Here is an ongoing story I have been writing, with the intention of it being a Novella called - Night In The Western Wastes.
I used November as a way to participate in NaNoWriMo, I did think I'd have this finished by the end of the month, but here we are in December and I'm still chipping away at it. I don't mind that though, because I am enjoying the story and characters.
A steel door in the darkness lay before them. Behind was the constant noise of the people who worked in this terrible place. Much deeper were the machines churning, and closer than it all was their escort. A Human with a tendency to snort, cough, and splutter as he hobbled along. M'Trada could feel his eye on him, and it made his scales itch. The man - clearly - wasn't fond of washing, and more so than that - he may have had some sort of, potentially, infectious disease from working with the substance Oridium for so long. If he didn't, he had no excuse then, for being such a wretch, leaving mucous trails behind him wherever he walked.
The door was just as dusty as the rest of the place. Just as rust-covered too. There were lights on either side of the door, but they weren't active. One light fitting was hollowed out; broken. The other was together but powered off. What was active in their stead, were red emergency lights just below them, which pulsated slowly and cast dim light on throughout the tunnel.
M'Trada looked at Arien, who came to a halt at a console to the left of the entrance.
"Who's there?!" A fiery voice shouted through the small - waist height - device.
"I'm Arien. Arien Dering." She replied, in a similar tone, albeit, more controlled. "I work on behalf of Crovin, of Sin. You're expecting us." She continued.
"Who's we?" The voice came back, a bit more reserved this time.
"This one here, his excellency. This," the man stopped to spit, "Trisken."
"Ah, is that you, Gael Vassar?" The voice came back, curious, and far more calmed.
"It is. I escorted them from their transport ship." The man said as if expecting praise. He shuffled forward, bumping into M'Trada as he passed. "I brought them directly to you. No deviations." He grunted at the end of his sentence, as he snorted a mass of snot and then proceeded to swallow it. M'Trada could almost taste the salt.
"Good boy, Gael. You're a good boy." The voice came back once more. The person spoke as they would to a hound who had done well. "Are they safe?"
Gael turned and gave a side eye to M'Trada as he stared him up and down slowly, and then back to Arien, who he stared up and down far slower. "They seem okay," he finally evaluated.
The doors slid open lazily. Jamming occasionally. The steel squealed throughout the process of opening, and a horrible clunking boom happened as they were half open.
"Well go on then, get in. Don't keep his excellency waiting." Gael shouted, and hobbled forward, faster than he had moved before.
Inside, the room was bright. But, it was just as dirty and grimy as anywhere else in this place. Beneath the filth, the decorative room seemed to be nice. Expensive even, at one point at least. The more M'Trada stared at the place, the more he got the feeling that it was some sort of palace, that had been squatted for decades. The beauty that used to be here rotted away slowly, leaving behind an echo of the past, and showed only a shadow of its previous self.
People stared at them as they walked forward, following Gael, who was by now leading the charge to bring them to 'His Excellency' as he had been referred. Arien had eyes forward, not looking around, but M'Trada couldn't help to keep his eyes on the room, and those who dwelled in it. He did his best not to stare too closely. It was clear that there were more than a few armed guards, in full battle armour. More surprising as that, there were dancers of both genders, scantily clad entertainers who wouldn't be out of place in a club, but here, it seemed strange. There were servants too. Nobody seemed anything like Gael or the people he had seen previously. The ones here stood straight, heads held high and seemed to be well groomed.
"What is this place, Arien?" M'Trada asked her in a low whisper.
"The Oridium mines." She said coldly, maintaining eye contact straight ahead.
Before them, the path stretched on, directly to a large throne of sorts which lay on a plateau at the top of a large flight of stairs. Gael, having finally reached it, knelt at the foot of the stairs.
Much closer now, M'Trada could see a Mulu sprawled across the throne itself, being catered to by a few servants. They seemed to be doing a good job of it too, by the way the Mulu flinched occasionally.
As they reached Gael he waved them to kneel. They didn't. Instead of kneeling, M'Trada just looked around the room. He couldn't cope with how surreal it all felt and wished that it was just some Gank vision.
"Kneel until his exelency finish's. He doesn't like being disturbed during the act." Gael said in a barely audible whisper.
"I don't like being disturbed during the act either," Arien replied in a voice mirroring Gaels. Although, rather than fear, she showcased amusement. "As much as I'd love to watch that Mulu squeal, I'd rather have a drink, call me when he's finished." She continued, as she left them to head to a nearby bar.
"I'll join you. This is all a bit too exciting for me," M'Trada said as he followed her. Half expecting Gael to follow them, he turned back to see the man what a hand down his pants and mouth ajar.
This place makes Sin look tame. He thought as he turned back to continue following Arien.
