PreviouslyLess PreviouslyEven Less Previously Still-
Know always that you are a stranger in this age, an outsider to those that are still merely men.
-Tech-Magus Crowe of Azhrad, The Fracture of the Lodge
Once face to face with the tower's lord, Gost wasted no time on pleasantry or formality: "
I am Therion of Clan Domitian." The inhuman growl produced by his mask echoed in alien tones throughout the chamber. "
Our auguries have detected the force amassing to attack this settlement. Clan Domitian is willing to commit forces to aid in your settlement's defense, if our conditions are met." It was not unheard of for Drathans to forge uneasy alliances with the tech-cults, as each typically possessed something the other desired, and agreements could be made. However, neither party ever granted the other any trust beyond the barest modicum, and lasting alliances were the realm of fantasy.
"Ah, splendid. More eager recruits, anxious for the fray! I must say I've always found your kind rather diverting!" said Lord Odrosyan, black eyes gleaming in his painted face. He leaned forward excitedly as he spoke, his great bulk and incarnadine vestments overflowing Qazr's too-narrow throne, "I'm already glad I'm staying. Dangerous, yes- but Necrodomii relics against Salished steel- what a fascinating spectacle! Makes one almost forget the enormous risk of death we all face."
"What are your conditions?" asked Daigon in his low, quivering voice. He was standing to the left of the throne, and looked rather out of place amidst the decadent magnificence of the courtiers clustered around him, clad as he was in dusty black lamellar and travel stained leathers. He was wiping black goo from the blade of a sword, and his eyes were on the weapon he was cleaning, not the new comer.
Gost immediately turned to face Daigon, assessing him with the soulless gaze of his masque. After a few moments of pregnant silence, he replied, "
In your archives, there is a relic of particular value to Clan Domitian. That is our primary condition. Further compensation in the form of additional relics, supplies, or slaves may be discussed after our primary condition is met." Through speaking, he did not bother to glance at the man on the throne, as he was now precisely aware of who wielded the true power in the room.
"The Mirror of Nitocris," said Daigon, "will be destroyed with the rest of Zar Vorgul should this city fall to the Shashul. As you know, the Forge Priests have a particular fondness for melting down Old One relics. If the city survives, you may have it."
The courtiers murmured and Odrosyan frowned, his chins multiplying, but said nothing. The Dratha had long tried, and failed, to break open the secrets of Lord Qazr's most treasured bauble. Even with war pending, their insatiable curiosity strove against the logic of immediate self-interest.
Gost's posture changed at the direct mention of the Mirror- subtly, almost imperceptible, but still a visible reaction of surprise. He hadn't expected this man that was clearly not a Drathan to know the object of his desire so easily. Gost had planned to obfuscate the issue as a bargaining strategy. Still, the casual mention and disregard for the relic itself revealed his lack of understanding of it.
"As an additional sign of friendship," continued Daigon, "the Archmagister and the Congress offers your Clan access to the Arcanums and Libraries of Zar Dratha and Zar Mythrad- in exchange for your continued allegiance in this conflict."
"
You misunderstand my position," Gost said, not aggressively but still stoic and confident, "
I do not speak for the whole of Clan Domitian; this a venture of my own ambition. Furthermore, your valuation of the Drathans' libraries of lies and misunderstandings is overestimated. My people cannot be fed with books, and we cannot defend ourselves with the exaggerated biographies of your feculent kings. As it stands, I estimate that the odds of my acquisition the Mirror remain equal whether I stand to defend this city, or I turn my services over to the Shashul and raid your archives before the barbarians burn them."
Gost crossed his arms over his chest. "
It is up to you whether I am an ally or an enemy. Make this worth my while."
"Apologies," said Daigon, sheathing his sword and walking towards Gost, "I must have been unclear. If you want the Mirror, this city will not fall. The Shashul will not accept your offer: his priests feed tech-cultists as well as archeotech to the fires, which you know as well as I. More to the point, should you reject our terms, I will have the Mirror destroyed well before their armies arrive here."
At the mercenary's mention of destroying the Mirror, the augmentics in Gost's fingers clicked as his hands tensed. It took a deliberate effort at that moment to not lash out and kill the man where he stood. There was no greater heresy possible to the Necrodomii than the destruction of a Deus Machina, or one of its components. It was increasingly evident that no one present had any idea what they had on their hands.
"Now," continued Daigon, "it is well known your kind have ways of communication that defy the logic of distance and sound. I would advise you to summon whomever from your Clan will come to aid in the defense of Zar Vorgul. They will be recompensed by the Congress in slaves, money, baubles of the Old Ones. But you alone will get the Mirror- when the city is no longer under threat."
Gost leveled his gaze, alight with the fires of the old world, to meet with the mercenary's. "
I will not play chance with the lies and tricks of the Dratha. The Mirror of Nitocris will be surrendered to me now, that is the price for your city to be deigned worthy of protection. For every Necrodomius I commit this task, myself included, I will have their weight in water, grain, and fuel, and as many slaves as it takes to carry it all. I would warn you that steel weighs greatly more than flesh. Regardless a bargain for the life of any Necrodomius."
Finished, he removed the glove from his hand, revealing the completely mechanical apparatus beneath. He stuck out the whirring metal appendage toward the mercenary in an obvious gesture to evoke a handshake. "
Do you find my conditions acceptable?"
"They are," said Daigon, taking Gost's appendage in his calloused hand. There was a bright, blue spark, and the mercenary withdrew his hand sharply. Gost lifted his own hand to show the still-glowing brand in his robotic palm, its mirror image seared into Daigon's flesh. A roughly symbolic impression of a skull, interspersed with heraldry possibly meant to represent machinery.
"
This is the mark of our agreement. Should you renege, it will be the mark of your death as well."
Daigon grunted with a rueful smile, "Should've known better than touch one of you."
"Splendid!" exclaimed Odrosyan, clapping his be-ringed hands, "splendid, splendid. Comrades in arms, all. To use the old blessing of the Ashlands, may our self-interests align always! And I'm very sure they will, at least until the Shashul is fed to his own forges."
