Uhlek Badlands
12,112-7
Hanhala Sanctuary

In the eerie dim light of the Florentine atrium, the Leghk explained, in a cascade of vocal harmonies, the chronicle of the exiled Thrynn of Hanhala.

Four battered transports had set down on the coastal surface of the bleached world some thousand years earlier, the last vessels of an exile flotilla that had numbered nearly twenty at the outset of their journey. Uhlek slave-sentries, Gazurtoid crusaders and the random perils of deep space—Phlegmak traps, untethered fluxes, meteor blizzards—had all taken their merciless toll as the exodus fugitives raced Outward.

With what remained of their colonial engineering equipment, the Hanhalene Thrynn burrowed deep underground near the placid sea that covered the northern hemisphere. They carved a hidden sanctuary from the sheer rock face of the underwater cliffs near the shores of the ocean sea. It was there—both guarded by the Uhlek and protected from them—that the exiles deposited the books, the speeches, the art, the wisdom and the learning of the Thrynn provinces of the Old Empire.

"These precious halls are a monument to an old order of truth and light," said Volusze, motioning to the airy structure. "In these chambers are all that remain of that order, the few scattered relics of the Thossian Provinces.”

"Perhaps it is time you saw the histories," said Volusze, gesturing to a column-flanked doorway.

The Leghk led them through the arch and into a long hallway. The passage was lined on one side with carved murals of black marble that depicted the history of the Thrynn, beginning with their genesis in the primeval jungles of Thoss.

The mural was a flowing stream of epochs from the history of the Thrynn and the Old Empire, each scene melting into the next—carved into the walls as though part of some ancient tomb, Arella thought. Volusze proceeded past each in turn, saying nothing. The renditions were plain in their meaning, requiring no spoken explanation.

The opening renditions depicted lithe, tribal Thrynn slinking through the hell swamps of Thoss with spears in their hands and their young on their backs. Moving at the tempo of time, the carved murals quickly set tone of Thrynn history: brute, brilliant, murderous wars that tore through the ages relegating all else to mere curiosity.

It was a history of insatiable blood feud that barely noticed the discovery of fire, or language, or law. It was war that ignored writing and cultivation and medicine, war that was oblivious to great works of literature or the wonders of science. It was war that displaced the subtleties of faith, war that churned bloody mud in the face of flight and rockets with the power to break the grip of planetary gravity, war that made gamessport of the thinking plants of world called Eleran. It was war that smelled of sweet, decaying flesh and burning ruins.

At length, the passage reached corner. On one side, the corridor gave way to a tall, rectangular window that drew in brilliant swirling sealight, illuminating a segment of the mural with dancing blue rays. There, carved in the wall opposite the window, was the central representation of the long panorama.

The mural took its scene on the golden plains of some unnamed world among the ocean of stars. A Thrynn, an Elowan and a Human, perhaps meeting together for the first time, stood looking out over the waving fields of sun-colored grain, no malice between them.

Volusze chose a few words. “The Ollsrl bond here gave birth to the golden age of the Empire,” he said, the organic light of his body blending with the cool sealight to illuminate the scene. The levitating alien led his guests further down the corridor, through the early history of the Empire. The long wall chronicled an era of peace and prosperity as the vibrant union pushed the boundaries of space and knowledge. The centuries that followed were flush with discovery and triumph and the expanding edges of known space.

And then the First Wave arrived. Along the corridor, the images turned from exploration and wonder to combat in space, in black choked skies and on untamed planet surfaces. The Imperial fleets and legions fought doggedly for each parsec and each square meter of land. The mortal struggle culminated in the pitched battle on the ice frozen plains of the Ghettus Row, Thrynn Marines fighting like beasts in the merciless cold, saving the Empire from destruction. The murals showed a spoiled peace of deep unease, and then dove into the impossible mass of the Second Wave. The Uhlek barbarians breached the ramparts of the gasping Empire and poured over space, ravaging tranquil colony worlds, leaving savage destruction in their wake. The Humans were swept away in the nightmare tide. Everyone else floated on the scattered debris as the storm moved outward.

In the wake of the Uhlek invasion and the collapse of the Empire, Thoss began slowly descending into a nightmare. The corridor passage began a shallow descent, the sea light from the window slowly fading back into dark low artificial light.

The murals were now haunting pictures of thin, wiry, malevolent looking Thrynn hiding in the darkest corners of the old cities their eyes full of living death. It was clear from the art that these wraiths were an ancient evil, some depraved cult that finally saw its chance to stab at the foundations of civilization, their anger drawn from some unseen well.

As the mural progressed further, the sinewy characters wound their way into the fabric of Thrynn society. Too thin and hollow-faced, they stood out among the fleshier lizards who seemed oblivious to the insidious evil in their presence. Over time, they rose like weeds through the great institutions of Thoss: the universities first, to shape the minds of the young, then into the sources of information and opinion, and into the courts and the halls of the bureaucracy and finally through the guarded doors of the Senate itself

"All through their creeping rise to power, they sewed their evil seed," said Volusze, stopping before a particularly harrowing segment of the winding mural. "Though never directly, they attacked the concept of truth, undermining it with every weapon at their disposal, from every seat of power and influence."

Senator HvHuss stared at the picture, clearly the Old Senate chamber in the VsKssh Citadel. One of the wraith Thrynn was ascending the steps to the senate president's chair, a look of arrogant triumph beaming on his face as another, tired-looking Thrynn walked heavily down to the senate floor. "They buried truth. And then there was nothing to stand in their way.

"The Humans were destroyed with the Empire, and with them was lost the bond that had united the Thrynn, Human and Elowan for centuries," observed Volusze. "Absent this unique linkage, a natural animosity between the Thrynn and Elowan began emerge once more. The cunning wraiths saw opportunity in this, a way to bend Thrynn culture to their own ends. They launched a decades-long campaign to associate the concepts of truth and reason to the hated Elowan. They moved slowly, almost imperceptibly and met little concerted resistance. Eventually, they discredited and marginalized the notion of absolute truth, leaving the Thrynn with no faith in their institutions or traditions or laws."

“And when the wraithss finally launched real efforts to seize power…” HvHuss said, motioning again to the picture of the Senate.

“The Thrynn had no courage to resist, no firm anchorage," realized Arella. “With the foundation of truth in shambles, they had nowhere to turn for strength. If truth itself is suspect, nothing is real. Why not simply allow the barbarians to overrun the city?"

“Hell of a conspiracy," noted Biggs.

"Or perhaps merely the knowing, winding nature of evil," said Volusze, leading the Windfall crew out of the gallery. Biggs stopped for a minute as the others walked back the atrium. The last picture caught his eye. It was of a Thrynn senator running terrified through the jungle.

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Next: “Cumulonimbus”

The Jova Lounge has been updated! Check out the new title graphic for SLC in the fanfic section, a new guest star scheduled by “Jova Lounge Presents” and an updated edition of “The Real Deal.”

Hilsfar & Company: Desperately Seeking Tiki Fonts