Post by Absinthe on Oct 12, 2018 4:59:57 GMT
[ Hancho Parma | Great Temple of the Lienati | Restricted Zone | Augustus Station ]
The scarlet shaw of authority had been passed down, restitched only once a generation. From a young age, Parma had known it would be his when the time came and he was trained in all the duties wearing it would entail. He was taught of the history and culture of his people, the traditions that only the Honcho could perform, ceremonies both ancient and new. He was taught all of these and yet none of them had prepared him for the day that the strange creature had first come to his home. Yet he had led his people, he had made friends with this creature, made him part of the clan, though the creature remained an outsider, Parma did not consider him one. The Will of the Station had told him many times to be cautious and he had been, yet the creature had been weak.
Things had changed when more had come. They had cut into the station, cleared the fruit-bearing trees and set up their homes where the Lienati had once roamed freely. The Lienati had been pushed into the deeper darker areas of the station, pushed to the edge of where was safe. There were things in the station, things even they feared. The Will of the Station held them safe, yet it was no simple matter, they also had to keep themselves safe.
And above all else, it was his duty to keep his people safe, to guide them, to hold them in his wisdom and to keep them from falling. He had maintained only through the guidance of the Will of the Station and the creature he had come to know as Syrano.
Yet he could not escape the feeling change was coming, approaching them like one of the great predators that hunted their kind when they dared to trespass into the dark depths of the station. He could feel it on his whiskers, some change was coming, and soon.
So he went to the Great Temple, constructed by those who came before, an ancient structure built in much the same way the Temple of the Honcho had been, but this was built with far more of the station into it. The walls were woven with plants and wires, ancient technology he knew nothing of. His personal guards were obliged to remain at the entrance of the Great Temple, only the Honcho was permitted to speak to the Will of the Station, only the Honcho was permitted to enter the presence of the Will of the Station.
At the entrance to the inner sanctum, he paused and looked up at the large metal doors, the ancient doors, far older than anything the Lienati had built. It had been the duty of the priests to maintain the doors, but many years had passed and the Will of the Station had not commanded them to anoint a new priest, thus the doors were much less clean than they had been at one time. The last priest of the Great Temple had died when Parma was but a pup, and the Will of the Station had been to wait until he commanded for the anointment of a new one. Yet they were still one of the few places in the station nearly totally untouched by the passage of time.
Parma approached the doors and climbed the ladder to the panel and brushed the dust and debris from it before pressing his small paw to the against the surface of it. After there was a soft click he spoke the ancient words that would open the door, ancient words that were spoken by generations of Honcho when they came to the Inner Sanctum to speak to the Will of the Station.
"Potato Salad."
The words were oddly alien to him, but as he spoke them the doors slid open and he climbed from the ladder and stepped inside.
The scarlet shaw of authority had been passed down, restitched only once a generation. From a young age, Parma had known it would be his when the time came and he was trained in all the duties wearing it would entail. He was taught of the history and culture of his people, the traditions that only the Honcho could perform, ceremonies both ancient and new. He was taught all of these and yet none of them had prepared him for the day that the strange creature had first come to his home. Yet he had led his people, he had made friends with this creature, made him part of the clan, though the creature remained an outsider, Parma did not consider him one. The Will of the Station had told him many times to be cautious and he had been, yet the creature had been weak.
Things had changed when more had come. They had cut into the station, cleared the fruit-bearing trees and set up their homes where the Lienati had once roamed freely. The Lienati had been pushed into the deeper darker areas of the station, pushed to the edge of where was safe. There were things in the station, things even they feared. The Will of the Station held them safe, yet it was no simple matter, they also had to keep themselves safe.
And above all else, it was his duty to keep his people safe, to guide them, to hold them in his wisdom and to keep them from falling. He had maintained only through the guidance of the Will of the Station and the creature he had come to know as Syrano.
Yet he could not escape the feeling change was coming, approaching them like one of the great predators that hunted their kind when they dared to trespass into the dark depths of the station. He could feel it on his whiskers, some change was coming, and soon.
So he went to the Great Temple, constructed by those who came before, an ancient structure built in much the same way the Temple of the Honcho had been, but this was built with far more of the station into it. The walls were woven with plants and wires, ancient technology he knew nothing of. His personal guards were obliged to remain at the entrance of the Great Temple, only the Honcho was permitted to speak to the Will of the Station, only the Honcho was permitted to enter the presence of the Will of the Station.
At the entrance to the inner sanctum, he paused and looked up at the large metal doors, the ancient doors, far older than anything the Lienati had built. It had been the duty of the priests to maintain the doors, but many years had passed and the Will of the Station had not commanded them to anoint a new priest, thus the doors were much less clean than they had been at one time. The last priest of the Great Temple had died when Parma was but a pup, and the Will of the Station had been to wait until he commanded for the anointment of a new one. Yet they were still one of the few places in the station nearly totally untouched by the passage of time.
Parma approached the doors and climbed the ladder to the panel and brushed the dust and debris from it before pressing his small paw to the against the surface of it. After there was a soft click he spoke the ancient words that would open the door, ancient words that were spoken by generations of Honcho when they came to the Inner Sanctum to speak to the Will of the Station.
"Potato Salad."
The words were oddly alien to him, but as he spoke them the doors slid open and he climbed from the ladder and stepped inside.