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Katheeri


Zaphyr Stone

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Sandor stared at Renard as he said this, chewing on a piece of steak. He continued cutting his meat.

"If you were on Magyarorszag, they'd shoot you for heresy," informed Sandor. "My people," he began, gesturing to his gold-plated medallion hanging from his neck, "don't take too kindly to magic. In fact, they see it as an affront to their beliefs."

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I"m no stranger to that too, sadly. being from a different part of the cosmos entirely can have that effect on others.. i an't even breathe a word as to where i'm from around some people. it's sad.

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"Same for me," replied Sandor, before stuffing his mouth with another piece of stake. He chewed for a few moments before swallowing. He cleared his throat. "When people even look at me, I know they're thinking about how backward I am. How conservative. How... foolish." Sandor got up and went to the refrigerator. He opened it, and grabbed two bottles of Mr. Pib root beer as the cold air smacked against his body. He quickly closed the door and walked back. Sandor sat down, placing the root beer bottles on the side.

"From what I experienced, Cornerians see religion as an archaic and ignorant way of thinking, a concept that simply doesn't fit in the modern world." Sandor grasped his medallion, and it softly began to glow. "They see us as primitives that rely on superstition, not science." Sandor sighed, and opened his bottle of root beer with his bare hands, wincing as his hands were stressed due to the coarseness of the metallic surface. He took a swill of root beer.

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He Noticed the glowing on the medallion, but said nothing on it. He didn't need to.

"Where some see blasphemous, arcane, heretical magic, other see wondrous miracles the gods enable mortals to perform." He said, swirling around the ice in his own root beer with his finger. " Where some see trite, outdated concepts being bashed against the modern world, others see rightful honor to time held beliefs and heroes."

He looked to Sandor, making sure his gaze was locked on his own. " Prayers are incantations, calling upon something greater than yourself to work miracles in the waking world, much like an old spell, and maybe not too far from what my peoples practice today. I can explain the differences later, if you wish."

"The point is, much like power and wealth. Religion and Magic have often walked hand in hand without ever really realizing it. You and I, surprisingly have a fair bit of common ground."

 

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Sandor stared into Renard's eyes with his glossy own as he chewed yet another piece of steak. His medallion continued glowing. He put down his utensils, and grasped his medallion with both hands. It glowed more intensely.

"This medallion may seem powered by faith," Sandor began, "or they may be powered by science. Cornerian geologists suspect that the gems used in Ogniemite medallions, könnycsepp, teardrops, my people call them, have unique properties. Properties such as the glow when heated to a certain temperature, and even generate energy shields when exposed to certain decibels of sound." Sandor revealed the medallion, now glowing gold and orange, to Renard.

"This may be why praying activates these medallions. Or it may be not. Who knows? But what is known, is that my people believe this happens because of their faith, and that's all that matters."

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"huh.. it's kinda like the starseeds where i'm from. only they respond to spiritual energy. My sword's made out of it>" he said, indicating the saber at his hip.

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"Oh, very interesting..." said Sandor, chewing another piece of steak. He swallowed.

"So, how are you finding this whole group of individuals, Renard? Myself included."

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"Dunno.. You're the only one I've really talked to so far." he said, putting his stomach once the last of his food had been safely packed into his gullet.

" that was great! though, it could have been a little bloodier. The seasoning was spot on though."

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Sandor finally finished his succulent steak, and wiped his snout clean. He placed his utensils down onto his plate.

"Thanks," he replied as he got up, carrying his plate. He also got Renard's plate, and walked to the sink. He began washing both plates and both pairs of utensils.

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  • 4 weeks later...

Ren took a moment to think while he picked at his teeth.

If he were to even run into his father in the katheeri citadel, what would he do? leave the others to duke it out with him? Fight him alone? God... if propaganda didn't put the fear of idnaians into people, watching that fight sure would.

He pushed the thought from his mind.

" Hey Sandor. any chance you could introduce me to the others on this ship?"

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Sandor, having finished washing the plates and utensils, heard Renard's question as he wiped his hands dry with a cloth towel. He turned around and tossed the towel onto the counter.

"Sure, Renard," he said. "Come on, let's go." Sandor headed for the door.

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  • 4 weeks later...

 

 

 


END OF CHAPTER 2

(Stand by, everyone. The next chapter is getting ready to start.)

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CHAPTER 3: MACBETH


 

The office space was abuzz with the low din of key strokes, notification alerts and the occasional phone call. All in all, it was a fairly average, hum-drum day.

Laika Sergievsky sat at her desk, usually sharp amber eyes glazing over as she typed up a report. Her dark brindle fur meshed perfectly with her short black pixie cut, making her look more like a shadow sitting amongst the brightly-lit monitors.

"I just need you..."

She looked up from her work as the deep masculine voice interrupted her.

"To give one good little line of drool from your mouth and let it drip on the desk. Then the image of bored detachment will be complete."

She laughed, and he grinned in satisfaction. He was a shepherd like her, black and tan, a handsome face and sturdy build. He wore a dark navy uniform like hers, standard police garb.

"Am I that obvious?" She smirked, "I feel like I haven't moved from this spot in hours." She groaned and stretched to pop her back.

"Tell me about it." He yawned in sympathy, "Just one of those days, I guess. I just finished the last of my paperwork. We're set to go on a patrol."

"All right," she nodded, "Give me a few minutes, and I'll wrap this up."

Laika turned back to her monitor to work, but she could see him swaying somewhat, lingering in the space and seemingly debating his next steps. She glanced back at him curiously.

"Did you need anything else, Max?"

"Oh! Ah..." He laughed nervously, "Yeah, I was wondering if...I could get you a cup of coffee while we're out?"

She smiled, the only response she could think of. Her mouth seemed to form the words for her, her voice acting on its own.

"Sure, I'd like that."

"Great," he nodded vigorously, a bounce in his step as he left, "See you in a few."

"Sure, see you." She watched him leave before returning to her work. Her thoughts wandered elsewhere.

----

Antoine hopped off the docking ramp of the ship, breathing in the fresh air with a good deal of relief. Space travel was a wonderful convenience, but he could only handle so much before he craved the open air again.

He had instructed the crew where to land that would garner the least amount of attention. Even if this team had nothing to hide, he certainly did, and he was sure the others felt the same. This way they had a fairly hidden base of operations while they were here. Antoine hoped their stay wouldn't be long.

He looked back at footsteps and saw Zefran hurry down the ramp after him. With his emitter fixed, he looked like a normal wolf again.

"Look at you! You're a real boy again." He grinned.

"Shut up." Zefran laughed, "Don't forget it's your fault it broke to begin with."

"That's debatable." He cleared his throat, "So, where to, boss?"

Zefran looked out at the dusty fields of Macbeth, rocky hills cascading over each other. "I remember following the railroad into town." He said finally, "But I don't think we ever made it to town."

"Well, I guess that's better than nothing." Antoine shrugged.

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"Out of all the planets in the Lylat System, I hate this one the most," Sandor said, disembarking with the rest of the team via the docking ramp. He was wearing a special breathing apparatus, as the Macbeth air was too toxic for tykeriel lungs.

"Don't worry, Alex," replied Elizabeth, putting on her sunglasses. Korben, who was beside her, did the same. Bohdan was the last to emerge, his heavy footfalls echoing throughout the docking bay. All of them were dressed in inconspicuous civilian clothing with lightweight body armor underneath.

"Dirty air," assessed Korben.

"Dirty world," added Bohdan. "Be on your guard everyone." They stepped off onto the damp ground.

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"Wooooah-woah-woah-woah-woah, hold on a hot second." Antoine stopped the group in their tracks, "As adorable as this is having the family together for an outing, we're not going to get very far here if we attract attention. Subtlety is key here, and you guys are about as subtle as knives running up and down a rusty garbage can."

"Antoine–"

"No, I actually know what I'm talking about." Antoine held out a hand to silence Zefran and pointed at Elizabeth and Korben with the other, "You and you are fine to come along. Godzilla and Shrieking Devil will have to wait on the ship."

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Bohdan raised his eyebrow, but Sandor was more welcoming of this new development.

"Thank God," Sandor said relieved. He turned back, walking towards the elevator. Bohdan, however, objected.

"I am no freak," said Bohdan. "I will not attract attention, as long as I dress appropriately. I heard that Ruthenian immigrants down on their luck tend to find themselves as menial laborers on this world." Elizabeth and Korben looked up in surprise to Bohdan's proposal.

"You're gonna dress up as the proletariat for once, eh Theo?" asked Elizabeth, nudging him with her elbow.

"That is right," said Bohdan.

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"Does that mean I stay as well?" Shepherd called to Antoine out as she strolled down the ramp and onto planet soil, in her experience, unusually fur generally tended to stick out among crowds. Not that the vixen had any intention of staying behind, should she be directed to, as the clone still needed to get around to providing proof of being worthy of a loan. A loan she had requested back on Corneria, the only problem was actually getting around to bringing it up to the, still as of yet, freshly formed fellowship.

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"Fine, but keep a low profile." Antoine conceded.

"I guess that depends." Zefran chuckled as she came down to meet them, "Are there any odd-colored foxes finding work here too?" He teased.

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Bohdan nodded, and went back up to his personal quarters, following Sandor. The two went up as the elevator left the docking bay. Bohdan looked down onto Sandor.

"Do you dislike this world other than the obvious reasons?" he asked to the tykeriel. Sandor stared at the console on the elevator.

"My father worked in these exact same conditions, you know," Sandor replied after a few moments of silence. Bohdan nodded.

"I see," Bohdan said. The elevator finally stopped on the crew's quarters' level. Sandor went to his room, and threw his mask and other gear down onto his bed. He closed the door behind him. Bohdan, meanwhile, went to his room and took off his golden medallion to replace it with a cruder one, made of bronze, and less elaborately decorated. He also opened his closet and spotted simple clothing: an old t-shirt and hoodie. He took off his neat white t shirt and jacket with his religious hood and put on the old shirt and hoodie, draping the hood over his head. Bohdan zipped up the gray hoodie. He also took off his gear and instead, opened his drawer and took a small blaster pistol as a hidden weapon. He went back down to the docking bay.

"Is this fine for Macbeth?" asked Bohdan.

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"Oh, I really couldn't say..." The Cerinian said with a ghost of a smile, following with a shrug of her shoulders. "What's considered fashionable on Macbeth these days?"

Giving Zefran's appearance a quick once over, the vixen gestured to his Holographic emitter. "No issues with that device of yours at all, I assume?"

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"Couldn't tell ya." He shrugged back with a smile, "Oh yeah! Everything's working great again, thanks. I'll try not to break it again."

"We're gonna look strange coming in as one group. We should split up into pairs." Antoine suggested.

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In his makeshift quarters, Renard looked out at the seemingly desolate landscape. " This world has seen a lot." he mused, debating on weather he should tag along on this one. He shrugged. he figured if he was needed, whoever is running the operation would make sure to find him.

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"What are we even supposed to be looking for?" asked Elizabeth, looking around hangar F12 of the Macbeth City Spaceport. It was an almost totally vacant hangar, and therefore, very few ships and personnel dotted the building. Nevertheless, Elizabeth was wary of any unwanted intruders.

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"Pairs...?" The fox crossed her arms with a head tilt as she questioned under her breath. Well, that certainly wasn't a bad idea, though Elizabeth brought up something that Shepherd herself had been wondering as well. Hopefully, they weren't entertaining the idea of walking around until Zefran had an epiphany or anything on the same spectrum for that matter.

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"I obviously don't remember who or what I really am or where I came from, for that matter." Zefran explained, "But my first clear memories are here."

"There used to be a pretty extensive trafficking ring on this planet way back when." Antoine continued, "That's who I found him with. Typical procedure is to strip the target of any possessions before transport, so if Zef had anything on him when they found him, they'd have taken it before I saw him. The group was busted years ago, but there's still a few fragments of it left behind. The plan is to track them down and see if we can find out anything about the day they processed him. And, if junior has any flashbacks while he's here, that would be a bonus."

Zefran frowned at the pet name, but he let it go for the time being. "It's not much of a lead, I know, but it's all we've got to go on."

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