It had been standing outside the Palace for weeks. Is it "standing"? Is that what that should really be called? Let's say "idling". It had been, without a doubt, staring at the Palace entrance for night cycle after night cycle. Any passersby have likely been too unnerved to ask it why, if they could identify it as a living creature in the first place. Anyone bold enough to try would have been met with no (legible) response.
At the top of the train, it is possible to check for a sign of interest or intrigue, or at least a sign of life. The glistening emerald gemstone bobs up and down ever so slightly, atop a great wall with a dramatic height of 7 feet. Not really visible to most smaller creatures. Even less visible is what dwells within that hunk of gemstone. Even those who could have climbed up the train's frontmost car (also known as its "head") would have had to be rather astute to spot the two thin, unassuming slits in the gemstone. Those who did manage enough curiosity, courage, or stupidity to peer inside those slits would have been rewarded with an inexplicable and chilling sight: eyeballs.
The only eyes the train possesses.
And they've been pointed at the entrance to the Palace for, again—weeks.
What it has been learning or analyzing or thinking is, as per usual, a mystery. Today, right now, marks the first day of an action that anyone could identify with intelligible verbiage, English or otherwise. It moved. Into the building.
Eggbert, the poor butler, was moved past without any concern or acknowledgement. And perhaps that was to his great fortune. The flesh train stumbled through hall after hall until it found whatever it was looking for.
...Books.
It is very fortunate indeed that the Palace had been built to accompany much larger forms than the train itself. Does it know that? Probably not. Its course had been set, and nothing else likely came to its mind. Upon reaching its destination, the train had to be very delicate. The emerald cap had popped up, and a very ginger, outstretched tendril cluster wrapped in loose skin (seriously, do not ask) had grasped at a random book from a very tall shelf.
It had managed to get about half the distance back to the train's only working pair of eyeballs before the tendrils failed to maintain their crude conception of a grasp. Stunned by its own failure, the train's emerald cap had come out just a bit further; a sheepish attempt to see where on the ground the book had landed. Regardless of what it found, the message from this point could not have been clearer: life was struggle, and knowledge was pain.
This had led to a gradual procession into a book flying frenzy. Attempt after attempt to grasp books of different shapes, weights, sizes. Most fallen to down in rejoiceful reunion with Mother Earth, unimpressive in their landing as a deflated kite. Oh, but the mess this ended up making. Now THAT was impressive.
Eventually the train had grasped grasping. Then all that was left was finding out finding. This had been the subject of another tyrannical tirade. And once you're finished parsing this parcel, you'll find the train in its current assumed position: clumsily employing its dexterous head tentacles to rifle through pages of books in unkempt clusters. Title after title of book after book, strewn about the floor.
It's going to suck rather bad for whoever has to clean this mess.
This post contains potentially sensitive material:
War.
It's not like it came as any surprise. Aethril knew when she accepted Dhracia and Rrevalk's 'invitation' (for lack of a better term) that everything in this Nest would eventually be thrown Elsewhere into war. Maybe even Aethril would end up on the field. Something about this, though, was making her head spin.
The Nest wasn't exactly... in its prime anymore. Half of its Masters were dead, and every other Hand was either gone or in hibernation, leaving just her. Dontacael's little drones were still somewhere, writhing like maggots, and she had half a mind to start ripping up every floorboard until she found them. Vargas and Totum were doing good work, but it wasn't enough.
Fuck, it wasn't enough.
For weeks, the Valkhand had hidden herself away in her chambers, gnawing at her fingers with worry. On occasion, she'd visit Imp to see him paint, or she'd tussle with Akane (not that that was particularly satisfying when Aethril was in one of these moods), but mostly, she stayed in her chambers, fretting over what she could possibly do to help. But there was nothing.
Make more hounds? Whip the other Masters until they work? Gather the gembound born from Natural Order and whip them until they begin to train themselves for war? Aethril rubbed at her forehead. Maybe consulting Tectus and creating a couple of Valkhounds for her to train wouldn't be a terrible idea. At least it'd take some strain off Vargas and Totum.
There came a knock on her door, interrupting her eighth spiral that day.
It turned out Titivilus's entrance hadn't gone unnoticed, even if it'd rudely ignored the butler. And Eggbert had taken notice that Aethril was in a bit of a state. It was... difficult to deny the little butler, when he practically bat his eyelashes and excitedly told her that there was a visitor in the library. Aethril drew a hand down her face, but she thanked him and got up to get dressed and head out.
The train's warning was a click-click-click-click that came down the hallway. Aethril didn't exactly have much expectations, but she certainly couldn't tell you what she thought she was going to find in that library. A train was probably the last thing she'd imagined.
A train with tentacles, throwing books everywhere, and then snuffling through them like a hog looking for fungus.
For a time, the Valkhand watched. She knew what a train was, unfortunately for her, and it was almost difficult to grasp that somehow, someway, someone had flung a fucking train into her fucking Nest. Maybe it was the Creator himself.
There was a train. In the library.
There was a train. In the library.
Maybe five minutes of silence passed before Aethril actually found words.
The Valkhand stepped forward, her brow furrowing.
If it'd been anyone else, she might have just tossed their gem out the Palace without a word.
@Titivilus
What does a train know of war? On different planets, in different times, a train's only exposure to war had been through its usage. In some places, on one planet, they made trains just for soldiers. Tools using tools, using tools, if you catch my drift. But where a soldier was a tool for its mind, a train was merely a tool for its body. For its instinct—its inescapable nature. And when the opposer's tools came crashing in like smashing toys together on a playground, the train and the soldier would differ in their responses. One would blow up, and the other would bleed. Both shot in the head, never to be used again, like a horse with a broken leg.
Couldn't tell you which response this train would have. Maybe both.
Macabre musings aside, this particular train knew of no war when it, as you so aptly put it, snuffled through the books like a hog. It knew of no Valkhound or Valkhand; it knew not the meaning behind that sharp, clacking sting that penetrated the air, growing ever louder—closer. Even as one such Valkhand stood herself before it and commanded it with her words—usually a prelude to the fright of her wrathful action—it knew not the significance of this meeting.
And a large part of that was because it did not understand what she was saying.
Like dogs can understand tone, the train understood the command for attention, and this it now gives. The hunk of emerald rock on the train's head would turn her way. Can she see it? With all her power over the bodies, minds, and (to some extent) souls of these Gembound, is Aethril able to see through those thin green slits in the emerald and parse meaning in what lies beyond them? If she could, she would be the first to do so.
And to her credit, she might have been fooled on this train's linguistic deficiencies, as it did pause its tirade (only after hearing her speak). What she had correctly identified as tentacles begin to retract back under that emerald cap that now "faces" her direction. The much bulkier tentacles below that seemed to have carried the train into this very room also begin to tuck themselves underneath the bulk of the train, covered rather demurely by a fleshy curtain that nearly reaches the floor. It's not all too unlike a cat beginning to loaf.
For a moment, she may notice strange activity after these polite-isms: the emerald begins to bob, then rise uneasily... and then stop. Like a bird with its bobbling head; was it sizing her up?
It shortly appears to think better of... whatever it was just doing. The emerald chunk affixes to one shallow height where the eyeballs might be plainly visible to Aethril—but not necessarily the stalks to which they are attached. It stares here, without uttering a word. But, if Aethril has the patience to wait, she may see the skin of the train below the emerald begin to shift.
ᛐᛁᛐᛁᚡᛁᛚᚢᛊ×ᛁᛊ ᚨᛏ×ᚤᚮᚢƦ ᛌᛂᚱᚡᛁᛌᛂ
In plain, large, orange font, written multiple times across each purple wall of the train, likely in the hopes that she would be able to read it at least once. The colors of both the wall and the words shift as well, out of sync. Purple wall turns lime green, and orange text shifts to red. Many of the Gembound that the train had interacted with previously were curiously somehow never able to read its messages, so it has made gradual adjustments over time to its communication strategy.
And that is all it offers, for now.
@Aethril
Aethril understood.
Now, why this train was speaking that particular language, Aethril did not know. She hadn't heard it in thousands of years, and certainly not out of the mouth of some random Gembound that (presumably) had been spat out by Natural Order. But she understood it. It'd been some time since she spoke it herself, but sure enough, when referring to the train, she spoke it.
For good or bad, Titivilus had found someone who could communicate with it.
After a moment, she then added,
NOTE: hover over aethril's speech for a translation!
if you're on mobile or you can't see them, here is what she says in order
"Stop that," she said, gesturing to the piles and piles of books on the floor. "You've made a mess. Do you understand?"
She continued, "pick them up and put them back."
After a moment, she then added, "what are you even looking for?"
@Titivilus