“The Slenka”
3|0.2.3.4.1.8.4.8
“The forward line is set, my Queen, and patiently awaiting your magic words,” a willowy, gaunt General stands at the doorway to the Queen’s Chamber in shadow. There is not enough light to illuminate the entire room – even between the jasper chandelier hanging directly above the Queen’s Seat itself and the large window to the left of him that lets in the sun.
He, like the rest of his kind, speaks hoarsely. Raspy. Every one of his kind looks pretty well like he.
The Queen spent much of her reign rounding up the wretched creatures, like he, and transforming them into more tolerable beasts. Completely obedient and programmable.
His kind are what her kind call the Chitlawau – the original inhabitants of this land, until her kind took it over many millennia ago. More than enough time for the Chitlawau to forget those days of freedom long ago, instead taking the slavery they’ve been thrust into and foolishly consider it the true freedom.
All of this has been more easily pushed unto them with the introduction of the Owakia – technology that turns any living flesh it touches into a cybernetic organism. It is a cruel piece of Slenkan technology that was present even in the times of the War. It erases all consciousness from its victim, and replaces it with its own – that is programmed by the Slenka. There is no resistance, because there is no consciousness to resist…
Each Owakia looks like a short strand of metallic hair, but once in contact with a living thing, quickly multiplies to overtake the organism’s bodily functions – eventually controlling its brain. Each Owakia has basic commands, but works most effectively as a bundle of them – much like a colony of bees – where each strand does a particular job on behalf of the whole.
The Chitlawau are the commanders, the soldiers, the builders, the craftsmen, and the servants. They were the first test subjects of the Slenka’s prized assimilation tech.
She keeps them all at a distance, all the same.
Standing in the shadow of the door, with his obsidian and chainmail armour ensemble, he is practically invisible – all the better for her…
“Good work,” she manages. In spite of herself, she finds herself grinning with the thoughts of what she intends for the rest of the lands, way over on the other side.
Her dress is made of only the finest of fabric: cashmere, satin, and silk. A corset of lace adorns the upper-half of her body, allowing proper room for her four arms to move freely. A free-flowing long-skirt drapes from the corset to address her long, slender legs. An ornate obsidian necklace graces her long neck, while pearl bracelets gently hug each bony wrist.
An ornate crown of silver rests proudly upon her head. Naturally silvery hair, long and straight, flows from her pale scalp to the small of her back. Smooth but pale skin tightly conforms to her willowy, feminine, surprisingly youthful-looking frame.
Her bright blue-green eyes practically glow in the dimness of the large, octagonal, granite room partially buried into the side of a particularly large mesa. The large, lotus-shaped window provides the only direct link between chamber inside and desert outside.
The Seat looks as ancient as it is. Heavily tarnished bronze is only spared by the few spots where contact between the presiding monarch and its sleek skin is regular. Mainly, it is the jaguar heads that adorn the ends of the Seat’s arms, the seating area, where many an underside has sat, and parts of a flower-like protrusion on the right side of it, where the switch to open the main doorway to the Chamber is located.
A menacing skull-and-sword configuration grimaces at any and all who enter, injecting fear into them with great efficiency. The two long, tungsten-carbide swords, in an X-configuration behind the skull, are said to have once belonged to the first great Slenka, S’thaakhwa. He is said to be one of the very first to evolve from the Yoleukar template. The skull itself is said to have belonged to the most massive Slenka to ever have supposedly lived. A man named Whiisk’ah, who was rumoured to be over ten k’auss’a tall, whereas normal Slenka will only reach around six. His skull has since been sealed with a layer of stainless steel to help preserve its great, terrifying form.
The jasper chandelier once held candles – a long, long time ago – but now it supports a ring of light that shines from within a glass casing and powered by some other means.
The dry-aired room smells anything but. A light scent of willow-wood, the aromatic hallmark of the Slenka, graciously fills the great room. The source of the esters, like virtually all things Slenka, is truly known only to the Slenka. Thanks to the regular crew of slave-maidens, who whisk about fervently when the Monarch is absent, there is not even any dust or cobwebs lurking about on the surfaces and walls and nooks and crannies. There’s not even the expected air of dust and particulates that would make it rather laborious for one to breathe in this otherwise plain-looking living space.
Thanks to the advanced level of the Slenka, not even the sweltering heat from the sun just outside the ornate window panes affects the temperature inside the throne room unbearably. No matter what the outside brings, the throne room remains a comfortable temperature and very low humidity. Again, only the Slenka know truly why this is so…
“My Queen,” he adds, bowing before continuing, “I also have with me the document you require – as you requested.”
“Good,” she responds, “leave it here for me.” She nods to the concrete pedestal standing immediately to his left.
He nods in reverence, and duly places a flexible, translucent sheet glowing with symbols and shapes onto the indicated tabletop. He then retreats back into shadow, bowing a second time.
With a careless flick of a wrist, she waves him off rather dishonourably.
She closes the door behind him.
She then rises to her feet, and glides gently over to the window, looking out onto the harsh landscape on the other side of the thick pane of glass. In the distance is a saline lagoon, evaporating fervently in the sweltering daytime sun.
Beyond the lake is the active volcano Ch’aakia, its billowing pillar of ash tells the prevailing winds. Today, it is blowing from the east, sending the cloud over the foundries and industries just to the north of her current position.
The industrial complex is actually a huge hole in the ground, laden with steel girders which keep the hole from falling in, and serve as bridges for the workers. The industries themselves are implanted into the wall of the enormous cavity. Their fires belch smoke and ash out of the silo that rival the great Ch’aakia itself.
Dug into another mesa just north of the industrial complex is a colossal hangar filled with aircraft and siege machines.
Eighteen flagships, nearly two days ago, could have been seen to power their way out of that hangar and head off full blaze to their appointed destinations. Within each lives a small armada of machines and warriors.
Somewhere in the vast desert of this sun-scorched land are the disgraced remains of the Wewikatwa – the ancient castle of her kind for so long. It once rivaled the great Kawikatwa of the Yoleukara, but not since the time of that Bastard King Minkathnaazrah.
She and her kind have been planning for this for a thousand years, learning from past mistakes, and endlessly practicing every possible scenario they could think of. There is no possible way that her forces can lose now. Not this time…
She suddenly finds herself grinning again.
Roaming Eopeton (J W Daniels) 