He wandered cautiously around yet another grimy, weed-infested corner. This place was a maze. Water slowly leaked through the cracked, decrepit ceiling from the soil on the ground above. Kuhrin had wandered into this cave looking for something. He couldn’t remember what it was, and he didn’t care, he just wanted to get out. Slipping on a slightly slimy patch of a substance he would rather not identify, the Matoran regained his balanced, and opted to be more careful. Why couldn’t he have remembered a torch when it actually mattered? Why did the one time he forgot have to result in him ending up in some old run-down tomb?
There it was again. The dripping. Every time it fell, he was scared out of his life, in the worry that something was there. In the dark. It had always frightened him, since he was a child, since the days of being too scared to get up and go to the toilet, to the days of being too scared to get his Bamboo Disk from under his bed, in the days when he was at home. Warm. Safe. Now where was he? He didn’t even know. Who’s dumb idea was it to leave a cave in the woods anyway? Where people camp. Shouldn’t places like this be fenced off? Why did his Captain decide to bring him camping. ‘A good way to bring the Guardsmen together,’ the Captain had said, to ‘create a bond,’ which really worked well didn’t it?
He could swear something moved that time. He didn’t know what it was, but it was there, he saw it, it had to be, it wasn’t a trick of the light, he didn’t even had a torch, there were only a few tiny little holes in the ceiling down here anyway. Something moved. However, it could just be a plant blowing in the chilled breeze, or a cloud going in the way of the moon or-
A rat. It could be a rat. Rats in the dark. Rats in the cold blackness beneath a moonlit forest. What could possibly be worse? Then he noticed something. The dripping had stopped. He looked up. And what he saw horrified him.
Lord Vetma’s footsteps echoed throughout the stone halls of his island fortress as he strode briskly, cape flowing and Wormtongue in tow, to the laboratory in the deepest chasms of his citadel. Dark, metallic purple armour adorned the Vortixx’s tall frame, and over his heartlight was a glowing violet, star-shaped gem. His face was hidden behind a cloak of shadow; all that could be seen was the eerie glow of his monstrous, ruby red cycloptic eye. Yet his servant, Readra, more commonly known as Wormtongue, was anything but tall, grand and frightening. His face, too, was shrouded in shadow: Vetma’s shadow, to be more specific, as he cowered, hunched and sickening to the eye, slithering along behind his master. Rotting teeth barred in a mad grin of utter adoration of the Lord, it wouldn’t be a surprise for one to disbelieve the fact that they were, in truth, the same species, just at opposite ends of the social spectrum.
If there were any sounds beyond the Two Vortixx’ feet, Lord Vetma’s voice would have pierced them all as he spoke in a chilling tone, “What were the results of the experiments? Has it brought me any closer to my goals?”
Readra was not entirely sure how pleased Vetma would be with the truth, but decided he would receive a far worse punishment for lying, “Unfortunately not, my liege. Most of the test subjects did not survive the energy inductions or Protodermis baths.”
“Most? What of the rest?”
“They... They are in no fit state for further experimentation.”
“How disappointing. Incinerate them.”
“Of course, your highness.” Readra scratched something on to a tablet, before turning back to his master, “There was one, however, that proved... Particularly resilient.”
“Oh? And who might this have been?” Lord Vetma questioned, inclining his head in interest.
“A Ga-Matoran named Solia, sire.”
“A Ga-Matoran? Fascinating.”
A door ahead of them slid open in response, revealing a chamber of complete darkness, other than a dim spotlight that lit up a podium in the centre, on which lay a struggling Toa of Water. The first thing Lord Vetma noticed was that she was only slightly bigger than a Matoran, a side effect of the experiment. She was also very young, which would be useful for the years of training the Vortixx had in store for her.
Readra took his place in the corner, whilst Vetma paced around the little splodge of light in the centre of the room, gazing at his work.
“Can she hear me?” said he, without turning around.
“She might still be in shock. Keep in mind that she has only recently awoken.” Readra croaked from his corner.
Vetma stepped into the light so the Toa could see him, “Hello, Solia.” he greeted, “How do you feel?”
“Do you know me?”
“Speak.” he enforced.
“You are... Lord Vetma.” Solia replied hesitantly.
Vetma smiled and stepped back into the darkness, “Wormtongue! Come. We have much to do. Make sure Solia here receives the right... Hospitality.”
Later that day the tyrant was standing on a balcony overlooking Xia. Were it not for the tremendous levels of pollution in the sky, Vetma would be able to see the sun setting, and he knew it. He came here every day, to spend some time alone, and dwell on the past. Memories were usually brief and flavoursome, but today, his recollection was that of all that had brought him to this day. All that had made him the ruler he was, and that had placed the power in his hands to perform his experiments.
A tragic past, one that haunted him every waking moment of his life.
A tale of family.
A tale of vengeance.
A tale of oppression.
Edited by Wotsiznaim, Mar 18 2012 - 06:34 AM.