The Deadman's Relic
By Kyle Emmerson
Ranma 1/2, and all subsequent characters and situations presented herein
are the intellectual property of Rumiko Takahashi. I assume no credit
for these characters and situations. I'm merely borrowing them.
Perdido Street Station, The Scar, and Iron Council, and all subsequent
settings, characters and situations presented herein are the
intellectual property of China Mieville. I assume no credit for these
settings, characters, and situations. I'm merely borrowing them.
Note: It really helps if you have at least a general understanding of
The World of Bas-Lag. I suggest you pick up these great books today and
start reading! However, in the event that you're lazy and cheap, I'm
going to try to write this in such a way that everything is understood
properly.
Prologue: The Tar Ferry
The ferry shifts, pitches and yaws, as it fights against the current
of the River Tar. The Ferryman, some loudmouthed Cactacae is talking to
me, but I ignore him. The bright-red flowers that bloom from his
photosynthetic skin twitter in frustration. I am taking in what I see
here in this noonday sun. New Crobuzon, the city I was born. The city I
had hoped never to lay eyes on again, and the city I was honour-bound to
enter.
It hasn't changed. In ten years, the cityscape is exactly the same
as when I left it. Cold, barren, and futile.
This is a Dead City. I see evidence of it everywhere. In the sludge
of the Gross Tar, where the river turns to toxic chymicals. I saw it in
the khepri slums, in the ghettoes. I see what I left behind. The people
of this city are dead... They just aren't aware of it.
But, oh, this city has its beauties. Grandiose and beautiful
architecture, much of it ancient, dot its streets. The landmarks are
endless throughout this city. No, this city hasn't changed. I look
towards the ribs that jut out of the ground and seem to encase the city
from thousands of feet above.
What creature left behind those remains? And what could have killed
a goliath of that magnitude?
I know the stories, the theories... Some say it's an avanc, beached
up from long ago. Avancs... Some people will believe anything. But the
truth is, attempts at excavating the ribs, to even find out what kind of
creature it once was, has only met in disaster. But those ribs, they
stand out high above the city, threatening to take it within its grip...
I look to the west, and the sun reflects off of the Cactacae Glass
House, a little piece of the Cymek that they attempted to take with them.
These Cactacae have forgotten themselves. They are a shamed breed.
In the centre of the city, miles away, the top of Perdido Street
Station is visible. This is where all lines meet. All trains, all
elyctric lines, it is the centre of the city. It was said to have been
designed by a madman centuries ago. He was also said to have died in the
magnificent and twisted architecture.
The ferry battles its way upriver, and I must sigh. I had never
wanted to see the city; To be in the shadow of those wicked ribs ever
again. But as I stand here, minutes away from the city, only my honour
is at stake. I must carry out his last wish.
I don't know how long I'll be in the City, but I know I will not
stay. Not here. Not in this place of haunted memorials. This place of
corrupted lives and pointless deaths. This place of the broken and
despondent and empty.
But I will carry out my duty, whatever that duty may be... and I
will move on. This I know. This city holds nothing for me save ghosts.
Where I will go is yet to be seen. Perhaps I will return south, to
Myrshock or Cobsea. Perhaps I will continue on to Shankell. Yes,
Shankell was a good city. On the edge of the Cymek Desert, and home to
many Cactacae. The battles were amazing. I remember standing, captivated
by the fights. The way the gladiators moved. Their quickness, their
precision... Their ferocity.
I remember my first bout. An honour-battle against an old friend. It
was after that we had to move on. And so on we went, to High Cromlech,
where I spent much time learning what I could from the Quick Warriors.
Many of my memories of High Cromlech are fond ones, but I would never
return. The living and the dead were an obscured line there. You were
just as likely to come across a Thanati or a Zombie. Ghuls and Vampirs
stalked the streets at night. A dark place.
Perhaps I will go west, over the Swollen Ocean, to Nova Esperium, or
farther, perhaps even to the Continent of Bered Kai Nev itself.
Or perhaps I will wander without aim, and see where the Gods will
lead me.
I am going through the shadow of the ribs, as the sun blinks out of
reality for a brief instant. It reminds me of the Cymek.
But as the North bank looms ever closer, I am snapped from my
reverie. The Great City of New Crobuzon stands before me, with its
humans and xenians. Cactacae and Khepri and Vodyanoi and Wyrmen, a
motley assembly of sentients, all thrown together into one gargantuan
melting pot. There is not purity here. This I know.
I can see now the people of the dock. Human and Khepri and Cactacae.
All looking for a way out. I wish them luck. I see two of the humans
ushering a limp khepri, her headlegs torn off in some accident... or
worse. She seems disoriented. Perhaps even... empty.
But that is the curse of this city. This curse that out-shadows even
my own curse, earned with the death of a man at the edge of the
Cacotopic Stain. But that isn't why I'm here. I'm here to deliver a
message.
As the ferry slows and bumps into the dock, its impact absorbed by
the rubber panels, I step of the ferry. My last thought entering the
city flows over and over in my mind...
Find Soun Tendo...
End of Prologue
Author's Note: Okay, Revision One is done. As always, if you see
anything, let me know.
Peace out, all...
Kyle "Boomer" Emmerson
07/06/06
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