Series Posts

The Immortal Chancellor

XI

Her words once lead a people through an age of prosperity and unity. While she was elected, they followed her every step, her speeches, and her counsel. Even after she stepped down, she offered her successors words of confidence, support, and grace. Her presence invoked an air of prestige, of calm pride, of seniority that’s hard to resist. The words spoke are deliberate, delicate, diplomatic. It’s been almost a millennium, but the title Chancellor has never left her behind, despite the government she once ran now long gone, for she is immortal, unlike the existence of that once great republic.

Governments, universities, and many varied civic captains still seek her out. Her knowledge of the worlds that once were, the flow of the tide of galactic politics, and both her role and observations within the realms make others want to mimic her wake, to learn from her, and if possible, convince her to lead again. But the oath she took, so many stars ago, lies at the heart of her honor. She would not lead her country again, nor take up the mantel of leadership for another nation, no matter how many years and light years removed. Integrity required such devotion.

The Immortal Chancellor’s longevity grants her the ability to be patient and observant. She typically will not act fast and will often respond to inquires for help at a snail’s pace. But her words will be exacting, honest, and very clear.

She is not one for manipulation, if she observes it in any fashion. Her words are free, as is her counsel, but they will be given at her pace, and no quicker. There’s an aspect of nostalgia she has for her old republic, but she will not permit the graces of the heart to distract her from important matters. Immortality has taught her to accept that all things in life are ephemeral. She will not clutch the sand too tightly.

In sci-fi, she is an immortal alien that ended up with the right conditions to be elected to a planet’s leadership. Now she is the last surviving citizen of that republic. That world lives on, but nations change hands and banners.

In urban fantasy, she’s a vampire lord that ended up leading mortal citizens in their choice for government. Daylight government sessions were quite rare.

In ages of legend, she’s a literal goddess that choose to follow human laws during her earth-bound days. That country is long gone, but her oath prevents her from accepting temples of worship.

The words of the elder are powerful, especially those that once lead the community in halcyon days. This immortal’s eyes have seen much, and she would gladly share to those who would slow down enough to listen. She has no heart to give towards the rapid fights of modern political frays and would rather look closer at the curious group of wanderers exploring the galaxy.

The Key Fob

IX

The token buzzed again, little vibrations as the party made their way down the corridor. The buzzing intensified as the came upon a small lip in the metal wall. There was a sliver of light along the token’s rim, a click from inside the wall, and then secret passage slide open. The lead nodded towards the opening, but the crew hesitated. This felt too direct, too focused of a guidance. The token could feel their concern, and shifted it’s light, relying on color theory and centuries of xeno-behavioral studies to try and sooth.

They could trust it. It was their way keeper. It could unlock all the doors if they but obeyed.

The Key Fob takes many shapes. High tech pieces of metal with adjustable teeth, coins with powerful wireless signals, tokens and fobs to plug into terminals and ports. But its purpose remains the same, to complete itself, gain full access, and control the system is was built to administrate. The party, the guards, the invading space plague, it doesn’t matter to the Key Fob. Someone must carry it place to place, and any hand will do.

It is a thinking machine, a being with purpose and design and task. But it is singularly focused on perfecting what it sees as it’s existence’s goal. Perfect access to all parts of the host it is assigned. It does not want to leave this place, nor does it want others to depart either. This belief in becoming whole drives all others. In these veins it can be negotiated with, manipulated, and guided, so long as it believes the new task will aid it with becoming whole.

In sci-fi, it’s the sole remaining access token to the derelict space station. A digital guide with no words to speak.

In fantasy, it’s the spirit of the dungeon, a wisp that can learn the magic words to step through the necromancer’s wards.

In mythos, it’s a piece of the god that haunts this castle, and the party will not see the sun again ‘less they make it whole.

Singularly minded, it will seek to use others to keep it as the sole omni-token for the facility. Deviation must not be permitted. No one must leave.

The Feline Envoy

VIII

The alley was clogged with stuffed trash bags, discarded furniture, and a heap of cushion stuffing soaking under a boarded window. The odor of a heavy dyes and something sickeningly sweet lingered in the air. But this is where the note said to come. It warned to come with just the party, and to come early enough that the light wouldn’t go out over the streets. There’s no one there to return a greeting, only the sound of rummaging and distant traffic.

And then the cat jumped up from behind a broken box. Its scampering movements cause papers to scatter. Old ripped up newspapers mostly, yet, wait. That’s the same fine printing as the note that led you here. It reads, “hello.”

The party starts calling for someone to come out and talk. The cat jolts off again, before returning with another note. “I’m here.” More questions. More answers. It’s only a few minutes, and a few frustrated stares, but then the party starts to clue in. It’s not someone else hiding giving notes to a furred familiar.

It’s the cat.

The feline envoy is smart. It knows how to read and understand most spoken human languages, and it always seems to be able to pull out a note from somewhere that can at least vaguely answer questions. It’s curious and observant, and a powerful ally to have wandering an urban sprawl.

But it is a cat. It can be manipulated in many of the ways a cat can. By food, by comfort, by positive attention. And in the same token it can be harmed and flee and will do so the moment someone is hostile to it. It’s smart enough to know it deserves better.

In urban fantasy, the cat is bright eyed and curious. It knows these streets and the creatures that lurk in the alleyways. It knows the party is a part of that, but it’s decided they’re more friend than foe.

In the time of legends, they’re a clockwork owl, speaking with scrolls from the gods and provide divine wisdom to epic voyages.

In cyberscape dreams, they’re a feline sprite, a daemon of some forgotten machine curious and eager to learn. Not all creatures need be big and scary, nor must they have great powers. Some are just the right size to cozy onto a lap, purr the worries away, and whisper the secrets they’ve learned on their prowl.