Nom Anor stood quietly in his holding cell. Priest Harrar had left probably talking with his new darling tsup this Grey Jeedai witch. He waited. It couldn't take all too long till the Traditionalists in this village found a way into the holding cell.



Quarrel Kwirk was wearing his usual ooglith masquer. It was an artwork on it’s own. The shaper had worked into it scars and tattoos, not faked one, real ones. It was a new design, especially for working among fellow Yuuzhan Vong. In those days where they are not united but fighting against each other it was a good way to outsmart the other group.
He had lied himself into the trust of the priests and was now allowed to also guard the new prisoner. He knew all too well who he was, the dread lord. It didn’t matter that rumours has spread it is Nom Anor, that was just a disguise, misleading information.
The name Nom Anor brought fear and unrest wherever it appeared and called out. He was a master of deception even though sometimes misguided but certainly graced by the gods otherwise he’d not came that far.
Quarrel Kwirk opened the dilation to the holding cell when he was alone in the corridor. It was not un-usual to be left alone, the cell was secure and he was trusted among his fellow warriors around here. He never gave them reason to doubt his loyalties.
“Belek tiu,” he greeted, his fist hitting against his chest.
The dread one moved, facing him. “Warrior,” he spoke, “it is highly unusual that you would look upon me here.”
“Dread one, it is an honour,” Quarrel Kwirk responded. Of course the dread one could not know everyone and also knew the loyalities, though now it should be all clear. “I came so you can slip out here. This is a new ooglith masquer, it will fit you and will allow you to walk among those heretics unnoticed.” He reached under his armour, producing another ooglith masquer, “This one, dread one, will mask me with your appearance. It is shaped to recognize your blood and will form to your looks within minutes. It is also a new development of our shapers.”
Without waiting for a response he touched the side of his nose and the living creature masking him started to glide off of him. As it left his pores a painful sensation raced blissfully though him till it pooled to his feet. He stepped out of it, his head bowed in respect.
He never saw the blow against his neck coming only felt the knocking of his spine above his shoulders, his neck snapping. Quarrel Kwirk was dead before he hit the ground.



Nom Anor had listened to the young ones words. The warrior was indeed brave and loyal though he had seen his true face and that was bad. He had heard rumours that are not supposed to spread all too far. Nom Anor had to die and the young one just delivered him the means of it.
As he bowed he delivered a hard blow with the edge of his hand against his neck, it snapping with a noise.
What a waste.
Nom Anor stepped into the ooglith masquer, feeling it clothing him up, disguising who he was. Then he cut his hand open to allow the other masquer to taste it and form up to his appearance. He urged it on to slip around the dead body, masking who he really was. Of course it only would last for a couple minutes, maybe if he was lucky some hours till someone noticed it is not really him. But it should work.
As the ooglith masquer fitted to the skin, he noticed the shimmering colours that slowly took form. And really after a couple more minutes it looked exactly like him.
Convinced that it would pass for his sleeping form he opened the cell from within and slipped out, making sure the dilation was neatly closed behind him.
As he would do that every day he walked out of the grashal.

Aug 9, 2009 8:27 AM | Report Abuse reply