Therys, pick it up.
She would no longer trust any mere worker with such importance, even though such a task was clearly beneath a powerful psion.
As Therys bent down to reach for the pouch, she made sure to carefully hide her thoughts from the vicious Princess. She handed it to the Princess, who had now fully drained the bottle and yeeted it away. It shattered and another worker – still on the clock for several objectives given to her by various psions and brood mothers – had to come and sweep away the shards.
Amefrid ripped open the pouch. Goddess damn it, she needed to get stoned. She could not even bear to finish her food, how wretchedly plain it tasted to her. At least maybe this meant she would lose some weight. She snapped her fingers, and the workers took it away, thankful to devour every little scrap of leftovers. She poured the contents of the pouch on the now empty receptacle and quickly popped a white capsule.
It didn’t take effect fast enough, so she ordered her spirits to process her metabolism faster. Soon, a wave of apathetic warmth washed over her, mingling with the heady warmth of the booze, though it came with a dull headache, which she hallucinated away. Amefrid’s willingness to manipulate her own mind was unique, it both made her strangely more powerful, and yet it came with the cost of deep fraying.
It wasn’t enough. She attempted to reach for a clear pouch of translucent crystal, but her motor skills would not cooperate, and not even the spirits could correct it in her extreme state of inebriation. She briefly considered getting Therys to chop up some lines for her, but now that she had been somewhat calmed, she instead motioned for a worker to do so. Without hesitation, the worker nabbed a razor from a nearby supply shelf and dutifully began racking up. Therys herself offered her a metal straw.
After the Princess snorted the now finely broken-down powder, finally she felt her loathing subside. She stumbled tipsily and had to be caught by Therys, who gently brought her to a divan.
Even though the cavernous chamber now seemed to be spinning all about her, Amefrid felt like she could finally think with some clarity, uncontaminated by her poisonous emotion. Dissociation. She tried to think to Therys, but now her psionic ability had been eroded by her succumbing, so she was forced to speak in a halting slur.
“Psion. Status report.”
Therys streamed a flood of information into Amefrid’s mind, but she wasn’t sure how much the Princess absorbed.
It took a little while, but eventually Amefrid regained her higher cognition. Still, she had to speak slowly and vocally.
“How much progress-”, she paused, “- had Senjya made?”
One thing was clear: for Clan Amallark to fully harness all the potential resources of Aryss, they first had to eliminate all the rogues.
Rogue elvans were elvans who had cast off allegiance to their clan. Cut off from the psionic web that held the clan together, they were isolated, but independent. Once, before the War of the Clans, they scarcely existed, executed upon discovery for treason. But now that the only clan that commanded the heights of power was Clan Amallark, any elvan outside of Clan Amallark’s control, not vassals, were branded rogues de facto. Even the ones that had already submitted to Amallarkean rule- these were the rogue traders of Reath. Those who did not submit held onto the hope that one rotation their defeated clans and so-called ‘Rogue Queens’ – the few Queens that survived the Empress’s betrayal of her kin – could rise again.
The War of the Clans began upon what was termed by the elvans outside of Clan Amallark as the Betrayal of the Traitor Empress. Almost all the elvan Clans had banded together to finally rid Reath of the orc menace once and for all, save for Clan Callethe, who had already absconded to Phyros, attempting to adapt to the environment that Reath would eventually become from unchecked forbidden fire, and did not see the orcs as ‘their problem’.
At the very last moment, before the final razing of Orca could be finished, the Goddess, formerly known as Queen Maetra Amallark, had gone against every other Clan to stab them in the back at their weakest moment. Of all the Clans, Clan Amallark and Clan Callethe commanded the most dragons. The Empress had lured the rest of the Reathean Clans to commit their soldier forces into an amphibious incursion of Orca, but meanwhile the Amallarkeans had secretly held back their own soldiers. Just when most of the elvan race was counting on Clan Amallark to provide siege support from the dragons, the Empress instead turned her dragons against those of every single other clan. Catching the other Queens by surprise, it was a massacre. The soldiers of all the other clans were fed into a death trap, ripped apart by orc berserkers. The workers of all the other clans were then invaded by psionically shielded Amallarkean knights, and in hand-to-hand combat workers were simply no match for soldiers, so many simply had to accept psionic enslavement as vassals or die. With her reign firmly secured, the Empress then turned the now single sole fleet of dragons on Reath against the Calletheans on Phyros, destroying their floating castles, and slaying almost every living thing there.
And thus, Queen Maetra Amallark ascended.
Her apotheosis to God Empress of Elvankind.
Goddess Mother.
Amefrid understood. Her Mother had explained well before that, more than the orcs, the single greatest threat to their continued existence was the competition between the clans. Goddess Mother saw the long term. Even after the orcs were put down, the elvan clans would still compete with one another, and so any hold on power would be precarious. It was a thesis that her Mother called ‘the Necessity of the Philosopher-Queen’. There could be no true order until there was a perfect and complete hierarchy. Dark Enlightenment. The Amallarkean Imperium could be no true empire without an Empress. And so, her Mother had taken her one and only opportunity to decimate the other clans by feeding them to the orcs. Indeed, there were rumors amongst the rogues that the Empress had colluded directly with the Horde Master himself to make this happen.
The great majority of the defeated remnant clans now collectively branded the rogue elvans, in the wake of the betrayal, fled to Aryss. And there they remained, continuing to ransack and raid Amallarkean colonization efforts in a desperate attempt to survive. With these constant raids, building anything on Aryss – ice mining outposts, sealed hydroponic habitats, and underground compounds – was a vain effort. Those Aryssal rogue thieves would just steal from them, unable to accept their defeat.
And so, for the time being, Clan Amallark’s sole goal on Aryss was simply to slaughter every last rogue.
Therys scryed that Princess Amefrid already knew of Princess Senjya’s triumph over Sidarael, so she hesitated, afraid that the Princess would punish her for repeating to her something she already knew.
And Amefrid thought- Sidarael. Legend. She had to be over four hundred revolutions old by now, and rumor had it that she was one of the First Elvans, who ascended to elvanhood and was once an ancient Godlike Being. Her jealousy could not help but be overcome just a little bit by familial pride that her little sister could defeat a Rogue Queen.
The last remaining Aryssal rogue queen is Talisa Talauth.
Machinations began to percolate inside the devious Princess’s mind.
“Then we must kill her. That will get me back into Goddess Mother’s graces.” Amefrid's speaking was returning to its normal cadence.
Therys bowed her head slightly. She has fled far beyond Arabia Terra after we captured her four elite knights. Much of her forces still remain.
Shit. Talisa had already made it to the other side of the damned realm!
Would she have to kill every rogue between Nepenthes Planum, Isidis Planitia, Syrtis Major Planum, and Terra Sabaea to get to her? Mother would not forgive her if she committed all the forces in her command to such a campaign, it would leave the Hive too vulnerable to counterattack from the remaining rogues scattered across Aryss. Not unless the rogues had suffered another major defeat. Maybe a suicide mission from a death squad? Cut the head off and the flock would scatter. She just had to make sure that they didn’t see it coming. Perhaps the last rogue queen could be caught by surprise.
Therys scryed her thinking and responded, Your highness, the death squads are nowhere near as reliable as our legions. Even the spirits calculate that this is unlikely to happen.
While Amefrid briefly considered lightly flaying Therys simply for irritation from her pessimism, the Princess’s psionic power was far too weakened by the drugs to do so, especially after willy nilly flaying two workers already, not to mention her already fragile state after her ordeal with the Goddess. But even she had to admit – if the spirits did not think so, it was probably true, for they were the closest one could get to impartial – any chance of a quick win was gone. It would be a grinding battle of attrition.
Amefrid spat on the floor to get rid of the sinusal drip leaking through the back of her throat.
Now she had to hide her thoughts from even Therys, for there was only one quick way to get back home.
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She had to kill Senjya.
For the longest time, the line of succession never seemed in doubt. She was the heir! And Senjya was the spare! How could things have been turned upside down so quickly? She thought of her favorite fictional character. She had to take back what was taken from her.
“How many dragons do we have?” She would cross the void, return to Reath, and kill Senjya first, and then only if she absolutely had to, kill Mother. It was me! I was supposed to become the Empress.
She would or die trying.
None.
“Lie!” screeched Amefrid. “What of the Arkdragon?”
The Arkdragon was one of the first, and greatest dragons ever borne by the elvans. Bahamut. A creation of the Triumvirate: Clan Boucher, Clan Talauth and Clan Amallark, it had only one purpose: to kickstart the colonization of Aryss. It would carry all the materials and labor needed to build the first infrastructure for life on Aryss to begin. Buried deep underneath the Hive, the great fusion heart of the Arkdragon was then diverted to power all the needs of the Hive, including the pneumatic tubes that delivered Amefrid’s food to her receptacle.
Therys dropped to her knees in contrition, My apologies your highness, but the Arkdragon was never meant to be ridden more than once! And if the Arkdragon were ever to be ridden again, it would decimate all possibility of any further development on Aryss! We need its fusion heart for our plants!
Amefrid was now the liar, indeed it was easier to lie as an elvan with speech than thought, but her servants thought nothing of it because they assumed she was still just a bit fucked up on the moon sugar, “I just need it to be ridden once, and then it shall be returned to the hive where it rightfully belongs. One single breath of the Arkdragon would be enough to melt whatever encampment the Rogue Queen has set up for herself.”
It would greatly disrupt our production, but- she hesitated.
“But what? Spit it out, Therys.” For once, Amefrid called her by her name.
But we have no dragonrider.
The Empress kept a tight leash on all Amallarkean dragons and dragonriders. Knowing full well their power, she would never trust the Princesses to command them.
“Lie to me again, and I will not just mind flay you. I will torture you physically.” Amefrid now turned her head to look Therys directly in the eye with her pale, pink eyes. “Your broken body will never be the same.”
Therys understood immediately who Amefrid was referring to.
The Phyroan Dragonrider. One of the last remaining Calletheans. The vassal Vilithe.
We could not bend that vassal’s will, your highness. She is a dragonrider. It would take the power of many psions and yourself, just for us to hallucinate her, much less imprint her fully. Only by breaking her hope have we kept her under our control.
“Then I will succeed where you have all failed.”
We do not doubt that Princess, but no matter how much you imprint, she would not willingly ride for you.
“Then why did Senjya keep her around? Dispose of the Phyroan if she has no use.”
Senjya only used her as another psion, one to do the dirty work of breaking down vassals who could turn rogue on us. We are far shorthanded on Aryss; the Imperium needs to muster any force possible. Her will is broken enough. Without her own Queen she has lost all hope, and her motivation has been reduced to base survival, but she would more likely end her own life before assisting us with eliminating the last remaining Rogue Queen to stand against Goddess Mother!
Amefrid narrowed her gaze before sneering.
“You underestimate my power, Therys. I will corrupt this dragonrider. I will seduce her. She will willingly serve Clan Amallark, and then I will totally dominate her. And then we will slay Talisa.”
She wasn’t quite sure, all she remembered was freaking out really badly in Ultima, but for some strange reason she now felt she could execute total domination – an extremely complicated and high-level psionic ability – with ease.
Therys nodded in understanding.
Your will be so, your highness.
“Now leave me. All of you.”
And all the workers who dutifully served the Princess Amefrid, including the psion Therys, slunk away, lest they be punished for disobedience.
Amefrid railed another line and as she sunk into blissful oblivion, she continued to scheme.
She did not care about the fate of Aryss. She only wanted to return home. Even if she were to break the Phyroan, and dominate her, there was no sense in risking it all just for a wild hunt across this blasted barren desert. Let the rogues slowly perish here with their Rogue Queen, Talisa Talauth. She would totally dominate the Phyroan dragonrider, and ride the Arkdragon back to Reath, and claim what was rightfully hers.
But before even the last mote of her will was fully consumed by the moon sugar, she thought only one thing:
Fuck.
My.
Life.
The total domination had forever changed her, but what the Goddess didn’t realize is that this also went the other way.
In their private conversations, Therys often played therapist and confidante to the bitter Senjya, and was regaled with no shortage of stories of just how much of a cunt Amefrid could really be. She had hoped it was just bias, but now with personal observation she wholeheartedly agreed.
An oxycodone. While it was extremely dangerous for any biology to mix opiates with alcohol, the spirits within Amefrid’s body made sure to carefully parse out the chemicals running through Amefrid’s black blood, ensuring her safety.
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Was and will make me ill. I take a gramme and only am.
As Amefrid had to slowly climb her way out of the depths of a K-hole.
Considered the most difficult of all military campaigns.
Except for one single captured dragonrider.
The presence of which was considered a miracle in and of itself, given the truly hellish conditions of Phyros. It made Aryss look like a lesser hell. And yet, for the Calletheans, Phyros was their paradise.
The Godlike Plato would have been aghast at this ‘benevolent’ dictator.
But the Godlike Curtis Yarvin would probably have been a fan.
At this point Amefrid was too dissociated to care anymore about her workers, even the ones in her own clan. That is, her own sisters.
From Elysium Planitia, where the Hive was located.
She was ruining her vibe, elvan. Amefrid didn’t want any Debbie Downers around her, it made it harder to stay positive about her whole situation.
Daenarys Targaryen of Westeros, and Amefrid was not the first royal to compare herself to this figure.
And much of elvan design in the fringes – there was no further fringe than Aryss – was copy paste, sleek function and no more. So this receptacle really did not look any different from the one Vilithe dined from.
Not even she called it Amallarkea. Such a mind-full, too many thought-syllables. Hive. It worked better. They all thought that the name Amallarkea was terrible, but in turn, they were too afraid to think it lest they face the God Empress’s terrible wrath, for it was obviously chosen by vainglory. It evoked a grand polis, something rivaling Babylon. But no, this was a hive of scum and villainy. A desert town bordered by nothing. An unlivable realm entirely, and they hadn’t built jack squat. Senjya’s frustrations in the revolutions when she thought the terraforming project was still somewhat possible was always that Goddess Mother would never send her enough of anything. Pressurized oxygen, raw iron, crop seeds, cocoons. More was never enough. And even the Goddess herself had given up on the terraforming project, the dream of the triumvirate.
But even Therys knew this was just a bluff, that was beyond her authority. Goddess Mother would not allow such a waste.
And as we know, she did not.
She was finally beginning to understand that something unforgivable had been done to her. But of course, she had to forgive her Goddess Mother, there was no choice in this matter. And so, instead of dwelling upon how she was wronged, she instead only felt certainty that she could do the same to another, in turn. Now she looked forward to it.
For the simplest way to learn any psionic technique was for the learner to experience being on the receiving end of it.
Known as ketamine in the Lost Age, it was commonly used for anesthetizing their domesticated cryptids – equines, canids, wyverns, felids – if there was a creature on Reath that walked, swam, or flew, the Godlike Beings would find a way to dominate them.
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