Cyclone
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Lord Zee
Vec
JFK
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Bio
Back when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, I got started with writing online on the Spore forums. Man, those were the days. We're talking like 12 years ago 2010-ish!
I've been here on and off for almost as long, and have GM'd a bunch of different things to varying success.
I've been here on and off for almost as long, and have GM'd a bunch of different things to varying success.
Word of my splendor:
Most Recent Posts
Hope you two both have good trips.
The amethyst eyes leered at Ifrit's claws and powerful muscles. Yes, this monster was terrifying. He would play his role nicely. "I will show you," were the words that emanated from the shadowy figure. The dull glow of the glyphs on the floor was choked out. Shaige's glowing eyes disappeared. The darkness itself oppressed and smothered the duo. At last, when it relented, Ifrit would no longer find himself inside the cave. The two were now some distance away, on a forested hill.
Shaige's mass of pure shadow shriveled in the sunlight, evaporating into smoke. The keeper swiftly floated backwards into the sanctuary offered by the shade of a pine. It was dusk; soon the last bloodied rays of sunlight would vanish. So preoccupied had the keeper been that he had not had time to reflect on the Source's change. It had transformed some days ago, when he was atop the walls of Paterdomus. The fools there had thought it a sign from Caldor. No, the sun was stained the dark crimson of blood, not the vibrant and lively color of flame. This was a good omen for him, and a herald of doom for the wretched Paterdomans.
The shadow turned his gaze from the reddened sky, back to Ifrit. "We passed over these hills shortly after our escape from the spirit realm. You will recall that over there," the wraith gestured towards the distance before continuing in his echoing rasp of a cadence, "was a razed village, host to looters and all manner of other lowly parasites that would scavenge in my domain. Slay them. Spare only a few, that they may return to their hovels and spread terror of you and these lands.
When that is done, patrol this region for the next few days. Warbands will soon venture into these lands from the east, scouring the land for any signs of their little army that my minions routed. They will not be pleased to learn of my existence, or discover that you survived after that attack on their city. So slay those patrols, that the rest of their forces will be blind and unprepared when the time comes to seize their outposts. Do as I have asked for the next few days. I will seek you out with new orders, when time comes."
With that, Shaige abruptly vanished into the shadows of the great trees, leaving Ifrit. In the dungeon, more tribesmen had been changed into zealots. After overseeing the production of equipment for the first twenty-five zealots, Soran's apprentice had caught the gist of it and was promoted to forgemaster. The humans were now capable of keeping up with the growing number of zealots, equipping them all without assistance from the imps. Shaige had examined the metalwork. It was of remarkably good quality. The iron ore was smelted with an inordinate amount of coal, freeing the metal from the rock and searing away any dirt, yet still leaving the resulting steel black and laden with carbon. During that process, trace amounts of other minerals such as vanadium were used to strengthen the metal. The steel would have been brittle and of inferior quality if used in this form, but that was not the case.
Before even being hammered into shape, the metal ingots underwent several enchantments and rituals that the imps had taught to the smiths. Then, after being shaped into armor or weapons, the smiths engraved a variety of runes onto its surface before letting a single drop of their blood fall onto the metal. This demonic alloy, enchanted to hold its shape and not break, was imbued with a malevolent energy of its own. Wounds inflicted by these weapons would always fester and blacken, as the blades' thirst for blood was as toxic as any poison. The blacksteel, as the imps called it, was allegedly commonplace amongst the armies of demons. That only testified to its brutal effectiveness.
The Tormenter had taught several of the first zealots how to fight effectively, and now that skill would be spread to the newly augmented men as well through sparring sessions with the others. However, that did little to change that the zealots lacked discipline and knew nothing of formations or tactics. Soran was assigned the task of drilling the zealots in such things and creating a basic leadership hierarchy of officers.
The Tormenter, meanwhile, was sent out to spy. By commanding Ifrit to dispose of any scouts or war parties in the Mutig lands, Shaige hoped to both discourage an attack on his dungeon and create fear. If the Paterdomans and other forest tribes were afraid, they would likely withdraw all their scattered people back to their fortifications, in the hopes of being safe in numbers. In reality, by gathering in one spot, they would only make it easier for Shaige to wipe them off the face of the earth and leave no scattered survivors. That was exactly what the keeper intended to do.
The keeper personally saw to the augmentation of yet more Mutig tribesmen into zealots. The zealots' numbers were fast growing, but that would unfortunately stop now. Shaige needed to keep some tribesmen as workers, and all most of the ones fit for battle had already been transformed anyways. The nine imps were commanded to invoke the necessary ritual to summon more pain elementals, as Shaige still was unsure if his forces were sufficient. The Mutig tribe had not long ago numbered over a thousand, yet even then they were the smallest. The Klug tribe was the second smallest, yet even they had over one and a half thousand. They had sent out the looters to the Mutig tribe, and were no doubt the most hostile and annoying of the four other tribes. This made them an ideal target. Shaige needed to attack them in order to secure more sacrificial victims, test his army, and do a show of power to force the other tribes to join him. Yet how could he possibly manage to take a fortified village that had hundreds of warriors?
As he wandered through the cave city musing over these things, Shaige once again found his way to room full of broken idols. Pah! This only proved that his only followers, the Mutig, were worthless fools. They had not long ago worshiped the spirits of slain wolves, bears, and other wild beasts. It was pointless. Their tribal spirits had offered neither wisdom nor protection of any form. In fact, Shaige had observed those spirits roaming the spirit realm, just as stupid and aggressive as they had been in life. An idea suddenly crept into the keeper's mind. The shadow now knew how he would strengthen his forces enough to defeat the Klug tribe. The wraith vanished, flying through the solid stone walls and floors, down to his dungeon heart as fast as possible. There was a creature to be made.
Further training of Zealots: 0/5
Third Creature: 0/8
Shaige's mass of pure shadow shriveled in the sunlight, evaporating into smoke. The keeper swiftly floated backwards into the sanctuary offered by the shade of a pine. It was dusk; soon the last bloodied rays of sunlight would vanish. So preoccupied had the keeper been that he had not had time to reflect on the Source's change. It had transformed some days ago, when he was atop the walls of Paterdomus. The fools there had thought it a sign from Caldor. No, the sun was stained the dark crimson of blood, not the vibrant and lively color of flame. This was a good omen for him, and a herald of doom for the wretched Paterdomans.
The shadow turned his gaze from the reddened sky, back to Ifrit. "We passed over these hills shortly after our escape from the spirit realm. You will recall that over there," the wraith gestured towards the distance before continuing in his echoing rasp of a cadence, "was a razed village, host to looters and all manner of other lowly parasites that would scavenge in my domain. Slay them. Spare only a few, that they may return to their hovels and spread terror of you and these lands.
When that is done, patrol this region for the next few days. Warbands will soon venture into these lands from the east, scouring the land for any signs of their little army that my minions routed. They will not be pleased to learn of my existence, or discover that you survived after that attack on their city. So slay those patrols, that the rest of their forces will be blind and unprepared when the time comes to seize their outposts. Do as I have asked for the next few days. I will seek you out with new orders, when time comes."
With that, Shaige abruptly vanished into the shadows of the great trees, leaving Ifrit. In the dungeon, more tribesmen had been changed into zealots. After overseeing the production of equipment for the first twenty-five zealots, Soran's apprentice had caught the gist of it and was promoted to forgemaster. The humans were now capable of keeping up with the growing number of zealots, equipping them all without assistance from the imps. Shaige had examined the metalwork. It was of remarkably good quality. The iron ore was smelted with an inordinate amount of coal, freeing the metal from the rock and searing away any dirt, yet still leaving the resulting steel black and laden with carbon. During that process, trace amounts of other minerals such as vanadium were used to strengthen the metal. The steel would have been brittle and of inferior quality if used in this form, but that was not the case.
Before even being hammered into shape, the metal ingots underwent several enchantments and rituals that the imps had taught to the smiths. Then, after being shaped into armor or weapons, the smiths engraved a variety of runes onto its surface before letting a single drop of their blood fall onto the metal. This demonic alloy, enchanted to hold its shape and not break, was imbued with a malevolent energy of its own. Wounds inflicted by these weapons would always fester and blacken, as the blades' thirst for blood was as toxic as any poison. The blacksteel, as the imps called it, was allegedly commonplace amongst the armies of demons. That only testified to its brutal effectiveness.
The Tormenter had taught several of the first zealots how to fight effectively, and now that skill would be spread to the newly augmented men as well through sparring sessions with the others. However, that did little to change that the zealots lacked discipline and knew nothing of formations or tactics. Soran was assigned the task of drilling the zealots in such things and creating a basic leadership hierarchy of officers.
The Tormenter, meanwhile, was sent out to spy. By commanding Ifrit to dispose of any scouts or war parties in the Mutig lands, Shaige hoped to both discourage an attack on his dungeon and create fear. If the Paterdomans and other forest tribes were afraid, they would likely withdraw all their scattered people back to their fortifications, in the hopes of being safe in numbers. In reality, by gathering in one spot, they would only make it easier for Shaige to wipe them off the face of the earth and leave no scattered survivors. That was exactly what the keeper intended to do.
The keeper personally saw to the augmentation of yet more Mutig tribesmen into zealots. The zealots' numbers were fast growing, but that would unfortunately stop now. Shaige needed to keep some tribesmen as workers, and all most of the ones fit for battle had already been transformed anyways. The nine imps were commanded to invoke the necessary ritual to summon more pain elementals, as Shaige still was unsure if his forces were sufficient. The Mutig tribe had not long ago numbered over a thousand, yet even then they were the smallest. The Klug tribe was the second smallest, yet even they had over one and a half thousand. They had sent out the looters to the Mutig tribe, and were no doubt the most hostile and annoying of the four other tribes. This made them an ideal target. Shaige needed to attack them in order to secure more sacrificial victims, test his army, and do a show of power to force the other tribes to join him. Yet how could he possibly manage to take a fortified village that had hundreds of warriors?
As he wandered through the cave city musing over these things, Shaige once again found his way to room full of broken idols. Pah! This only proved that his only followers, the Mutig, were worthless fools. They had not long ago worshiped the spirits of slain wolves, bears, and other wild beasts. It was pointless. Their tribal spirits had offered neither wisdom nor protection of any form. In fact, Shaige had observed those spirits roaming the spirit realm, just as stupid and aggressive as they had been in life. An idea suddenly crept into the keeper's mind. The shadow now knew how he would strengthen his forces enough to defeat the Klug tribe. The wraith vanished, flying through the solid stone walls and floors, down to his dungeon heart as fast as possible. There was a creature to be made.
Further training of Zealots: 0/5
Third Creature: 0/8
If I ever take over the world, I'm going to ban cliffhangers.
Perhaps. That was just my attempt at balancing a somewhat OP construct.
Well, he was staring at huge stone wall, so I'm assuming he was by Opes Fluvium
At last, the picture was complete in the keeper's mind. Unholy fumes wafted up from the font of blood and coalesced into a creature. Shaige emerged from his heart. His piercing, amethyst eyes stared at the twisted figure before him. The Tormenter was a lifeless husk, gaunt and curled on the ground into a fetal position. It looked almost human-sized, though that was deceptive. If it stood straight and unfolded its bat-like wings, it would look grander than it did now.
Shaige examined its other features as well. Vicious claws on its hands and talons on its feet would make it dangerous enough. The construct was also venomous; any that had the misfortune of being wounded by it would die a rapid yet agonizing death. The Tormenter's head was large and elongated, with a disproportionately large jaw full of dagger-like fangs. Two huge, bulbous eyes would gift the thing with near perfect sight at night, though the daylight would be almost blinding. That was no matter though. This construct was primarily not for fighting or leading, but for spying. Its only truly impressive attribute would be the ability to possess dozens of creatures at the same time. Its coal-black skin and wings would allow it to fly unseen throughout the night, using its powers to enthrall any stray humans. Then it would find a cave or other suitable spot to hide, and control its thralls throughout the day.
The creature still laid limp on the tile floor, inanimate. "Arise," ordered Shaige. The keeper received nothing in response. Bah, he had neglected to imbue it with consciousness or even the most instinctive of minds! This could be fixed easily enough. With a wave of his hand, the shadow pulled several wailing souls of from the depths of the red waters. The magic of his dungeon heart trapped the souls of any sacrificial victims until they could be used. The keeper pointed a spindly finger of pure darkness towards the Tormenter. With no choice but to obey, the souls all poured into the lifeless body. Shaige used his dark magic to meld all the crusaders' souls together, creating one conscience that was more clever than all the smaller ones combined.
Yet even more magic had to be wrought in order to make the Tormenter unfailingly loyal and detach it from any emotions and memories of past lives. The construct would have many vivid memories of being slain by Shaige's followers, though it wouldn't care. Perhaps it would have been easier to simply erase all the memories of the slain crusaders, but doing so would have also erased most of their knowledge. "Awaken," Shaige commanded. This time, the creature's eyelids snapped open and it scrambled to its feet.
"Your first orders are to seek out and find the newly blessed zealots. You have the collective knowledge and prowess of half a dozen Knights of the Flame; use it to train my warriors well. A task beneath you, to be sure, but you are the sole follower of mine competent enough to do it."
The Tormenter nodded. It threw open the doors and ran through the tunnels. There was not enough space to fly, but the construct still wasted no time in fulfilling its master's orders. It did not know what these 'zealots' were, but a fear of looking unintelligent to its master had prevented the construct from asking. Instinctively not wanting to be seen, it found an empty chamber in the caverns and began hanging from the ceiling, shrouded by darkness. From there, it began probing through the minds of anything nearby that it sensed. After some time, the first twnety five zealots (whose armor and weapons had been issued out by now) made their way to the empty chamber.
Some strange desire had welled up inside each of the zealots, and they had found themselves walking before they even knew what they were doing. Now, for some reason they had begun sparring. Whenever one of them made a mistake, they instantly knew what they had done wrong, some strange voice whispering instructions in their minds. Their superior memories and minds meant that they seldom needed to be corrected twice. None of them told the others about it for fear of being labelled insane, but they were making great progress in a matter of minutes. After some time, the Tormenter found that its assistance was no longer needed. It continued to hang from the ceiling above, secretly watching the humans as they made progress.
Meanwhile, Shaige returned to where he had left Ifrit. Soon the ritual pentagram would have siphoned enough power to restore the scion's monstrous body, and when that happened the keeper needed to ensure that the thing did not destroy half of the dungeon. Upon arriving, the keeper noticed that the tribesmen had chosen this room to vent the forge's exhaust into. Already the place had been sealed off, and it was beginning to fill with soot and hot, choking smoke from burning coal. This would probably be a fine kennel to keep the fiery beast in. Ifrit would never be far, and never have the chance to rampage through the tunnels.
The shadow manifested in the dark room and channeled a small amount of magic into the pentagram to expedite its progress. The glyphs began to glow, pushing back some of the impenetrable darkness, and Ifrit finally had his physical form restored. "I trust that a creature of your nature is capable of withstanding these conditions," the wraith spoke, a shadowy appendage gesturing to the growing layer of smoke above. "This would make an acceptable place for you to rest when not doing my bidding, would it not? But that is not the reason that I am here," Shaige went on.
After a long pause, he continued, "I take it you have a talent for violence. If that is indeed the case, then I have a task for you."
______________
Zadok's departure had changed nothing. The Carver was assaulting its adversary with renewed vigor now that its ally was not here to cast blasts of holy energy. The Ripper was continuing to deflect or counter nigh every move, occasionally performing an attack of its own. The former being had barely done any noticeable damage to its foe, while the latter being was still attempting to breach the Source's core to no avail, even now after all this time and battling. Both of the entities thought in terms of millennium rather than hours, but even they were beginning to grow frustrated with the stalemate.
Some time after the anti-keeper had left, the Carver sensed someone struggling to establish a mental connection. The Carver bridged the gap between their minds, creating a link. It was Zadok. That was good. The guardian telepathically communicated, "You seem to have survived."
Shaige examined its other features as well. Vicious claws on its hands and talons on its feet would make it dangerous enough. The construct was also venomous; any that had the misfortune of being wounded by it would die a rapid yet agonizing death. The Tormenter's head was large and elongated, with a disproportionately large jaw full of dagger-like fangs. Two huge, bulbous eyes would gift the thing with near perfect sight at night, though the daylight would be almost blinding. That was no matter though. This construct was primarily not for fighting or leading, but for spying. Its only truly impressive attribute would be the ability to possess dozens of creatures at the same time. Its coal-black skin and wings would allow it to fly unseen throughout the night, using its powers to enthrall any stray humans. Then it would find a cave or other suitable spot to hide, and control its thralls throughout the day.
The creature still laid limp on the tile floor, inanimate. "Arise," ordered Shaige. The keeper received nothing in response. Bah, he had neglected to imbue it with consciousness or even the most instinctive of minds! This could be fixed easily enough. With a wave of his hand, the shadow pulled several wailing souls of from the depths of the red waters. The magic of his dungeon heart trapped the souls of any sacrificial victims until they could be used. The keeper pointed a spindly finger of pure darkness towards the Tormenter. With no choice but to obey, the souls all poured into the lifeless body. Shaige used his dark magic to meld all the crusaders' souls together, creating one conscience that was more clever than all the smaller ones combined.
Yet even more magic had to be wrought in order to make the Tormenter unfailingly loyal and detach it from any emotions and memories of past lives. The construct would have many vivid memories of being slain by Shaige's followers, though it wouldn't care. Perhaps it would have been easier to simply erase all the memories of the slain crusaders, but doing so would have also erased most of their knowledge. "Awaken," Shaige commanded. This time, the creature's eyelids snapped open and it scrambled to its feet.
"Your first orders are to seek out and find the newly blessed zealots. You have the collective knowledge and prowess of half a dozen Knights of the Flame; use it to train my warriors well. A task beneath you, to be sure, but you are the sole follower of mine competent enough to do it."
The Tormenter nodded. It threw open the doors and ran through the tunnels. There was not enough space to fly, but the construct still wasted no time in fulfilling its master's orders. It did not know what these 'zealots' were, but a fear of looking unintelligent to its master had prevented the construct from asking. Instinctively not wanting to be seen, it found an empty chamber in the caverns and began hanging from the ceiling, shrouded by darkness. From there, it began probing through the minds of anything nearby that it sensed. After some time, the first twnety five zealots (whose armor and weapons had been issued out by now) made their way to the empty chamber.
Some strange desire had welled up inside each of the zealots, and they had found themselves walking before they even knew what they were doing. Now, for some reason they had begun sparring. Whenever one of them made a mistake, they instantly knew what they had done wrong, some strange voice whispering instructions in their minds. Their superior memories and minds meant that they seldom needed to be corrected twice. None of them told the others about it for fear of being labelled insane, but they were making great progress in a matter of minutes. After some time, the Tormenter found that its assistance was no longer needed. It continued to hang from the ceiling above, secretly watching the humans as they made progress.
Meanwhile, Shaige returned to where he had left Ifrit. Soon the ritual pentagram would have siphoned enough power to restore the scion's monstrous body, and when that happened the keeper needed to ensure that the thing did not destroy half of the dungeon. Upon arriving, the keeper noticed that the tribesmen had chosen this room to vent the forge's exhaust into. Already the place had been sealed off, and it was beginning to fill with soot and hot, choking smoke from burning coal. This would probably be a fine kennel to keep the fiery beast in. Ifrit would never be far, and never have the chance to rampage through the tunnels.
The shadow manifested in the dark room and channeled a small amount of magic into the pentagram to expedite its progress. The glyphs began to glow, pushing back some of the impenetrable darkness, and Ifrit finally had his physical form restored. "I trust that a creature of your nature is capable of withstanding these conditions," the wraith spoke, a shadowy appendage gesturing to the growing layer of smoke above. "This would make an acceptable place for you to rest when not doing my bidding, would it not? But that is not the reason that I am here," Shaige went on.
After a long pause, he continued, "I take it you have a talent for violence. If that is indeed the case, then I have a task for you."
______________
Zadok's departure had changed nothing. The Carver was assaulting its adversary with renewed vigor now that its ally was not here to cast blasts of holy energy. The Ripper was continuing to deflect or counter nigh every move, occasionally performing an attack of its own. The former being had barely done any noticeable damage to its foe, while the latter being was still attempting to breach the Source's core to no avail, even now after all this time and battling. Both of the entities thought in terms of millennium rather than hours, but even they were beginning to grow frustrated with the stalemate.
Some time after the anti-keeper had left, the Carver sensed someone struggling to establish a mental connection. The Carver bridged the gap between their minds, creating a link. It was Zadok. That was good. The guardian telepathically communicated, "You seem to have survived."
Hmm, that last snippet that the voice said makes me suspect the Devourer. If the Devourer becomes a part of this picture, it might have implications on the plot we laid out...
Shaige eyed his new creature. It was the human that he had brought down to his dungeon heart. When his slumber ended and his eyes opened, he would find them to have a soft purple glow like those of his master, but otherwise he appeared no different from before. The changes were all on the inside. Judging by the fire priests and their crusaders, the Knights of the Flame, this world was no stranger to seeing magically augmented warriors. The soldiers had managed to trek through the woods for hours in their armor, heft around large weapons with surprising speed, and withstand any stray bolts of fire magic from the priests.
Shaige already had three hundred tribesmen as well as a few dozen druids that were more than happy to fight, but none of them would have been able to match Paterdomus' crusaders toe to toe, in a fair fight. That was, until now. Shaige had used this man as a prototype for his new augmented soldiers, using his magic as a keeper to bless and empower the human in various ways. The man's skeletal and muscular systems were improved, making him both stronger and more resilient. His body was given extreme endurance as well. Great willpower combined with a superior physique would allow these soldiers to wear extremely heavy plate armor, and fight almost unhindered by the standards of normal people.
The next procedure for most sorcerers would be to improve the muscles to make them move faster instead of just more forcefully. Shaige had differenent plans, however. As most soldiers in Elysium were augmented with the primitive sort of magic that could be wielded by mortals, perhaps combined with a few potions, Shaige had already augmented this man beyond almost any other human soldier on the continent. To do much more would place too much stress on the human body, and likely end up killing the tribesman. However, there were still other things that could be done to improve his followers. Shaige enhanced the man's mental capacities, something that was almost never done to augment soldiers.
Moral implications aside, altering and improving a mind was something extremely difficult, even by the standards of a keeper. However, Shaige managed to accomplish it. Augmenting a human made them a perfect frame for a soldier, though they were still ineffective warriors unless trained well. However, Shaige's alterations to the mind would make these undisciplined and worthless tribesmen capable of mastering any weapon or fighting technique in the span of days or weeks, as compared to months or years. It would also have the desirable side effect of improving their reaction time and reflexes in actual combat, which would end up being about as much of an advantage as faster movement.
His experiment done, Shaige knew that replicating the augmentation he had just done of this first human would be easy. Shaige met with Fangir in the shrine above. The smelter and foundry had been completed with assistance from the imps, the only ones in the entire city who knew anything whatsoever about working metal. Soran had shown the humans what metal ores to search for and now miners were scouring the tunnels, chipping into any iron or coal veins that they found in the walls of the tunnel. The imp construct was currently acting as forgemaster to get a batch of armor and weapons prepared for the first squad of augmented humans. The brightest tribesman that was to be found was apprenticed to Soran, and would take control as soon as he was deemed competent.
Shaige made inquiries with Fangir about the best fighters in the city. Aside from the druids, who were undoubtedly more useful as they were rather than as augmented infantry, there were very few actual warriors in the city. Most had died trying to fight against the crusaders, and those that remained were not seasoned veterans. They were used to fighting wildly with bows and tomahawks; there was nobody who could train them to fight in formation or even with swords, spears, or shields. Regardless, Shaige augmented 19 more of the tribesmen, and left several imps with orders to do the same to another 30.
Fangir's next order was to oversee construction of a barracks for the soldiers and residential area for the workers, as well as latrines. Currently, every person just had claimed their own alcove corner. The few sleeping chambers had terrible conditions, often with more than a dozen sweaty bodies cramped into a tiny, stuffy, and damp room, sleeping on only straw or leaves. Such areas were disgusting unsanitary. The bedding wasn't changed, bodily fluids were in abundance, and the lack of a designated latrine presented problems as well. Though they had not been here for longer than a few months, it was a wonder that disease hadn't already claimed half the caverns' population. Aside from the danger of death, these conditions were leading to sleep deprivation and wreaking havoc on overall happiness and productivity. It had to end.
Shaige rested within the murky depths of his unholy font, the dungeon heart. The keeper sensed an imp above, draining more blood into the waters. The crusaders' corpses were rapidly diminishing, but there was still enough to last several days. By then, the shadow fully intended to have live prisoners. The imp left. Of course, another was wont to return soon enough to refill the blood in the fountain, but the keeper would be alone for some time. He would see to it that he soon had a minion capable of training his new soldiers.
Level 1 Construct: 0/3
25 Sets of weapons and armor: 0/5
Shaige already had three hundred tribesmen as well as a few dozen druids that were more than happy to fight, but none of them would have been able to match Paterdomus' crusaders toe to toe, in a fair fight. That was, until now. Shaige had used this man as a prototype for his new augmented soldiers, using his magic as a keeper to bless and empower the human in various ways. The man's skeletal and muscular systems were improved, making him both stronger and more resilient. His body was given extreme endurance as well. Great willpower combined with a superior physique would allow these soldiers to wear extremely heavy plate armor, and fight almost unhindered by the standards of normal people.
The next procedure for most sorcerers would be to improve the muscles to make them move faster instead of just more forcefully. Shaige had differenent plans, however. As most soldiers in Elysium were augmented with the primitive sort of magic that could be wielded by mortals, perhaps combined with a few potions, Shaige had already augmented this man beyond almost any other human soldier on the continent. To do much more would place too much stress on the human body, and likely end up killing the tribesman. However, there were still other things that could be done to improve his followers. Shaige enhanced the man's mental capacities, something that was almost never done to augment soldiers.
Moral implications aside, altering and improving a mind was something extremely difficult, even by the standards of a keeper. However, Shaige managed to accomplish it. Augmenting a human made them a perfect frame for a soldier, though they were still ineffective warriors unless trained well. However, Shaige's alterations to the mind would make these undisciplined and worthless tribesmen capable of mastering any weapon or fighting technique in the span of days or weeks, as compared to months or years. It would also have the desirable side effect of improving their reaction time and reflexes in actual combat, which would end up being about as much of an advantage as faster movement.
His experiment done, Shaige knew that replicating the augmentation he had just done of this first human would be easy. Shaige met with Fangir in the shrine above. The smelter and foundry had been completed with assistance from the imps, the only ones in the entire city who knew anything whatsoever about working metal. Soran had shown the humans what metal ores to search for and now miners were scouring the tunnels, chipping into any iron or coal veins that they found in the walls of the tunnel. The imp construct was currently acting as forgemaster to get a batch of armor and weapons prepared for the first squad of augmented humans. The brightest tribesman that was to be found was apprenticed to Soran, and would take control as soon as he was deemed competent.
Shaige made inquiries with Fangir about the best fighters in the city. Aside from the druids, who were undoubtedly more useful as they were rather than as augmented infantry, there were very few actual warriors in the city. Most had died trying to fight against the crusaders, and those that remained were not seasoned veterans. They were used to fighting wildly with bows and tomahawks; there was nobody who could train them to fight in formation or even with swords, spears, or shields. Regardless, Shaige augmented 19 more of the tribesmen, and left several imps with orders to do the same to another 30.
Fangir's next order was to oversee construction of a barracks for the soldiers and residential area for the workers, as well as latrines. Currently, every person just had claimed their own alcove corner. The few sleeping chambers had terrible conditions, often with more than a dozen sweaty bodies cramped into a tiny, stuffy, and damp room, sleeping on only straw or leaves. Such areas were disgusting unsanitary. The bedding wasn't changed, bodily fluids were in abundance, and the lack of a designated latrine presented problems as well. Though they had not been here for longer than a few months, it was a wonder that disease hadn't already claimed half the caverns' population. Aside from the danger of death, these conditions were leading to sleep deprivation and wreaking havoc on overall happiness and productivity. It had to end.
Shaige rested within the murky depths of his unholy font, the dungeon heart. The keeper sensed an imp above, draining more blood into the waters. The crusaders' corpses were rapidly diminishing, but there was still enough to last several days. By then, the shadow fully intended to have live prisoners. The imp left. Of course, another was wont to return soon enough to refill the blood in the fountain, but the keeper would be alone for some time. He would see to it that he soon had a minion capable of training his new soldiers.
Level 1 Construct: 0/3
25 Sets of weapons and armor: 0/5
We had to cut it short, too. At leat it's mostly just dialogue.
Upon reaching the tunnel's end, Balon awkwardly lingered on the precipice even after Enly'air left the ledge to swim to her master. The giant's huge size and heavy armor made swimming rather difficult; he usually just walked on the sea floor. After all, he hadn't been created with a need for air, so when he traversed a body of water there had never been any point in staying near the surface.
However, with his armor now reduced to bits and his new master waiting for him to approach, Balon decided to swim. The attempt was clumsy, and his brawny arms the size of tree trunks flapped like the wings of a bird. In a fashion that was neither graceful nor intimidating, the giant made his way to the center of the sunken chamber. As he flailed in an attempt to suspend himself near Xir'ain, his jerky motions stirred the waters. Though he hadn't intended to do this, he made no effort to stop. Xir'ain would no doubt be fine, and seeing the intolerable girl propelled into a wall by the waters would be amusing.
No hint of exertion in the giant's face even as thrashed in the water, he bluntly responded to Xir'ain's offer, "Yes, though I doubt you could do it."
"One of my eyes was blinded in battle. The milky one that is nearly split in half. A well-aimed javelin found its way there shortly before I tore in half the man that threw it. The other was blinded by my own plague. Restoring it would require you to cleanse my entire body, something that could be beyond even your powers."
Having his blackened, withered eye repaired would have the side effect of removing his lethal gaze, as well as the toxic nature of his flesh and blood. Still, Balon reckoned that was a price worth paying. Restoring his powers would be easy enough now that he knew how to recreate his plague. He would not make the mistake he had made the first time, that cost him the sight of an eye. Alas, the old king was getting ahead of himself - he could be right in assuming that Xir'ain did not currently have the power to remove the plague.
Xir'ain watched as Balon's crude attempt at swimming caused Enly'air to be thrown about. He doubted the giant could stay afloat if not for his flailing though. Such trivial things. Splaying his fingers apart, the black waters recedded from around the three, forming a bubble that was slightly flatter on the bottom. Enly'air and Xir'ain fell to the bottom of the bubble, as it had expanded to encompass the giant's body. The sides were solid black, impossible to see out of. Xir'ain didn't need any more of his minions to die because Balon happened to look in its direction.
The dark master thought about it for a moment only. "Then I will not restore sight to that eye. A gaze of death is more than worth a single one eye, especially considering you have three." Xir'ain flippantly sent a wave of golden lighting through Balon's body as he spoke, causing the injured eye to rebuild itself in moments. "But I will require you to hide that eye, at all times unless I say so." Black water rose from the bottom of the bubble around Balon's feet and covered his body like a wave. The water turned darker and draped over the giant's body like a cloak. He looked for all the world the part of death, his spear only needing to be changed to a scythe. Enly'air doubted anyone would complain about that as it destroyed their body in one lightning-like strike.
"How does that feel?" Xir'ain asked Balon. "It should act as a suitable substitute for the armor you wore, with the benefit of covering more of your body." The master raised his hand, and a hood of the black watery material came up over the giant's head to cover his putrified eye. "And it lets you hide that when you need to not kill everything you see." Enly'air was confused at Xir'ain's words, but unsure as to why. The way he spoke, did it seem more human?
Balon's attention was suddenly lost shortly after the arc of golden light entered his body. The giant slumped backwards in the bubble, disorientated and nauseous. Though there was not much to see save the glow of Xir'ain's eyes, the giant's head was spinning. Everything looked strange, distorted. Four golden eyes met the giant's stare, rather than two, and they hypnotically moved back and forth. He heard Xir'ain continue speaking, but it was hard enough to focus on his words, let alone respond.
It took a minute, but Balon began to recover. He quickly realized the cause of his disorientation had been one of his blinded eyes recovering. It would take some time to get used to this new perspective, but whenthe giant finally did he would no doubt be grateful. With only one eye, depth perception had been somewhat difficult.
After a somewhat long wait, Balon came back to his senses. He struggled to recall what his new master had just asked. Something about armor, and the effect that his sight had on other creatures? The giant then realized that he was now covered in some sort of strange new attire. The oily fluid that came into contact with his skin and undergarments clung onto his body before rapidly hardening into armor. The leftover material simply flowed down his body. The result was that he wore a billowing, thin robe, complete with the hood that Xir'ain had shaped. Beneath the sleeves and folds on his robe, a tight-fitting breastplate, greaves, boots, and gauntlets had been formed. The outer robe had the benefit of disguising just how powerful and huge the body within it was, but better yet it left a small space between his two layers of armor. That layer would help insulate him from magic or harsh conditions, as well as make it harder for projectiles or attacks to penetrate all the way to his flesh.
While some more conventional warriors might have felt ridiculous or underprotected, Balon was wise enough to see the value in this new equipment. Though not as extravagant as his old suit, it was nonetheless superior in most ways. It was nice to have the burden of finding enough blacksmiths to enslave taken off the giant's shoulders. Having a new metal suit made would have been a nightmare.
"I will endeavor to not harm the other denizens of this tunnel, provided they do not provoke me." Balon paused for a moment, then answered Xir'ain's question, "This suit feels...satisfactory."
"You misheard me," Xir'ain spoke. The soft golden light blowing like a solar wind from another world hardened into something more dangerous. "I order you to cover that eye of yours at all times, whether you are in my presence or far away or alone. Should I wish it uncovered, I will order you to do so. Until then..." The edge of the black hood frayed apart, the strands of black water stabbing like needles into the giant's skin and sewing the watery hood to his scalp, sealing the deathly orb in its folds but leaving the two seeing eyes uncovered.
Xir'ain turned his gaze on Enly'air next, and her armor of black water fell away with a splash against the bottom of the bubble before sinking through. She took a shaky breath and opened her eyes, her vision suddenly feeling so narrow. The dress was back, falling away from her skin and back into the relaxed folds that it was meant for. Yes, she much prefered being like this. Enly'air bowed her head to Xir'ain, not saying anything as he had already turned back to the beast.
Bah! He had just given Xir'ain his word not to kill the wretched worms that inhabited the tunnels, yet the keeper had still deigned it necessary to sew the hood over his eye. The giant snorted with contempt, or perhaps he had simly grunted in pain upon feeling the needles. It was hard to tell the difference.
Balon glanced over at Enly'air, now in a dress. The form that had been revealed once the black armor melted away was small, flimsy. Unable to exercise restraint, Balon felt the need to ask, "What exactly do you keep this...thing for?" The girl's pitiful appearance suggested that she might not fare so well against a few of the eels, even. As soon as he spoke, Balon suspected that he knew the answer. His first instinct was to assume that she was a slave, or perhaps some sort of pet. However, her arrogance and the way she carried herself through these tunnels suggested otherwise. Was she perhaps a concubine?
Xir'ain cocked his head to one side, puzzled. "For? For nothing. I created her." He turned his black face towards the unseeable sky. "No, that's not right. She was already created, I merely fixed her after..." He stopped. Enly'air looked confused. What had he been about to say? Xir'ain didn't know how much of her memory he had missed when he'd tried rewriting her mind. It would be best if she didn't hear anything that might act as a trigger. Besides, he didn't need to explain himself to this creature. "She's my construct, and she is your equal. That is all you must know."
"My equal?" Balon guffawed. Will I be leading a charge alongside this girl? Let me make of her a meal to your more...useful minions. They seem rather ravenous, and it is not as if she would be suitable for greater things."
Xir'ain was bored. He decided that this new being was too strong-willed. Should he punish it? No, that would be useless; he'd already proven that he could beat it easily. At least as long as he was inside his dungeon. The creature seemed to have some grudge against his construct though.
"Enly'air," his dark voice slithered through the air differently from how it acted in water, but she still heard it inside her head.
"Yes master?"
"Show me that thing you called magic once more."
She seemed hesitant, but she complied. Enly'air brought her fingers together and focused on making a spark, just as she had the last time. As her fingers separated, something resembling white lightning arced between them, something she hadn't noticed the first time. And then it exploded. Xir'ain's bubble contained the power this time, and he limited how much energy she used, making the blast much smaller but also keeping its drain on his body to a minimum. "Still think she's only what she seems to be, giant?"
The giant eyed the girl suspiciously as she brought her fingers together, though the result was anticlimactic. She made a spark. Balon stubbornly responded, "You think a little sparkle in her hand could stop an arrow? A spear? My fist? She'd be dead in a minute, if ever she was in a real battle."
Xir'ain groaned inside. He wanted to take the giant apart. But then he wouldn't know how its magic worked. Magic. Xir'ain was beginning to feel the appeal in even the word. He wondered what he could do if he learned how to wield such a power. "But she won't need to stop any of those things. That's what you are for." Xir'ain's insideous voice sounded amused. "Who would attack a lone girl when there is a giant attacking?"
"Who would send a lone girl to help a giant? If she managed to survive, it would only be because she cowered in my shadow. Look at her,"Balon spoke. He outstretched his hand towards the girl, snatching her up as there was nowhere to run. His massive hand easily wrapped around her entire torso. "She is fragile. Brittle, like glass. You do not send fragile things to fight."
The giant's body split in two pieces. Enly'air fell free of the dead hand's limp fingers and fell to the floor of the bubble. She said nothing, though three of her ribs felt cracked just from the brute's grip. The blade of black water retracted back into Xir'ain's open palm. "And what does that make you?"
Balon howled in pain, though his will was still far from broken. His previous master hadn't been much kinder upon hearing that he had unleashed a plague and deserted his post. "It makes me big. Big enough for arrows to be like gnats, spears like thorns, and fists like gusts of wind. It also makes your armor worthless," the giant replied, looking down at his robe that had been sliced through like paper.
"My creations are perfection," Xir'ain said, and the garment pulled itself, and its wearer with it, back together. "You annoy me, Balon of the legends. I want to kill you. I want to take you apart. But I will restrain myself because you play a vital role in something that just happened to appear inside my head a short while ago."
Though the bubble hadn't appeared to be moving, the ceiling and walls suddenly fell away, and the three were standing on the surface of the black lake. Xir'ain felt something calming about the endless rolling grasses. But he had something more important on his mind now, and the golden grasses couldn't dispell the ominous feeling that filled his... heart? Did he have a heart? Maybe he should dissect himself and see? No, distraction! Xir'ain pointed up into the sky, at the sun. It burned red. "Balon. Enly'air. Do you know why the sun has turned to this color?" It was the one unknown variable in his plans, and he wanted it gone.
Balon thought for a moment. He hadn't seen the sun turn red, it must have done so after he had fallen into Xir'ain's hellhole. At last, he had an answer. "The same reason that my shackles rusted. The same reason that I escaped from my prison and clambered onto the surface once more. My enslaver and prior master has perished, and good riddance."
Xir'ain ignored the giant. It was obvious that he was an idiot. "Enly'air?"
She looked up, startled. She was holding her side still. "Oh, no. I don't know anything about it."
Xir'ain stared into the crimson star's depths. What was it's secret? When he became god of this new world, he would take apart the star and make it speak. "I guess it doesn't really matter," he said, though his tone said that it still bothered him. He hated not knowing. "Now, I'm going to need both of you to cooperate. We have some things to discuss." A black throne rose from the surface of the lake, and the master sat himself down in it. "First, Enly'air, I want you to tell me about the place you mentioned before. Ensis'Lucas."
Enly'air stood up straight. "It's a city, the largest one for many miles. It's famous for its blacksmiths, but I've never actually seen any of them, and it's..."
"What does it look like? How is it defended?"
"Defended? It's a massive tiered city with gigantic walls. No one would dare attack it. No one has ever even broken the first wall, and there are three more!" She had forgotten her place as she'd spoken and had risen her voice at her master. "I'm sorry. It cannot be attacked."
Xir'ain leaned back and looked at Balon. "Well?"
Balon thought to himself, "She's sorry? Weak, fragile, brittle. What else had he called her earlier? Bah, it wall all true." The giant then noticed that Xir'ain was asking for his opinion. "It sounds like a rat-hole. A mound of stones with lots of little scurrying humans inside. Burn its surrounding farms and villages. Blockade its port. Laugh as they starve and start jumping from their own walls, to end their pain."
"No, I don't think that is what I want. If I kill them, who will be left to call me god?" Xir'ain looked into his own reflected eyes on the suface of the black lake. For once, he actually seemed to be asking a question.
Balon's response was a shrug. Then he realized that Xir'ain expected an answer. "The girl. Your monsters in the tunnels below. Whatever humans outside of Ensis'Lucas that you don't allow me to kill." Balon conveniently and rather conspicuously left out himself from that list.
Enyl'air raised a brow at the giant's words. "I agree with the beast. No matter what may happen, I and your creations will follow you. The giant is free to die attacking the walls. I suggest you send him for a frontal assault!" She'd raised her voice at Xir'ain again. "I'm sorry."
Xir'ain closed his golden eyes. When he opened them again, he was angry. A ribbon of black water encircled the two minions, tying them together. "Enough! If I hear one more comment from either of you that even hints at killing the other, I will dissect you both and reassemble you with the other's organs!" Eyeing their bodies, so different as they were in size and shape, he was tempted to do so regardless. His threat was not hollow.
As much as he would have liked to suggest torturing Enly'air instead of killing her, Balon was preoccupied with other thoughts. The idea of sieging this grand city consumed his mind...the massacring its inhabitants had the giant practically salivating. "The girl agrees with me!" Balon triumphantly declared. "We should siege the city. They will undoubtedly try to surrender. I suggest that we lure those who would leave the gates walk to our camp on the pretext of amnesty and warm meals, and then return them to their wretched rathole via catapult!" A cruel spark in Balon's two good eyes and a sadistic grin on his huge face revealed that he was all too serious.
The surface of the black lake vibrated, drops of water splashing up only to fall back and cause another splash. "I said no!" The ribbon of black water closed, bisecting the giant and the girl. "No siege. I will take the city in one piece. No, I won't even have to take the city. They will give it to me with a smile on their faces as they do." Xir'ain's cruel laughter shook the lake. With a wave of his hand tendrils of water pulled the halves of his construct and giant back together, their wounds bubbling black and then sealing together. "No more talk of a siege. I won't have it."
"You expect them to hand their city over willingly? Send your little pet as a delegate. See how that turns out. Humans do not like submitting to three-eyed giants or walking blobs of tar." The giant thought about what he had said. No doubt another bisection was imminent. He decided to add a mocking courtesy, "With all due respect, my lord and master."
"You don't grovel well, Balon. However, you raise a truth. I will have to change my image into something more... appealing. You though, I want you to look threatening. After all, you're going to be playing the evil in this farce." He looked over to Enly'air, still silent despite being cut in half and put back together. Had he put her back together wrong? "Enly'air, what part do you see yourself playing as I take over a city?"
"I am a soldier."
"Oh, is that so? No, I think you will play the damsel. A villain, a hero, a damsel." He pondered something. "Do the people of this city already have a god?" He seemed to slouch in his throne as he considered the possiblity. If they did, he would need a better plan.
"Yes, they do. Aphistos, the god of fire and earth. He is the god of the city and the reason most of its inhabitants are metalworkers. They say he gives them metals and heat for them to make his weapons, though he's never used them."
Xir'ain perked up. "Why is that?"
"Because he's just a legend. No one's ever seen him or anything. There's just some stories and statues, and everyone in the city prays to him. He's not real."
Xir'ain burst out laughing, the flat surface of the lake freezing over with black ice. "You idiotic thing. You actually had me concerned for a moment. I could not possibly lie to a god, nor could I kill one. But a legend," Xir'ain looked at Balon, "that is child's play."
However, with his armor now reduced to bits and his new master waiting for him to approach, Balon decided to swim. The attempt was clumsy, and his brawny arms the size of tree trunks flapped like the wings of a bird. In a fashion that was neither graceful nor intimidating, the giant made his way to the center of the sunken chamber. As he flailed in an attempt to suspend himself near Xir'ain, his jerky motions stirred the waters. Though he hadn't intended to do this, he made no effort to stop. Xir'ain would no doubt be fine, and seeing the intolerable girl propelled into a wall by the waters would be amusing.
No hint of exertion in the giant's face even as thrashed in the water, he bluntly responded to Xir'ain's offer, "Yes, though I doubt you could do it."
"One of my eyes was blinded in battle. The milky one that is nearly split in half. A well-aimed javelin found its way there shortly before I tore in half the man that threw it. The other was blinded by my own plague. Restoring it would require you to cleanse my entire body, something that could be beyond even your powers."
Having his blackened, withered eye repaired would have the side effect of removing his lethal gaze, as well as the toxic nature of his flesh and blood. Still, Balon reckoned that was a price worth paying. Restoring his powers would be easy enough now that he knew how to recreate his plague. He would not make the mistake he had made the first time, that cost him the sight of an eye. Alas, the old king was getting ahead of himself - he could be right in assuming that Xir'ain did not currently have the power to remove the plague.
Xir'ain watched as Balon's crude attempt at swimming caused Enly'air to be thrown about. He doubted the giant could stay afloat if not for his flailing though. Such trivial things. Splaying his fingers apart, the black waters recedded from around the three, forming a bubble that was slightly flatter on the bottom. Enly'air and Xir'ain fell to the bottom of the bubble, as it had expanded to encompass the giant's body. The sides were solid black, impossible to see out of. Xir'ain didn't need any more of his minions to die because Balon happened to look in its direction.
The dark master thought about it for a moment only. "Then I will not restore sight to that eye. A gaze of death is more than worth a single one eye, especially considering you have three." Xir'ain flippantly sent a wave of golden lighting through Balon's body as he spoke, causing the injured eye to rebuild itself in moments. "But I will require you to hide that eye, at all times unless I say so." Black water rose from the bottom of the bubble around Balon's feet and covered his body like a wave. The water turned darker and draped over the giant's body like a cloak. He looked for all the world the part of death, his spear only needing to be changed to a scythe. Enly'air doubted anyone would complain about that as it destroyed their body in one lightning-like strike.
"How does that feel?" Xir'ain asked Balon. "It should act as a suitable substitute for the armor you wore, with the benefit of covering more of your body." The master raised his hand, and a hood of the black watery material came up over the giant's head to cover his putrified eye. "And it lets you hide that when you need to not kill everything you see." Enly'air was confused at Xir'ain's words, but unsure as to why. The way he spoke, did it seem more human?
Balon's attention was suddenly lost shortly after the arc of golden light entered his body. The giant slumped backwards in the bubble, disorientated and nauseous. Though there was not much to see save the glow of Xir'ain's eyes, the giant's head was spinning. Everything looked strange, distorted. Four golden eyes met the giant's stare, rather than two, and they hypnotically moved back and forth. He heard Xir'ain continue speaking, but it was hard enough to focus on his words, let alone respond.
It took a minute, but Balon began to recover. He quickly realized the cause of his disorientation had been one of his blinded eyes recovering. It would take some time to get used to this new perspective, but whenthe giant finally did he would no doubt be grateful. With only one eye, depth perception had been somewhat difficult.
After a somewhat long wait, Balon came back to his senses. He struggled to recall what his new master had just asked. Something about armor, and the effect that his sight had on other creatures? The giant then realized that he was now covered in some sort of strange new attire. The oily fluid that came into contact with his skin and undergarments clung onto his body before rapidly hardening into armor. The leftover material simply flowed down his body. The result was that he wore a billowing, thin robe, complete with the hood that Xir'ain had shaped. Beneath the sleeves and folds on his robe, a tight-fitting breastplate, greaves, boots, and gauntlets had been formed. The outer robe had the benefit of disguising just how powerful and huge the body within it was, but better yet it left a small space between his two layers of armor. That layer would help insulate him from magic or harsh conditions, as well as make it harder for projectiles or attacks to penetrate all the way to his flesh.
While some more conventional warriors might have felt ridiculous or underprotected, Balon was wise enough to see the value in this new equipment. Though not as extravagant as his old suit, it was nonetheless superior in most ways. It was nice to have the burden of finding enough blacksmiths to enslave taken off the giant's shoulders. Having a new metal suit made would have been a nightmare.
"I will endeavor to not harm the other denizens of this tunnel, provided they do not provoke me." Balon paused for a moment, then answered Xir'ain's question, "This suit feels...satisfactory."
"You misheard me," Xir'ain spoke. The soft golden light blowing like a solar wind from another world hardened into something more dangerous. "I order you to cover that eye of yours at all times, whether you are in my presence or far away or alone. Should I wish it uncovered, I will order you to do so. Until then..." The edge of the black hood frayed apart, the strands of black water stabbing like needles into the giant's skin and sewing the watery hood to his scalp, sealing the deathly orb in its folds but leaving the two seeing eyes uncovered.
Xir'ain turned his gaze on Enly'air next, and her armor of black water fell away with a splash against the bottom of the bubble before sinking through. She took a shaky breath and opened her eyes, her vision suddenly feeling so narrow. The dress was back, falling away from her skin and back into the relaxed folds that it was meant for. Yes, she much prefered being like this. Enly'air bowed her head to Xir'ain, not saying anything as he had already turned back to the beast.
Bah! He had just given Xir'ain his word not to kill the wretched worms that inhabited the tunnels, yet the keeper had still deigned it necessary to sew the hood over his eye. The giant snorted with contempt, or perhaps he had simly grunted in pain upon feeling the needles. It was hard to tell the difference.
Balon glanced over at Enly'air, now in a dress. The form that had been revealed once the black armor melted away was small, flimsy. Unable to exercise restraint, Balon felt the need to ask, "What exactly do you keep this...thing for?" The girl's pitiful appearance suggested that she might not fare so well against a few of the eels, even. As soon as he spoke, Balon suspected that he knew the answer. His first instinct was to assume that she was a slave, or perhaps some sort of pet. However, her arrogance and the way she carried herself through these tunnels suggested otherwise. Was she perhaps a concubine?
Xir'ain cocked his head to one side, puzzled. "For? For nothing. I created her." He turned his black face towards the unseeable sky. "No, that's not right. She was already created, I merely fixed her after..." He stopped. Enly'air looked confused. What had he been about to say? Xir'ain didn't know how much of her memory he had missed when he'd tried rewriting her mind. It would be best if she didn't hear anything that might act as a trigger. Besides, he didn't need to explain himself to this creature. "She's my construct, and she is your equal. That is all you must know."
"My equal?" Balon guffawed. Will I be leading a charge alongside this girl? Let me make of her a meal to your more...useful minions. They seem rather ravenous, and it is not as if she would be suitable for greater things."
Xir'ain was bored. He decided that this new being was too strong-willed. Should he punish it? No, that would be useless; he'd already proven that he could beat it easily. At least as long as he was inside his dungeon. The creature seemed to have some grudge against his construct though.
"Enly'air," his dark voice slithered through the air differently from how it acted in water, but she still heard it inside her head.
"Yes master?"
"Show me that thing you called magic once more."
She seemed hesitant, but she complied. Enly'air brought her fingers together and focused on making a spark, just as she had the last time. As her fingers separated, something resembling white lightning arced between them, something she hadn't noticed the first time. And then it exploded. Xir'ain's bubble contained the power this time, and he limited how much energy she used, making the blast much smaller but also keeping its drain on his body to a minimum. "Still think she's only what she seems to be, giant?"
The giant eyed the girl suspiciously as she brought her fingers together, though the result was anticlimactic. She made a spark. Balon stubbornly responded, "You think a little sparkle in her hand could stop an arrow? A spear? My fist? She'd be dead in a minute, if ever she was in a real battle."
Xir'ain groaned inside. He wanted to take the giant apart. But then he wouldn't know how its magic worked. Magic. Xir'ain was beginning to feel the appeal in even the word. He wondered what he could do if he learned how to wield such a power. "But she won't need to stop any of those things. That's what you are for." Xir'ain's insideous voice sounded amused. "Who would attack a lone girl when there is a giant attacking?"
"Who would send a lone girl to help a giant? If she managed to survive, it would only be because she cowered in my shadow. Look at her,"Balon spoke. He outstretched his hand towards the girl, snatching her up as there was nowhere to run. His massive hand easily wrapped around her entire torso. "She is fragile. Brittle, like glass. You do not send fragile things to fight."
The giant's body split in two pieces. Enly'air fell free of the dead hand's limp fingers and fell to the floor of the bubble. She said nothing, though three of her ribs felt cracked just from the brute's grip. The blade of black water retracted back into Xir'ain's open palm. "And what does that make you?"
Balon howled in pain, though his will was still far from broken. His previous master hadn't been much kinder upon hearing that he had unleashed a plague and deserted his post. "It makes me big. Big enough for arrows to be like gnats, spears like thorns, and fists like gusts of wind. It also makes your armor worthless," the giant replied, looking down at his robe that had been sliced through like paper.
"My creations are perfection," Xir'ain said, and the garment pulled itself, and its wearer with it, back together. "You annoy me, Balon of the legends. I want to kill you. I want to take you apart. But I will restrain myself because you play a vital role in something that just happened to appear inside my head a short while ago."
Though the bubble hadn't appeared to be moving, the ceiling and walls suddenly fell away, and the three were standing on the surface of the black lake. Xir'ain felt something calming about the endless rolling grasses. But he had something more important on his mind now, and the golden grasses couldn't dispell the ominous feeling that filled his... heart? Did he have a heart? Maybe he should dissect himself and see? No, distraction! Xir'ain pointed up into the sky, at the sun. It burned red. "Balon. Enly'air. Do you know why the sun has turned to this color?" It was the one unknown variable in his plans, and he wanted it gone.
Balon thought for a moment. He hadn't seen the sun turn red, it must have done so after he had fallen into Xir'ain's hellhole. At last, he had an answer. "The same reason that my shackles rusted. The same reason that I escaped from my prison and clambered onto the surface once more. My enslaver and prior master has perished, and good riddance."
Xir'ain ignored the giant. It was obvious that he was an idiot. "Enly'air?"
She looked up, startled. She was holding her side still. "Oh, no. I don't know anything about it."
Xir'ain stared into the crimson star's depths. What was it's secret? When he became god of this new world, he would take apart the star and make it speak. "I guess it doesn't really matter," he said, though his tone said that it still bothered him. He hated not knowing. "Now, I'm going to need both of you to cooperate. We have some things to discuss." A black throne rose from the surface of the lake, and the master sat himself down in it. "First, Enly'air, I want you to tell me about the place you mentioned before. Ensis'Lucas."
Enly'air stood up straight. "It's a city, the largest one for many miles. It's famous for its blacksmiths, but I've never actually seen any of them, and it's..."
"What does it look like? How is it defended?"
"Defended? It's a massive tiered city with gigantic walls. No one would dare attack it. No one has ever even broken the first wall, and there are three more!" She had forgotten her place as she'd spoken and had risen her voice at her master. "I'm sorry. It cannot be attacked."
Xir'ain leaned back and looked at Balon. "Well?"
Balon thought to himself, "She's sorry? Weak, fragile, brittle. What else had he called her earlier? Bah, it wall all true." The giant then noticed that Xir'ain was asking for his opinion. "It sounds like a rat-hole. A mound of stones with lots of little scurrying humans inside. Burn its surrounding farms and villages. Blockade its port. Laugh as they starve and start jumping from their own walls, to end their pain."
"No, I don't think that is what I want. If I kill them, who will be left to call me god?" Xir'ain looked into his own reflected eyes on the suface of the black lake. For once, he actually seemed to be asking a question.
Balon's response was a shrug. Then he realized that Xir'ain expected an answer. "The girl. Your monsters in the tunnels below. Whatever humans outside of Ensis'Lucas that you don't allow me to kill." Balon conveniently and rather conspicuously left out himself from that list.
Enyl'air raised a brow at the giant's words. "I agree with the beast. No matter what may happen, I and your creations will follow you. The giant is free to die attacking the walls. I suggest you send him for a frontal assault!" She'd raised her voice at Xir'ain again. "I'm sorry."
Xir'ain closed his golden eyes. When he opened them again, he was angry. A ribbon of black water encircled the two minions, tying them together. "Enough! If I hear one more comment from either of you that even hints at killing the other, I will dissect you both and reassemble you with the other's organs!" Eyeing their bodies, so different as they were in size and shape, he was tempted to do so regardless. His threat was not hollow.
As much as he would have liked to suggest torturing Enly'air instead of killing her, Balon was preoccupied with other thoughts. The idea of sieging this grand city consumed his mind...the massacring its inhabitants had the giant practically salivating. "The girl agrees with me!" Balon triumphantly declared. "We should siege the city. They will undoubtedly try to surrender. I suggest that we lure those who would leave the gates walk to our camp on the pretext of amnesty and warm meals, and then return them to their wretched rathole via catapult!" A cruel spark in Balon's two good eyes and a sadistic grin on his huge face revealed that he was all too serious.
The surface of the black lake vibrated, drops of water splashing up only to fall back and cause another splash. "I said no!" The ribbon of black water closed, bisecting the giant and the girl. "No siege. I will take the city in one piece. No, I won't even have to take the city. They will give it to me with a smile on their faces as they do." Xir'ain's cruel laughter shook the lake. With a wave of his hand tendrils of water pulled the halves of his construct and giant back together, their wounds bubbling black and then sealing together. "No more talk of a siege. I won't have it."
"You expect them to hand their city over willingly? Send your little pet as a delegate. See how that turns out. Humans do not like submitting to three-eyed giants or walking blobs of tar." The giant thought about what he had said. No doubt another bisection was imminent. He decided to add a mocking courtesy, "With all due respect, my lord and master."
"You don't grovel well, Balon. However, you raise a truth. I will have to change my image into something more... appealing. You though, I want you to look threatening. After all, you're going to be playing the evil in this farce." He looked over to Enly'air, still silent despite being cut in half and put back together. Had he put her back together wrong? "Enly'air, what part do you see yourself playing as I take over a city?"
"I am a soldier."
"Oh, is that so? No, I think you will play the damsel. A villain, a hero, a damsel." He pondered something. "Do the people of this city already have a god?" He seemed to slouch in his throne as he considered the possiblity. If they did, he would need a better plan.
"Yes, they do. Aphistos, the god of fire and earth. He is the god of the city and the reason most of its inhabitants are metalworkers. They say he gives them metals and heat for them to make his weapons, though he's never used them."
Xir'ain perked up. "Why is that?"
"Because he's just a legend. No one's ever seen him or anything. There's just some stories and statues, and everyone in the city prays to him. He's not real."
Xir'ain burst out laughing, the flat surface of the lake freezing over with black ice. "You idiotic thing. You actually had me concerned for a moment. I could not possibly lie to a god, nor could I kill one. But a legend," Xir'ain looked at Balon, "that is child's play."
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