Bitter Introductions, Redux

About an hour later...

“BWAAA-HAAHAAAAAAAH! So she thought-HAH!-she thought you were some variety of malcontent, the sort of which we would expect to try and swindle us at our most **** hour... and you didn’t even know why we were there, you had a passcode we didn’t bother to think you’d have, and then you-! HAAAHAAHAAA!” A massive hand slapped the ground hard enough to send vibrations up the stump upon which John sat. “Hooo ho, please, my apologies, I... it’s just that absurdist humor, refined like an old play, truly my—ha!—my greatest weakness...!”

Hurk’s closed fist slammed jovially on the ground again, and again the hideout vibrated.

John looked all around at the newest locale discovered in the bowels of Vantage. There was only one visible way in, and that was the way John had been led; he had followed the bunch for more than half an hour into another immovable, then through an illusory wall, and finally down the generous, winding tunnel dug into the crust of the Plate. The journey was punctuated by the grunts and grumbling of Hurk, the caboose, as he squeezed through to follow, but the trip was otherwise completely silent, worrying as that was given John’s position.

But no one attempted **** anew, and so the tunnel trip ended peacefully and ended here: a massive chamber of glittering, red rock over a hundred meters wide and dotted with small workstations, tables, and a large arena marked out with round stones. The western wall was filled with large gashes outfitted like massive beds, each one padded with old cushions of something like beige threading and censorable with bok curtains on hooks. Only six of the holes had anything in them aside from the bedding; some dozens of holes rose up from those six to touch the ceiling, and none had any stairs or platforms to reach them.

A hole in the floor and something akin to a jacuzzi tub were carved into the southwestern corner, the latter filled with a black oil that glistened by the white flames mounted here and there. Another station, one that suggested a kitchen, was overflowing with alien food, large, black buckets with lids, and a fire pit filled with a white ash. But in the middle of the whole safehouse, spaced out generously enough that even Hurk could sit with elbow space, was a ring of bok stumps around a black glass panel embedded into the floor. This was where the talking heads of the Bitter Nines, when there were so many heads, would meet. It was here that John was invited to sit with what remained.

It had been a confounding meeting continued from a confounding fight: Hurk had chased Miles about until John finally produced a re-clothed Cidi who hid her face as well as her clothes hid her trembling, recovering body. The girl had not yet forgiven John, and Hurk clearly had animosity for Miles, but this and the old Ootuk’s calming words appeared to be enough to get them all here in one piece. John continued to let his Cult of Personality aura shine just to stay in their good graces.

Cidi was now hugging her knees in a small covey hole, one of a dozen, in the western wall; she peeked from behind her half-drawn curtain at the meeting whenever John didn’t glance her way. But the rest were there with John.

The Bitter Nines only numbered five, it seemed, but the sixth “bedroom” seemed occupied. John decided he would wait before asking.

“Hurk, a moment,” Golgon finally sighed.

“Hah… ah, apologies,” Hurk chuckled, though his huge smile never left. It was not a product of anatomy, as far as John could tell; certainly the smile had dimmed in those tense moments just an hour ago, but now the giant seemed intent on smiling his life away.

“I hope you’ll… forgive us these questions, young soul,” Golgon said with a sincere, almost worried look, “but more than company, we’re certainly not used to Dorani who drift so close to the sun. Moreover… either it isn’t an illusion, or you’re such a master as to defeat even my eyes.”

“Well, I’m not Dorani, for one.”

“He’s human,” Miles added, “from head to head, as far as I’ve checked, heh-”

“I’m inclined to agree, youngling.”

“Right? Ridi- what?”

The room joined Miles in as noisy a confused hush as four could manage. Golgon only raised his hand to quiet the protest. “We shall find the truth, today or tomorrow. For now, we need only discuss the objective of our night… and where…” Golgon’s head lowered slightly as if to peek under John from across the way, “…this fellow has managed to hide it on his person.”

“I just need food and water… a bunch of it, and only after I’ve confirmed it would pass for food and water to a human.”

Golgon nodded. “You have my word that we will strive to feed your belly and quench your thirst. But we’ve shown our goodwill first; it is your turn, my son.”

The Ootuk’s personality was off-balancing, but John sensed the slightest threat in the old man’s voice; the rest had known the old man for longer, which perhaps explained why all those present had suddenly grown tense. Well, not like they can stop me from leaving if… well, let me not jinx it. With a flourish of his hand, the sack appeared and slammed upon the ground with its metallic weight. The sack, finally tired of this ****, split a seam through which the glitter of silver peeked.

A stunned silence… and finally, with Golgon’s nod, a sigh of relaxation from the room. “You’re a strange one to not run off with such a bounty,” the old goblinoid declared, “but you’ve earned our hospitality and, perhaps, our friendship, John the Newman.”

“I’d appreciate both at this point… so who are you?”

As Hurk scooped up the bag to begin counting it on a nearby table, he briefly offered a jovial response, “I am Hurk the Smiling Fist, though please, do not feel threatened by such a violent-sounding name, hah!” His mustache danced as his grin broke into a laugh like a holler, and a giant arm looped around John’s body in a half-hearted hug before it returned to gathering the bag.

Golgon offered only a small smile as he waited for Hurk to leave. “I am Golgon. Some call me Golgon the Fool, which I suppose is warranted for now.”

Miles passed her hand through her smoky hair as if it were natural to do. She remained as casually dressed as she had when John rescued her and happily sat with her legs open enough to tease the lump of confused sex tucked in the thick band of her panties. The shapely beauty of her legs kept catching John’s eyes while the lump consistently repelled it; all the while, Miles continued to wink lecherously at him.

“The polite thing to do,” Golgon suddenly half-whispered as if he realized something, “is give him your name before anything else.”

“Oh sure! Miles the Human they call me; that’s as good a name as I’ve got, at least until I get my memories back.”

“Memories?”

Miles shrugged. “Boss says I’m Dorani for sure, but I don’t remember… anything, really. I learned a whole lot though, and I know the Plate now like the back of my hand!”

The bizarre Jita, with her upside-down cone of a head, clicked and signed with her fingers as the bones of her head shifted about. Golgon watched her keenly before conveying, “She says ‘I am Kitok the Noisy, and while I know the Dorani don’t care for Jita, I would have you know that I find you rather captivating and…’ Oh. No no, I won’t translate that, Kitok.”

The lizard-like monstrosity rubbed her hands down her bulbous body as her many eyes blinked (or winked, in succession) at John. The Gamer swallowed hard.

“Go and fix us a feast to celebrate, won’t you?” The Jita complied, though her nature meant her eyes never truly left John. “Now then… the young Dorani you saved earlier,” Golgon continued, “is still recovering from her ordeal, so I will simply tell you that she is Cidi the Shameless, which is a most ironic name for the poor thing.”

A yelp of discontent was all that came from behind her curtain across the room.

“So… that is us, John. Who are you… truly?”

“I’m… John Newman. Just John Newman, no ‘the’ in the middle… Newman is my last name, though I’m guessing you guys don’t have those.” Golgon’s blank stare affirmed as much. “I’m a human being from Earth, which is the planet where we come from… I think… anyways, I’m stuck here until I find another Kingdom nearby, and for now it looks like this Kingdom, or its police, really hate me-”

“You’re a warrior, yes?”

“Sure. I’m a… kind of warrior.”

“He can do a crazy thing with space and distance,” Miles added, “like get us across ten blocks and past the bridge in minutes. He’s not too bad in a fight, either.” Miles cleared her throat. “I mean he’s nothing amazing, either, but decent.”

“Perhaps we’ll see…” The Ootuk’s words trailed off before resuming, “Can you show me this power?”

John opened two tunnels on either side of Golgon where he sat… and John watched as the goblin, mesmerized by the dozens of him he seemed to see through this illusion, reached forward to touch his own shoulder. Some things don’t change wherever you go…

“In…credible,” Golgon gasped as he felt his hand reach through the portal to touch himself.

A pot clattered to its side as Kitok’s mesmerized state took in the strange bend in reality. The others slowly followed suit, save Miles who grinned as she was vindicated.

“John… how far can you reach with these?”

“Eh… well, do you use mi… les?”

“Not around this boring bunch,” Miles replied.

“Right, how do you measure distance… you know what, nevermind. Let’s just say I can reach well beyond the ‘popot field’ that was somewhat close to where I met Miles-”

“From… from here?” Golgon’s mouth was nearly left hanging.

John offered a curt nod… and decided a demonstration might serve better. His first tunnels were replaced with just one… and beyond its threshold, the popot tentacles wiggled within reach. He had planted it in the patch where he had rescued Galley, and so some of the tentacles were packed closed enough that they began wiggling into the portal and near Golgon. The elder was left mesmerized as he reached out and touched a crop no one on the Plate was meant to eat. “Hurk…”

“Ah, yes, Golgon?” the giant replied without looking up from his counting.

“Come here a moment and uproot these popots, won’t you?”

“Hah! What does that even mean, my… dear…” Hurk’s words trailed off as the old man held, in his feeble-seeming grip, a wriggling, segmented tentacle from out of the portal.

Miles stood and put her hands on her hips in triumph. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, old one?”

Golgon nodded as he let the tentacle go and walked to the pane at the center of the chairs. Behind him, a mesmerized Hurk quickly began grabbing giant handfuls of popots and ripping them from the dirt, chucking them onto the floor as he greedily made his harvest.

The tone had clearly shifted, enough for John to ask, “What exactly are you thinking…?”

Golgon’s glittering eyes looked up at John with something approaching excitement. “We need to go to the edge of the Plate… and see if you can achieve with a thought what we have schemed for months as a near-impossible ploy. You’re going to help us save Vantage.”

John raised his hands, ready to protest being so conscripted, when the Kitok hurried a black platter of their “best” in the form of food and drink into John’s hands. Another platter landed in front of Miles who began greedily gobbling the meal up; the Jita then quickly came to Hurk’s aid and began scooping up the popots to take to their stores. “Wait, I didn’t say-”

“H-He’s joining us?!” Cidi’s shrill discontent was made clear from where she peeked out of her curtain.

“Gifted child!” Hurk suddenly called out. “Can you make another? I do not want to risk stepping through too far, but I’ve taken all in reach.”

“S-Sure.” John obliged, opened another portal in another part of the field. “But hold on! I don’t even really know where I am much less where I stand with whatever the Hell’s going on around here-!”

“Less talking for now,” Golgon chuckled, “for now, we eat… and then we shall discuss your gift at length!”

John glanced down at what he had been served...

Grilled durk skins: the cooked skins of popot roots grilled after all the proper popot is removed. Rich in protein and fiber. Serves as a counter-viral and can cure effects from very mild contact with the Violet.

Distilled purple: a thick extract taken from mixing melted bok and inert Violet-infused water. Can cause mild hallucinations based on volume consumed (poison).

The leaves of brown skin and the tall mug of what could be confused for some off-brand cleaning fluid was less than appealing.

“I… I have friends to protect, first,” John offered.

“Then bring them here; there is no place safer at the moment.” John shook his head, but Golgon was quick to change the subject. “Well then, you say you are a human... but do you remember anything from before?”

“Before what?”

“Before waking up… however you woke up.”

“He’s ashking,” Miles interrupted mid-chew, “if you’re like me.” John watched, mesmerized, as Miles washed down what looked like a thin strip of leather with the tall glass of Fabuloso. Miles offered a gut-deep belch before continuing, “I woke up in a house with a screaming, confused couple of Dorbins, and I’ve been on the run since… but I don’t know how I got there, where I came from, or who I even was… except ‘Miles.’ Thus my name.”

“Miles was confused and lost when we found her beating up Lawmen intent on killing her for the crime of human imitation. Like you, though, I do not detect any illusions... and that’s even given the strangeness on her crown, or the bizarre way your mouth moves when you talk-”

John decided the topic of joining a gang was well and truly shelved for now. “Right there: human imitation. What does that mean? There’s a statue of someone named Bianca, who is also the King here, right? She looked totally human, though. Is it imitating her or...?”

John’s words trailed off as he clearly lost the room to confused glances. Golgon continued to speak for them all, “A ‘keeng’ is nothing I’ve heard of, child, but the statue you speak of... no doubt that was Bianca the Fruitful Sage. The Peaks do not erect statues here; there is no love for the Plate that merits tempting their idolation, except of course for the myth of our making... and our unmaking. If nothing else, the idols remind us of the names the Peaks take as their own upon their absolute ascension.”

“... Okay,” John sighed, “I need you to talk to me like I don’t have amnesia and I actually came from another world far, far away where humans number in the billions and none of the species I’ve met so far exist.”

Hurk spat out the wiggling popot tentacle he had held in his mouth. “B... Billions?!”

The pile of popot had grown to nearly the size of an SUV; John finally cut off the tunnel and tried to take control of the conversation. “Just please… I know you don’t believe me, but those are the facts.”

“Curious, child, but alright. You say you are human, so: are you going to cleanse the Violet? Overthrow the Peak? Re-open the Gates Of Vo-?”

“Why would I do any of that?”

The lot exchanged glances before Miles half-burped, half-muttered, “Humans are the extremely powerful Dorani ancestors, like the gods of plays walking the planet below.”

“The runes were their gift, mastered by them but squandered on our lesser selves,” Golgon recited. “They are beauty incarnate, they closed the Gates of Vo, and they slayed the Steel Ones who poisoned our planet before they could truly finish us off… or so goes the myth.”

“The Peak channels their divine powers,” Cidi suddenly interrupted as she finally resolved to approach, “to control the disks and keep aloft the Plate… all from the Peak, the highest seat of the world, the holy realm of power since before the Steel Ones came, before even the first Gate of Vo was opened.”

“Okay!” John finally yelled. “Stop, now: what’s the Violet, what’s a Gate of Vo, what’s a Steel One, what’s a Dorani, a Dorbin, a Dorsin, a Jita, an Ootuk, and are there even more species or kinds of people out here? What kind of government is this place running? What did you guys take in that bag? What the Hell is ‘bok’ anyways? And finally, do you have any water or anything else to drink?”

The room stared blankly at John. Golgon half-chuckled, half-sighed at the would-be savior.