Without a Generation

Title: Without a Generation
Author: youcantseeus, youcantseeus12@gmail.com
Characters: Gahrazel, Terzian, Purah
Word Count: 3811
Spoilers: Bewitchments of Love and Hate
Summary: Gahrazel has never really fit into his own tribe.  Terzian makes a startling proposal to Gahrazel one night.  Terzian/Gahrazel.  Gahrazel/Purah.
Warnings: Violence, talk of torture, Ponclast is a messed-up-har.
AN: This is my version of Terzian/Gahrazel.  I love feedback!

We capture a two ragged hara on the outskirts of a near-abandoned town. Just some messed up little shithole in the middle of nowhere that humans abandoned long ago. I think, from the style of our prisoner’s dress and their general demeanor, that they are Uigenna. My fellow warriors take delight in describing how they plan to torture and humiliate these hara as they sit around a campfire near where the prisoners are tied to a post.

“And what would you do, my Lord Gahrazel?” a tall har named Girin asks me. There is a hint of mockery in his voice, especially on the “Lord.” Word has gotten around – I’m Ponclast’s soft son who vomits after a battle, who discusses theories of nonviolence with his weird friend, and who cuts himself until the blood drips onto the ground at his feet.

One thing I can do well is talk.

“Oh, I’d cut off their fucking ouana-lims and shove them in their mouths,” I say, cheerfully. “And then I’d hold their faces to this camp fire and listen to them squeal. This elicits good-natured laughter from my companions. I know that the prisoners can hear me, but I try to ignore them.

“Gahrazel,” a stern voice says at my back. Fuck.

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Porcelain Memoirs

Porcelain Memoirs
by Oni

Story Notes

Title: Porcelain Memoirs
Date Posted: November 2004

Author: Oni
Contact: cutegal_missy@yahoo.com

Summary: A look at our favorite hara from an unusual point of view in Forever. I have tried to keep this not an AU, but I’m not sure how well I succeeded, so it might be kinda AU ish in spots. As to the point of view, read and see! Just don’t get too close. ^.~

Disclaimer: Wraeththu and all concepts, characters, etc, all belong to the wonderful Storm Constantine, who generously allows the fans to play in her world. Also, I’m making no money off of this and I don’t own anything, not even the Tigron’s silver and gold inlaid toilet paper holder.

Spoilers: I’ve also tried to keep this to a minimum, but there are some slight spoilers for all of the Wraeththu books, from Enchantments all the way through to Shades.

Porcelain Memoirs

I have suffered much abuse in my existence; I’ve been thrown up upon, pissed upon, and shitted upon. But such is my lot in life, and a miserable, thankless existence it has been. Never even one courtesy flush!

There are few lots in life worse than that of a toilet, and, having been around for years, my friend, I can tell you all the soiled details many a human, har, cat and dog would prefer to stay permanently buried in my bowels.

I’m not as old as the stars or the moon; I was crafted towards the end of the reign of my creators – men, I believe they’re called. I was a grand thing in my younger days, shiny, freshly glazed white porcelain. Back then, humans sat upon me, then their children, and their children’s children, and the dogs – always the most courteous of all my users – drank out of my bowl while the young ones flushed toothbrushes, watches, and toys down me. One even tried to flush a cat once. I’ve been the eternal resting place of many a goldfish…

Then came the silence, and the whole huge house stilled, held its breath and aged gracefully. They they came. My rusted pipes were repaired, my glory restored, and I was sat upon once more. Never let anyhar tell you that they are better, far superior, to humans! What comes out is still the same, even though they like to believe it smells like roses.

Yes, many a har has sat upon me, and dogs drink out of me. One of the worst offenders was the new master of the house after the period of silence. Terzian’s life revolved around thinking and strategy, and many a plan had been hatched whilst sitting upon me. He used me one day, when he was all dressed in leather with weapons, and has never sat upon me again. Although an incredibly feeble, broken and wasted har visited me a few times, with assistance, before his death. That har felt just like Terzian, only a lot bonier, and he had the same posture, but surely they couldn’t be the same har. But, oh, how I shudder at the memories of that poor aim!

Another unpleasant period was when the thin, light one, Cobweb, who once removed some fresh water from the back of my tanks and mixed it with some other things in a small, blue vial, became heavy with child. He was never as heavy as a human female, nor for as long – unless I’ve grown rusty and merely forgotten the human gestation period – but he visited with me often during that time, sometimes shitting, occasionally sharing the contents of his stomach.

Then things returned to normal for a while, and soon little Swift was being trained to use me like the adults. This process, like his hostling’s hosting time, was nowhere near as long or as messy as humans, and Swift was a neat little creature indeed. His dog, Limba, was another matter entirely. The poor house har who cleans the bathroom knew well the dog’s slobbery calling card.

For a while, I had to endure the chaos of Gahrazel, who often clung to me in a drunken stupor after many a time of sneaking out to party. Then one day he went away, like Terzian, but he never came back.

Then, there was the har Calanthe, whom I got to know intimately well during his time of mental illness, and who carried Terzian’s second child. That time was much worse than when Cobweb had carried Swift. Tyson himself is no better than his hostling. Swift was a good little harling, and Tyson was his opposite. I’ve never had such a wide variety of things flushed down me. To this day, tiahaar Seel’s toothbrush often takes a swim.

Speaking of Swift’s mate, a more meticulous har I’ve yet had the misfortune to be used by. I swear to the great dehar of toilets everywhere that he counts the squares before ripping the paper! His hosting was no picnic, either!

And of Forever’s high-ranking visitors from the most glamorous tribe of all? Pah! They’re the same as everyhar else. Pristine Pellaz isn’t as pure and sweet-smelling as he’d have everyhar believe. By the sacred waters of the Holy Latrine, I hope he’s never with pearl! I pity the poor toilet he’ll use. And it’ll be me, I just know it.

It’s bad enough the messes of Azriel and his chesnari, Aleeme. They used to be such neat young hara! Seel always has been too strict with poor little Azriel, even when he was a baby potty training. And sweet Aleeme was always as nice as his hostling.

But now something terrible has happened to them. They were sick for a long, long time, and still are. Oh, the messes they make, even with somehar there to help them! How hard, really, is it to aim? Is a little consideration too much to ask?

Now that you’ve heard my plight, tiahaar, prove that you truly are better than the humans! Remember: Aim! Put the lid down! Flush after every use! Keep little harlings well away! And make sure your slobbery dogs have a bib when drinking!

The End

Red Moon

Red Moon
by Kidoros

Website: http://members.tripod.de/irrglaube

Disclaimer: Wraeththu and its world belong to Storm Constantine. I just borrow it and the characters. The song Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel) is copirighted by Billy Joel.

Spoiler: for the second book.

Comments: I want to thank Addie for her help with this story. She helped me a lot. I’m still not so happy about it and my English in the story is not so good either. Maybe I will re-write it again someday when I can find the motivation to do it. I hope you still enjoy reading it. C&C are very welcome.

Red Moon

The little light, coming from the moon above, made his fingers look nearly translucent. He stopped counting the days, and hours a while ago. Now he just wished it would be finally over. He was tired of his thoughts – tired of waiting.

Was it so wrong to wish for a new start?

He couldn’t pretend to be what he wasn’t any longer. There was so much more outside the walls of his father’s tribe and he longed for it; so much that it hurt.

His father would never have understood it, in his heart was only the love for his obsession with power and darkness. He guessed he was only an experience. Something Ponclast had to show he could do and to see how things worked.

Closing his eyes Gahrazel tried to remember his hostling’s look but all he could recall was the sound of a soothing, warm voice along with a warm embrace.

What was the name of his hostling?

Only a fragment of a song lingered in his mind, giving him safety during lonely hours. A little treasure left over from a time where icy fingers of the silent poison, which his father was to him, hadn’t started to weave their fragile spider web to trap his sole possession, his soul

Goodnight, my angel
Time to close your eyes
And save this question for another day
I think I know what you’ve been asking me
I think you know what I’ve been trying to say
I promised I would never leave you
And you should always know
Wherever you may go
No matter where you are
I never will be far away

His hostling lived though this verse.

Smiling softly Gahrazel wondered idly when he had turned into such a romantic.

Would his life have taken a different route if his hostling was still an important part in his life? Like it were with Cobweb and Swift?

Swift was his friend…his only real friend. He loved him very much but Gahrazel also envied him. Swift had the childhood he wanted for himself.

Forever became for a short time his home. A home where he could hide behind anonymous masks of ignorance, forgetting reality always exists. But like it always was with reality, it wouldn’t let you forget it. Every time you threw it away from you it came back like a loyal boomerang you wished to get lost. And each return hurt a bit more than the last one.

It didn’t matter how hard he wished to belong to Swift’s little family, somehow he would remain an observer.

As ironic as it sounded, the only good thing his father had ever given him, had been to send him away. Every good thing had to end.

The development of the Varrs under his father’s leadership disgusted him. He didn’t know if the Gelaming would be any better, but they couldn’t be worse. A risk he dared to take. His small opportunity to find his freedom again…how could he let it go?

Maybe he shouldn’t have told Swift about his escape plans. Gahrazel frowned slightly. Lay there the error? Poor little Swift. He was so afraid and confused. He could understand him though. If he had what Swift had he would never waste a thought about leaving.

Have you betrayed me, Swift, my dear friend?

Was this the reason he never came to visit him in his prison, although he had asked him to come? He just wanted to see him again. To say goodbye to the person who had a reserved place in his heart. Even if it was a lie, Swift could have said that he would forgive him, and was sorry how this had ended. Gahrazel would believe every word. Deceiving oneself was not very hard especially when one chose to.

With his arms wrapped around his legs and his chin resting on his knees he tried to expel the loneliness, before it drove him into the open arms of madness.

You had grown wings, lovely tiny ones, only to have them torn to shreds at your first attempt to spread them.

So sad.

Waiting alone for death.

Would be there anyone to mourn him?

Not his father. He would be his son’s executioner, wouldn’t he?

He just regretted that he took Purah down with him. Purah who was so eager to leave the Varrs and everything they stood for, behind.

He had never intended to hurt anyone, never intended…

His head shot up. He thought he heard someone singing softly disturbing the thick silence surrounding him in his dark cell.

Goodnight, my angel
Now it’s time to sleep.
And still so many things I want to say
Remember all the songs you sang for me
When we went sailing on an emerald bay
And like a boat out on the ocean
I’m rocking you to sleep
The water’s dark
And deep inside this ancient heart
You’ll always be a part of me

Listening, he looked through the barred window, bloodstained by his bleeding skin, the moon seeming to glow red – beautiful…sad. He watched it’s sparkling surface until he heard the rustling of keys.

Let the curtains fall. The show was over.

The End