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Silence - A warframe story


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I've been writing a bit of a short story based upon warframe. It follows two new Tenno who start working for a Corpus to find artifacts in exchange for enough money to keep their railjack and themselves in good shape. All the while they hunt down a Lich who has become powerful enough to start assaulting relays and causing great trouble to the origin system. Based somewhat on myself and a friend whom I play a lot with, and sort of turning our games together into more of a coherent plot.

If its something people enjoy I am happy to post some more along the way, so that this is what I got.  Have a read.

Chapter 1 - The new weapon


Water trickled down through cracks in the stone and sinew. From where I did not know, a bathhouse perhaps, or a water feature collapsing from erosion. It came down in a truncated stream, and the droplets hit my face. Though my eyes were yet to open, nor does my nose allow me to smell, I could only hear it and feel it, and it's cool upon my skin. 

I was motionless. But I felt such serenity that I would lay here for a moment longer even had I the means to rise. I managed to bring movement to my fingers, though, and slowly the paralysis released control of my arm. I moved it to where I could hear the water, and I was soon confounded. When it clashed with my skin, I expected the water to make a muted noise, but it did not change, and I could not feel the water upon my palm.

This was my hand, right? The feeling jerked more of my body to move; I got to my knees, still blind and Anosmic. I sat with this confusion upon the backdrop of trickling water. I could not rub my eyes; I could not find them. I could only focus my thoughts on opening them. 

An emergent vision came to me. I didn't see it, though; its form was known to me as a wolf knows how to hunt. I knew the size of the room. I knew its colour, red and white. A gnarled tree scorned with red warts sat atop an altar, chains dangling free from it. And a glow, pale blue blankets the room. I could see the stream of water; close to my face, it's so clear in my mind, but I still feel blind. There were snuffed flames, I could see the scones no longer burning, but the marks of fire burden them still. 

Old gold from the old empire was lavishly decorated across every pillar and strut; the architect could not resist indulging in opulent gluttony. But it was a quiet place, home to the sound of water from above, creeping through the cracks; a place made to be seen no longer could be, not even truly by me. 

I got to what I could only assume to be my feet, and I examine myself. I am not a man, nor a woman. I took the shape of a man or a woman, but parts of me were decidedly neither. I realised that I did not have palms and that the water never met my body. When I moved my palm-less hand back towards the stream, as if by my will, the water struck an invisible part of myself, making a meaty splash. And I saw further up, more pieces of me were absent. A cloth wrapped around my arm, but I could peer into it to see a spectral pattern on the inside. A skirt obscured by thighs, but as I parted it, I could see they remained. While I could feel them, my calves did not present physically upon me, and the soles of my feet, I could reach through, unless I concentrated, to which I could touch the invisible flesh. 

I wanted to panic, but the serenity I felt moments ago still kept a hold of my mind. I felt human, I no longer appeared so, but I truly believed I was. 

I could smell again, and the room was stale with age, old as some stars, maybe older. I believe it was the water that gives the room a slight effervescence. Wherever it comes from must be grand. 

At the base of the tree, a limp thing lay. It was a complete human figure, but it was bereft of life. I walked up to it; it did not move, but I heard a living thing speak even in its death. 

It said now I hold a mantle no other has yet before it. I was free to reshape this mantle, that it indeed was my own, and the body faded, turning to a sort of dust. 

In hearing the words in my head, I had an epiphany. A sudden surge of identity washed upon my soul, and I could understand my situation with a modicum more clarity. I was inside the sanctum of an old Orokin tower, deep inside some decrepit aqueduct repurposed into prison for that which had before me faded away. And then, as it was a prison, it became a holy place that enshrined its prisoner, a sacrifice to hold back a greater force. Now, upon my eyes that did not see, and my ears that did not hear, and my nose that did not smell, it was an empty chasm. 

All that was once here lived inside me, in whatever form I now had gained. I understood that I saw a tool in the shape of a human through the sense of some other thing. The sudden attachment to its sight shook me, confused my sense of self. But I understood what it is I was. 

Before me, his name was Rell. 

A child maimed by the void more than life had already challenged him. The kind of kind-hearted, gentle soul that became privy to things most men cower to the thought of. I walked out of his sanctum thinking whether his innocence had allowed him ignorance to it or if his proclivity gave him an insight that let him hold his own. 

He was gone, now. Whatever fleeting force remained in his weapon had left, and I remained in it. Still, I was only at the beginning of a dark journey. I stepped out of the sanctum and into the ruined corpse of the Orokin tower, black roots with their blue veins suspended in time, making an otherworldly jungle out of the ancient place. I could feel the predator had left the forest; the Lich who had driven me to seek the weapon of Rell. 

It was a strange feeling to be both blind, deaf and anosmic yet have each sense to its fullest and above. Is this how Rell felt, chained to his weapon and the void that branded him? I had to adjust; it was a passing feeling I would grow used to and soon master it as Rell once had. 



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