The two followed him up the tiny hill. They crouched and entered the dark room, illuminated only by the three flickering headlamps.

Shakir began to tremble as he approached the opened sarcophagus. Bright High-Speak danced in piercing lines across the obsidian black surface, burning itself into the eyes of the doctor. Shakir slowly peered into the grave. An enormous skeleton lay there, it was adorned in the mightiest of jewels and metals. He was momentarily blinded by the reflected light. When his eyes came to terms the magnificence of the find came into utter clarity. It was the skull, that simple skull, that mass of calcium had changed the world. Beneath the jeweled crown there was a simple face that defied all of history. For this face, was not that of a human.

OOC: News will most likely reach your nation. Details will be a bit sketchy, but its magnitude will be made clear.