My name is Takeus Longclock. I am a techno scribe of Infinity, descended from a long line of proud Takeshi nomads. In search of knowledge, I have travelled far and wide on this planet, recording the intricacies of different cultures and having them archived in my homeland's magnanimous library.
Today I return from an arduous journey from the distant lands of the Meat barbarians. With their reputation preceding them I sailed with thoughts of the worst case scenario. Maneating savages hunting me down for sport. Oshi-leather clad trackers dragging me to their bloody temples to sacrifice to their dark goddesses. I considered abandoning my journey, my quest to learn more, but I remaines steadfast and weathered the mist surrounding that heathen island.
With nary but this journal in my satchel, a few old scrolls, and a cumlock pistol in my hand, I ventured unto the gravel beach. Not long after, I followed the smoke of a campfire. Perhaps my first surprise was that I did not smell roasting flesh. I met two native men, scouts for what I assumed to be a tribe. I was then surprised by how they were not wearing primitive furs and little else, but workclothes, rugged and appropriate for the outdoors. Next was how they did not lunge at me, nor wiggle primitive spears at the sight of a foreigner. No, they stood upright with steel axes at their hip, watching me carefully but neutrally. I asked if they spoke in the tongue of the Global Empire, and they answered affirmatively with only slight accents. So they are learned people, then. I explained my mission, and after some thinking, they led me back to their settlement.
To my surprise, their roads are well maintained. Clean. Devoid of bones or blood. My mental image of them appeared little more than hearsay from terrified sailors. I couldn't help but smile - this was the purpose of my mission, to dispel old fears and help people learn. They showed me to a man dressed in fine clothes, and he introduced himself as the one who maintains their written work. How splendid! My own home of Infinity has a library as well, though it was far grander than that of the barbarians. Still, their own collection was quaint, and their works of high quality. With the help of the librarian translating for me, I was able to read much of their written history. Though I grimaced at the content itself - depictions of deicide, butchery, cannibalism, and all manner of debauchery - I felt an appreciation for their craft as it was similar to our own.
I took from my pack two old scrolls, copies of some of oldest works in Infinity, written by a certain depraved scribe under a pen name to protect his identity. The two stories depicted the Kroniissiah assisting a Takeshi worshipper in coitus with a deceased clone of the Kroniissiah herself, then the goddess preparing a roast out of the body and helping the Takeshi to eat it. It was always a gruesome yet intriguing story to me, and I brought the copies with me to share with the natives of this place. I presented it to the Meat librarian, and he smiled and clasped my on the back heartily. Even with people like this, there is joy in sharing knowledge in culture.
He archived my copies, with my permission, promising to transcribe it in their language and share it with the natives. Inviting m outside, he spoke to the people there. I assume he told the citizens, in their native tongue, of my contribution. Many people looked excited, and were perhaps intrigued at the sight of a Kronie. I wonder if this was first contact between our peoples. Some asked questions, and the librarian would translate as I answered them, sharing the history of my people. I was invited to one of their temples - for their worship many goddesses - and there I found sadomasochist, bloodletting orgies taking place in thanks to a goddess with tired eyes, a perverted smile, and screws driven into her head. I was shocked at first, but the sight still stirred some of the Takeshi blood in my veins. Such raw perversion! I hastily wrote down the details of their method of worship, and excused myself. I was invited next to a feast that followed the ritual, and though I sat at the table, I looked pale-faced at the meat in the intricate serving bowls. I watched them eat, to learn their customs - they eat at tables and use utensils like any civilized peoples - but refused food or drink. I was only hear for learning. I still had rations in my pack.
I stayed the night in an inn, and again I was surprised by how clean and tidy everything was. The seats were comfortable, the mattresses were soft. I paid for my stay in coin where I once feared I'd have to barter bones and trinkets. These people were not nearly as bad as the ignorant fools of the Imperial capital would have you believe.
With these thoughts in mind, I almost drifted asleep.
Then I remembered the meat.
Were these people truly civilized, if they ate their fellow man?
I had a fitful sleep. In the dark, my more paranoid mind, one driven by ignorance and fear, imagined the barbarians grabbing me in the night and taking me away to the butcher. No such tragedy befell me, and I rose at the first sign of sun, tired but relieved. I visited the library again, and learned more of their people from the librarian. The stories of raids are a thing of their past, he assured me. Myths propogated by their ancestors to ward off invaders. I nodded along and kept note of it, not sure if I believed him. I still did not have the courage to ask, where then they got their food, as I had yet seen any livestock or farms. It's like the words got caught in my throat.
After an awkward silence, I was invited again to witness their rituals. This time, I was openly invited to join by a priestess, who had fashioned herself after the goddess with the screws in her head. She was petite, and pretty, and it took nearly all my willpower to deny the Takeshi in my blood and refuse her. She smiled and nodded, and instead offered to show me around the temple. I took note of the depictions of skulls and tortures and butchery, made of stone and not the real things. She led me through great halls lined with statues depicting their myths - the throat swabbing, the red rooms, the baby and the blender... And the raids. I asked if all this truly happened, and the priestess only smiled with heavy lidded eyes. She believed it was real, and asked if I thought so too. Flustered and afraid, I couldn't answer, much to her amusement.
She sat with me at their feast, explaining to me that the meat and wines were transubstantiated as the flesh and blood of their oshis - not literally made of the goddesses. Finally, an explanation. When I asked if it was meat of men, she assured me it was of livestock, giggling in a sing song voice. Relieved to know that it was not literally blood in those cups, I took a drink of wine with the priestess. It was sweet, with fruity undertones. I was coming to enjoy my stay here.
Later that night in my room, I found that my rations had gone spoiled. Without even smelling it closely, it was apparent that it was due that accident when I last left port at the laboratories of Ringo - throwing it out with a grimace, I went to bed hungry that night.
I slept wondering where they keep their livestock.
I woke up starving. Never go to bed on an empty stomach. I felt lightheaded - I didn't think the wine was that powerful, yet I felt hungover. I stumbled out and screamed at the sight of blood caked on the floor of the hall - I blinked, and it was just water. The innkeeper looked at me, concerned for why I screamed... apparently he was just mopping the floors. The smell of steel stung my nostrils, but he said it was just the soap. He looked at me like I had gone schizo - was I so hungry that I had grown delirious?
I stepped out of the inn after mumbling some apologies, but it was already noon. How long was I sleeping? I needed a glass of water to wash out the wine from my system, if it was that potent. I walked and walked - in my peripheral vision I thought I saw some people staring at me, wearing patchwork leather masks - but when I would stare and focus, they were dressed as normal and minding their own business. Though some people started to stare at me, no doubt due to my inebriation. I thought their faces had been torn off, but when I would look, they were normal.
I pushed through the crowd, not looking at the people around me. I was going mad like the clingryronies at home. Seeing things that weren't there. When I finally got out of the crowd of citizens and got some fresh air, I found myself at the stone steps of their temple. Why did I come here? I just walked there without thinking. Was it always this imposing? The face of their ryona goddess smiled down on me.
I walked forward until I was at the base of the statue. The smell of steel stung my nostrils. Like a cloud of that reek was following me. For a second I looked at my hands, and I thought I saw fountains of red leak out of the statue's eyes. When I looked again, nothing was out of the ordinary. Had I been gone from home for too long? What was happening to me?
I jumped at the hand on my shoulder, only to find it was the priestess from the day prior. Despite my scream and my flighty behavior, she didn't seem to think anything is wrong. She wished to show me more of their temple, but in my daze I left my journal at home. No matter, she assured me, I'd just have to commit it to memory. I thought I'd refuse her, but I found myself following along, like I had just blanked out and began to follow her.
The smell of steel stung my nostrils. In the enclosed back halls of the temple, the smell was cloying now. I felt like I weighed nothing at all, and I had to stop to lean on a wall. I asked for a drink of water, but she handed me a chalice of that wine.
I wanted water. Where did she get this just now? And why am I bringing it closer to my face?
The smell of steel stung my nostrils.
I drank deeply.
I return now to Infinity with a clear head, with renewed vigour in my hunger and thirst for knowledge.
Over the weeks I stayed in Meat, I learned so much. Sometimes you're only afraid because you are ignorant. Sometimes what you think is morally incorrect is just a culture you haven't participated in.
I joined their rituals, over and over, and with great vigour. The new scars I bare are proof of that. The priestess showed me how to worship like they did. She was such a lovely partner, teaching me all the right ways to use a blade. Even up until so little of her remained. She always carried that smile. Now I carry a part of her with me forever.
The good people of Meat are not the savages we think they are. If anything, they are an enlightened people deserving of praise. And now I return home to Infinity, with much to teach. With an open mind. With a full stomach.
With a cask of wine and a crate of the finest veal.
(End log)
My name was Takeus Longclock, enlightened scribe of Infinity. My search for knowledge led me from nation to nation, from kingdoms to empires, far from home. It was in the last place I expected, amongst so called barbarians, that I found the answer to divinity itself.
It is in the flesh. It is in the blood. The bone. The sinew. When I came home to my motherland, when I heard the ticking of a thousand clocks as my sloop neared the shore, I felt a fire in my heart. I had learned so much while I was away, and it was finally time to teach my brothers and sisters the way to the light.
I had not realized those who now ran Infinity were so keen on keeping us in the dark. When I made portfall, an inspector searched my ship, demanding to see my manifest and everything I carried with me. Indignant, I explained I was a celebrated courstman, a scholar, that this was beneath me, but he paid me no mind. He took one look at my cargo, that blessed wine and meat, and asked me for my permits. Since when did we need permits for personal belongings? Before I knew it, I was being dragged out by armed thugs, through my own city's like I was a common crook.
I was thrown into a communal cell with some lowlifes, and for hours I clung to the bars and demanded to see the chief scribe. He could clear my name. They know I'm on an important mission, I needed to spread the good word! The schizoronies in the cell with me laughed at my vain attempts, but they were an ignorant bunch. What could they know of my quest? It wasn't until evening that more guards came, pulling me out of that cell. I thought they had come to free me.
I was wrong. The guards said nothing as they dragged me out and down the stone hall, past increasingly harrowing sights of dilapidated cells and emaciated prisoners. When I asked what was happening, the look of disgust in their eyes and the snarl on their lips told me everything I needed to know.
They figured out where I got the veal and the wine. And they were going to imprison me for it.
Such ignorance.
I was thrown haphazardly into the cold flagstone floor of a dimly lit cell, all to my lonesome. I said nothing as they shut and locked the iron door, heavier and more secure than the one I was previously held behind. Was this my fate? To waste away in the dark corner of this prison, never to share what I've learned? Was this the reward for my quest? What has happened to my home, once the bright beacon of knowledge and learning?
I waited hours in the dim hole they locked me in, silent and waiting. I do not know what I was waiting for, but I waited all the same. I could hear the opening and closing and locking of iron gates, the distant footsteps of the enforcers, and I tried to listen if they'd come closer. They never did, not until the pitch black night with only the moonlight slipping past the bars of my cell to illuminate what little I could see.
Footsteps, heavy. More than one person. The jingling of keys. It came closer and closer. A part of me prepared to lunge at whoever it was that was coming, to sink my teeth into his neck and worship the heavens one last time before the enforces rain bullets on me. Footsteps. Closer, closer. Stopped. Unlocking. My heart was beating out of my chest. The steel dragged across the stone, opening to reveal a cloaked and hooded figure with two guards behind him. He waved them off, and if the guards had any objections to leaving an unarmed man alone with, what they assumed to be, a wild cannibal barbarian, they didn't voice them. As soon as that door closed behind them, it was just me, and that mysterious figure.
Truth be told, I did not have the courage to fly at him, to fight, to kill. I stayed seated on that stone, trying to see his features in the dark, under his hood.
"You've been gone a long time, Takeus," he told me. He kept his hands behind his back, looking formal. I think I could see the insignia of the scribe brotherhood on his cloak.
"Do I know you?" I asked, voice neutral. He knew my name, and appeared to be a learned man like myself. Perhaps he was here to help.
"I'm but a humble scribe, like yourself," he said with a playful tone. "I heard of your return and came as quick as I can... I'm sorry for the lack of hospitality. Infinity has changed since you were last here. All these new laws, permits, licenses... But you're not just being kept here for not having permits. You know that, right?"
I swallowee a ball of spit. So my suspicions were true. Was this an interrogation? I kept my mouth shut and kept my eyes trained on the floor, but the scribe kept talking.
"Takeus, you've made contact with some... very interesting peoples. Cultures that the government is quite interested in. Do you remember the Ourobros?"
I looked up at him, immediately recognizing the name. "The apostates? Those heretics who spit on our culture?" When I was last here, the Ourobros were a fringe group of schizos who decried the ways of our Takeshi ancestors, and called for a reform in the worship of the Kroniissiah.
"The very same," the scribe said with a nod. "They've become bolder. More... organized." He tilted his head to the side before continuing. "They've stolen an ironclad and tore up half of the Schizotraz. It's chaos in the correction facilities."
"By the Kroniissiah," I muttered. Word of the happenings of Infinity did not leave its shores, and so I expected some changes to surprise me. But never this. "How did they even steal one of our most guarded ships?"
The scribe completely sidestepped my question. "We managed to fire at the stolen ship enough to disable the clockwork engine and immobilize it. But it's still essentially a fortress guarding the coast of Schizotraz. Yes, we could keep firing at it until it's smithereens... but command wants that ship back in one piece."
I wait in silence for him to continue. How does any of this relate to me or my journey.
"They want to have you corrected, you know. They think you're a schizo that needs to be fixed. I imagine you've had a taste of... things we consider taboo. I imagine you want to continue that lifestyle without the zealots that now run our home to force you to change. If you help me, I can make sure people look away."
"... Who are you?" I ask the mysterious figure.
"I told you, I'm a scribe," he responded with a chuckle. "But it is not important either way. I'm offering you a chance to help Infinity with the knowledge you've acquired, and in return a chance to live in the new ways you've come to appreciate unfettered. Do you accept?"
...
It was snowy, so far up north. I knew the snow never stopped falling here, at least that hadn't changed since I was last at Schizotraz. The waters ahead led us to the immobile ironclad, guns pointing to the shore of Infinity. The schizos were holding the nearest towns hostage, under threat of cannon fire. But never be the one to take the schizo at his word that he won't change his mind. Our boat glided silently across the cold waters effortlessly, silently, as did all the boats behind ours. I was never a combatant before, but I cannot lie and say I was not looking forward to this with a nervous glee.
"We're close. I see a few guards," the burly man said behind me in his native accent. I could see a schizoronie in the stolen uniform of an enforcer, carrying a rifle and standing guard at the bow of the ship. With a nod of the man's head, an arrow whizzed by before sticking itself into the guards neck, felling him instantly. My only complaint was that I was not able to hear the song of his death gurgle.
The men in their thick leathers and furs took the last swigs of their Kronii Milk, generously donated by my anonymous benefactor. I could already see them become more invigorated by it's holy properties. The captain spoke to the others in their native tongue, in hushed tones. When our boat was close enough, men began to swing grappling hooks on ropes up to the ship, and began climbimg it effortlessly. I double checked that my pistol was loaded before joining them. In the dead of the night, it was too dark to see us. It was too quiet to see us. When I saw their leader, his eyes transfixed to the stars, I took aim. The poor sod was possessed by the spirit of the Jesse, I was doing him a favor...
My shot rung out like lightning from the goddess. He clutched his chest and stumbled back, as the captain drew out his axe and whooped a war cry. The meat barbarians have come, and they were hungry. A guard turned and was met with a knife in his gut, twisting and disemboweling him. The slosh of his organs against the floor of the deck was muffled by his scream. Another guard took aim at the nearest barbarian and loosed a bullet at him... Then another... He loaded a third but was interrupted by an axe in his cranium. The barbarian paid no mind to his injuries, simply licking the axehead and moving unto the next target. Screams filled the night sky, drowned out by the merriment of the foreign warriors. The waters of Schizotraz ran red. Their hunger was satiated.
As for myself, I walked up to the fallen leader, hands shaking with excitement. He sat with ragged breath, calling for help that did not come. I drew my carving knife, the one gifted to me by the priestess of the meatheads, as I approached. I believe he soiled himself as I came closer, as he begged for mercy. I was so excited to get to work, I had neglected to slit his throat first like I was supposed to. He struggled for all he was worth as i slid the blade under his cheek, screaming and drowning in blood as I carved off his face. It was not easy, and I was embarrassed at my poor work when I was done. Only when I held his face in my hands did I realize he yet lived - I promply fixed that with the blade through his forehead.
I arose, delighted even at my shabby work. Rough around the edges, but good enough for a first try. I'll have plenty of opportunity to try again, now that I serve Infinity in this new and exciting venture. I placed the face down unto my own, a flesh mask to terrify the enemies of my nation.
The screaming in the ship died down as the shanty songs grew louder. I knew we had succeeded. I turned to look at the victorious crowd, and the warriors all applauded my transformation. Funny, wearing this mask of another's face, I felt like it was the first time showing my true self.
As we descended from the ironclad and jumped down to the schizos entrenched in Schizotraz, to the screams of terror of the traitors before us, I sang alongside the meatheads. I was one of them. This is who I am.
My name was Takeus Longclock. But now, I am Meatronie. Now, I am myself.
(End log)