The Bad, the Ugly and Mao [Mao please]

[Tarot]

Winter, 510 AV (you decide the day) Some time earlier Zyvan gave a smirk upon finding what he'd been looking for. They'd called him paranoid, delusional even. But in the end he'd read the ancestors' Web better than anyone in the Pavilion. The tiny rough spot no-one else wanted to acknowledge truly existed, it just took a little digging to bring it up. Zyvan threw down the shovel and started scratching the soil with his bare hands as the excitement of the finding built up inside him. "See, Shaebar? I'll show them. I'll show them all." Behind him, his Strider gazed nervously at the digging site, restless throughout the lonely expedition. The Drykas' shovel had unearthed something big, something of metal and stone. It took the man about two bells to uncover what looked like the top of an old structure. Stone mized with metallic panels in a style that was obviously pre-Valterrian. It even had faded numbers painted on it. Before long, he found the unmistakable outline of a door of some kind. "We hit it big this time, Shaebar. Real big. If I bring back whatever we find in here we're gonna have status, glory, money. I can finally get myself a wife... even two or three!" He chuckled while the horse's impatience grew and only its natural bond to the rider kept it from just backing away from the site. Zyvan slid the shovel into a gap in the door and tried to pry it open, but it didn't give way. Even after so long, the shelter was performing its job admirably. Zyvan cussed and kicked the iron door. It had no visible handle. He tried to bash it down with a charge, but he bounced back under Shaebar's agitated eyes. The Drykas pulled himself on his feet and growled at the door. "Open, dammit!" he yelled in frustration. After a long moment, the door talked back in a steely monotone. 'This is Shelter 31, located in the Fruzyak municipality. You are connected with "One", Supervisor for this shelter. Can you provide identification?' "I am Zyvan, from the Synquist Pavilion," the Drykas said, confused that a door should be talking to him. Then again, anything was possible with these ancient relics. 'Neither you nor your affiliation are in One's knowledge bank,' the thing replied, 'Outside conditions seem capable of comfortable life support. Releasing locks.' "That's what I wanted all along!" Zyvan whined as the door swung open. It was dark inside, the air stale, but the obsessed Drykas would have braved any danger. What his courage alone couldn't, the mental image of three beautiful wives could. "Wait for me here, Shaebar. I'll be back in no time!" And down into the blackness he went. Shaebar already knew he wouldn't be back, but the man couldn't read the desperate sign in his Strider's behavior. Five minutes later there was a scream. "To all personnel: medical assistance required," said the door. **** It was just Mao and the Sea of Grass now. Hunting was a game she never got tired of, and while there may be times when she had to watch out lest she become a prey herself, it was by and large an enjoyable way to kill some time and wildlife. Today, it wasn't going too well for the Kelvic; besides a small rabbit that made her more hungry than before, no preys worth chasing had crossed her path. Two bells before sunset. It wasn't looking too bright, until something reached her nostrils first and her pupils later. There was a horse, a Strider, in the distance. Alone, and seemingly frightened - so frightened that it had taken no notice of someone watching him. It couldn't have been a wild horse, for it wore the typical yvas of the Drykas as well as the companion breast collar. Such a horse without its rider and in such a state of fright would not last long in the Sea of Grass. It would have been surprising if it survived the next day unless a Drykas or an Akalak found it. But neither could be seen right now - only Mao. Was it an object of curiosity, a meal, or both?

[Mao]

70th Winter Perhaps it was just her inner instinct telling her to get off her lazy ass and find a suitable meal that didn‘t consist of solely rabbit feet. Perhaps the Kelvic just had to extend her hunting range beyond limits of Riverfall. Being stationed near Sanctuary was becoming an issue, what with the majority of the wildlife, she gathered, was already aware of the presence of a predator in the area. It wouldn’t have been a surprise to know that they all migrated to safer land. Somewhere where she was not. How annoying. And now she padded relatively in silence. Her head held slightly above the grass that was so easily crushed beneath her strong paws. The day was already bleak enough as it was, and now, without a whiff of potential prey in sight, Mao had half the mind to shimmy her tail back home. Home. Hah! Silly notions. And yet, as soon as the jaguar turned in the direction of Sanctuary, the wind finally agreed to be generous to the cat, and the scent of a horse reached her nose. Her head whipped around, and as she prowled closer to the source of the scent, the kelvic finally caught sight of the animal. Closer and closer Mao moved, barely disrupting the soil beneath her paws, and utilizing the grass to her advantage. The wind was on her side, and the horse, no, the strider seemed far too preoccupied to notice her coming. But this was a strider. A damned strider! And Mao knew, she had engaged enough Drykas to know it was one of their silly pets. How many had she run down in her stay here? But she was a changed woman -- cat. Or so others believed. There still lingered the traces of hate and fury and violence, and her instincts were still fresh. She knew meat when she saw one, but she also knew the telltale signs of agitation, one that wasn’t caused by herself. Was there another predator here? The scent should be on the breeze, and yet all she could smell was the strider. So tantalizingly delicious, she could already picture her fangs wrapped around its skull. It willed her legs forward until she was positioned several feet behind the strider, crouched low, legs tensed and eyes locked onto the target. But even as she sprung from her position, powered by powerful muscles, even as she hooked her claws into the striders shoulders and tackled it to the ground, she did not go for the kill, her jaws latched onto its shoulder, her legs hooked onto its flank, and she held him there, using her entire body. Why does he linger when there is nothing here? Where could his rider be? Surely the rider would appear after hearing the sounds of an attack on his companion, perhaps even the roar of a jaguar if she had been struck by a hoof! This was ultimately what Mao wanted, driven by her curiosity, and by her morbid view of entertainment. But even in the heat of a kill, another scent filled her nose. Metallic, unfamiliar, old. Her body, so latched onto the strider as it was, giving no qualms about allowing it to slowly ooze to death was temporarily distracted by the sight smell. Foreign! It was foreign in her hunting range!

[Tarot]

It was all too easy, so much so that it probably didn't feel anywhere satisfying enough. The Strider must have been distracted, or perhaps just scared out of its equine wits, for it barely even reacted as Mao pounced on it. It mounted some basic defense then, but it was too little too late. The Kelvic's claws had opened an artery and it would die within chimes. Its desperate neighs attracted absolutely nothing. No rider came into view, alerted by the sounds of the assault. There was some smell of human, though. It still lingered around the horse, as if it had been ridden not long ago. As the horse's convulsions became weak and feeble, her claw wet with warm blood, Mao finally noticed something perhaps half a mile East of her current position. It was like an improvised digging site. It was only noticeable because the grass surrounded it on all sides and something glimmered in the sunlight… metal, just like she'd smelled. The Strider lifted its head one more time, as if to look in that direction. It was the last thing it ever did, for the head fell back on the grass and the creature was dead. The digging place seemed to hold far more promise than the prey, though: it looked as if someone had dug out a section of the topmost portion of some metallic structure, and some kind of entrance with it. Whatever it was, the darker blot in the middle suggested that the entrance was open and led directly inside. Maybe this was where the rider had gone. If so, the he might not have heard the commotion at this distance and down in the bowels of the earth. Yet Mao could still smell the fear on the horse's flesh. Striders were known for their loyalty to their riders; would one just venture away without reason? While the Kelvic still pondered the oddity of her discovery, something else caught her nostrils. It was a very faint smell, difficult even for her to identify from here. Something stale, yet pungent. It came from the digging site, no doubt about that. Maybe the entrance had been closed for such a long time that the smell was now spreading out in the open. It smelled like death, yes. Mao knew that smell. Old death.

[Mao]

The hunger seemed to sate itself with the overwhelming scent of the strider’s blood. The kelvic wasn’t starving, but she wasn’t fully satisfied either. The taste of flesh was fresh in her mouth, but held no sway over her mind in the wake of something curious not so far away. The metallic scent she’d caught on the wind, now mingled with something more as the breeze swept the essence of the fresh kill into the air. It was taunting her! The phrase so well known as “curiosity killed the cat” would surely come to pass one day, for Mao held too much of that mindset to keep herself from trouble for long. Today would not be a day of safeguarding the boundaries of Sanctuary. She wandered far, and what she could not see but perceived through smell tugged at her strings far more effectively than visual stimuli. So once the strider had ceased its flailing and passed its final glance toward the metallic oddity, Mao unhinged herself from it and stood, passing a pink tongue over her maw and fangs. The smell of human was what drew her. He must have disappeared underground. He was not hidden among the grass where his scent would have been so painfully easy to detect. She crouched low, eyes set just above the range of the swaying green stalks, the digsite gradually coming into view. The black hole of an entrance seemed more like the gaping jaws of a giant fiend than any real doorway leading beyond. She could see nothing, and she could not help but wonder what kind of fool would venture into the unknown. Little did Mao know the fool was in her as well! Death was familiar too her, all too familiar. She was the bringer of death, she was born from death. Death was ingrained into her mind and in her scent perception long before she became a killer. She knew the smell, and she did not shy away. Mao stepped closer. He ventured into the mouth of Death. If the dumb Drykas could do it, why couldn’t she? Kavala was not here to stop her… She was free to do as she wished! And what did she wish? To find this less-than-intelligent Drykas man and haul him back to the surface? It seemed like despite the effects of the iggatani, she always felt in a constant state of chaos with her decisions. A growl of irritation escaped her. As if to defy the very thing she was in her core, Mao willed herself forward, cautiously, into the heart of darkness.

[Tarot]

Maybe this wasn't meant to be Mao's lucky day after all. Entering ancient bunkers from ages past was never something a well-behaved Kelvic tended to do on any regular basis. Even with the cat's instinct bringing forth the ancestral fear of being trapped in a confined space, Mao still ventured forth and into the darkness. The thing with instinct was that it existed for a reason - namely, to keep a cat from actually getting trapped somewhere without a clear escape route. And naturally, the metallic door slammed shut right after the Kelvic passed through, trapping her in. An artificial voice echoed through the walls. "Contamination detected. Restoring isolated environment." Which was fancy for 'closing the door, and you're screwed'. Mao could throw herself at the door with all her might, it wouldn't accomplish anything. Tooth and claw could nothing against pre-Valterrian metalworking. "Welcome to Shelter 31," the voice continued, ethereal in its genderless monotone. "Your aura signature does not match any race in One's knowledge bank. Still, One is compelled to offer you shelter as per Law 48/5125 on the Natural Rights of Sentient Races. No matter the background of savagery and bestiality you probably come from, you will be treated with the utmost humanity and respect. Citizens of the Suvan Empire are not eligible for natural rights status under this law." It was just a long, dark corridor. Decorative suits of armor were lined up on either side of the slightly descending path. Panels on the ceiling provided some minimum amount of glowing blue lightning; not much, but enough for Mao's keen senses to find her way around after her eyes got used to it. "Shelter 31 was designed with its users' safety as its top priority. Please watch your step for the dead body in front of you." A human corpse was lying across the corridor, still warm. Male. Drykas. The smell of Strider still clung to him, marking him as the rider of the lost stallion. He was very dead now, his head half-decapitated and barely attached to the neck. Too messy for a blade. A pool of cooling blood had formed around the mutilated head. Bloody human footprints could be seen nearby the body and fading into the dark corridor ahead. Mao may want to spend some time reflecting on curiosity and the wisdom of listening to old sayings now.

[Mao]

oocSorry! I'm bad. Locked in. It should have been obvious. The door slammed, and instantly the metallic scent of her now-prison smashed against her senses in combination with the unsettling sound of the invisible source of the voice. It didn’t sound human. Monotone; devoid of emotion so easily sensed in humans and beings she’d met on her excursion through her travels. But at least Mao understood it, just as she understood that she was now as petched as she‘d ever been. A rat stuck in the mouse-trap. As it was explaining the purpose of this metallic shykehole, Mao noticed the corpse before it had even mentioned it. Pitiful. The Drykas she had supposedly decided to search for and retrieve had already been slain! Now that he was dead, what was her objective? She approached and nudged the head with the tip of her nose, slightly off-put by the stench of death. It wasn’t helping that her inner wild cat was growing increasingly claustrophobic from the compact walls and the less-than appealing decor. Run back, she did, in a split instant of cracking under pressure. Slamming her large feline body against the sealed door, over and over for several chimes. She couldn’t breathe. Breathe. She couldn’t breathe. Why was this happening now? Because it felt like the cage! But it wasn’t a cage. It wasn’t a cage. The slams and claws and growls subsided, and slowly, Mao lowered herself to the floor with labored breaths. In a flash of pinpoint lights the body of the cat disappeared to reveal the body of a girl, who glanced up as if expecting to see the source of the voice that spoke to her earlier. “Let me out.” She growled, “This was a mistake. I don’t need safety, or protection, and this place is not obviously safe if there’s a dead corpse in the middle of your petching hallway.” Her last words came out in a hiss, but Mao didn’t expect for the voice to respond. After all, there was no indicator as to whether or not it was actually benevolent or malignant. So she stood, on shaky legs, and approached the dead corpse of the Drykas man once more, only this time, she noticed the footprints leading away from the Drykas and into darkness. So it was a murder. Murder in a sealed “shelter” meant for safety. The Drykas had entered, so why was it that when he entered the door remained open? Or perhaps it was his death that opened the door. Morbid, and curious, but it left a lump in Mao’s throat that was all too unwelcoming. The best chance she had was to kill what had slain the Drykas and hope, by shedding its blood, the door would open. The decision was made, and in the next few seconds, the jaguar’s body now stood over the dead human, and proceeded into the corridor, hoping to pick up the scent of the murderer and ambush it before it had a chance to slice her head off.

[Tarot]

The voice gave a terse, if void and impersonal, answer to Mao's orders. "Unfortunately, One is unable to comply. One will review outside conditions in one month and possibly remove the lockdown at that time. You may appeal to the Shelter Leader to reverse this decision, however, there has not been a Shelter Leader in approximately 495 years. According to procedure, in the absence of a Shelter Leader, One's decisions may only be reversed by unanimous consensus of all Shelter dwellers." So, the bottom line here was, either wait one month and hope this thing changes its mind, or get everyone to agree to open the door. The problem with the first option, the way this abandoned place looked like, with Mao's paws moving clouds of dust with every step, it didn't encourage her hopes of finding edible food or water. The problem with the second option, well, there was a dead man on the floor. And so, Mao ventured deeper into the corridor. It was narrow and sloping downward before it actually turned into long-stepped stairs. It had been built into the earth, being just a little metal cabin on the surface but progressively getting bigger as one went further down. There was less metal and more stone as Mao continued, and the bloody footprints were starting to get faint from lack of gory paint. After half a minute of this, the descent came to an end with a spacious room that must have been a communal space of sorts. A dim blue light, of obvious magical origins, started glowing on the ceiling as Mao stepped in. "Welcome to the Social Room," said One's voice, coming from every wall. "Here you can meet and greet your fellow Shelter refugees. When living in a shelter, it is important to maintain an open and communicative state of mind." The room was a mess. Once, there had been chairs and benches, but they all lay in disarray now, ranging from the splintered and bloodstained to the utterly broken. Many fights had taken place in these walls of rock, some older and some quite recent. Claw marks on the walls. Cracks on the floor tiling. "You should proceed down the corridor in front of you and head to the decontamination area," said One's voice, "your exposure to the outside world makes you a threat to your fellow Shelter refugees." Three corridors branched off the Social Room. One straight in front of her, where she had been told to go. One on the left, and one on the right. Mao thought she saw a hint of motion somewhere to the left, and the stench of blood didn't escape her sensitive nose. "Remember: the keys to peaceful co-existence in an enclosed space are goodwill, respect and harmony. We are Alaheans. We care."