*Not sure about the time spent on this one. Its tough, really tough - I can appreciate it might 'help me grow as a writer (but its not my day job)' but I need some opinions. Keep going, or close it?
Blood Loss
By Red Pins
York was in mourning.
The crimson banners along the main streets of Tara still fluttered, but the planet’s capital was subdued in a way Troy Boques recognized from the short voyage home from Albion, where he and the Cerise Guards had been supporting their Kindraa Sainze allies against an intrusion by the Cloud Cobras.
The formal black mourning bands with the Clan’s insignia picked out in a red so dark it was almost invisible were everywhere in the plaza, worn by civilian and Warrior Caste alike. The formal uniforms of the Bloodnamed Warriors of the Clan were of particular note; with the death of Karianna Schmitt, most of the Clan’s Warriors were assembling in the Warrior’s Hall to elect a new Khan to lead them further into the great conflict with their fellow Clans. A few of these were present for the Trial of Bloodright – eager successors nominated to bear the Blood Heritage of the former Khan, many more crowding the field of the Grand Melee outside the city, seeking to prove themselves worthy of the final place in the Trial.
Unlike most of the Clan’s Warriors, he had worked closely with his Khan for the last several years, sharing the burden of representing and defending the Clan. That time had not always been easy; the Khan’s beauty had paled quickly as her quick temper revealed the fury at the core of her being and the amoral ruthlessness shown to those who abandoned the teachings of the Great Father.
Lost in thought, he continued on, moving slowly and haphazardly through the graceful plaza surrounding the massive Hall as he waited for the sun to set and the Hall’s ceremonial bell to ring, calling the Warrior Caste to the ceremony before the election. The light brown of the limestone was offset by the bright green enamel covering the ornamental fixtures, fences, lampposts, and doors of the Blood Shrines, smaller versions of the larger Blood Chapels commonplace on Strana Mechty that celebrated the Clan’s Founders. Most of which, he noted sourly, are closed and dark.
Spurred by curiosity he chose to explore the nearest Shrine, something he hadn’t done since childhood as part of the Warrior Caste’s basic education before being sent to the Sibko. Leaving the cobbled street and stepping onto the stone path leading to the Shrine, he looked for the small brass plate announcing its owner; Ramazan Sinjab of Clan Blood Spirit.
He paused and bowed his head slightly, showing his respect for one of the Clan’s Founders and entered the Shrine, noting the soft lights that came up as he came in and how the man’s full-sized statue seemed to confront the intruders disturbing his home. Dressed in the worn Mechwarrior garb of a serving Warrior on the eve of Operation Klondike, Troy recognized him as one of the Warriors who died in the effort to return Arcadia to the control of the Clans and the Great Father.
Studying the steady gaze and confident pose of the man seemed to embody the inheritors of his genetic legacy, he finally turned to move around the statue and deeper into the Shrine. The next room was adorned with images and summaries of the first of the Sinjab Blood Heritages, the generations of Blood Spirit Warriors becoming a bewildering network of dates, images, and achievements before beginning to taper off early in the 29th century as the Clan became the focus of punitive raids and was forced to consolidate its holdings on York.
Troy fancied he could see the strain of isolation and hatred for the former sibkin who tormented them on the faces of the young Warriors who sought to follow the teachings of the Great Father. That path led to the first of the Reavings suffered by House Sinjab – not even half-way through the complex timeline. The weakest Bloodrights, ineffective and eliminated, began to culled more often. The slow strangulation of the Clan mirrored its collapse; Troy know the history of the Clans as well as any Warrior, saw the eventual Reaving of the Sinjab Bloodrights to just enough to maintain genetic diversity across the Clan’s Warrior Caste and stopped to gaze upon the final generation of Bloodnamed Warriors.
The images of Solhama Warriors – survivors of the brutal battles of Albion and Homer that had nonetheless failed to distinguish themselves – displayed the same anger and shame he had witnessed on the faces of Warriors unable to defend their Clan. The same Warriors most impacted by the loss of their Khan.
Troy turned away, sickened by the thought of the failure of the Blood Spirit eugenics system that had led them to this point and began to stride purposefully from the room, noting once again the calm confidence of the Shrine’s Founder. How have we fallen so far? Troy could only shake his head, returning to the cobbled street to join the slow procession of Warriors beginning to move towards the Hall.
Despite being saKhan and significantly higher in rank than the Warriors still wandering the plaza, the camaraderie between Warriors saw him quickly recognized and he had to quicken his pace as he began to attract supporters – his own, and those who revered the Khan and demanded he launch reprisals to punish the Ghost Bears. Or the Star Adders. Or the Cloud Cobras, Coyotes, Steel Vipers… Anyone.
Continuing to stride forward with purpose he became aware of a growing number of Warriors following him to the Hall. It was always this way, he admitted to himself. Those who wavered, the despondent and defeated - sought the comfort of strength and conviction. Kerensky had led the SLDF to defeat the Ursurper and drawn the survivors to follow him on the Exodus. His son, Nicholas, had drawn his followers from the Pentagon civil war to Strana Mechty and established the Clans to conquer the Pentagon worlds. What would he do?
For now, he was focused on the need to convince the Warrior Caste that he was worthy of this duty. Everything else would come after; the Path would reveal itself. The low, matte black of the dome of the Hall came into view and the graceful plaza was soon left behind as he led the Warriors across the cobbles of the open courtyard and the small greenbelt of grass and hedges funneling them to the doors at the base of the graceful curved walls of the Hall. Built during the decades of isolation after the death of their Founding Khan, he believed she would have appreciated the graceful building, representing the unity of the Caste and strength of purpose that embodied the origins of their Clan.
The high-pitched beeping of his earpiece caused him to lose his steady pace, hesitating for a few heartbeats before turning off the cobbled path to the series of doors ahead of him held open to pause beside one of the benches that dotted the greenbelt along the path. Raising a hand to his ear, he turned from the growing tide of Warriors entering the Hall and answered.
“Boques here,” he said quietly, trusting the microphone pressed against his neck under the uniform to transmit his words clearly. “What is it?”
“A Seeker is requesting clearance to land, saKhan. He claims to have transported the remains of several Warriors and Technicians from Arcadia orbit, and requests a meeting when it becomes convenient.”
A Seeker?! The Seekers were even more reviled than the Spirits themselves – consuming a hallucinogenic drug derived from the genetically modified venom of their totem in search of visions, they were regarded with disgust by most of the Clans.
Troy felt his brows raise in surprise before scowling at the reminder of their losses. “Understood”, he said finally. “Make arrangements to take possessions of the remains, and have him brought to Defense Headquarters.”
Unused to such honorable behavior, he wavered a moment, considering, before adding, “..And give the Seeker my thanks for the return of our kin.”
“Yes, saKhan.”
The peal of the Hall’s ceremonial bell rang as he passed the doors, quickly walking through the halls to emerge at the lip of the rows of seating surrounding the deepest point of the huge room before proceeding to the dais at the center of the Hall, where the Loremaster of the Clan waited. The Elemental Bloodline and genetic modifications provided the typical massive but strangely nimble frame of the Battlearmored troops, but the cybernetic prosthesis replacing his lower arm was worn openlyhidden under his ceremonial robes. of
Bare of decoration, the Hall seemed as cavernous and empty to him as always, the Bloodnamed of the Clan assembled nearer to the center despite the few who would be unable to journey to take part in the election of a new Khan.
From the 1,000 potential Bloodnamed Warriors, fewer than seven hundred were now present in the Hall. A majority of the remaining active Blood Heritages in service with the Clan but enough to show the worrying number of empty seats – the Clan had not only Reaved the weakest of their Bloodlines, but entire Blood Houses had fallen into disuse.
Beginning to descend the steps to the dais, a growing wave of Warriors standing and falling silent in deference. Concentrating on maintaining an even pace and reaching the bottom, he reached out to the looming figure of the Clan’s Loremaster.
“SaKhan,” came the curt murmur as he reached out with his prosthetic to greet troy. “You are late.” Troy grunted. A fearsome figure, Constans had adopted a new hairstyle in honor of the ceremony; glistening loose ringlets and a fragrant scent framed his muscled figure.
“I know, Constans. But I needed.. Perspective.” He straightened. “You changed your hair again, Quiaff? The scent is new.”
Constans grinned and nodded proudly. “Aff. Distinctive, isn’t it?” He ran a hand down the crimson-colored bodysuit, walking
