Demise Of The Awakened Roshanian

By Ethan J. Mecomber

Far from our galaxy in a different time and place, within another multi-verse is a reality where Chancellor Masters for thousands of years have kept peace and act as mediators between numerous diverse species. Although highly trained in various forms of fighting and an ancient power, Chancellor Masters solve disputes with diplomatic aptitude. As if drawn, an insidious rift escalates among the three remaining Roshanian Guilds, weakening them further. The galaxy is partially recovered from the egotistical machinations of civil war when Khalon Grayson Loure, a Chancellor of noble character stumbles upon the first of five mysteries artifacts. These ancient holographic recordings were considered to have never existed. The artifacts change; the willing, into legendary beings of great power, long thought extinct. Among other secrets hidden inside the five artifacts, they indicate a new Guild, a new kind of Chancellor would arise out of the aged. Invading Lamian forces overcome a Roshanian Military Outpost located in their outermost galaxy, Binomi, the Unified system of Planets. The Lamia access top-level files and destroy the Military Outpost and enslave countless billions. The Lamia seek an artifact known as the Mantle, and its untold power locked within its core. Who are the Lamia? What and where is this Mantle? Why was it created, by whom, and why do the Lamia seek it? When unlocked, who or whom could wield such power? Will the Guild unite? Will their internal struggle end? Will they accomplish the impossible task of defeating the Lamia and return balance to the universe?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ethan J. Mecomber
• Release date: May 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386582632

Book preview

Ethan James Mecomber

A New Beginning

Volume One

This book is dedicated to my best friend and beloved wife, Sherri Lynn: my life is forever changed because of your loving friendship. To my children, my nieces, and nephews: never, ever stop dreaming.

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Far from our galaxy, in a different time and place, within another multiverse, is a reality where chancellor Masters for thousands of years have kept peace and act as mediators between numerous diverse species. Although highly trained in various forms of fighting and ancient power, chancellor Masters solve disputes with diplomatic aptitude.

As if drawn, conflict escalates an insidious rift among the three remaining roshanian guilds, weakening them further. The galaxy is partially recovered from the egotistical machinations of civil war when Khalon Grayson Loure, a chancellor of noble character, stumbles upon the first of five mysterious artifacts. These ancient holographic recordings were considered to have never existed. The artifacts change the willing into legendary beings of great power, long thought extinct. Among other secrets hidden inside the artifacts, they indicate a new guild and chancellor, would arise out of the aged.

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Invading lamian forces overcome a roshanian military outpost located in their outermost galaxy, Binomi, the Unified system of Planets. The lamia access top-level files and destroy the military outpost and enslave countless billions. The lamia seek an artifact known as the Mantle, and its untold power locked within its core. Who are the lamia? What and where is this Mantle? Why was it created, by whom, and why do the lamia seek it? When unlocked, who or whom could wield such power? Will the guild unite? Will their internal struggle end? Will they accomplish the impossible task of defeating the lamia and return balance to the universe?

Once kin, no longer,

Brothers torn, cast asunder.

The greatest has fallen, both tried and true,

From dust, remnant remains and shall reform anew.

The story remained a mystery untold,

A new beginning shall now unfold.

What once thought lost shall be found,

To pass on forever that which is sound.

What was torn shall be remade.

One rejoices, the other afraid.

The two made whole as from the start,

Shall yield strength to the weak of heart.

Chapter One

Painful Reminders

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The year: Omnis Myriad 9992

The muffled rumble of industrial generators resonated throughout the ship. Simultaneously, it traveled with a disengaged nucleon drive, and other than the occasional ping of space debris on the ship's protective hull, the battered Invictus quietly glided in the vacuum of space. Reluctantly, he turned to his side, then stood, and before him were innumerable golden, sapphire, and crimson binary star clusters. The luminescence of the Quinari Obex galaxy cast his shadow, imbued through the reinforced slightly tinted glass window wall. Magnify, he paused, then added, home, in a deep monotone. A dimmed moonlighted glow was the scenery for the galactic interactive holographic imagery. Gazing deep into the intoxicating beauty of his galaxy, he recalled a distant memory, and a projector above cast the scene and setting. Swirling about him as a raging vortex were millions of holographic reflectors. These reflectors received their image from the projector above via Khalon’s memory, downloaded previously.

We are going to be late, pleaded Ulissia. Khalon was dithering, as usual. But at a mere three standard years of age he climbed the bold narrow stairs to the rooftop as a proud mountaineer.

Hurry son, you don’t want to miss this one, his father said standing on the upper deck taking his hand. The best seat right here, he pointed to the chair inside the box. Khalon ran to his father and embraced his leg, Are you ready, he asked. Khalon didn’t speak, but nodded. Khalon reached for the interactive projections as if to touch each wondrous star or planet, as if to hold it in his hand for examination. Little Khalon poked his head out of the box and had a look around, expecting the identical images to remain. Tulatio hoisted little Khalon into his arms, rubbing the slight chill out of his back. Their newly installed stargazing chamber stirred Khalon’s desire to communicate audibly. To his parent's delight, Khalon pointed to a distant star, stammering he said, Home, Papa, home.

Tulatio held his son close to his chest closed his eyes and squeezed, Ulissia's face was bright as their violet sun, but then it dawned on him. Home, he asked with a questioning brow, Khalon rested a heavy head on his fathers shoulder, then nodded. We are home, little Khalon, Tulatio stated. Nearly sleeping, Khalon nodded and quietly said, Home.

Perhaps it was the inspirational experience of viewing the stars in the interactive chamber for the first time, or perhaps the sudden mood took Khalon. Or perhaps, Ulissia was correct when in times past she had explained to Tulatio, Khalon’s father, Maybe Khalon hasn’t decided what to say.

Returning to the present, he stumbled and reached for the reinforced window. End program, he breathed, taken aback—specifically by the memory of his mother.

The computer, combined with an individuals entered memories of events, scanned photographic images, and voice data entry, created the interactive holographic image, as if happening again but for the first time. The digital image scattered what was order, became chaos, and formed into a cyclonic vortex, returning as it were into the projector above. 

After Khalon’s morning tea and toasted sweet bread he practiced the slow rhythmic movements of Pokt-tor, and after a short but welcomed shower sat quietly for several moments in a calm, dimly lighted room.

He inhaled deeply and for a long moment Khalon was still and meditated on the Word of Yeshu. Steam billowed from a fresh cup of poured tea, Khalon inhaled its aroma three times. And when all was quiet the communicator exploded.

Excuse me, sir, Khalon jolted, it shattered the silence and the calm of his mind and body. The pilot announced, Entering Harvoris space, Master.

Scalding his left hand and nearly his face, he grimaced. Khalon masked his irritation and said, Well done, simultaneously he waved his hand. Decrease our speed and access flight sequence, he paused. Khalon squinted his eyes and massaged a square, whiskered chin, Sequence as stated in tabellae file 4twz, momentarily paused, then added, dash 2. Bring the main engine back online; inform me if any problems arise or anyone contacts us. Until then, he inhaled deeply, I'll see you on deck.

The intercom system crackled, Affirmative, sir, then faded with an electronic shriek that could split his head in two. His dissatisfaction with the Invictus’s poor condition boiled over. Releasing some of his mounting frustration, as a steam valve would a boiler, he slightly elevated his voice each time he repeated the phrase, I know, I know, I know. Khalon pinched the bridge of his slender nose and exhaled forcefully, adopting a sarcastic slumped posture.

The pilot did as instructed with the click of several buttons, the turn of two dials, and an adjustment of the ship's wheel; it lurched slightly. He then switched off the generators and brought the main engines back online. Lights flickered, computer trans-screens flashed, and monitors rolled as if they had been rebooted. Power surged throughout the ship as a plinora bear awakened from its slumber. On the exterior of the ship, abundant ice particulates on spherical exhaust ports broke free as the ship came to life and coruscated in space as sparkling calico jewels on black velvet.

Khalon turned on the outdated computer and reviewed the nightly report, and as suspected, found it nauseatingly uneventful. Khalon forced air through puckered lips and agitated his head. It was three weeks to Harvoris II: no stops, no surprises, and no issues provided no complication developed with the dilapidated ship. Cautiously, he sipped the hot, unsweetened, slightly bitter amber-green tea and gazed once again into space.

Glad to see the end of this mission, he quietly exasperated. Khalon pulled up his trousers. Maybe I'll get something more interesting, he drolled and quickly threw on a loose tunic, than quelling uprisings on Torgon III and tolerating the meaningless squabbling of others. The tunic nearly concealed his swashbuckling figure. It also concealed a mysterious scar from what, at one time, was an immense gash. Khalon yearned for a mission with a dash of the mundane, inundated with intrigue, freedom from obscurity, and saturated with the grandeur of astonishment.

Harvoris, Harvoris II, and its shared ovoid sapphire moon Mesan, commonly referred to as the Blue Egg, cast a serene silhouette deep into space. Mesan willingly followed, beguiled by the dual gravitational pull as if both planets pined for the sapphire moon, waxing and waning for its affection. Ahead, a violet sun and the golden, purplish-blue, and vibrant red-orange gases of the Harvoris nebula streamed gracefully into its center, never sating its voracious appetite.

He observed the remains of Harvoris's catastrophic event; it had occurred ten years prior to his noble birth. Explosive gases triggered a series of chain reactions of near-cataclysmic proportions, that resulted in a profoundly deep abyss and expulsion of its radiant metallic inner core to space. A great throng of rock, ice, and metallic material formed a wide hyperactive band that encompassed the planet.

Donned in environment suits, the Sola mining company erected buildings, constructed roads, and established several colonies on large land masses left intact. What little gravity remained narrowly provided a suitable place to continue mining for a precious substance called sulfuric vandiphyrin. Stimulated by galactic burgeoning demand, sulfuric vandiphyrin's primary use was in the refinement of prolonging the consumption of inexpensive radioactive space fuel.

Traveling in space at three hundred thousand kilometers a second, or a short eight-minute, 1.58 light years ahead, was the large emerald planet of Harvoris II. Performing admirably, the partially dilapidated ship gave several short bursts of the main engines and thrusters. Effortlessly, the ship slowed, automatically turned one hundred eighty degrees, and lined the ship with the planets celestial equator. Khalon detected the massive cloud formations strewn about on the magnified screen. After linking with the planet's complex communications weather satellite, he discovered they would narrowly avoid the fierce storm system while entering its atmosphere and disregarded adjustment of the vessel’s speed. He gathered a tabellae, left the confined comfort of his room, and headed to the helm.

After greeting the lieutenant and ensign 2nd class, Khalon latched the airlock behind. He donned a magnetized spacesuit and left the security of the ship to check the structural integrity of the weakened aft section. Passing Mesan, the lieutenant fired the forward thrusters in bursts and slowed the ship further upon entering Harvoris II space. After running a diagnostic on the integrity of the ship’s aft hull, chancellor Khalon visually inspected the repairs, found them in good order, and headed inside. The Invictus emerged through scattered clouds stretched across an infinite sky of blue-violet. Seasonal rains continued until morning on Harvoris II in the city of Port Eratz. Covering a third of its surface was a blue-green ocean of fresh water. On closer inspection, the pilot viewed scattered islands and the sandbars of nearby islets.

The Invictus descended fifty meters above a large herd of horned whales. Following them was a school of shark-like mammals, but smaller, called, moore. Moore’ had elongated snouts and flanks, with curved dorsal and pectoral fins and thick armored plates the length of its trunk. Their tails were a long, wispy, spiny barb filled with paralytic toxins strong enough to impede a horned whale’s escape. Due to the vastness of the horned whale, a youngling horned whale provided nourishment for a school of fifty moore’ for months.

Dispersed over the surface of the freshwater ocean, boats fished the shallows, its costly merchandise sold first to the affluent. Extended fifty kilometers to either side, a concaved waterfall dumped its vast payload ten kilometers to the valley below. Also in the valley below, through the mist, countless farmlands, blanketed richly in dark amber soil with the means to feed billions.

Hidden within the falls were vast quantities of circular hydroturbines. These hydroturbines contributed endless means of power for the continent in its entirety. Progressively, over tens of thousands of years, unrelenting floodwaters had carved the prepossessing walls of dark amber limestone to solid bedrock. Moisture clung to infinite hanging tendrils of succulent indigo fruit. A master sommelier and several pupils manipulated a teaching barge along the numerous species of greenery carpeting the walls. Painstakingly imbued in the canyon walls were privately owned superior boutiques and unsurpassed eateries for the sophisticated upper class, which viewed the galactic public with a glint of arrogance.

Innocuously, the battered Invictus and a wispy trail of clouds approached the city's center from the east. The copilot glanced out the starboard window and followed the Invictus’s shadow over what might have been the start of a celebratory event. Khalon assumed it was due to the end of the war, and hoped it was.

After an arduous two standard years of endless debates, inconsequential differences, and narrow-minded thinking, the elected officiates of Ikenor, Talore, Natori, and Torgon III had finalized an agreement. An elite chancellor Master twenty-nine standard years of age had returned home. His intent: settle the long-awaited End to Hostilities Act, and return to the roshanian guild, on Verradis, preferably unscathed.

Discreetly nestled in the North Harvoris Pine Mountains, thirty kilometers outside of Port Eratz, was the hamlet of Bellator. It was named after chancellor Master Sapiente' Bellator, who had lived and died in this small but quaint hamlet. The legendary stories of Bellator's fighting skills and diplomatic aptitude filled every home on Harvoris II. His distinguished notoriety appeared on numerous occasions in the historical records at the roshanian guild capital, on Verradis. To this day, the hamlet of Bellator produced the most fearless, well-balanced warriors to join the Verradis roshanian guild. For this purpose, an encampment for exceptional sword fighters and hand-to-hand combat masters remained operational deep in the mountains. Khalon's ancestral lineage traced back to Bellator, paternally. Although the pressure of falling short of the legendary Master Bellator was great, Khalon trained but graduated at a mere twelve standard years old. His education continued under the tutelage of Master Oofar Blonn.

Stimulated by olfactory acuity and recollection, for the first time in three weeks since his departure from Verradis, Khalon took pleasure breathing the fresh morning air. He felt the warmth of sunlight on his olive complexion.

Appreciative, he accepted the sunlight and gradually walked down the ship's ramp. Out of ritual and good fortune, he grazed the ships plaque and hidden talisman of Yeshu.

A follower of Yeshu and a believer in His wisdom, he, however, had a tendency to get wrapped up in his thoughts and fears. Perhaps he was just like the rest of us: human, flawed. 

Khalon reflected on his cave explorations as a youth on the Isle of Caldoris. The island and its overgrown vegetation had stood abandoned for over four hundred years amidst the ruins of the Priests of Gali. He recalled the stories: the priests had mysteriously disappeared with a flash of light. The hidden obscurity of what transpired, however, remained a mystery.

Much of the time he studied the strange, ancient symbols or explored the hidden expanse of cave systems—all but one area, though the little princeling did try. Once, Khalon entered the frigid darkness of the cave, a labyrinth of age-old magma flows that led deeper underground. He acquired strong rope from the town market, secured the rope tight around a large rock, and tossed what remained over and into the abyss. Khalon heard the rope hit the cave wall, but it didn’t reach the ground below; he tossed in a small rock and waited. Nothing, no noise, just nothing, and thought it best not to climb down the rope.

He was a boy, and what else is a young boy to do other than pick up another stone, though larger. Grunting fiercely, Khalon hoisted a large boulder. Arms trembling overhead, Khalon stepped closer to the chasm edge. He gazed into the inky darkness below and for a fleeting moment Khalon wondered of its depths, the hidden dangers or lost treasures that awaited his discovery. Khalon inhaled deeply, and grunting once more heaved the boulder into the darkness below and waited.

The commotion echoed within the semi-smooth cavern walls. Soon, all Khalon heard again was the heavy laden dripping of fluid seeping through stippled ceiling.  But again, nothing remarkable happened.

When a long moment had passed and Khalon had given up all hope of hearing any noise for his efforts, like any bored standard nine year old he walked away disappointed. But after Khalon had taken several steps he heard a thunderous reverberation from the abyss.

Khalon spent more than half of his time fishing the shores and watched viridescent water gyrate on the black pebbly strand amid unfurled clusters of porous rock, untamable bivalve crustaceans, and arthropod sea life.

He wished chancellor Master Jasiwen Teqc was with him, even for a moment, so he could gaze in her vibrant blue eyes, to share what his home world had to offer—perhaps offer a future here, of their own, one day. And perhaps he would one day get the nerve to ask Jasiwen as much. Khalon left Verradis and planned to see Jasiwen; unfortunately, business, as usual, came first yet again. During their ten standard years of excessive training, a friendship developed into love, and love prospered into courtship; in courtship their passions deepened. 

Will I be a yes man all my life? Khalon muttered and rubbed his abdomen, grunting. Khalon wasn’t one for voicing concerns, as much as the concerns were as good at eating him up inside. He grimaced, then swallowed. 

For the time being, he set his cares down and remembered his mission. He rejoiced and gave thanks; the familiarity of his home world was refreshing and restorative to his soul.

Khalon made his way from the ramp. He reported to the hanger caretaker, scheduled a maintenance diagnostic, and waited momentarily. It read: Trans-thermal pressure—fair; nucleon drive—poor; exterior integrity—poor; petrol/trans-thermal fluid viscosity—fail. Khalon hung his head. He knew the Port Eratz official would hold his ship due to the pollutants atmospheric bill, and rightly so. He signed the tabellae document and completed the hefty transaction, walked off the open breezeway, and entered the chaotic market. In the distance Khalon heard the familiar tribal beating of drums, and the breathy woodwinds unique to his home world. Various performers provided a tasteful, sophisticated atmosphere of relaxation to increase consumer expenditures.

At a distance of ten meters, spectators took notice of the heavy muscled chancellor and viewed his sight as some do, with apprehensiveness, unaware if this chancellor was virtuous or immoral. This soon became clear as he witnessed a thief stealing from the nearby market stand.

Stop, thief! someone yelled, the boy bolted and finds himself directly in front of a well-defined warrior towering at 2.15 meters, and weighing in at over 175 kilograms. Calmly, he outstretched his hand and spoke with a commanding baritone voice, Give it here, boy.

Reluctantly, the boy placed the dried fish in the chancellors hand and expressed remorse, I'm sorry, he stammered, I was hungry. Whether the expression was from guilt, fear, or admittance of his impoverished state of being, Khalon hoped the boy wouldn't lose his hand, which at times was the penalty.

I will pay for the fish, but you must come with me, slowly, he removed his hood and revealed a trimmed poet’s beard with red highlights, a strong, square but moderate cleft chin, and a  thin scar that started on his right temple to the front of his jaw.

He was a human entering his twenty-ninth year with copper eyes, black eyebrows, and brown hair. He wore a traditional loose tunic, with an off-white sash, a modest cloak, and sturdy but scarred dark armored boots. Apprehensive, the boy swallowed and they made their way back to the market stand.

An elderly man met them but was able to stand for only a moment. But the elder noticed the boy's haggard frame and sickly pallor and understood why he took the fish, then summoned him to sit.

Khalon Grayson Loure, at your service, sir, he bowed, then asked, Is there a way we can work this out peacefully? Khalon paid for the fish and handed it to the boy. Ravenous, the boy turned slightly in his attempt to hide excessive hunger and devoured the fish in four large bites, Khalon purchased another and outstretched his arm. The fish in an open but callused hand offered the fish to the boy. Khalon reassured him and placed a compassionate hand on his shoulder then said, Eat this one slower, all is well.

The elder nodded, Do you have a name, young one? he asked and offered clean drinking water.

Lorne, sir. Lorne gulped the water and then another, a young lady Lorne’s age had been watching the scene the entire time. She crossed the bustling isle and handed Lorne a nap sack with clean shirt, and sturdy new pair of sandals then hurried back across the isle. Khalon nodded his thanks.

The elder said, Lorne, my name is Sochun; I may have a job for you. I’m old and need help with making deliveries. He handed him a yellow sweet fruit, then asked, Would you like that, would you like a job?

Forgive me for not helping you sooner; eat, and if have a need, ask. A slight feeling of apprehension came over the elder, warily, Do you have a home? he asked, and said, I don’t use the upstairs any longer; if you like, it’s yours. He asked with finality, Do we have terms?

Khalon bowed his head slightly to the right in his customary way and thanked Sochun for his wisdom and generosity. Khalon recited an ancient text in a state of meditation or prayer. Khalon offered Sochun a satchel of several different kinds green leaves and said, Dry the leaves today; tonight, crush them and make hot tea. Drink it all and you'll recover by end of morning tomorrow.

Sochun acknowledged with a nodding gesture and thanked the chancellor.

You’re welcome, sir.

Khalon observed Lorne and grew pensive and handed him a satchel with one hundred gold pieces. Remembering the pressing business Khalon said,Farewell.

Some witnesses in the marketplace expressed joy concerning the peaceful outcome, and yet most were relieved that he was not a menacing chancellor. Khalon understood the validity to this assumption. More, in times past than present, when a chancellor Master arrived a prevailing fear rather than hope filled the hearts of the people. The majority of chancellors followed Yeshu. However, at times they misused their powers, abilities, and authority. This created ongoing credibility issues concerning the roshanian guild—even the free practice of Yeshu was effected negatively.

Aden Pharrc, formerly a renowned chancellor of the Torgon III Guild, in Waywood city, was expelled for such behavior. Records