The Cap of Invisibility (Ἄϊδος κυνέην (H)aidos kuneēn in Greek, lit. dog-skin of Hades) is a helmet or cap that can turn the wearer invisible. It is also known as the Cap of Hades, Helm of Hades, or Helm of Darkness. Wearers of the cap in Greek myths include Athena, the goddess of wisdom, the messenger god Hermes, and the hero Perseus. The Cap of Invisibility enables the user to become invisible to enemies, functioning much like the cloud of mist that the gods surround themselves in to become undetectable.
In the Amarrian Mission of the Sacred Word, those capsuleers who fly cloaked ships carry on this sacred and mystical tradition. Pilots of the Anathema serve from deep within enemy territory as reconnaissance, but also exploration and trade missions.
Though the skies be immense, I know not fear.
Apocalypse Comix
Hi! This is a comic book I started working on the night before New Years Eve in 2011. I thought some of you might enjoy it. I know it is crude and in black and white. I will do a colourized, complete version of the comic soon, updated for 2020, the year in Hindsight. Your donations will help me so that I can do my comics and writing full time, Thanks!
C$2.00
When I signed up for my first EVE Online character, I had actually given careful consideration as to who my character should be. I had considered a Minmatar rebel slave, such as in the movie ‘Spartacus’. I had also considered playing the role of the ‘bad guy’, the ‘evil’ Imperial slavers of EVE, intolerant religious zealots and bigots. I am referring to the Amarrians of course. My decision to become Amarrian came to me as I walked through the Museum of Civilization in Ottawa, Ontario. I looked upon a huge shield and crest which had been displayed there. I thought of how Canada was a nation of British Imperialists who had imposed their will upon the indigenous inhabitants. This is what made me decide to become Amarrian.
I didn’t realize at the time that roleplayers were a minority in EVE Online, nor did I realize that the role playing community was so ‘fractured’ in their interpretations. During my time in an Amarrian Factional Warfare roleplaying corporation, I saw a lot of interesting roleplay fizzle out or get quashed by fellow corp mates. There is also the attitude of ‘you’re doing it wrong’. There seems to be a lot of backbiting and drama within the EVE Roleplaying community.
Upon returning to EVE (albeit in a somewhat sonambulistic state), I was delighted to see that my former corp mates had both become Heretics. At last! Some spicy roleplay! Still, the response from others seemed lacklustre. Certainly, Amarrian loyalists will commit violence against the hulls of a Heretic. No problem there! However, there was some discord about Heretics such as Blood Raider role player corporations being ‘permitted’ to fly in Factional Warfare.
Already, it seems like people want to penalize roleplayers for their desire to roleplay. This is despite the fact that roleplayers carefully craft and construct their characters and stories not for their own entertainment, but for the entertainment of everyone including their enemy.
It brings to mind the blog comments about the CVA and Providence, according to a member of Ushra Khan. To paraphrase, he said that when the CVA held Providence, it was ‘fun’ to fight them. They were gracious winners and gracious losers. Win or lose, every battle seemed like the unfolding of a great, unwritten epic. When a non-roleplaying alliance took over, all of that changed. They just seemed like they were mean and condescending.
Despite this, trying to encourage roleplaying in EVE is an uphill battle. I think my worst obstacle however, was in an ideological sense. Among the Amarrian loyalists, there is a strong belief (or interpretation) that they are the ‘good guys’. Obviously, I can’t say that this is wrong. In fact, the worst kind of evil is that which considers itself to be doing good. The Slave owners that treated their slaves kindly were the worst kind of slave owners, since they made the institution of slavery seem tolerable.
My issue with this is that slavery is supposed to be considered despicable and evil, and that includes the Amarrians (and the religion) that support it.
I suppose it goes back to my very first roleplaying experience as a child. I was about ten years old, and fascinated with Dungeons and Dragons. For whatever reason, I was most interested in becoming a Lawful Evil magic user. The other player had it firmly set in his mind that he only ever wanted to play a Lawful Good fighter. The point is that our characters we roleplay are an extension of ourselves. We can never successfully ‘impose’ our roleplay, or any other beliefs, upon others.
Nevertheless, the whole idea of what the Amarrian religion ‘actually is’, is fascinating to me.
The short answer is; ‘Whatever you think it is’. If you are a Christian, Mormon, Jew, Muslim, Atheist, Agnostic, and you think that the Amarrian religion is a reflection of your own beliefs, then you are correct. It’s your interpretation, your character, and your subscription after all.
The long answer is; ‘let us consider what the Amarrian Orthodoxy is not’. We know that it is not meant to have any relationship to actual existing religions at all. The original Amarrian church was based on the ‘Universal Catholic’ church, and the Amarrian bureaucracy might certainly resemble that of the Catholic church, but the Amarr church has no resemblance to the present day Catholic church. The Amarr church is not Christianity. There is no Saviour. If anything, the Amarrian values seems antithetical to anything preached by Christianity. Turning the other cheek and giving unto the poor do not seem like Amarrian values.
I would say that the values of the Amarrian church would be more like those of the Pharisee High priests of Israel, or the priests of Ancient Egypt, or the Brahman caste of Hinduism. In short, you are born into a privileged priest caste which spends most of their day absorbed in ritual, meditation, and prayer.
What are the religious texts of the Amarrians? The texts comprise a huge collection of religious manuscripts which fills entire libraries. These texts are likely to include the Torah, the Talmud, the Qu’ran, the New Testament, the writings of St. Thomas Aquinas, Spinoza and so on. In addition to these texts, there are some books which are considered to be ‘Apocryphal’ by the Theological council.
In my interpretation, these Apocryphal books would include any mention of Jesus of Nazareth, or the prophet Muhammed. Any mention of helping the poor, pity or compassion for the weak, describing pride as a sin, etc. would also be ‘apocryphal’. Thus, someone calling themselves a Christian or Muslim in EVE would be considered a ‘Heretic’ to the Amarrian Orthodox church, and not a Heathen.
However, how exactly does one roleplay as a Heretic?
My research into what beliefs might be considered ‘heretical’ led me to the actual Apocryphal texts of the early Christian church. This is an entirely different interpretation of the story of Christianity than the one that is told by either Catholics or Protestants. It lead me to investigate Hermetics and Hermeticism, and perhaps even a different understanding of what ‘God’ is.
In my quest to discover some sort of mythology, some sort of narritive to the Amarrian religion, I found none. However, my studies in Hermetics led me to discover the Tree of Life, the mystical ‘Qabalah’.
Within the Qabalah, there is enough to satisfy every mystic and philosopher. The Qabalah (also Kaballah, Caballah, etc.), seems to represent the method through which all matter in the Universe (or multi-verse) is created by God. God, (also called YHVH, the all creator, etc.) exists in the dimension of ‘limitless light’. This light travels through various circles, or Sephiroth, which are also aspects of God. These Sephiroth are like metaphysical weigh stations, or ‘manufacturing slots’ if you will. The pure light of God’s manifestation is channeled through these until it develops certain characteristics. When this light has traveled through all ten Sephiroth, it becomes matter. ‘The World’. Malkuth.
According to the Apocrypha, the light of the ‘true creator’ of the Universe is blocked, hidden, obscured from the masses. This light is blocked by the Demi-Urge, the ‘semi-maker’ or false God. This false God is the one that most people worship. In Amarrian roleplay, I would consider this to be ‘Molok the deceiver’. The light of the one, true God is discernible only to a few, the gnostic (i.e. those that know). Of course, these Gnostics (i.e. Heretics) are persecuted by the orthodoxy.
Another interesting thing about Hermetics and the Qaballah is that it clearly outlines religious rituals one can initiate and participate in. What a lot of the religious faithful may fail to recognize about their religion is that it is defined by ritual. In the Theocratic state of Amarr, this is how most of the people would be spending their days. The priests of Ancient Egypt spent all day immersed in prayer and ritual.
Which brings me to magick and sorcery. The Hermetics that I studied were of the Golden Dawn variety, made infamous by Aliester Crowley. The idea that the construction of the Universe, the great plan of God, etc. could be ‘tampered with’ through the use of the appropriate spells, sigils, etc. became fascinating to me. Living close to an Occult bookstore as I do, I picked up a fairly beefy ‘Introduction to Magick’ tome by Donald Kraig.
I was interested to note that there are two paths to enlightenment, both of which lead through the Kabalah.
The first path is called ‘the path of the arrow’. This is the most direct path, and the one that most Priests, Monks and Aesthetics take. It is the so called ‘right hand path’ of abstinence, obedience, poverty, etc.
The second path, called the path of the serpent, travels through all of the sephiroth. This is the path of the magician or Sorcerer. It is the left hand path of indulgence, licentiousness, and general depravity.
Also mentioned in the Apocryphal texts is the God Abraxas. Abraxas is the God not of Good, or of Evil, but of the totality of all things that exist, both ‘good’ and ‘evil’. In my understanding of God, this is the only definition of God which stands up to scrutiny. ‘God does as God wills’, without good or evil intent. This avoids the logical problem of Epicurus. “If God exists, is he all good?”
In my interpretation, the God of the Amarrians would be more of a pantheistic entity rather than an anthropomorphic deity. It would be a God which was beyond good and evil, acting out of necessity.
[Pod and Planet Submission]
Name: Sera Kor-Azor.
Title: ‘Ole’ Time Religion’
Category: ‘A day in the life.
4218 words.
The cloudy mist of the holo-projector forms into the defined, luminescent shapes of a pair of comedy and tragedy masks. A three dimensional projection of the words ‘Has been Heroes’ smashes through the masks as though they were made of glass. The background theme of ‘Has-been heroes’ blasts through the speakers. The voice over narration introduces the show. “Welcome to this episode of ‘Has been Heroes’. This is the show where we find out where yesterday’s heroes and celebrities are and what they are doing today.” The camera descends towards two impossibly attractive smiling young hosts, comfortably seated in comfortable chairs. The narrator booms out “With your hosts, Aurner Ignaught and Zanie Tuvolian.” The slick haired, chiseled jaw Aurner smiles, then turns towards his blond and well-proportioned smiling female co-host.
Aurner slaps his knee as he laughs heartily, turning to Zanie who is also laughing. “Tonight on ‘Has-been Heroes’, we find out what happened to ‘Quaram’, that delightful Gallente child actor who touched so many of our hearts all those years ago. Who could ever forget his sad little face in the scene from the invasion of Gallente Prime? So moving. So heartwarming.”
Zanie grins sadistically. “Where is he now?”
Aurner chuckles. “Ah, well he had a little problem with drug addiction and debt. Today he is a security guard at an anti-gravity mini-golf planetside.”
Zanie looks at the screen, her beautiful face split in a wide open grin. “Ahhh! Looh-ser!” She starts laughing hysterically, and the studio audience starts laughing as well.
“But first, this just in.” A striped sausage like multi legged creature appears between Zanie and her host, growing in size. “Exo-zoologists at the University of Caille were delighted at the first live birth of the variegated duciplet in nearly a century.” The wriggling, worm like creature is suddenly joined by other wiggling, worm like creatures. “Once thought to be extinct, the variegated duciplet was brought back through genetic manipulation and the help of a surrogate mother. Here she is with her first litter of pups.”
Aurner and Zanie casually turned their chairs to witness a large striped sausage like creature dangling in the air between them. As the creature writhed and squirmed, other smaller white sausage like creatures wiggled up to it to feed. There was a squealing and sucking sound permeating the background.
“Aren’t they adorable?” Zanie cooed. The audience cooed as well.
Aurner turns from his profile position to face the camera. His eyes were warm, his face beaming with pride. It was almost as though he himself was the father of the creatures floating behind his head. “Next on our list of celebrity has beens, we have little Soapy Sera. Who could forget that adorable little ‘Soapy Sera’? She was the child star who featured at the instructional advertigrams at every sink and fountain in the Kor-Azor region. Later she went on to star in the ‘Sister Sera’s Sunshine and special snowflake hour.’
Zanie beamed. “Where is she today?”
Aurner steepled his fingers, grinning as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, her mother tried to take Lord Aritico Kor-Azor to court over a paternity suit. Her mother lost the case, and now Sera’s a Nun!”
Zanie’s eyes went wild with sadistic glee, her face dropped open in a wide grin. “Ahh! Haah! Looh-ser!” Zanie started slapping her own thighs in laughter. This was her catch phrase. Her audience laughed as well.
Aurner is laughing as well. He clutches his stomach as he steadies himself. “Well, as you might understand we have had a little trouble getting into the secretive Amarrian empire with our crew. The footage we have tonight comes to us from Neten Renfrew. He was a former student at the University of Conoban. So tell us Neten, what’s been happening at the University?”
The man pauses for a moment, waiting for his radio signal. “Well, it all started to happen after a video some of us took started to go viral on the Galnet. It was during the time of the lunar eclipse. I thought, ‘What a great time to get a camera drone out and film it’, you know? Well, anyways, we went to the rooftop outside of the Crystal Cathedral. That’s when I saw this Nun going onto the rooftop and doing some sort of ceremony.”
Zanie and Aurner both look at each other. “A Ceremony?”
Neten nods. “Yeah! A ceremony! Well, I don’t really follow the Amarrian religion myself so I was interested. What kind of a ceremony do Amarrians usually do at night during an eclipse? So I sent my camera drone over to investigate.”
Zanie and Aurner both nod sagely. The image of a camera drone begins hovering over their heads, rotating like a snowflake. The words ‘Golden Beetle’ floats above the spinning image, while the ‘Lai-Dei’ float in green neon letters below it. “Tell us about the drone.”
Neten pauses again. (Perhaps there is a delay in the signal.) “The drone I use is called ‘Golden beetle’. It replicates local insectoid life and is small enough to fit into the palm of your hand. I sent the drone over to capture this ceremony. I thought it would offer an interesting insight into Amarrian religion. Who would have known that the Nun would turn out to be little soapy Sera Kor-Azor? Talk about a stroke of luck!”
Zanie and Aurner nod and smile in agreement. “Well, let’s take a look.”
The whole screen is replaced with a dark deep blue mist, then some black outlines. The infrared heat pattern of a woman in a Nun’s outfit comes into focus. Her face seems to glow with red and orange colours, contrasting to the dark blues and greens around her.
The voice of Neten chimes in. “I had to use the infrared setting because it was dark out.”
The camera drone follows the woman into a room where birds are kept. We hear the cooing of dozens of birds, as well as the distinctive outline of these more cold blooded creatures. The woman takes one of these birds from it’s cage, and begins lovingly stroking it.
“Oh Zhara, you were always my favourite! You know that don’t you? That’s why I gave you all the special grain and special treatment? Do you know why I gave you all those special little treats and special treatment? It was because you were Mama’s little favourite! That’s why!”
The woman makes soothing cooing noises as the cradles the bird in the crook of her arm, stroking it. She carries it to a rectangular black object, and places the bird on top. There is a brief glare, and a new white spot appears on the screen. The white spot dances and flickers, as though it was a live flame. The woman takes this white glare in her hand, walking with it in what seems like a circle.
The woman’s voice booms out. “I consecrate this space with fire!”
The woman returns the white sparking object, placing it back onto the black pedestal. At this point, she seems to light a stick on fire. From the infrared spectrum, the smoke from the ignited object trickled upwards through the air in a heat stream of pink and red.
The Nun takes this burning stick and walks around in a circle again. “I consecrate this space with air!”
The woman approaches a bowl upon a tripod. She thrusts the burning stick into it, where they extinguish with a hissing sound. She takes the tripod within the crook of her arm, and walks around in a circle with it.
She sprinkles the water from the bowl by dipping and flicking her fingers. “I consecrate this space with the sacred waters!”
Next, the woman picks up a smaller bowl. She walks around in a circle again, tossing what seems like a granular substance on the ground. “I consecrate this space with this circle of salt!” The woman approaches the black pedestal again, and seems to put the bowl upon it. She takes up the bird with both hands, lifting it above her head. Then, with a hooked knife, she slits the bird’s throat as she holds it’s feet. She takes the bird by the feet and moves it vigorously, motioning in rhythmic, ritual patterns. Judging by her movements, she would seem to be coating the entire pedestal with the spurting blood of the dying bird.
Still holding the bird, the woman traces a star like shape into the air before her as the corpse spurts blood. “I consecrate this space with the element of spirit!”
The dead bird is then placed back on top of the pedestal. What looks and sounds like a knife is drawn, a thin pointy stiletto blade. The knife is used to cut into the dead bird, and the woman removes the entrails of the animal. She holds these entrails up, as if in offering, then she places them in what seems like specific containers upon the pedestal.
The camera cuts back to Zanie. She has a rather puzzled look on her face. In fact, her pretty little face is twisted up like a pretzel. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but is that what most Amarrians do? It’s just that, I don’t know, but I think that anything involving dead birds is pretty weird.”
“Very weird!” confirmed Aurner, nodding.
The whiny voice of Neten interjects. “The lighting gets better in this next part!”
Aurner nods. He turns to his editor and mimes slashing his throat with his finger. He mouths the words “Let’s cut to a commercial.”
The holoscreen is now replaced with what looks like a tropical island. In the middle of the screen, a huge bottle of Quafe sits on the beach. The word ‘Nouveau’ appears above the bottle, with the word ‘Cheriese’ appearing at the bottom. The bottle is red, and two large spherical objects, presumably cherries, have been attached to the bottom of the bottle.
The narrator’s voice announces the product. ‘Nouveau Quafe, c’est gout cheriese!”
A pretty brunette woman in a bikini appears. ‘Mon Cheri!’ A blond woman in a bikini appears on the other side of the bottle, pouting and stamping her foot. ‘Non! MON Cheri!’ The two bikini women laugh as they rub up and stroke against the side of the bottle, the top of the bottle explodes with an animated cloud of cherries. The two bikini women giggle and laugh as they hug the bottle, holding out their tongues in hopes of catching the delicious cascading fountain of cherry flavoured beverage.
The narrator’s voice corresponds to the screen text. “Nouveau Quafe, c’est gout cheriese!”
Zanie and Aurner sit comfortably in their studio chairs, beaming with a smug sense of superiority. “Well, what do you think of that, eh? Poor little soapy Sera! She never could make it in the showbiz world, so now she joins a Convent! What do you think? Hilarious! Boy, what a loser!”
Right on cue, Zanie turns to the camera and laughs. “I know right? Looh-ser! Hah hah hah! Ah hah hah hah haa haa haa!” The audience laughs along with her.
Zanie and Aurner turn to watch the two dimensional projection again. This time, the room is lit with candlelight. We can see the Nun’s face a little more clearly. “Now who is this? Is this little Sera?” asks Aurner. Neten nods. “Yes, now she is one of the Nuns that lives in the Cathedral. It sounds like she went a little weird though. She started saying that she was the Countess of this campus. She went into the Crystal Cathedral, and demanded sanctuary. So, I thought they just kind of locked her up. I guess not though.”
Sera the Nun, now surrounded by candlelight, sits with her eyes closed on a meditation cushion in a cross legged position. After a moment, she rises from her position. She pulls a stiletto dagger from it’s sheath and holds it outstretched before her. Slowly, carefully, she walks in a wide circle around the central pedestal which is covered in candles.
As she walks she starts chanting. “As I circle, spiral circle, DNA or orbit circle, so I weave the cosmic thread, as planet patterns mindful read, growing in size, expanding in power, now over the sun and moon I tower.”
The solarized image of the Nun shuffles slowly across the screen, in and out of view as she circles the central pedestal. “Over the system, and to the next star, outgrowing the constellation by far. An infinite growth beyond galaxy size, my body fills the cosmic eyes. Yet, above and beyond our heads shines the infinite and limitless light. Indeed, the infinite and limitless light of your being, from which all creation is formed. May your light guide us and not blind us, Amen!”
The Nun then points the dagger above her head. She pulls the point of it down, pointing at the spot directly between her eyes. She sings out in a booming voice.
“Aaaaaahh Taaaaaaaaaah!”
She then points the dagger at her feet. “Mhaaaaaaaaaaal Koooooooooooot!”
Next, she moves the dagger across herself from her left to right. “Viiiiiii Giboooooo Raaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
Then, she moves the dagger from her right to her left. “Viiiiii Gedooooo Laaaaaaaaah!”
At this point, she presses her palms together over the blade of the dagger. “Liiii Mooooeee Laaaaam, Aaaaameeen!”
Sera then steps away from the pedestal , standing to the east side of it. With the point of her dagger, she makes strait, exaggerated lines as she traces the outline of a star. Holding her elbows out and pointing her fingers, she steps forwards suddenly as though breaking through the invisible barrier she has just created.
“Yood Hay Wow Heh!” She booms these words out from her belly.
Moving in a semi-circle, Sera makes her way to the northernmost point of her space. She draws a pentacle in front of her, and then steps through it just as before.
“Ahh-doh-Nye!” She booms out.
She continues west, drawing out the imaginary pentacle with her dagger and then stepping through it. She inhales into her lungs deeply, seeming to resonate with the pronunciation of each word. “Eh-Heh-Yeh”. She faces north, and draws the imaginary pentacle in the air again.
She steps through, and sings out In a melodic resounding tone, “Ahh-Glahh.”
In the candlelight, her dimly lit face is smiling. Her eyes are skyward as her hands lift the entrails of the dead bird towards the camera drone. The camera looks behind it, and scans the image of a humanoid figure.
The humanoid figure, a caricature, has the head of a bird, and legs that become snakes. The figure wields a whip in one hand, and a shield in the other, while riding a vehicle pulled by four quadrupeds. The camera then turns back around, watching as the smiling woman offers up the bird entrails to the figure.
Sera holds up the bird entrails to this figure. “I pledge service to you, Oh Lord Abraxis, and offer up a sacrifice in your honour.”
“Chick’s a freak.” Aurner mumbles this quietly into his fist, but the microphones pick it up anyways. Zanie smacks him in the shoulder with the back of her hand.
The camera drone looks down upon the face of the Nun. One of her eyes is artificial, the other seems glassy and distant, as if in a far off trance. “I have sacrificed my favourite pigeon unto you, in your honour, oh great and powerful Lord. Now, I would ask you to look favourably upon my workings of magic this day.”
Sera then takes a doll, roughly formed. She holds it between the palms of her hands, slowly rubbing it.
“I ask you, Oh Lord Abraxis, Lord of Lords, God of Gods, high heavenly host most manifest and holy, to assist your servant Sera Kor-Azor with the invocation of the first of the high heavenly manifestations of the ninety nine interpretations of your most sacred name. He is the fourth of the Archangels, and the Seraphim of the Sephiroth of Gee-boo-rah upon the sacred tree of the Kah-bah-lah. I ask for the guidance and protection of Mee-chai-el to from the nether region of the Qliporeth.”
The Nun stares into the bowl of water placed upon the altar, in a deep trance. There seems to be an odd rippling effect in the air, and a scintillating purple light reflects upon her face. She takes the dagger, and cuts her own thumb. She lets the blood drop onto the crudely formed doll. There seems to be human hair and fingernails attached to the doll. She uses some sort of twine to fasten the entrails from the dead bird onto the doll. She adds some plant like material to the doll as well. She then begins to carve a peculiar symbol onto a disk of wood, and binds this to the doll as well.
She scoops up the doll and holds it up to the peculiar figure, then turns ninety degrees and lifts it up to the full moon. It is a rare astrological activity, an Autumn moon, a so called ‘blood moon’, and on the same night as the lunar eclipse.
The woman holds the doll up to the moon. “I ask you, Oh Lord Abraxis, consider this poppet as the form of the false Empress, she known as Jamyl Sarum. Jamyl Sarum, the breaker of codes. Indeed, Jamyl Sarum, the infidel.”
There is the whistling sound of the wind, then a pause. “ It is written that the Imperial flesh shall never be cloned. Yeah, has the Sarum broken the ancient covenant and introduced foreign ideas and greater Liberalism into the Empire. Yeah, has the Sarum released the slaves into their seventh generation, thus depriving the holders of their opportunity for spiritual guidance over those slaves. Those freed inferior breed minmatar slaves will now be competing for jobs with commoners of pure Amarrian racial stock. There is race mixing and chaos. The empire is crumbling. All of it can be traced back to the breaking of the taboo of the doctrine of the sacred flesh.”
As Sera speaks, the lunar eclipse goes through all phases. A black cloud crosses the surface of the moon. “I ask you, Oh Seraphim of the Sephiroth, to send your servants to dispatch of the false Empress known as Sarum. Let there be no trace of her corpse. Let there be no fresh clones for her. She, the false Empress and servant of Molock the deceiver! Let her no more deceive!”
Sera tosses the doll into a brazier. The doll ignites quickly, soon disappearing in smoke and ash. “Oh holy and most righteous Seraphim, take the Sarum from this Sephiroth of Mahl-koot and deliver her not unto the Kether of the limitless light of the Ain Soph, but deliver her unto the dark roots of the tree of life, the unformed realm of the Qliphoreth. Amen.”
Sera looks up from her bowl of water, a crazed expression on her face. “Already has the cosmic machinery been set into motion! Already has it started to happen! The slaves, falsely released, shall be brought back into the bonds of blessed servitude! Already the pendulum is swinging back from the Sephiroth of Chesed and back towards the Sephiroth of the Geh-boo-rah. Once again, it is demonstrated in plain view for all to see why the Minmatar must be held in embonded servitude for their own spiritual benefit. See how they behave when they have been prematurely released? How they cry out for discipline! See how their backs beg to once again feel the lash!”
Sera clenches her fists, screaming out in fury and anger. A tear seems to fall from her one good eye. “Let the will of the one true God make itself manifest through the Sephiroth of the Ka-bah-lah! Let it manifest though Kether, through Chesed, through Geh-boo-rah, and through all the Sephiroth. Let the manifestation of the Ain Soph come through the path of the serpent, instead of the path of the arrow.”
Sera’s face seems puffy now, bloated from crying. “Let my own desires be made manifest through the practice of my most holy craft. Let those images upon the Astral and Ethereal become manifest to my will here in the Sephiroth of Mahl-koot. Return to me my Noble and rightful title of Countess over this place.”
Sera holds out the palm of her hand, flat, as though presenting it to a biometrics scanner. She parts two fingers on either side right down the middle, forming a ‘V’. With her thumb out at the side, her hand looks like a ‘W’.
“Let it also be known that the sixth symbol has been known and discovered. Let it be known what the sixth symbol is. Shin.”
As she says this, the flames of the candles seem to fork off into three parts.
Sera raises her arms above her head, making a ‘V’ shape. She moves her arms to make the signs of the other sacred letters, as well, L and X.
“May the Sarum be removed, and may the rightful personage of Lord Aritico ascend upon the Imperial throne. May the benevolence and guidance of Lord Aritico deliver the true Amarrians once again into the Golden ages of our Empire. Amen.”
At this point, she picks up a bell from the altar and rings it, facing the four cardinal directions. “The spell is complete. I ask the guardians of the east, go and depart in peace. Guardians of the North, go and depart in peace, guardians of the south, depart in peace. Guardians of the west, depart in peace.”
The light becomes dimmer as candles are extinguished. The screen is dark for a moment, then forked lightning cracks across the sky. The Nun is seen hastily packing things up and running inside as the precipitation starts.
The camera cuts to Aurner and Zanie, who just sit and stare at each other for a moment in dazed amazement. Reflexively, Aurner smiles at the camera.
“Wow! Okay, that was some weird kinda stuff. I don’t know anything about the Amarrian religion, so could we get an Amarrian expert in here please? “
The face of an Amarrian man appears on a two dimensional screen between the two television hosts. There seems to be beads of moisture, perhaps condensation upon his face. His eyes seem a little wild. The name ‘Doctor Cherner Mough’ appears at the bottom of the screen.
Aurner leans back and turns his head sideways, as though he were addressing the hologram in person. “Doctor Mough, could you help explain a little of what has happened here for us please?”
The man stammers a little bit. “Well you see, what has happened here is that Sera Kor-Azor has just committed some of the most heretical and blasphemous acts within the Amarrian religion. She has not only insulted the Empress, but actually actively wished for her death. This is a crime almost unimaginable to most Amarrians. Merely insulting the Imperial family is a crime punishable by enslavement….worse yet, Sera is using ancient and forbidden religious rites in order to invoke celestial powers to her aid. No one has done anything like this since…since… Zaragram the mad.”
Aurner listens to this, considering. “What was that? Did you say that Sera could end up enslaved for this?” The Amarrian man nods slowly, curling his lip a little in delight at the thought.
Zanie turns to the camera, flashing her trademark big toothy grin for her expectant audience. They had been waiting for it, so now for her famous catch phrase …
“Ah-Hah! Loo-ser!”
The Audience laughs. Everytime.
Aurner puts on his stoic, serious facade as he once again interviews the nervous looking Amarrian. “So, Doctor Mough, you say that Sera has been practicing Ancient and forbidden Amarrian rites? Where would she get her hands on such information?”
Doctor Mough turns his eyes up and inwards, rubbing his chin as he thinks. “Sera spent much of her life in a Convent, studying the scriptures. This is not uncommon for those of noble lineage, especially if they are troublemakers or the black sheep of the family. The Amarrian Holy scriptures contains hundreds of thousands of volumes, more than one person could read in a lifetime. Some of these books are considered forbidden, ‘Apocrypha’. Naturally, organizations such as the Theological Council and the Order of St. Tetrimon try to find these forbidden texts and eliminate them, but it is an overwhelming task. Some Apocryphal texts still slip through the cracks.”
Aurner listens, nodding and frowning. “So what are these forbidden books called again? The ones you think Sera has been reading? Apocalypse?”
Doctor Mough smiles, chucking and shaking his head. “No, no, no. Heh heh. You are getting the name confused with the Amarrian battleship I’m afraid. It’s ‘Apocrypha’. Eh-pock-cree-pha.”
Suddenly, Zanie bolts up out of her seat, her eyes bulging in horror. She points off in the distance. “Apocalypse!” she screams.
Doctor Mough chuckles and smile. “No, no. It’s pronounced ‘Eh-pock-cree-pha’. I can understand if it’s a tough word. It means ‘Forbidden books’. The Apocalypse is an Amarrian battle…”
Aurner and Zanie’s faces begin simultaneously contorting in a silent scream. A ruby red light appears across the screen. Then there is nothing but static.
‘Dear Agnes’. (An obituary), by Sera Kor-Azor.
Dear Agnes, I had misjudged you when I had first met you, oh Agnes! Oh! If you could forgive me now! I knew that we would become fast friends though. In fact, during those times in the Convent, it seemed you were my only friend. I still remember it now, those difficult first few months in the Orphanage.
My mother was still alive, that was the good news. She was however, judged unfit to be an Amarrian mother. I would be allowed to see her at the Sanatorium twice a year during the High holy holidays.
My father? Well, it’s a bit unclear to me who my father actually is. Since I was a little girl, I was told by my mother that my father was the man on the holoscreen, the controversial Holder whose name was spread across the datasphere like a rash, namely, Ariticio Kor-Azor. This is what she believed too, right up until the point where she met him. At that point, all she remembers is searing pain, blindness, and waking up in the hospital with an artificial eye.
Now she gets called in for counselling twice a day three times a week so the good Sisters of the order can tell her that what happened didn’t really happen. Well there’s that, and there’s also the part about how the incident with my mother was actually entirely my fault. How I was the one who actually led my entertainment agent on, seduced him, even though I was only a minor at the time. I thought that my Mother was a hero at the time, arriving to stop it as she did. That perverted old agent was part of the ‘old boy’s club’ unfortunately, and was able to pull enough strings to have both me and my mother committed.
I remember the first day I met you, Agnes. I had only been at the convent for a month. I had excused myself from a lecture on the necessities of morality in order to get a drink from the fountain. It was at that moment when I saw myself, the hologram image of myself, taken when I was a little girl. That was how my childhood had been spent. As a hologram star. I showed the new pilgrims how to cleanse and drink with the sacred as well as the secular waters. They called me ‘Lil’ Soapy Sera’.
All those images from my childhood, from the fabulous birthday parties to the giggling gossip about boys, came flooding back into my mind and then, flooding back out again. Those would be just happy memories now.
At this moment, I had been transferred into this Convent and like all the otehr girls, subjected to the sneering condensation and verbal abuse of all my superiors at the order. My mother had been transferred to a drug and alcohol detoxification facility, also run by an Amarrian convent. So, regardless of whether I was in my own Convent, or that of my Mother’s, there was no escape from the ever present, ever peering eyes of the other Nuns.
My ‘home’ had vanished. My refuge had disappeared. There was no longer a ‘home’ to return to. The only moments of escape seemed to be moments such as this, where I could look out the window and daydream. I would look out the window as you too have, Agnes. I would look at that mountain range and that magnificent waterfall, and the river heading out to sea. I would fantasize about leaving the convent, fashioning a raft out of spare canisters and exploring the planet.
I would realize that these were only fantasies. After all, this was a Polar planet, with an outside temperature in the negative triple digits. Those rushing rivers do not harbour life, unless something can live in liquid methane. The storm clouds of the poisonous atmosphere rained methane into puddles on the ground. Wheeled robotic drones searched the planet for water in it’s solid ice form. There would be no escaping this Convent by conventional methods.
I remember, in those first few months, how the awkwardness of fitting in and making friends was particularly keen around our communal meal time. Certain groups wouldn’t want you to sit with them, having already formed cliques. To be honest, I was rather thankful for the vow of silence amongst the other novices. I didn’t really have anything I wanted to say. I remember seeing the faces of the other girls, all within our habits, with eyes sullen, sunken, detached, fierce, frightened, friendly, or even seductive.
We were the wayward children, the ones who would be taught the Amarrian qualities of humility, obedience, devotion, dedication and honour. We were the latch-key rejects of the Amarrian upper classes, now sent off to a religious convent on a remote planet where ‘troubled youth’ are expected to repudiate themselves through mandatory ‘Mission work’. Drug addiction? Stuttering problem? Lesbian? It doesn’t matter what’s ‘wrong with you’, the good sisters of the order will ‘fix it’. Huh, or so they said.
I remember the first day I had met you, Agnes. The Sisters had discovered my interest in archaeology, so they assigned me to the Artifacts department in the convent’s Scriptorium. I descended the spiral staircase of the Convent to enter into the Scriptorium where I had been assigned. The entrance here was magnificent, as the interior housed a complete collection of all of the religious manuscripts within the region of Kor-Azor. The lighting here was provided by stained glass windows set high into the ceiling. From these windows, the faces of Amarrian Saints and prophets scowled down disapprovingly upon those who assembled below.
Each wing of the Scriptorium was overseen by a Circuitor, an overseer who supervised the selection and reference of the books within her wing. Like human gargoyles, these glowering and humourless Nuns sat perched within their desks, scrutinizing and surveying the activities of all the subordinates around her. Like cold, calculating machines, these pinch faced Nuns referenced data-files, video captures, press reports, audio captures, anything they could get in order to have a categorical list of ‘sins’ to use as blackmail against their young charges.
They were dedicated and efficient in their work, and they had a full list of these verbal slings for Sera. I remember walking past them. The verbal abuse was well timed it seemed, as though it had been coordinated. Like artillery shots, the snarling faced Nuns popped the insults and accusations off slowly, one at a time, as I walked past. It was as though they were trying to let each individual one sink in. ‘Slutty Sera’ said one. ‘Sinner Sera’ said another.
Twelve rows of stacks, six stacks on each side, for four years until graduation. Every day, I remember. Every day I would have to walk through this Hall and be subjected to this gamut of verbal abuse.
I remember you. You had just finished eating a crossed bun, a pastry designed to remind us of the sacrifice of the martyrs. You reached out your fat little hand to me, with those chubby fingers still glistening with sweet, sticky syrup. I nodded towards the direction of the nearby sink, as a subtle hint that you should wash your hands. “Oh!” you said, then washed both your hands thoroughly, from finger tip to elbow tip, just as my eight year old hologram of myself demonstrates at every water dispenser.
“You’re name is Sera Kor-Azor right? Sorry about your father.” You said this at a time when I didn’t even know who my father was. The whole matter was before the courts, and I wasn’t allowed to discuss it. “We do have some of the stuff he sent though, including something that was sent express by Imperial slave courier and intended only for you. Careful, it’s fragile!” I remember you handing that package over to me, and my reaction upon opening it. How was I to know that it was the eye of Aritico Kor-Azor, as a way of repaying what was owed to me? I was but a Novice then, and newly arrived as well.
I remember how I became sick, and how you nursed me back into health, gave me shelter, acted as a mother, sister and friend. Also a mentor, and the one who introduced me into the black arts.
It seems that many of the books that had come from Aritico’s personal library were considered apocryphal. These ancient tomes were works of ritual and magick which had long been forbidden by the theological council. Despite this, it was rumoured at least that the Holder families practised these rites secretly. This was the source of their true power. Naturally, this included the Emperor as well.
All of this, explains why you wanted to believe that I was a legitimate heir to the Kor-Azor noble titles. I wanted to believe it, too. Yet then again, perhaps I really am a Countess as you had said. It didn’t really matter at the time. I felt trapped inside that Convent, and you and the other girls in the Coven were my only friends.
You know, I do believe it Agnes. I did feel something, a very mysterious something, as we used to do our magical rituals in the ancient catacombs beneath the Convent. I’m glad that we hid those books and artifacts together, so that the other sisters wouldn’t find them. I remember the rituals that we did then. I guess we were just kids.
Still though, I felt something. I felt as though the bones of all the other sisters, those Nuns who entered into that infernal Convent in a state of confusion and pain, had suddenly freed their souls from the suffocating mental bonds of the Patriarchy. I felt a sudden release from the stifling ideology of the Amarrian Orthodoxy. I felt a sense of being able to take control over my own life, my own environment. I felt like this for the first time in my life.
I remember when you and I made our magical wands together, from the forearm bones of a Minmatar slave. Thus, once enchanted, we might summon the souls of the dead slave to serve as our protector, servant, or perhaps even personal companion. The ends of the bones were surmounted with a crystal, a crystal which had been obtained from the planet’s surface by a wheeled drone. I remember when you and I took that excursion to the planet’s surface. We left in a crawler truck to make the journey to substation twelve.
We were both pretty excited, since it was our first time out of the Convent. We would need to wear special suits, as a precaution, even though we never intended to leave the interior of the vehicle until we arrived at our destination. To most of the other girls on the tour, it must have seemed like more boring engineering stuff.
To us though, it represented the perfect opportunity to perform our ritual. We needed a clear view of the full moon during the period of the upcoming lunar eclipse, and that’s what this substation had. Fortunately, this substation had been shut off and was non-functional. The only methane that was still processed through here was for heating, cooking and waste incineration purposes. The vast amounts processed for industrial purposes would be handled in another substations, likely populated by slaves. This one had been set aside for educational and demonstration purposes.
All that would be needed would be access to a Polar Crawler-truck on the night of that lunar blood moon eclipse. It worked though Agnes. We managed to sneak out in a crawler-truck and take the rest of the girls in the coven with us. We took along our tools, our chalices, wands and knives, and managed to sneak out a sacrifice.
We performed the consecration of the space, and the calling of the four Archangels. There, in a circle, chanting, the whole coven then began chanting as we invoked the spirits of long forgotten Gods. We began chanting for a way to open a portal between our space and another space. A tropical beach. A lush forest. Each of us, sitting in a circle with eyes closed and chanting, each imaging herself leaving this cold and desolate planet.
Each of us, well, except me. You see, it was my first time doing this ritual. I suppose it was for a lot of us too. The thing is, I opened my eyes and looked out the porthole at the face of the moon, just as the lunar eclipse was happening. Do you know what I saw? I saw the shadow of the space station that was in orbit around that moon. The space station from which the planet’s resources were sold! As the other girls chanted and wished to be transported back to their home, or onto a beach with boys or something, I looked at that gleaming, glinting metallic space station just as the eclipse was hitting it’s peak.
Well? Did it work? Here I am today as a graduate of the Academy. A full capsuleer, so not stuck on the planet of the Polar penguins anymore. I’m just sorry about what happened to you. I don’t know what happened to you. I don’t…know. It wasn’t me that said anything. I would never have said anything about anything that happened between us. You know that. I don’t know who it was that snitched, or why. It’s just that…well….at least the other Sisters in the Convent are allowing you a burial niche within the sacred grounds of the Convent’s catacombs. Although your remains will stay here, I know that your soul resides in a better place. Love, Sera. (With that, Sera wipes a tear from her single eye as she pushes the box of her friend’s remains into the sacred creche within the catacombs.)
Space Station Alpha 