Lovejoy

The Last Embers (Dark Steampunk/Fantasy)

@vietmyke I mean, you already are fighting one of them (feel free to expand on the actual battle in your reply. I tried to keep it as vague as possible). Whether you kill them or not is up to you. :)

The Last Embers (Dark Steampunk/Fantasy)

@OppositionJ My bad! That's meant to be Astraea there.

As for possible directions in how this can go, I'm going to send you a PM later.

The Last Embers (Dark Steampunk/Fantasy)

@oppositionj @vietmyke

And done!

Sorry that took ages. Had to edit a lot of it. This was originally much longer but I decided to give you guys more space to act.

Speaking of which, I took control of Galahad and Tatiana a bit at times. Let me know if I need to go back and edit anything!

The Last Embers (Dark Steampunk/Fantasy)

The Black Glacier, Lanostran Frontier

---

"This one's going to get herself killed."

In the distance, with the morning sun shining down on them, Tatiana and her demon raced across the ice, heading straight to the glacier, and to the enemy.

"That fool!" Astraea grunted as she took up her spear. Beside her, Galahad turned to face the chaotic battle that was taking place behind them and ordered Elisheva and Cillian to take care of the remaining demons. At this rate, Elisheva and Cillian would survive the swarm if they kept to Galahad's strategy.

"Galahad... What is she doing?," Astraea asked, turning to him. Stray shards from the demons' armor had left various small cuts across the battlemage's face, streaking his sharp features with blood. As Astraea looked at him, she couldn't help but grin. Finally, he looked a Lanostran warrior, and not some prince out of a child's fantasy.

When she looked into his eyes, the R'heon's wry smile disappeared from her lips. She could feel his heart. His fear and anger. His closest friend was racing off towards certain death, and Galahad was all too aware that he would not be able to reach her before the first blow was struck.

"You must help me get to her. Just as in the practice yard," she told him softly. He nodded in return, and that was all that was needed.

Readying her spear, Astraea knelt down and focused her ether, then in one swift and practiced motion, she pushed up with her knees, expelling the ether collected in the muscles of her legs. In that instant, Galahad unleashed a blast of telekinetic force at her feet, catapulting her into the air. Astraea took one last look at the battlemage as she began her ascent and watched as he continued his advance towards Tatiana without a moment's hesitation. For all his extraordinary gifts, Galahad's ability to manipulate his own ether was lacking, and thus he could not augment his own physical abilities to the extent of others in the warband.

As the wind and snow blasted past her, Astraea aimed her spear downward. The arc of her jump would drive her straight into the demon who sat on the central throne, the massive knight with the greatsword.

Beneath her, Terviclop's hooves crushed the ice beneath as it rushed forward. The R'heon was directly over the demon and its master now, and she could sense the demons' pulsing fury within her own heart. It was anything unlike she had ever felt, this demon's anger. Did this same anger course through Tatiana as well?

Suddenly, Astraea caught sight of something bright gleaming in her vision.

A massive lance, cut of black frost, cut through the wind as it sped toward her. In the distance behind the colossal projectile, Astraea could glimpse the massive armored lancer, a second lance reforming in its hands. Its hollowed eyes were staring into her own.

Time seemed to freeze. The black lance was inching closer and closer, the point of its head gleaming with the cold light of the morning sun. In the second before it reached her, Astraea shifted her body and adjusted her spear, summoning every ounce of Omestrian ether swimming in the vials at her belt and guided the gleaming torrent of energy into her catalyst. A golden paling, translucent like water but hard as steel, formed around her. She gripped the spear with all her strength, her armored-fingers tightening around the shaft.

If her aim was true, she would be able to pierce the lance with her own spear tip, allowing her weapon to absorb the brunt of its force, and if Lady Lanostre was willing, her own paling to shield her from whatever magical energy was contained within the demon's projectile.

The last thing she saw was Tatiana, staring up at her.

A storm of light shone across the sky as the black lance struck Astraea's spear. Ice, paling, steel, flesh and bone exploded in a flash of blood and light as the inquisitor fell to earth, streaking the sky with crimson.

When she hit the ground, darkness began to overtake her. It wasn't until the reddened jut of bone and viscera that remained of her right arm scraped painfully against the ice that she was brought back. She lay there, the world silent in her ears save for the sound of her own ragged breathing. Astraea could feel the ground beneath her shaking with Terviclop's steps, the ice vibrating against her ruined armor. Whether the demon was approaching her or continuing his attack, she did not know.

Astraea gritted her teeth, rolled to her stomach, and pushed herself to her feet. It took some effort, but eventually, she was able to stand. A decade of training under Father Gregoroth would not allow her to lay on her back while her warsiblings were fighting.

She glanced at what remained of her arm, and took stock of the damage. The entire appendage, up to her upper bicep had been disintegrated in the magical explosion. Blood was flowing in a steady torrent from the wound, pooling on the blackened ice. She brought her left hand to the ruined appendage and focused her own pools of ether into binding the wound. Eventually, she would be able to reassemble her lost arm, but it would take time and ether she did not have. For now, she would have to settle with brining the bleeding to a stop.

Astraea could sense Galahad approaching from behind. He was running full-speed, but came to a stop when he reached her. The warleader took a moment to allow himself a quick breath before taking a cursory glance at Astraea's wound.

"Don't let that bastard hit you," she told him.

He offered her a grin and proceeded on his advance toward Tatiana.

The R'heon gritted her teeth, blood streaming from her mouth. Her magical healing did not soothe pain, but she had become familiar to it a long time ago. Her spear had been destroyed, but this also wouldn't stop her.

She summoned a spellblade and followed after Galahad.

***

All around her, the remnants of their enemy had accumulated across the ice, forming piles of shredded armor and torn wing fragments. Elisheva was breathing hard, the last of her ether vials falling on the ice, shattering, but a smile adorned her face. Her mismatched eyes glanced through the trench. Half of Cillian's canopy of crimson briars had fallen, but remains of demons still lay trapped in its thorns. Half a dozen of their own soldiers lay on the ground. Some were missing limbs, others wounded, but they would live. They had not suffered any casualties just yet, thanks to Father Galahad's strategy. Now, the time had come to join the three Phoenixes in their attack against the demon leadership.

"Cillian, form a column of your best sharpshooters and have them focus fire on that archer. Keep it busy. Erect an overgrowth barrier to give them cover. Have the rest of the men return the wounded to the transport. Stay with them, and focus on the aegis. It's becoming weaker," she told him.

The Omestrian inquisitor saluted and stepped toward the conscripts, where he began calling out the names of the more talented riflemen.

Just as Elisheva was leaving the trench, a soldier cried out her name.

"What is it?"

"Reverence, we are being hailed by one of the Lanostran warships," a young communications officer said. He held the communicator in his hand, the heavy equipment pack strapped to his back steaming in the cold.

Elisheva narrowed her eyes. She gazed at the Lanostran coast to the east. In the shadow of the monstrous mountain. three lone vessels stood in defiance against a blockade of eight Varyan steam ships. Even from this distance, she could see the stark crimson circles adorning the Varyan ships, and the emerald lance sigil marking the ethereal sails of the Lanostran ships.

The red-eyed inquisitor brought the communicator to her ears, where she immediately heard the sounds of a commotion on the bridge of the hailing ship. Someone in the background was barking orders, while the sounds of Lanostran cannons being armed could be heard.

"This is Inquisitor Elisheva Varo of the Varyan Church. Speak."

"I am Admiral Desdemona Phaedra, aboard the LSS Hatred," spoke a gruff voice in the thickest Lanostran accent Elisheva had ever heard. "I offer this warning to you for the sake of Master Galahad. Return to your transport. We've detected movement from an unknown fleet of vessels approaching from the south, heading inbound to the Lanostran coast. Your steam ships are not heeding our warning."

"The south?" Elisheva asked with an incredulous tone. "We've no time for your Lanostran games, admiral. There is naught in that direction but storms. Nothing can survive out there beyond the Lanostran aegis. You know this better than anyone. Now listen to me, as we speak your "Master Galahad" is in the middle of battle, and you are keeping me from aiding him. Do you understa--"

"Listen to me, girl. Our people are of the mountain, and we are of the sea. Our radars can detect ships better than your Varyan heaps of metal. A fleet of twenty unknown vessels head straight toward your ships at attack speed. In the Lady's name, I speak the truth of it. For the sake of both our people, order the blockade to assume battle formations. And in the name of your Starving God, call your people back to--"

A torrent of static exploded in Elisheva's ears, and then, silence. She stared daggers into the communications officer.

"S-Something is jamming their signal, Reverence."

"Could it be our ships doing it?" Elisheva asked, running out of patience..

"Those old steam ships? Scramble Lanostran naval comms? Impossible."

Elisheva sighed. She pushed the communicator into the officer's chest and began stomping off toward the glacier. As she left the trench, she motioned for Cillian to join her.

"What are we going to do?" the young Omestrian inquisitor asked.

"Retreat," she growled back.

***

By the time Galahad and Astraea reached her, Tatiana and her demon were in the middle of battle. Strangely enough, only one of the greater demons, the lancer, had engaged Tatiana in a fight. The remaining two, the swordsman and the archer, remained seated on their decorative thrones. Their hollow eyes, set in human-like faces, frozen and cracked, turned to gaze upon the two inquisitors as they approached.

What is this? Astraea thought as her eyes took in what was happening.

Tatiana's black hair was wet with perspiration and blood, and the young inquisitor was doing everything in her power to avoid the lancer's attacks while firing at it with her rifle whenever she could. Her demon had managed to carve off sizable chunks from the lancer's armor with its spear, but the demon had sustained grievous wounds during the battle. One of its horns had been cleaved off, and huge swaths of blood stained its fur. It couldn't have been long since the battle had started, but in that short time, both Tatiana and the lancer had managed to hurt one another.

There was a strange, almost ceremonial cast to this battle. The archer and swordsman, looking on as Tatiana and her demon clashed against their companion... It reminded her of the training yard. It reminded her of a duel.

Galahad didn't seem to share this sentiment. He stormed forward, blasting a spell at the lancer. The spell hit clean, striking the lancer's breastplate, cracking it further. In the next instance, the lancer was on Galahad, the wound seeming to anger it. It leapt and thrust down at the inquisitor with its massive lance.

The warleader, so used to fighting larger opponents, saw the strike coming from a mile away, and swiftly rolled out of the way, firing six quick rounds at the lancer in quick successions with his rifle-blade.

Astraea stole a glance at the archer and swordsmen, who both continued to sit still, their great weapons of ice leaning against their thrones. Seeing that the two were not going to attack, Astraea sensed an opportunity and stormed the lancer, her emerald spellblade arcing through the air in a violent crescent, striking down at the frost knight, severing one of its wings. To her surprise, a strange sort of shearing noise escaped the lancer. Was it... grunting in pain?

At that moment, there was movement in the corner of her eye. Astraea turned to face the two knights on their thrones.

They were... clapping. The sound of their frozen gauntlets clashing together was torment on her ears, but the two didn't seem to care. They appeared... human in their gestures, but frozen, their movements mechanical, with the sound of cracking ice accompanying them. The two seemed to be enjoying the "duel", or, at the very least, the lancer being injured.

The lancer then lowered its spear and turned away from Galahad. It then proceeded to kneel before the swordsman and archer, leaning on its spear, its head bowed in what appeared to be deep reverence.

"Tatiana... What... What is happening?" the R'heon asked the summoner.

The Last Embers (Dark Steampunk/Fantasy)

@OppositionJ @vietmyke

Heey.

Had to make a few changes to the Lanostre post, but it should be finished by tomorrow. It gets a bit crazy so uh, yeah. Looking forward to seeing your reactions to it! :p

The Last Embers (Dark Steampunk/Fantasy)

@The Angry Goat Nah, you're good for now. Your bit in the prologue is over. We're moving to the end of the Omestris and the Lanostre stories so Chapter 1 should be coming soon enough.

The Last Embers (Dark Steampunk/Fantasy)

@Scout Good to see you back!

Working on the Lanostre update. Might have it finished tonight or tomorrow.

The Last Embers (Dark Steampunk/Fantasy)

@CollectorOfMyst That was great! Nice to see an Oren post. :p

shy, do you want to reply? I have the next update for Omestris planned but I can definitely wait until Ziotea replies.

The Last Embers (Dark Steampunk/Fantasy)

It took seven months, but we finally kinda know more about the URA. Sort of? :p

Anyway, will try my darndest to have a Lanostre update ready tomorrow.

The Last Embers (Dark Steampunk/Fantasy)

Aboard the VSS Karamzina, Cero City Drydocks

---

Even with the T'saraen aegisdome casting its amber light upon the world below, Rodion could feel the gaping jaw of the pitch black sky yawning over him. It had been three days since he had left Ziotea and the others to travel to Cero for his preliminary inspection of the arks-- three days since he had left the grey labyrinth of Magnagrad behind, free from the Seminary's temple roofs and myriad walls. The world itself, collared by the Gods as it was, finally lay open before him, and yet he still had not gotten used to the openness of it. The abyssal sky above all made him feel infinitesimally small.

Agaetys...

There was so much he didn't know. For years, he was the brightest lantern of Warband Phoenix, the one with all the answers. He understood that the world was composed of a near infinite number of components. People, history, faith, the Gods, all of it fit together-- haphazardly--- but he understood the mechanisms of the world, and through the long rote years he had grown peaceful with the harmony of it. Now it was as if a gear had gotten loose somewhere in the machinery.

Things didn't make sense anymore.

He felt a shiver in his bare arms. The porthole in his quarters aboard the Karamzina allowed him a view of the sprawl of ice that surrounded the drydocks. The frost shelf had been turned to slush for some distance beyond the Forge, allowing the Karamzina and the Grace to submerge beneath the ice. This allowed the engineers to perform much-needed stress tests to their Hearth Systems in preparation for the long journey ahead. Rodion had commanded that such a stress test be performed under his supervision-- a request that Tsukasa had acquiesced to, as was his duty, but did so with a hint of consternation. Rodion could see it on the old engineer's face. But it had to be done. Rodion had to know how far the engine could be pushed.

Deva's voice came in through the small radio in Rodion's ear.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a sleep-deprived voice.

It was strange hearing someone that wasn't Ziotea or Ragnar ask him that. He remained quiet, staring down at the piece of miserable-looking bread in his hands. His heart felt heavy. He still didn't know if he truly believed what he had just seen.

"I don't know," he answered.

"It's... weird, I know. My dad and I are here for you if you need anything."

Rodion leaned back in his chair. Trying to get comfortable, but finding it impossible.

"Thank you."

***

The "temple", the strange name the ark's crew had given to the odd elongated engine chamber of the Karamzina was quiet as Rodion made his way to the lift, where Head Engineer Amir Tsukasa and his daughter, Deva, waited.

Below them, the hollow tower that housed the Karamzina's all-powerful engine stretched down some 200 feet and as the lift descended, the soft golden light of the URA generator began to radiate up from the gloomy abyss. This tower, which hung from the Karamzina's prow, would fold backwards and unto the belly of the ark when the craft was moving. According to Tsukasa, the "temple" was a late addition to the ark, its form factor necessary due to the URA's propensity to interfere with other systems. The old engineer had likened the URA to a glorious comet, with the Karamzina being a sleigh strapped to it, trailing behind. Rodion didn't quite understand the metaphor. He would have his answers soon enough however.

When the lift had touched down at the base of the temple, Rodion could not look directly at it. The pale white sphere floating motionless before him was like something out of scripture. It did not look like a mechanical construct, but something else entirely. Organic, almost beautiful in a sense.

"Okay, dad. Tell him everything," Deva said suddenly.

Whatever was happening, Rodion wasn't expecting it. But he was glad when Tsukasa stepped forward and did as his daughter told him.

"Your Reverence, before I begin. I must inform you that the rest of the crew are not privy to this information, and well, it is in their best interest to--"

"Tell me what I need to know."

Tsukasa sighed, and turned to face the URA. Its light bathed him in a golden halo, his form growing dark and hazy as the radiance flowed over him. He took a deep breath.

"The URA was unearthed two decades ago by the T'saraen research garrison in Lanostre," the engineer began.

A thousand questions immediately blossomed within Rodion's mind, but one burned brighter than any other.

"The Black Glacier--"

"Indeed. That is where it was found." Tsukasa removed his glasses, staring at Rodion with eyes of the same lightning blue shade. "During a roundabout excursion deep into the depths, where the lowest fathoms of the Glacier lay buried amidst true earth, they chanced upon this great miracle. This lone pearl, embedded within the darkness."

A strange machine found at the Black Glacier... That explained why he and no one else he knew had ever heard of this thing. From what he understood of the garrison, they were loyal to Lanostre above all else, for their numbers were entirely comprised of the half-blooded descendants of the legendary ten researchers who had dedicated their lives to unearthing the Glacier all those decades past. But if this supposedly all-powerful engine was discovered twenty years ago, why did the Lanostrans not use it during the war?

Tsukasa seemed to be reading the young machinist's expression.

"... Yes, this arcane machine was discovered shortly before the Lanostran war first broke out. We know not why the warriors of the Trident didn't use its incredible properties to aid them during their war effort, for it would have helped turn the tide, but alas, for whatever reason, they locked it away. All that is known by the Cero research corps is that the engine was discovered in a secret vault within the royal palace at Sapharan by Father Gregoroth, the Great Bear. He then had it removed and--"

"-- Handed it over to MUSE, for your people to poke and prod," Rodion interrupted. It would make sense that Varya had stolen the machine, but, why keep it a secret then? He supposed it didn't matter. There were more important details to uncover and he was growing impatient. "Tell me, what did the great minds of T'sarae discover during these twenty years of research?"

"To begin with, the Faith decreed the object to be nonexistent, a shadow project. None were to know of its existence in Cero save the small council of researchers gifted with the task of uncovering its secrets. The first discovery, and perhaps the most important, occurred immediately after the object was transported to to the research team by top-level Varyan priests. Strangely enough, the researchers, all T'saraen of course, began to hear... sounds coming from the object. Sounds that the Varyan priests could not."

It spoke to them...

Suddenly he remembered. The Black Glacier... It also spoke to the original Ten Researchers. If the legends were to be believed, it spoke one word to them repeatedly.

Hate. Hate. Hate.

It was much the same this time, but with Varyans present. Why could they not hear the machine?

"Ura."

Rodion's eyes flashed to Tsukasa's.

"That's what it said. Ura. The word was like the wind, flowing through their minds. Apparently, they found it calming. Nothing like the cold terror that the Ten Researchers felt when the Glacier first spoke to them."

"Tell me. Why could only the researchers hear the object's voice?"

"Because of who they were, and what the object actually was. Or, to cut to the matter of things, where we came from. Machine and T'saraen both."

Rodion was unsure where Tsukasa was going, but he found himself completely fascinated.

"Think back to the Original Ten. They abandoned their homes, their families-- to journey into a foreign land in an attempt to uncover the Glacier's secrets. Was it all just mere scientific curiosity? No. In actuality, it was more than that."

Rodion remained silent, his mind churning with questions.

"There is an age old theory proclaiming the possibility of certain Remnants sharing... deeper connections with one another. For example, Lady Lanostre and the Right Hand that wielded Her. Or Omestris and whatever lost Remnant He held in His grasp. Now, think of our Lord, T'sarae. His was the Brain of the Ice Titan, the Frozen God's ingenuity and imagination, and for time immemorial our Lord has erected wonders upon this world owing to His origin. But there is one thing our Lord does not do. He does not look upon the past, or view this world in memory."

"What are you saying?"

"Think on it, Reverence. What is the most precious thing to you?"

Her.

"All of our glories, our loves and losses. Our history. We would be nothing without those things-- without our memories. Lord T'sarae has only ever looked forward, to the building of a better world. Never backward. It as as if the very concept was missing from him."

"I don't understand," Rodion spoke. It was the first time he had spoken those words in many years.

"The Black Glacier has long been thought to be lesser than a Remnant, a jagged shard, imperfect and powerless. But we were wrong. It is a Remnant. A near dead one, abandoned to the ages by its brethren. So inconsequential to this land and its greater history that it has only existed as a battleground to sharpen the skills of Lanostre's children. But, we were wrong. Not only us, but the Gods themselves. For the Glacier holds immense power... and it remembers."

Suddenly, the pieces clicked together.

"Lord T'sarae and the Glacier, or, Agaetys, as He is known in the dark corners of MUSE, are of literally, one mind. That, Reverence, is the connection between we T'saraens and the Remnant of Memories. That is why, when He speaks, we listen."

The Black Glacier... Agaetys. A Remnant. One composed of the Titan's memories.

Could such a thing be possible?

Hate. Hate. Hate.

It.. No, He has been speaking those words for eons. He rages within his prison, bringing into the world misshapen demons. His blood pulses an angry crimson, poisoning the ice around Him. If the Glacier wasn't a Remnant, it certainly had the temperament of one.

Suddenly, a harrowing thought flashed in his head.

If this really was a so-called Remnant of Memories, is He remembering the last moments of the Ice Titan? Is He... reliving His own death over and over and over?

Rodion took a deep breath and pushed the vision aside. There were more important questions he needed answers to.

"This is... quite the theory, Tsukasa, but is it just that? A theory?"

"No," the engineer responsed, his voice lowering to a feint whisper.

Tsukasa reached into his pocket and brought out a vial filled with golden ether. Rodion was intensely familiar with Omestrian ether, and it looked like such to his eyes. But as Tsukasa raised the vial closer to them, Rodion's eyes widened.

The ghostly liquid within the vial was the same elemental gold of the quintessance that flowed within Omestrian blood, but there were tiny specks of crimson light within it. Suddenly, Tsukasa gave the vial a shake, and the contents within it turned a brilliant amber. It wasn't just the color that changed though, it was the feeling of the ether as well. Whatever was inside that vial was unlike anything Rodion had ever sensed before.

"What is it?"

"We call it Agaetian ether. For it comes directly from it," Tsukasa answered, pointing at the glowing sphere.

"You called it Omestrian ether before."

"Please excuse the half-lie, Reverence. The crew knows not of the URA's true origins, thus that is the classification we use in their company. But, to be fair, calling it Omestrian ether isn't actually far from the truth. The two are incredibly similar in properties, save for a number of dynamic differences. We will explore the finer details later, but I am certain you and and the rest of Warband Phoenix will be amazed by what this ether can do."

"Very well, but... how? You say it comes from the URA, the engine of this ark. How can this machine power the entire Karamzina while being able to expell ether at the same time? Where is its power source? Its fuel? Such a thing shouldn't be possible."

Head Engineer Amir Tsukasa smiled then, turning to face the glowing sphere.

"Reverence, let me begin by saying that, as an engineer, I scarcely can believe what the URA is capable of, but day in and day out my understanding of the world is shattered by it. The URA is a miracle, and as I said earlier, it will one day change the world."

Rodion allowed himself to breathe for a moment. He tried desperately to grasp onto any answers that his mind could spit out, but he could not.

"Do you wonder how MUSE came up with the theory of the Black Glacier's true nature? It was the URA that cemented that belief."

"What are you talking about?"

Tsukasa ignored him and stepped closer to the floating sphere. After a moment, Rodion joined him.

"Look upon it. And remember."

"What? Remember? I don't--"

"You will."

Rodion stood there awkwardly for a few moments. He stole a glance at Tsukasa, who was gazing into the sphere with a sad smile. Something in the engineer's words was pure, as if it came straight from the old man's soul. He had spoken to Rodion with a strange familial warmth, as if the young man wasn't an inquisitor of the Faith, but some long lost grandson. The warmth in Tsukasa's words. It was disarming.

Rodion turned and gazed into the sphere. The gold light swam into the deep azure of his eyes, the radiance brightening them a cool cyan. The unstaunched light was bleeding over everything, and soon it was all his eyes could see. It was pure, white, the color of eternal snow, but warm. The shining void encompassed everything around him until through the shining abyss he glimpsed his little hideout, the musk and cold still familiar after all those years. But there, in the center of it all, burned into the gloom was the ember orange of her hair and the blood in his palm. Ziotea huddled in the corner like a little animal, ripping at a piece of hard stolen bread with her teeth. And then, her tiny hand was outstretched before him. His eyes, unsure, but his hunger burning him up, the bread in her palm appearing like a diamond. A peace offering. A friend offering. A life offering. His pale hand, bloody, reached out for it.

The void was gone. He was standing there in the engine room. Amir stared at him knowingly and clasped his shoulder, the violence of the URA's light fading.

There was blood on his palm. And within it, the piece of bread lay crumpled between his fingers.