Hall of Mirrors: the Tale of Trazyn the Infinite

Such a wondrous, beautiful artefact. So marvelous, so perfect. And this was the perfect place for it.

Trazyn carefully set into place his latest acquisition for his collection. That fool Zahndrekh was finally good for something. Trazyn at last had a genuine, intact, Orkish bosspole for his display.

It didn’t matter that the bosspole had come from an Evil Sunz warboss and he was putting it on a replica of a Goffs warboss. That wasn’t the point. The point was that a warboss should have a bosspole, and this one didn’t have one.

Until now, that is. As he slid the pole into place, he beamed with pride as he looked around the gallery. He knew he was beaming with pride. He could see himself doing it. His surrogate, in the hall, was watching it all, and applauded the completion of the display.

Trazyn would have grinned from ear to ear if his face still had that kind of flexibility. Another surrogate came around from the other end of the hall, and joined in the cheering. Soon, Trazyn was receiving a massed standing ovation from himself, surrounded by twenty-eight overwritten Lychguard and Lords.

Graciously, Trazyn dismissed his best friends to their own business, and downplayed the importance of today’s triumphs. He wouldn’t want to develop an ego, after all.

Trazyn strolled through the Ork gallery to the end, and went to check on Robby.

“Why, hello, Robby! And how are you doing today?”

The vast man didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The stasis field held him in place.

Trazyn almost wanted to find a way to dismantle the field. It was very insolent of this being not to respond to a friend’s greeting, after all. Still, the pose was absolutely perfect. That frozen open-mouthed expression always drew the eye right to it. Long ago, Trazyn had decided that the figure was in awe of his new surroundings, gaping and staring, unable to form words to describe the museum’s majesty.

Trazyn had chosen the name “Robby” because what he had scavenged from human civilizations suggested it was a fairly common nickname. Besides, his exhibit looked like a Robby. Or a Robert. Something beginning with Rob.

“Well, I’m afraid I must be off, Robby. As always, it’s been a pleasure to see you, and as always I can tell you are at least as pleased to see me. What was that informal greeting you humans use again? Hmm…oh, yes, I remember now. CIAO!”

Trazyn continued on through the gallery, nearly bumping into another surrogate as he did so. The surrogate bowed graciously in apology, and Trazyn bowed back. As Trazyn left the room, the surrogate wordlessly inclined his head toward Robby as he passed by.

Robby did not respond.

As he walked through the halls, Trazyn pondered what his next move would be. Now that the Ork display was finished — well, as finished as it would probably be for some time — he would need to pursue a different collection. Perhaps the Eldar exhibit needed a new acquisition.

Trazyn mused on the peculiarities of this race. still wasn’t sure why some of them had smooth armor and some of them had spiked armor. Perhaps it was intended as a sexual signifier? Eldar biology was so difficult to keep track of. Maybe the males wear the spiked armor to broadcast their sex to the females? But why do some have those strange chest-bumps and others don’t?

Trazyn looked around. His wandering had brought him to a wing he hadn’t visited in a long time. A long time. And he knew exactly why.

He looked to his right. There, he saw it. A portrait hung on the wall. A picture of a Necrontyr female, flesh-and-blood, before the change. She was smiling and wearing a small, scaled headdress. In front of the portrait was a pedestal. On the pedestal, in a glass case, sat a gem the size of Trazyn’s fingertip. The woman in the portrait had formed a small divot, at the top of her sternum, large enough to fit the gem.

The portrait was labelled with a name. The gem was labelled with the same name. Trazyn refused to look at the label. He turned around, and cast the wing from his mind, as he always had. An image formed in his mind, of a much younger, much more alive version of himself, dressed for a wedding. He held the gem, the same gem, in his hand, and was looking around, smiling.

Such a wondrous, beautiful artefact. So marvelous, so perfect. And this was the perfect place for it.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s