Recording of an Unnamed Drakonos
Two Drakonos stand in a cold gray room, a third lies slumped in a metal chair, her arms and legs strapped to the chair’s. Between her and the two currently in discussion is a thin table with several unknown, sterile looking instruments.
“A dissenter? That one?” The Blood Drakonos, as crimson as his kind come, questions the smaller and thinner Savra.
In a high reedy voice the pale green Drakonos responds “Just listen to this |Worked Ledger.”
He places a dull purple Minor Stone onto a white disc atop the nearby table. The tell tale buzz of a Worked Ledger starting its output can be heard before the quality becomes perfectly clear and the apparent voice of the slumped prisoner begins to speak.
A fellow unnamed told me once, that the light we shed was once as natural as Protos believed. A gentle but far reaching luminance that was soft but potent. It is hard to imagine such ceaseless light could have once been a pleasant comfort…
A pause and the Blood Drakonos speaks up “That’s it? I wou-”
“Oh shut up, its barely begun.”
No Platinum Orchid has bloomed where our kind dwell for… I’m not sure actually. I am not so old, but no one has ever told me of their fond memories of such an era. I am led to believe that many spawns of the unnamed have come and gone since.
Maybe more than even I would estimate.
This was the home I loved once, before my Named-Ones were “rewarded” through Dragonfall. Before I worked the Fields of Desolation and picked over the bleached bones of the millions of unnamed who died before me. I still dream of the thunderous echoes made by Palisade Disseminators and the heat from the great, unnaturally white geysers of flame brought about by the To-Be-Named warriors conducting terrifying Workings…
The Savra Drakonos gives a knowing look to his compatriot who curls two fingers at him in a rude gesture.
When not in the Fields everything is lifeless. I was never convinced as a New-Spawn that Dragonfall was something worth striving for. To lose yourself, your Name in exchange for freedom on a foreign world. It was not for me in my naivety. Now I understand why it is all any Named-One seeks for their Name-Gift. How can it be that I, and many unnamed like me will never be graced with a starry sky or vibrant world. I will do all I can so that we do not die here cold and alone, before we have even had a chance to live.
The low thrum of the finished Worked Ledger pronounces the unnamed’s finality. The Blood Drakonos selects a long, sharp implement from the table and approaches the prisoner.