RPC-370 - RPC Authority

RPC-370

The Dark Lord

tagnone

4.2 stars

Physical copies of this document inscribed on vellum and papyrus scrolls are readily available for personnel stationed at OL-Site-CA.

A sketch of RPC-370, created by Dr. V. Locke.

Registered Phenomena Code: 370

Object Class: Beta-Yellow

Hazard Types: Sapient Hazard, Extreme Temperature Hazard, Organic Hazard, Regenerative Hazard

Project Personnel Info

Assigned Facility: OL-Site-CA

Research Lead & Containment Director: Dr. Vincent Locke

Containment Protocols: As RPC-370 and all related phenomena are located solely within Cair Aisling, traditional technology is unable to be utilized for containment purposes.

RPC-370 is self-contained within RPC-370-1¹. The perimeter of RPC-370-1 is to be guarded by at least 10 ASF personnel at all times. An outpost has been established 34 metres north of RPC-370-1's entrance, where personnel are instructed to reside when researching RPC-370.

Description: RPC-370 is a humanoid entity measuring 4.5 metres in height². Two 1.42 metre long horns, which each resemble that of a male Ovis, jut from both sides of the head, which are black in coloration, and are nearly identical to obsidian when viewed on the molecular level³. Its skull is similar to that of a Megaloceros giganteus⁴, measuring 0.2 metres across. RPC-370 is covered in a thick layer of grey, matted fur, which has not been observed shedding or growing past 24 centimetres.

While not being particularly agile, RPC-370 has the ability to lift objects weighing more than 2000 kilograms. In addition, RPC-370's stomach houses an anomalous flame, orange light clearly visible within RPC-370's throat and stomach. Embers and smoke are regularly expelled from RPC-370's mouth.

In RPC-370's possession is a large leather cloak, and a walking staff composed of bone. RPC-370 claims that its staff is a dysfunctional "magical catalyst," a "Philosopher's stone" once situated at its tip. The staff is noticeably damaged.

RPC-370 has identified itself as "Malibos Kannocte," the previous ruler of a now-defunct kingdom known as "Great Exaltia." According to RPC-370, the entity belongs to a race of semi-divine bipeds called "Archdragons," which were rendered near-extinct by the Empire during a war which took place approximately 700 years before the Corrupting Wars.

RPC-370-1 is a large sinkhole located 3 kilometres north of the northernmost tip of the Sirencoves, surrounded by the Desert region. Suspended 3 metres below RPC-370-1's mouth is a flat, spacial anomaly, appearing as a wall of spectral fire stretched along the rim of the sinkhole. This anomaly is orange in coloration, and does not interact with most organisms which pass through; personnel are able to enter RPC-370-1 without complication. However, in the event that RPC-370 is within its immediate vicinity, the anomaly will blacken. RPC-370 is unable to exit RPC-370-1, instead coming into contact with the spacial anomaly as if it were a solid object.

Approximately 700 thaumaturgical runes have been carved into the sediment along the spacial anomaly's edges, resembling those found in the Spirelands.

Discovery: The Authority learned of RPC-370-1 after ASF personnel were informed by Taur Ingleic, an elven sorcerer working in Thievesport. After more word of a "Dark Lord" was received by locals at OL-Site-CA, Researcher Strauss elected to investigate the area where RPC-370-1 was told to be located.

After travelling to the Sirencoves on horseback, Strauss met an elderly gnomish woman living in the small, relatively unknown village of Esthir. After a short talk, the woman agreed to give Strauss directions to RPC-370-1.

[+] Initial Contact with RPC-370

[-] Initial Contact with RPC-370

August 12, 2020

[…] When I arrived at this so-called "Dark Barrier," I was admittedly surprised at how big it was. It was almost as wide as the diamond mine in Russia, where [REDACTED]. The sinkhole must have spanned two miles on each end. I got off my horse and looked down the hole. I thanked the Lord that Locke told me to bring my rappelling gear, because it must have been a mile deep at least. The sunlight couldn't reach the bottom, and it was noon.

The sides were made of jet black brimstone, like the kind of lava stones people dig up in Hawaii. It was smooth, as if someone had cut the hole open with a mechanical drill. Luckily, there was this huge boulder next to the pit that I could fasten my rope to. The small lady told me the wall of fire didn't burn, and I tested it by sticking a twig in it. It didn't burn.

Going down there was absolutely terrifying. I must have descended for a good half hour before my boots touched the fortress. At the bottom of the abyss was this stone castle looking thing, with these gnarly gargoyles on every ledge. Straight out of Dark Crystal, especially when this Skeksis-looking motherfucker came out from the shadows.

The rumors are true. Malibos Kannocte, the Dark Lord of Great Exaltia, pranced up to me from the gate of his submerged castle and introduced itself. It even bowed. It smelled like a decade's worth of piss. Of course I asked him if it was this "dark lord" everyone on the surface was talking about. It affirmed, and invited me inside. I was pleasantly surprised to find out that the place was lit. Smokeless torches hung on the walls, and there were four small golems tidying the place up. It apologized for the "little helpers," as it had apparently made lunch an hour ago. One of the golems waved to me. I sat at the table and Malibos poured me a cup of steaming tea. It was green, so I didn't drink it.

I asked him about why it was down here. It kind of stared into space for a moment before telling me: "For my conquests, the great elven sorcerer Alek the Snake-eyed has imprisoned me here. It's a long story, sonny."

I asked him to elaborate on his species.

"An Archdragon I am. And through black magic, the first Spire Elves turned us into dragons, such foul beasts."

I digress. It eventually asked me who I was, and I told him I was just an explorer who thought it would be interesting to come and check the place out. "No mere explorer has the gall to come here," it replied. "Most are too scared. A strange smell lingers around you."

He kept repeating something about a smell.

I eventually told him "more humans would be stopping by." I hope I wasn't too obvious? But it knows something. Malibos has a secret, and I feel like it would serve us well to know. I'm setting up camp near the boulder. The sinkhole is four miles north of Esthir in the Sirencoves.

Addendum 370.1: Interview Logs 370.1-.4

Note: The following logs were either recorded during the interview or written afterwards from memory.

[+] Interview 1

[-] Interview 1

August 17, 2020

Present: Researcher Marvin Strauss, Researcher Gaël Denick

Interviewed: RPC-370

The day prior we negotiated daily meeting times with RPC-370. We would arrive at noon every day if needed, and we'd talk over tea.

When we got down there his golems were watching us. They all were sitting in the corner, inside some pillow fort, and they just stared at us for some reason.

Strauss: "How old are you?"

RPC-370: "I couldn't tell ye. How long 'as it been? Four, five hundred years? I can't remember, sonny." That's another thing, it wouldn't stop calling us "sonny."

Strauss: "Well, you've got to remember at least something from your childhood."

RPC-370: "Nothin'. Is been so long since I was trapped in this gods-forsaken hole."

Denick: "What about Great Exaltia."

RPC-370: "Of course I remember that. 'Twas me kingdom, a place for Archdragons alike to hide from the elfs [sic]."

Strauss: "Wait, so, you were the only king?"

RPC-370: "You people ask a lot 'a questions. I thoughts we were here to talk about adventure and treasure, but I feels like I been captured by 'umies again."

Strauss: "Sorry. Is it too much?"

RPC-370: "I don't mind, but it's obnoxious. Who are ye then? I never knew ye before you came down int' me hole."

Denick: "We're adventurers from another island. The far off land of… America." I had his throat for this when they got back up, don't worry. — Dr. Locke

RPC-370: "America, y'say? Well tell me 'bout that instead why don't ye?! Sounds a lot more interesting than 'is."

Strauss: "Well, uh, what do you wanna talk about?"

RPC-370: "Adventures! Tales of wit 'n bravery! None of 'is slop! I been stuck in me hole for Akalah-knows how long. I'm pinin' for a good story."

Strauss tells it a fantasized story about the 2019 Site-014 Disaster, making sure to include some fantastical elements on-par with Randolph Gowering's whimsical writings, as to make it believable. RPC-370 believes it.

RPC-370: "And this 'America,' does it still stand?"

Strauss: "Indeed it does. It's an old kingdom, but it changes from time to time."

RPC-370: "It sounds splendid! If I weren't stuck in this accursed pit, I would surely come visit."

Strauss: "Yeah, it's, erm… it's really something."

RPC-370: "Wondrous. And what of yourself, small man?"

Denick: "…Wait, who? Me?"

RPC-370: "Ye."

Denick: "Wh— why am I small?"

RPC-370: "Ye're the littlest 'umie I've ever laid me eyes upon." Gael is five foot four.

Strauss: "You gotta, tell a story. Tell a story."

Denick: "I… well, I wouldn't have any good stories, for I am simply Sir Strauss' scribe.

RPC-370: "Yer scribe, y'say?"

Strauss: "Yes, and a faithful one he is."

RPC-370: "Ye pick 'em small, don't ye."

Denick: "Let's not dwell on it. What about you, RPC-3— ahem, Malibos?"

RPC-370: "What were ye about to call me?"

Denick: "Sorry, I stutter."

Strauss: "Yes. A persistent stuttering problem from this one."

RPC-370 gives us a weird look. It squints his eyes, and the fire in his belly starts glowing brighter.

Strauss: "Is… something wrong?"

RPC-370: "A strange thing, I smells."

Strauss: "What do you mean?"

RPC-370: "… Ah, nothing. The old Dark Lord's superstition, I suppose. Carry on with yer questionin'."

Strauss: "Then, why did they call you the 'Dark Lord?' That sounds awfully evil, wouldn't you say?"

RPC-370: "I wouldn't go runnin' yer mouth about me crown, mud-man. I am the Dark Lord, king of Great Exaltia. They called me Dark for t' night sky, which masked the obsidian pillars of its walls. Back in me day I summoned great storms, plagues, with this thing." RPC-370 waves its staff in the air. "Y' know what this is made from, laddies?"

Strauss: "Do tell."

RPC-370: "The bone of Veddhor Waxbrog, old king of the humans. And this cloak? The skin of dwarves, elfs, and humans. Crafted with me own sweat and blood when yer kind tried invading Exaltia. I killed your kind before, and I'll do it again if ye got the gall to insult her."

Strauss: "Noted."

Denick: "Understood."

It got awkward after that, so we left. RPC-370 told it would "anticipate our return."

[+] Interview 2

[-] Interview 2

August 18, 2020

Present: Researcher Marvin Strauss, Researcher Gaël Denick.

Interviewed: Malibos Kannocte (RPC-370)

When we got there we tried to apologize about last time. RPC-370 ignored it.

RPC-370: "How's 't weather up there?"

Strauss: "Hot. A desert never stops dying."

RPC-370: "Huh?"

Strauss: "It's an old expression my mum would use. See— my dad, he went down to Egypt a lot."

RPC-370: "Egypt?"

Denick: "An island! It's, well, it's a big desert, and it's always really hot there. Isn't that right, Marvin?"

Strauss: "Yes, indeed. He would go there to hunt for treasure."

RPC-370: "Any good findin's of 'is?"

Strauss: "My father was never the luckiest man. Rival explorers would always get to them first."⁵

RPC-370: He grunts, then looks down into his tea. "Me thinks a curse be meddlin' with yer father's work."

Strauss: "How so?"

RPC-370: "Reminds me of me own faither in a sense. First king of Great Exaltia. Died of 'is own sins, me brother and I bore witness."

Denick: "I'm sorry."

RPC-370: "No, don't be. Girodos was an evil man."

Strauss: "He was the old king of Exaltia. The first?"

RPC-370: "Before me, aye. Though Igridos, me brother, was set to be the next. Older than I was by six years." RPC-370 spits at the ground. It looks at us for a second, and then pours us another cup of tea. "Ye want stories. I'll give ye stories, if 'at's what you're lookin' for."

Strauss: "If you insist."

RPC-370: "Aye. I remember it clearly; me and Igridos, lookin' over faither's bed. Old weathered skin, like blackened deerskin. Girodos was a tyrant, I'll tell ye. He and 'is legions would go down to the Wethir, time and time again, and return to the capital with a hundred slaves. Humans, elves, orcs. All the same. We used 'em up like meat.

"See, only a hundred years prior, we Archdragons 'ad surfaced from the caves of the Underheims. Our kind hid there during the age of the primordial storm. We got up, and human tribes, dwarf tribes… blokes made of rock 'nd mud. Round us up like cattle, drank our blood. We'se got sacred blood, y'see. Blessed by Armatash.

"Exaltia expanded south, started an empire. Then there was a rebellion. Humans and orcs, workin' together, buildin' forts on the Wethirian isles. 'Twas hell down there. I saw it meself. Igridos was set to be the new king. He was fat, greedy, ripe as a hog. I couldn't bear to see it, but there was no choice. He was chosen to go down south 'n round the rebels up. Took pleasure in torture— see, that was 'is favorite part. Scoundrel.

"S'pose, I shan't talk as if I were any better. I weren't. But faither, he and Igridos needed to die. 'Twas fate."

Denick: "What do you mean?"

RPC-370: "They were monsters. The first dragons, if y'ask me."

Denick: "No, like, what do you mean you aren't any better."

RPC-370: "Yer stupider than ye look. I'm the Dark Lord. Take a good guess. I was ruthless as I was arrogant."

Strauss: "So… if Igridos was the heir, how did you become the ruler of Great Exaltia?"

RPC-370: "I killed 'im. The bastard. Died a squealing pig."

Denick: "Woah."

RPC-370: "General Ingdrok. He made these, beasts. Heh. He went down to the Wethir, plucked corpses and suffering men-at-arms. He and his mages wheeled 'em off to his chambers in Ondruo, where they would be transformed. Bloated, pus-spewing snakes. Humies and orcs mistook 'em for wyrms, the tits. Died screamin'. And when… when me father died, I went down to Ondruo. See 'em for meself.

"Ingdrok, 'e was fat. So I killed him."

Denick: "You just killed him?"

RPC-370: "Spick and span. Didn't like 'im. Looked like me brother. I killed his mages, too. And I…" RPC-370 hesitates. He then lifts his robe and pats his stomach. The glow intensifies. "That's when I realized, I was a special one. We Archdragons, well, ye remember, but we're sacred. When Armatash the Olden slew Abos, he drank 'is blood. Abos; the curse, hand-over-Aisling, the fearless one. The first sorcerer. He's the reason we can do the things we do. But when I drank their blood— Ingdrok and 'is mages— this… thing arose in me bowels. It hurt. But… it felt like a reward. That's when I realized, I realized me brother couldn't be king. He wasn't like me— he wasn't, well, special.

"I then realized that he could never be half the king I could be. So when I got back to the palace I… killed him. Drank his blood. And faither, well, he watched me drink his, too."

Strauss: "You… killed your father as well."

RPC-370: "On me word."

Strauss: "I'm terribly sorry for all the questions, Malibos. We are, how do I say, historians. We came from America a month ago, see."

RPC-370: "No, I understand. It's the part where ye sought me out that scares me."

Denick: "… Scares, you?"

RPC-370: "Ye could be dead. I could'a chopped ye up and used yer blood to escape. Either you lot are as stupid as the 'umies that died in the mines, or ye got nothing to lose back home. I smells it."

Strauss: "This 'Dark Lord's superstition,' I assume?"

RPC-370: "Aye. Let's call it that."

[+] Interview 3

[-] Interview 3

August 19, 2020

Present: Dr. Vincent Locke

Interviewed: RPC-370

Researcher Strauss and Researcher Denick were sent back to OL-Site-CA in account for their lackluster behaviors around RPC-370. I was more than willing to give them a second chance, but their repeated incompetence has reminded me not to spoil my peers. Marvin and Gael will be disciplined in Glasgow.

Locke: "I don't believe we have met."

RPC-370: "I reckon you're with the two adventurers?"

Locke: "I am. I'm Captain Locke, and I am the leader of their platoon."

RPC-370: "Aye. So you lot're an army?" RPC-370 and I shake hands.

Locke: "More or less. As you may recall, we landed here recently after the king of America sent us out to explore."

RPC-370: "And t' think I'd see the day where humans return. Tell me, one leader to the other: elfs givin' you trouble? Hear it's Spring; they're real buggers when it's Spring."

Locke: "Oh?"

RPC-370: "Them knife-ear festivals be scramblin' the air. Hard to sleep back then."

Locke: "Times have changed. We have heard no celebrations from the elves during our time on this island."

RPC-370: "'Ave they?"

Locke: "Indeed. I assume you've heard of the Corrupting Wars."

RPC-370: "Aye. Is gotten that bad, then?"

Locke: "I can't say it's looking up on the surface. It's endless civil war. The Spire Elves have lost their grip on the land, and now everyone's fighting for it. Lucky we came."

RPC-370: "If the king sent ye, I be suspectin' yer looking for colonies."

Locke: "No, no. We're men of science, we mean no harm."

RPC-370: "Fool. Science is the greatest sword of 'em all."

Locke: "How do you figure?"

RPC-370: It pats its stomach, and its anomalous flame shines brighter. "Yer scribes tell ye the story of this malison yet?"

Locke: "They have. The blood of Archdragon mages and your family, correct?"

RPC-370: "So ye really do be scientists. Figures." It takes a long pause, sipping at its "tea."

Locke: "So, this 'Armatash' fellow. Y—"

RPC-370: "Armatash the Olden was the first Archdragon ever born. 'E fell from Ocitanis the Moon 'n slew Abos the Accursed, drank 'is blood, and tha's why we Archdragons are creatures of magic. Simple as."

Locke: "I see."

RPC-370: "Ye all talk the same. Get yer act straight 'nd maybe I'd believe ye, ya tits."

Locke: "I apologize— I am aware of how our American language customs may sound strange to you folk."

RPC-370: "Gimme a break. 'Is how my mages would talk, too. Hated 'em. Drank their blood as well eventually."

Locke: "You killed your own mages?"

RPC-370: "'Course I did. You lot are blind as bats. Maybe if ye would talk to the pigs on the surface you'd know a thing 'r two."

Locke: "Are you feeling alright, Malibos?"

RPC-370: "I killed for me kingdom. I killed me own, I killed demons, I killed settlers from lands such as yer own. Why shouldn't I be partaking in your blood this instant."

I stumble back. I consider unsheathing my sword in case it jumps at me. Instead, RPC-370 looks up at me and grins.

RPC-370: "All the same, all the same." It takes another sip. "Let me tell ye the story of how I was trapped down 'ere. Was an elf, 'is name was Alek the Snake-eyed. 'E and his twiggie gang found a way to turn our black magic blood against us. Turned us into the thing ye call dragons: mere shadows of our former selves. The beasts of yesteryear. Figures t' damned elfs would do something like 'is. So when we stood face-to-face at the capital, he didn't curse me.

"He saw me army, dead. I killed 'em, for they were too weak to fight. Snake-eye knew I was too strong. So he lured me, for I was blinded by seething hunger, and 'e lured me to the dunelands. Used his sorceries to carve the ground beneath me, and trapped me.

"I's stuck down 'ere for years. Started goin' mad, so I built 'ese four golems. Sure they got the souls of me family meself, somewhere in them stone hearts. I build this place because I had nothing else to do. And 'ese two fellows— an ashie and an orc— would visit me during the Corrupting Wars. Gave me all this." RPC-370 motioned at the furniture around him. "Used me magic to make more. But they'se stopped stoppin' by, years ago. Now you lot 're here. Dunnae how long 'is been, but… I tried 't off me-self.

"I don't tell this to any, captain, so savor these words: I realized the sins I committed, and I tried to avenge me people, me land, for what I did in its name. But, well…" RPC-370 yanks a dagger from the shelf behind it and rips it through the side of its arm. It then holds raises the arm. The wound is dry, as if it has no blood in its veins. The cut heals in less than a minute. "Cursed me after all. Elfs, I tell ye." RPC-370 laughs.

Locke: "I… see. What a story. I'm so sorry this has happened to you, Malibos."

RPC-370: "Ye deaf?! I killed millions. This America— is only 'umies?"

Locke: "Yes, why do you—?"

RPC-370: "Damn muddies, too stupid to live around other races. Look at ye."

Locke: "Of course, sorry."

RPC-370: "And there ye go apologizin'! Makes me blood boil!" RPC-370 furiously chugs its tea and slams his cup against the table. "I got somethin' for ye. A scientist, ye say? You'll love 'is."

Locke: "You do? Then don't hes—"

RPC-370 produces a detailed sketch of Randolph Gowering, author of the Cair Aisling book series.

Locke: "You…"

RPC-370: "I see 'at face. Ye recognize him? Eh? Do ye?! I seen this bastard in me dreams, ever since Alek stuck me down 'ere to rot! Who is he?!"

Locke: "I— I don't know, sir!"

RPC-370: "Get out."

Locke: "I'm sorry—"

RPC-370: "I said get out!"

[+] Interview 4

[-] Interview 4

August 20, 2020

Present: Dr. Vincent Locke

Interviewed: RPC-370

I decided to wait a day for him to cool down. I tried again. The door was unlocked, and his golems were nowhere to be seen. I found him in a small room with a makeshift bed and shelves. RPC-370 was drawing Gowering on a larger canvas, this time in much greater detail than before. It either couldn't hear me, or it was ignoring me.

Locke: "Hello, Malibos." I pause. RPC-370 continues drawing. "I thought about what you said last time I visited. If it makes you happy, I'll be honest: I view you as a deeply troubled person, yet that doesn't excuse your actions. Killing your family, and your people, was an abhorrent thing to do. But we have seen that you've changed. You clearly regret your actions, and in my eyes, that means you've changed.

"Nothing can change the past, Malibos. But you've clearly changed. I'm sorry for acting foolishly around you last time, and I hope—"

RPC-370 mumbles something.

Locke: "Excuse me?"

RPC-370: "Ye use words. Like a sort of branding. I read your scrolls in me dreams."

Locke: "What do you mean?"

RPC-370: "This… 'RPC-370.' That's what the crowned one told me."

Locke: "Oh. How, exactly, do you figure?"

RPC-370: "Playin' dumb, as ever. Ye humies never learn."

Locke: "But how do you know?"

RPC-370: "Dreams. I keep tellin' ye." RPC-370 turns around. Its eyes are bloodshot, and its fur is messier than usual. "Yer visits, they… I've come to realize something. The fellow— the monk I showed ye— his name be Randolph Gowering. A lonely human who wrote… imaginary worlds. Am…"

Locke: "That… Malibos, you're real. Now we've seen this kind of behavior exhibited—"

RPC-370: "I know I'm real! I became real. His spirit says so. But ye don't get the point, sonny. Randolph, in his last years. He saw somethin'. He saw the reason we live. It's in the, it's there, in the ink he wrote with." RPC-370 coughs and crumples up the drawing. "They call me the Dark Lord because… because faither's crown wast bestowed upon him by the night itself. Rather, that's the tradition.

"Since the age of the primordial storm, the night sheltered us from the claws of the sun. The sun, as written in our scripture, had created those damned elves. The sun is what caused the moon to miscarriage, thus birthin' Abos, the old accursed. The sun is our enemy, so our crown was bestowed by the night.

"But Randolph, he, he recognized the sun. The sun was there all along, in this… real world ye call it. Is been there since time immemorial. The crown— the blood tasted so good with it on, Locke. It was delicious. The crown of the night, it wasn't… I know realize somethin'. The night didn't bestow the dark crown upon Great Exaltia.

"'Twas the sun. The sun— the sun, it— it—!"

RPC-370 lunges at me, but I'm quick enough to punch it on the snout, knocking it back. The four golems rush to my side and, upon seeing the froth dripping RPC-370's maw, pin him back against the wall.

Locke: "Malibos! Please, calm yourself!"

RPC-370 growls and shouts incoherently. This goes on for a while, before it eventually just stops moving. Its head tilts down to the ground. It starts crying.

Locke: "Malibos, are you okay?"

RPC-370 stutters. It's hesitating to say something.

RPC-370: "… The sun— he saw the s— the—"

Locke: "Shh, calm down. It's alright, Malibos. Are you feeling alright."

RPC-370: "I…" RPC-370 looks down at its hands. "I s'pose learnin' that I wasn't exactly real before was a bit maddening after all. I… I'm sorry, sonny."

Locke: "The old Dark Lord's superstition?"

RPC-370: "Aye, don't get o'er yer head."

RPC-370 and I laugh.

RPC-370: "When I… see the monk, in me dreams, he talks to me. 'E's always so surprised to see me. He, he tells me all about 'ese plans to let me out of me hole, only to be defeated by a 'hero.' A human boy. We would'a battled o'er the key to the Castle of Dreams."

Locke: "That's interesting. We Americans are speculating that the hero gets injured. Did the monk say anything about that?"

RPC-370: "I was to kill him. And Cair Aisling would rot away, and turn into sea-foam."

Locke: "Hm. And, what about the 'crowned one' you saw?"

RPC-370: Pauses. "I don't know. Faither, maybe. A vision of the… sun. Heh. Damned thing."

Locke: "Does it tell you anything."

RPC-370: "Nay. Just stand there. It's sun that controls. There be suns in it's eyes. Suns that kill, suns that rape. Empty things."

RPC-370 pauses for a minute, appearing to think about something.

RPC-370: "When the monk wrote about me, he was inspired by that sun. When he was young he wrote so freely; without a care in the world did he craft the Isle, and me people. But when he grew olden, he finally realized 'ere was more to Cair Aisling. The pen be mightier than the sword, sonny."

Locke: "That is true."

RPC-370: "Whatever blind magic the sun cast on 'm to create me, I'm glad. I'm grateful f'r the time I had in this world."

Locke: "Good to hear, Malibos."

tagnone

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