A Displaced Tome: Who said a reincarnation character has to be from Earth

WyrmofFrost · May 27, 2018

AN: This is going to be my little experimental fic involving concepts from alot of my other stuff from other places or just never gone beyond the initial write up. I am going to be trying out alot of different things here. This fic is not going to be a light hearted japanese light novel. It will be its own setting with alot of nitty gritty details that will probably offend people or just be weird. Warning ahead of time that there will likely be alot of mature elements involved. Good luck going through this train wreck of a thing.

Anyone here remember my on hiatus quest then know that alot of the background stuff from that quest will be involved here in this quest. Anyone want to know anything more specific without going through can just write a message

Disclaimer: Any pics that are on here are probably not going to be mine, the setting and characters are however. Barring fun expies but whatever.

WyrmofFrost · May 27, 2018

Pictures

Made and edited with Azgaar's Map Creator, may be subject to later change

Aaelvarian Commonwealth
-Heartlands: Los Ilmarnat
-Ducal Lands: Ulm Barvard
-Northlands: Nor Vergand
-Eastlands:Ost Galahad
-Southlands:Sud Nulma
-Northwestern Frontier: Gren Tuilna
-Southeastern Frontier: Bal Teani
-Isle of Calen: Feda Calen
-Tip of Jourmand: Ela Utioki
-N/a: Ela Wonsi
-N/a: Ela Seong
-N/a: Ela Praeliusia

WyrmofFrost · May 27, 2018

Dramatis Personae

Protagonist
Origin Life
REDACTED

The First Age of Transition
REDACTED

The Second Age of Transition

Name: Caranordier REDACTED
Age at death: 6XX
Gender: Male
Occupations:
Blood Guard(Order of the Defiant)
-Prominent Rewards:
-Gorget Chain(Reward for services in the REDACTED Conflict)
-Diamond Medal of The Warden(Reward for veterans of the Long March Conflict, Defense of the Eldarine Territories)
-Medal of Crimson Light(Reward for veterans with at least four centuries of service, highest grade)
-Argentum Medal of Imperial Honour(Reward for services in founding the Silidari Imperium, highest grade)
-Silver Dracon Medal(Reward for slaying a dragon in single combat, mid grade)

Name: Jeremiah
Age at death:3XX
Gender: Male
Occupations:
Beta Grade Researcher(Doctorate in Cybernetics and requisite fields)

Gamma Level Contractor(Drone and Composite Warfare Operator; Planetary Assault and Asymmetrical Warfare Certification, Corporate Reacquisition Certification)

Rebel(Synthetic Intelligence Sympathizer, wanted for industrial espionage and theft, wanted for theft of Alpha level Restricted Technologies)

Third Life

Nobility Naming Convention
1st-Common Name
2nd-Birth Name(Usually not included)
3rd-Birth Family Name
4th-Clan Name

Name: Faervel Alinar Hadirdal Drac'Mortcar

Gender: Male
Position: The Protagonist
6th Child of Glawarel - Liaxalim Drac'Mortcar and Mylaerla - Drac'Mortcar Drac'Mortcar
House Esquire

Apologies if there are image issues

Character Appearance

All grown up

Clothing

Light Formal

Casual/Light Travel

Name: Glawarel - Liaxalim Drac"Mortcar
Age: 6XX
Gender:Male
Position: Male Head of House Drac'Mortcar, Father of the Protagonist
1st Child of Elisven - Liaxalim Liaxalim and Ochyllyss - Daeren Liaxalim
Image Ref

Name: Mylaerla - Drac'Mortcar Drac'Mortcar
Age: 6XX
Gender: Female
Position: Female Head of House Drac'Mortcar, Mother of the Protagonist
1st Child of Akkar - Trisceran Drac'Mortcar and Ecaeris - Drac'Mortcar Drac'Mortcar
Image ref

Name: Calardor - Drac'Mortcar Drac'Mortcar
Age: 3XX
Gender:Male
Position: Heir of Drac'Mortcar
1st Child of Glawarel - Liaxalim Drac'Mortcar and Mylaerla - Drac'Mortcar Drac'Mortcar
Offspring: Shirana-1st born child

Name: Amlucthel - - Hadirdal
Age: 2XX
Gender:Female
Position:
2nd Child of Glawarel - Liaxalim Drac'Mortcar and Mylaerla - Drac'Mortcar Drac'Mortcar

Name: Ruinthel - - Hadirdal
Age: 2XX
Gender: Female
Position:
3rd Child of Glawarel - Liaxalim Drac'Mortcar and Mylaerla - Drac'Mortcar Drac'Mortcar

Name: Emlithor - - Hadirdal
Age: 2XX
Gender: Male
Position:
4th Child of Glawarel - Liaxalim Drac'Mortcar and Mylaerla - Drac'Mortcar Drac'Mortcar

Name: Malenith - - Hadirdal
Age: 2XX
Gender: Female
Position:
5th Child of Glawarel - Liaxalim Drac'Mortcar and Mylaerla - Drac'Mortcar Drac'Mortcar

Second Class
1st-Common
2nd-Birth
3rd-Family

Commoner Names
1st-Personal Name

Name: Syndra
Age: 0XX
Gender: Female
Position: Nursemaid
Image Ref

Name: Ken
Age: 0XX
Gender: Male
Position: Servant(future)

Name: Yasuo
Age: 0XX
Gender: Male
Position: Servant(future)

Name: Mai
Age: 0XX
Gender: Female
Position: Servant(future)

Name: Elencia Solanda Taliac
Age: 9XX
Gender: Female
Position: Long Time Family Servant(Midwife/Nurse)
Image Ref

Name: Mathennine
Age: 4XX
Gender: Female
Position: Wetnurse

Name: Burolia
Age: 0XX
Gender: Female
Position: House Guard Lieutenant
Image Ref

Name: Eirina
Age: 4XX
Gender: Female
Position: Senior Nursemaid

Name: Sanev Barthala Taliac
Age: 3XX
Gender: eveu
Position: Head Mage for Vacation Estate
Image Ref

Name: Kalden
Age: 1XX
Gender: Male
Position: Apprentice Mage

Name: Delali
Age: 1XX
Gender: Male
Position: Apprentice Mage

Name:Aelflaed Aela Varie Valdean
Age: 0XX
Gender: Female
Position: Personal Attendant of the Protagonist
Image Ref

Name: Aeduuard Aeiden Tralen Valdean
Age: 0XX
Gender: Male
Position: Personal Attendant of the Protagonist
Image Ref

Others

Name: Kieran - Ondodiir Cuiltarna
Age: 2XX
Gender: Male
Position: Friend of Emlithor Hadridal
Third Child of Erynlas Talnarian Cuiltarna

Name: Rosaratithwen - Ondodiir Cuiltarna
Age:1XX
Gender: Female
Position: Friendly acquaintance of Protagonist
Fourth Child of Erynlas Talnarian Cuiltarna

Dress

Name: Nioniel - Reistiel Verrathuth
Age: 1XX
Gender: Female
Position: Friendly acquaintance of Protagonist
Third Child of Tanna Yrauviel Verrathuth

Dress

WyrmofFrost · May 27, 2018

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AN: Issues with anything from grammar to plot holes go ahead and point out. I am not an all seeing writer afterall.

Looking around the place I could only sigh even as the earth shook around me. Even kilometers beneath the surface the vibrations manage to reach this room. This bunker was built into the remains of an old strip mine. I think it was for iron judging from the few fragments of corrupted data. This place was meant to be a safe haven. A little hidey hole to wait things out and keep precious data safe. Well not anymore. Things went down hill a long time ago or recently depending on what you count. Regardless I suppose this was not a situation that came out of nowhere. No it was a long time coming, not that there was anything to halt it from happening. One of the older stories of man, only realized in recent times. But I digress. Here I am inside the immersion tank, the cables slotted into the ports across my body streaming the information directly to my implants. All of the many pieces of data heading to one simple representation of the integrity of the facility. A little colour coded map.

I watch as more and more of the facility map goes from yellow to red and then black. Connections lost completely, whether from direct impact of shells, enemy engineer squads detonating key areas, or the crushing force of tons of stone. I suppose it could be said that I had simply picked the wrong side as the damage slowly spreads downward on the wake of bunker buster charges. But I chose this path so I will see it through to the end. So many different memories flash through my mind as I watch the eta counter on the AR display. The closest group will be here in only a few minutes. As I dismiss the timer I feel a dull pain in my brain, I could get a brain hemorrhage from prolonged overuse of the drugs being pumped into my system to handle all this information, but well that is not what is going to get me consigned to the Void once more. Not at the rate things are progressing.

As I disconnect the cables from my body and rise out of the tub that is the immersion tank notice that there is no more shaking. Well looks like things are going just as predicted. I push the notifications that pop up in my sight away with just a thought. Instead I devote my attention to entering the maintenance cradle. The sound of whirring machinery enters my implants to be directly translated to my brain at the speed of light. I have the boot up sequence enter the background as I feel the object in my hand. I was not one to be violent or spill blood personally. At least in this life. My ken was that of building, the manipulation of metal and flesh, of creating new wonders from scratch. Yet here I am about to spill quite a bit of blood. Just like before I suppose. I wonder if this will be a pattern of how I meet my end or if I just owe fate that much karma.

As the last of the start up sequences finish I feel the sensation of the new limbs. The human body was not meant to hold such things, but technology finds its own way. With ease from long practice and use I swing my form into the position it needs to be. The snug pseudo feeling as the datajack on one manipulator finishes locking with the computer bank nearby. The security system is thorough in ensuring that only its registered user, me is the one accessing the system. Including my more esoteric measures. Once the connection is established I turn the bulk of my attention to the security feeds. Figures in outdated armour, well by my standards at least storm through the area. Their cheap ship printed armour offends me even as it is ripped to shreds by the first of the defenses. They find heavy resistance from the automated defenses but manage to succeed through flexible tactics and sheer numbers. It would be more thematic if they cannon foddered themselves through choke points but they are not that stupid. My back mounted mechadendrites continue their work on the computer system behind me as I watch the attack, the progress bar on the screen just about to pass 95% completion.

Before the bar reaches 50% however I find a pop up from my mailbox. It looks like there is a farewell message from the others. Well not like it was needed but the thought counts. Another part of my vision fizzles to static, something has just taken out the primary computer banks responsible for security. Error messages pop up as the base defenses are taken offline one by one either from the loss or enemy attack. All this I push aside to pay attention to the message. It is not just a simple text message but a full VR datafile. Short but still something that warms my cold mechanical heart. They truly wished to let me know how they felt. Well for a given definition of the word 'felt'. My colleagues were just as distorted as myself and the children are still making their own way into the world. They still had a way to go with creating humanesque emotions, thought that may not be a good thing for them to imitate. Point in case being the luddite masses currently hunting them and likely soon to kill me. I will however not go down without a slaughter.

Not the most cutting edge creations but certainly good, Mark VI Hadronic Aigis Composites are personally customized to serve my needs. Made of cloned genetically enhanced tissue and mechanical implants they serve as very good guardians. Though I had only in recent times bothered to give them weapons, they were rather good manual labor units. Their own programming cannot ever reach true saipiance but machine learning is a powerful thing. One example being the increased accuracy rating from the shots as the units adjust to the specific conditions here. The soldiers facing them wear bulky armour, not very form fitting and are equipped with outdated bullpup rifles. The only method of targeting beyond their eyeballs are cheap rifle optics and the mass produced sensor goggles on their helmets. Lowest bidder indeed as the composite units notice the forearms and lower legs of the soldiers are only protected by a slash resistant fiber jumpsuit. Sure the armour plates can only take a round or two before being punctured but there are enough soldiers that the one or two round can make a true difference in efficiency. So the machines adjust their targeting priorities.

This takes away from the immediate lethality as the soldiers have to deal with punctured and torn apart limbs instead of a more clean death by massive trauma to their torsos. Bone is struck with such force that it becomes shrapnel, finger bones propelled with such force as to cause soldiers to stumble. Gobbets of flesh splattering the once clean walls. The cries of the soldiers piercing but ultimately fallen on uncaring ears. They were simply on the other side, whether by choice or coercion it matters not. Bodies start to pile up as the dead and wounded mix in the passageways of the base. The light caseless rounds of the invader's infantry flowing off like water on the composites. Their thundering reply from gauss assisted rounds and the sizzle of laser discharges is a much starker reply.

However my guards are not fighting completely uncontested, heavy weapons of various forms begin to be brought to bare and the enemy's own heavy units start to advance. They look like corporate security robots.They are bulky things, inelegant and cheap. The irritating high pitched whine of their servos and muscle fibers echoing off the walls before the roar of the heavier weapons they hold sound off. Makeshift armour plates attached on to try to give a semblance of durability to their bulky bodies are still ripped to metallic scrap from return fire. The robot's rounds are finding a hard time piercing the suits of Battle Dress the composites are wearing. However eventually the ablative outer layers are worn off beyond the ability of the sealant systems to repair. Blood and machine oil begin to spurt and mix upon the ground. The thud as the composites fall is more damming. What intact units still exist fallback from this untenable position as losses mount and their cover is destroyed. I frown, the lack of heavy fortifications or field guns telling. Still a farewell in the form of area of denial charges will slow down the enemy.

The progress on the system wipe is now at 80%, soon it will be complete. The entire reason they are charging down here the hard way will be wasted. That is a fitting fate I dare say. The delay however seems to have not been too insufficient for them though. The few remaining cameras there are being jammed now. Not something I have a response to. For all of its armaments this place was not a military fortress nor was our cause so well supported. Instead I rely on other methods. I cannot personally see but the the computer bank to my right was originally an earthquake detection unit. I however jury rigged it to work as a sensor unit. Either that is a category IV earthquake or they are sending in heavy units. Yet another thing I cannot adapt to face on an even footing, so I resort to other methods. The spike in the amount of vibrations showing my surprises have impacted. Jury rigging the batteries of the maintenance bots should have done some damage. The patterns of vibrations change as I try to personally adjust the system to mean something useful.

If I had to hazard a guess though I would say that they have been slowed down, collapsing passageways will do that. More readings are recorded now, ahh they are drilling their way here. Wonder why they did not do that in the first place. Hmm estimated time of arrival to the front line as it is will be half an hour. More pings on my noosphere networks resound. That is likely why. They are so determined to enter here when simply detonating a sufficiently sized bomb would be enough to destroy me. Hypocrites. They detest my cause but still wish to plunder its secrets. I cannot backtrack too far however as I have limited resources, as crude as the luddites are they have an entire taskforce of ships and dedicated resources to attack me with. So I make do by evading any fights on the information pathways.

Disconnecting any pathways that are not my own hard coded networks I retreat behind the shell of protective programs around the core computer banks. On the physical side however they have finally pushed through and reestablished beacheads. My composite force not being enough to hold forever. Still quite good work for a force only a few dozen in strength. To have slaughtered their way through what must have been an entire battalion worth of assets and troops is splendid. Now the question being whether this is just a qrf unit or a dedicated assault force. The quality of their troops not exactly inspiring confidence in the amount of backing they have. Dammed core worlds, letting the luddites do their work for them.

Turning to another bank of monitors I see that the second unit of composites has begun to engage the enemy, its fresh condition showing as the enemy is confined to what little gains they have made. It must be a nightmare to coordinate this. So many dead and wounded clogging up limited corridors that can't support their forces for long. However the true prize for me are the captured forces both living and dead that the first unit of composites have brought back. As the unit is quickly dunked into the maintenance cradles I have a few of the prisoners brought to a makeshift operating room. The purge of the network has already been complete, all that is left is to ensure that the data is truly gone and that will take time. I don't need to personally oversee this. Beckoning to my honor guards I head down to the chamber with the prisoners. Closing the bulkhead doors behind me I see the group of huddled prisoners restrained on the cold metal floor.

Grabbing their still intact pads along with other data storage units recovered I quickly break their protection through the judicious use of my augmented systems. Hmmph just as I expected. The scraping together of several semi-periphery world's paramilitary forces to hunt down my comrades and I. This particular force being from Ozsigo II, a moderately developed world. No particular militant history, this lot was even only raised as an organized force a year ago. Green troops, I am surprised they did not break earlier but actually kept on the attack. Ohhh and they call our people immoral. Grabbing the body of a dead soldier and uncouple the helmet and upper torso armour. Yes that will make sense. Chemical compliance harnesses, nasty things usually used in penal battalions. These poor sods are worth nothing to their masters.

Still I see that there are a few captured NCO's and officers. They may have something more useful for me. Cracking their terminals shows me the particular units being deployed and their assets. Hmmm pdf forces supplemented by second hand upgunned corporate robots. However breaking into a captain's personal hand terminal tells me why they felt they could accomplish this attack. A few core world wetwork units are intermixed into this force. Nasty things, while still not as good as one of my composites a squad of such forces could deal with a composite rather then needing an entire platoon of these soldiers. Hmm trawling through the force composition reports I see the scale of what I face at last.

An entire task group of ships, a mix of system monitors and cutters with bolted on civilian jump drives for the most part. However the core world frigate and repurposed planetary assault ship is more worrying. Of the more than eight ships here they will be the true threat. I probably depleted the troop compliments amongst the monitors by now but there are still the core world forces and those black ops troops. Can't be larger than a company and a platoon respectively but that is still a deadly force. Heh not like I expected to be able to escape in the first place, as if ships are so easy to spare. The deadmen and their wares perused I turn my attention to the living. Hmm what can I do here. Frankly interrogation is not what I am trained to do. But I do need whatever tac plans they had, those sections of data were wiped from the captured terminals but I can see what their minds hold instead. No they do not have DNI units for me to hack. Well torture is not truly reliable nor do I have any equipment to scan their minds, as if I could get my hands on such things... I have....perhaps grown blase to such things.

Whatever I would end up doing to them however is halted as I get alerts. Ahhh damm there are the wetwork squads making themselves known. Looks like they realized that I had captured officers and are here to either spring them loose or plug the breach. Well whatever value this lot had just ran out. Raising my hand to my pistol holster I marvel one last time at it. A gift from a friend before this whole conflict began. The current generation core world officer's sidearm. Times were different before ideology reared its head. But I trod the path I chose, might as well make sure that I do not keep this lot from theirs. Looking around at them I realize that they have been making noises this entire time. Insults at first when all I did was scrounge through their wares. Taunting however came to an end when I began casually ripping through the armoured corpses to find any hidden objects. The begging if I look through the logs started when I equipped the pistol. I suppose that they truly make good quality items at the core, the blood has not caused it to malfunction at all as I fire. A single clean shot through the eye into the brain, a relatively painless death. Once that is done I take the moment to clean off the stains on my weapon and form.

Now on to deal with the latest attack. The composites can eventually deal with the wetwork squads but I need them to fight off the inevitable attack by the core world units. Well I suppose that just leaves myself. Cutting the head off the snake will not work here. The ping from the noosphere showing how all pertinent information, the precious data cache that held the research archives and schematics are gone. The history archives and personnel logs gone as well. The comm logs of my own implants scrubbed. All that is left is my own personal diary, sanitized of information that would harm my comrades but otherwise worthless. No way of external modification, it will be my unadulterated record of the world. There is otherwise nothing of worth left here other than my own form. The composites and their associated machinery are not exactly restricted items. Ohh optimized to extraordinary lengths but not ground breaking. And as for the technology of my honor guards and myself.... That will not be leaving even my cold dead hands.

Taking my weapon I appreciate its form. Not something I created personally but it still holds my modifications. The improved targeting computer syncs to my heads up display and the weapon as a whole goes from low readiness standby to full battle conditions. More than a dozen different ways to know what may be out there and the many ways of killing it. Coupled to the many neurological implants not to mention the physical side and frankly I make an effective killing machine. All at the cost of sixty percent of my form being converted to cybernetics and the rest is not unchanged either. I did not train for this nor intend to be in this situation, but I can't say I did not plan for it. Still my sync levels as is the shorthand for the level and ease of communication between my fleshy and metal bits is...low. Medically there should be no real reason for this. However I know why, this form I was born with is not my first. And neither can it ever become like it, so I am left feeling awkward. Over the years I have adjusted but it is still not to the level of fluid grace I have had before.

But that has been quite a bit of wool gathering, something should be happening soon. And sure enough here they are now knocking on my door. Well the fortified blast doors and the knocking being the attachment of breaching charges. Firing arcs and range calculations display themselves in my line of sight, structural plans mix with expected aoe and ricochet predictions. The reverberating thud upon the blast doors as the sound of objects being attached to it continues. They are not being subtle about this, shock and awe tactics perhaps. I have not exactly shown myself to be a tactical master, my troops have been powerful forces on the field but not exactly cunning. Cold and through perhaps would be a description. Do they think that I will cower in my little room, hold a hostage situation? That gives me too much credit as a human being. Honestly I know all my achievements have been in medical advances of the non-violent kind but still. Hmmm I think this might just play a bit into that little worrying stereotype of the psychopath that likes cutting people up to make them tic. Not the case, I just shot them dead quick and simple. I expect the propaganda machine to spin it like so if anything here remains.

I feel the thrum within my core as my internal generators go into overdrive, the rush as the hormone and chemical boosters do their work. My body both biological and mechanical is in full sync, time seeming to slow down as I prepare. My body shifts away to a prepared fighting position formed from a few welded metal tables and other furniture. Attaching the gun to the rough firing port I direct my own guards to their places. The whine of their synthetic muscles contracting and flexing fills the air. A much more musical expression of movement. I expect them to be able to perform better than I can but every shot will count. Ahh judging from the vibrations things are about to begin.

First a charge detonates a small hole into the wall near the door. A sensor probe is quickly inserted but gets nothing as my own EA suite jamms it, sadly it is a closed network so I can't backhack into whoever is using it. However a napalm grenade shot from my honour guard manages to force a reply. This being shown as the grenade detonates perfectly in the air of the hallway if my prediction software is right. The amount of screaming that reverberates through the air certainly seems so. Ahh chlorine trifluoride you dangerous thing.

I suppose it speaks to the quality of the construction as the walls refuse to melt. And there goes the activation of the fire suppression system. However I made it so that only two things are allowed to be deployed, water and riot suppression foam. The second does not have much use, the first however..... Well the fact that all noise except for the sound of the fire has stopped is an indicator. The sensory net agreeing with my prediction as the olfactory sensors report the backwash of chemicals in the air. But that is only the first group. They will not stop attacking. I see there are few options, especially if I will not be trying to escape. That leaves but one path. Finding every single combat ready unit from the noosphere I direct them for one final assault. One I will be following in. But as I make my way there through the ashes in my path I note that even now I can think. I suppose I just can't take this situation seriously.

I suppose I could be panicking right now. But I feel more calm than anything else, I think this is acceptance. I will die, no mistaking it but that does not mean I do not feel anything at all regardless. But they are light things, I am.... Filled with faith perhaps would be the descriptor. It would not be the first time for me to such a situation. I want to think about the past but it feels odd, the present holds nothing more for me. I wonder what will be when my story is naught but a curling line of thought in a distant corner. Unforgotten, always present and known to the interested but so small. That is a blessing I suppose, to be remembered at all. I think on what is more frightening. To die or for it to be as if you never existed in the first place. Flexing my hand I remember what seemed like so long. An old memory, one not remembered for a lifetime. No that was the past, remember it but focus on the present. There are more important memories here then that of death.

POV Change

It was always hard to command troops. But one grew to understand that there would be hard times. The only easy time was before in the past. He was an officer he mused. A soldier as well. Those two had differences that not all could understand. A soldier obeyed their superiors, trusted in them to lead them well. An officer had to accept this burden, be unbroken by it. They learned how much to allow through so that they would stay human, how much to shut out to be effective. It was only in moments like this when he was in the middle of an operation but during a lull that he could think of things like this.

His orders were to purge the group known as the Binary Ordination. They were breaking the restraints on AI development and creation. Humanity believed in its own evolution and ability to expand. Through development of the biological self well one be set free. Yet this group chose to attempt to create AI, something that was not human. They were fundamentally different from humans. Truly artificial life, not created through applied evolution nor random chance. Such was a travesty against the founders, the sacrifices of people in the past. They would uproot one of the tenants of civilization, piss on the shattered debris and then throw it at the rest of the people while recklessly procreating. That is what this group would do in terms only allowed while drunk off one's ass. Or the pain killers, probably the pain killers. Rank means nothing to a bloody doctor so he is stuck here for now. Tis but a scratch, literally. Okay its a laceration across the entirety of his chest from getting hit by the edge of a collapsing beam. Armour saved him from a life threatening room but

Their own chosen position in regards to this law usually was at the forefront however the large degree of illegal experimentation they conducted haunted the the background of his mind. He had seen what they could do. The Scouring of Tenai III when they found the remnants of so many people who had starved to death. Eighty percent of the population dead through a creeping death as they 'uplifted' the administrative and maintenance AI in that corporate world. Each so called Enlightened Spark abandoned their duties and the planets as a whole. In some levels of the planetary shell arcology entire hydroponic sections overflowed with water killing the harvest, in others the cisterns went dry over the entire southern hemisphere. That entire area died of thirst in only a week, billions gone.

The other faced a slower death over weeks and months. Their panicked cries for help and recorded journals broadcast for deaf ears as the broadcast relays had been destroyed when the AIs left. The planet may not have been the best example of humanity but that was a planet of fifty billion turned into a single large tomb. One being converted into raw material when the fleet holding his forces arrived on a routine layaway. One rudely interrupted, the amount of mind wipes amongst the soldiers exceeded the aftermath of the last two combat deployments by his forces.That was an example of the later days.

But they were here now, here to put out the final flames. The great criminal known only as the Curator. The man responsible for plundering every bit of knowledge that he could have. He acted as the shadowy figure behind the enemy. Constantly obscuring any signs of the enemy, constantly driving their innovation and development with the blood and sweat of others. Precious knowledge taken, worlds plunged into archaic destitution. The death toll from such events enraged him. At least at first. Too many dead over the years to truly hold an impact. The shrinks told him that the human mind is both fragile and durable. It can shatter from many things, and rebound from others. Not always the same as before. It became numbers to me over the years, not completely but well....out of sight and out of mind. Feeling a slight sting in his arm as more pain killers entered his body on schedule he could only feel his mind drift to other thoughts.

There had been many more smaller incidents before that example, and worse ones after it. More than a century had this group existed, and it left only pain and death in its wake. At first it seemed to simply be things out of corporate greed, mad experiments that were isolated incidents. Heck they did not see any sign that those incidents were connected, just a few small and desperate R&D divisions with insufficient oversight across the Commonwealth. Then as the incidents revealed to the public escalated did this group make themselves known. They did not do the honest if disgusting act of accepting responsibility, no they cried out their apparent innocence and threw their allies to the hunters to slow them down. He even believed it when he heard that first historic broadcast. They seemed like whistleblowers trying to show the galaxy just what corporate greed could do. They received praise for it, and when they first made the reveal of true sapient AI the galaxy greeted it with pity. Life brought into being to be used as slaves, now their rescuers trying to help them find meaning. Then investigators both amongst the developing colonies and the core worlds eventually found out how wrong they were.

The organization was the one behind those acts. They had in their insane mix of corporate greed and strange inhuman thinking planted such horrendous seeds to later sprout. Those AI now twisted into weapons of war, commanding cold legions of steel and metamaterial to ravage vulnerable worlds. They went on wild massacres against the brave protectors of those lands. The depredations of the people were vicious, all the more cruel for having allowed reporters to witness such events and escape to carry word of their foul acts. The AI acted not out of cold logic and efficiency but savage and devious tactics more in line with the minds of revolutionaries and rebels. Ships held hostage or plundered for resources, a thousand biting bugs that tour at the once peaceful Commonwealth. Ohh the Commonwealth was not innocent either though. Not as he watched the blood on his hands in the triage center.

There wasn't any there now at least to his sight. The familiar polymer glove of his armour, the doctors feeling the support systems would do him more good then being dunked in a tank off the field. But at the same time he could see more. The blood of the many he had served under and with throughout the years. He was still going forward, still somehow alive. Even now after all these years. Groggily he watched as a figure in medical gear walked to stand looming over him. The scanner in his arm beeping slowly as it swept his body manually along with connecting to the logs of his suit. His eyes kept going in and out of focus for some reason as he watched the man tinker with the machine attached to him. The medic seemed to have six arms at times as they worked over the controls. Whatever it was seemed to make him feel more lucid. The medic slowly coming more into focus and he felt exoskeleton supported hands guiding him upright. They were sending him off elsewhere then. He somewhat heard him mutter about needing the cradle space. Why could be seen as he blearily made his way out. More cases had shown up.

Stretchers lined the way for long meters. It had gotten so bad that even the bio recycler had gotten backlogged. Piles of amputated limbs discarded in bins, blood splattered everywhere. The dead were barely separated from the wounded, medical bots scurrying around with supplies and the screams of the wounded set the scene. A scene from a bad war or horror film, except this was real. Too many dead to possibly preserve for a proper burial. They would likely keep the head and dispose of the rest...If there was a head at all. Even closed casket funerals were a luxury few in the military had. The weight requirements on a ship meant that many cynical captains would be glad when there were fewer ground pounders remaining after pickup. What nanomachines they all had would be harvested to help the rest, same for the blood and organs. Everything was subject to repossession after death, the Corps owned you when you chose to sign up. It was just cold calculus. He left this sordid place and found an area where they had piled up some of the rubble from the assault. Snarled metal and stone piled up in a corner. Moving through the holotape he found a good piece to sit down on.

Finally managing to sync himself back to the command network he winced at the familiar connection pain. As the information entered his mind that wince continued at the damage he saw. Organization was shot, too many officers lost amongst their colonial allies to continue their work. The Ozsigo Janissary force they had enlisted, four overstrength companies combined into a regiment. That mess of leadership had led to the units being thrown into the fire, he had chosen not to apply his authority as frankly he did not have much. The force was trained and equipped by Eindab Megacrop. It used local forces yes but ultimately after the planetary authority it was corporate authority they answered to. And without having a higher rank he could not seize assets from other forces. Dammit he was only a captain, and his commission was on shaky grounds as is. Politics had led to so much death from this folly. The force of Commonwealth Stellar Rangers had been mauled as well. From the Lieutenant's report he had attempted to cut the head of the bloody snake and fell into a trap. Half his platoon gone. Poor bastards.

He had attempted to take control of the mess by sending in the mechanized elements of his force. That had only earned him a bloody ambush by suicide bots. He had gone in with first platoon, his own command platoon, and their support platoon when the attack hit. His command had been hit especially hard, being in the center of the formation when the bots hit from the side. First had taken some casualties, not yet combat ineffective but close. The support was fine and had been busy helping out the wounded. He still had two other combat platoons though. Almost a hundred men and women could still fight. It would have to be enough, the janissary units were combat ineffective at the moment but hopefully they are not so stupid as to have delayed consolidating their units.

Any further thoughts he had however were quickly brought to a screeching halt when he heard an explosion. Looking up where the sound came from he saw something flying towards him. Dodging to the side he saw what it was. A burnt body that was now splattered across the ground, the splatter had struck him quite hard as well. Bringing a hand to his face he wiped the blood away, smearing it all over his fingers. He stood there for a second surprised before quickly realizing what this would mean. Whipping the pistol out of his holster he looked for a target. There.. A blood splattered figure rises from the rubble of what was the southern wall. The direction of the hangars that they had entered from if he recalled. But what came was not more forces from the fleet.... No it was some heavily armoured figure.

It leaped through the air, motive system exhaust and active EA programs making it a blur in the air. Pulses of light streamed from torrents upon its shoulders, each shot spearing a scurrying soldier. The Janissaries were already woefully outmatched, their guns unable to pierce the combat plate of the cyborgs without excessive numbers. Here it was worse, his helmet managing to fight through the constant EA barrage to highlight allies. Over an entire platoon had managed to open fire on the dark gold and now red cyborg. With the last group this would have ablate the armour to nothing, yet their current foe had only scratches. It rotated to give itself a slightly smaller profile before slamming down before a large piece of waist high cover. Its armoured hands held a large rifle, holographic displays rippling on it. It seemed very large right now, the zoom function of his helmet engaged but the computer unable to identify the weapon. That quickly stopped however as he saw it start aiming....

Time seemed to slow as he forcefully override the medical block on his armour's injector to hit him with a potent mix of combat drugs. The cocktail of chemicals allowing him to just barely dodge where a slug of high velocity metal would reach. The laser that followed it however did not miss and he felt himself barely muffling a pained scream even doped up on drugs to beyond safety levels. His armour managed to reduce the hit to the bare minimum, still a hit that scorched his flesh to a black crisp. He swore he could see the steam and powderized backwash of his flesh fly outward even as he tried to get his sidearm up in a futile gesture of resistance. A few shots pinged off the armour, EM propelled APHE rounds doing only marginally better then the Janissaries rifles. Another bark of the cyborgs rifles however ended what little resistance he had to offer, a slug flying out an..... PAIN!!!. Then a slowly spreading cold sensation. Then HEAT!!!

He felt his knees collapse forward even as the upper portions of his body fell back into the pile of rubble he was only moments before sitting on. Alarms had long been blaring on his HUD, structural integrity shot and smashed to bits. Now however the little representation had gone from swaths of yellow and red to an entire section being black. He saw things in focus for a time in his mind as it went even further into overdrive. The golden cyborg menace scything through more of the colonials and even a few of his own, its comrades making the slaughter an even more one sided affair. The hospital prefab had long been shredded to pieces, the wounded forgotten in the mess as they burned merrily. He could swear he saw the individual slugs flying as he knew he saw his arm giblets coming to land meters away from his body such was the state of his drugged mind and body. Figures emerged in slow motion to attempt to stop the momentum of the juggernauts. His troops, HIS TROOPS.

He tried to struggle up but his body refused, the suit in lockdown mode to attempt to keep him alive. He could only impotent rage in his mind as the fight went back to more rapid motion. His soldiers as well equipped as they were did not have enough heavy weapons to kill the things quickly, not that they could anyway. Any rockets were detonated by the laser turrets on its body. Heavier gauss weapons were quickly targeted and eliminated. Explosives backfired or were fried useless, the speed of the golden menaces apparent even with his enhanced perception. His soldiers could tank a few good hits while attacking but the defenses of the menaces extended to more then good EW suites and lasers. The aforementioned speed and durability was impressive in its deadly combination, allowing the less than a dozen creatures to advance into literal swarms of bullets. Bullets that were only so accurate, hampered that weak baseline reaction speeds or strong EW jamming.

Even the genetic modifications and chemical boosts his soldiers had only barely kept them from dying too in this mess. As they fell to the ground wounded or dead he could only watch. His command authority not enough to force the override of his armour quickly. Not with how shot to the extremes his vitals were. Yet he suddenly realized something, the notice on his HUD that reinforcements had arrived. Massive booms echoed out in the air, barely suppressed by his helmet audio filters. The cyborgs were finally being struck down, the minimap and battlefield roster showing the heavy mechs had arrived. Massive squat digitigrade legs stomped through the battered combat zone. The bark of heavy cannons quite overriding the lighter sound of the rifles on the mechs. The golden menaces were all soon felled, all but one. He realized what... no who it was.

The Curator himself, his metallic form looking like some many armed menace of metal tentacles and elaborate metal etched robes. The get up may have looked impressive in a social setting, here on the battlefield it was ridiculous. But he could not deny the effectiveness. The constant weaving figure as it outpaced the targeting of the mechs and replied with its own rifle. Some overclocked menace of a gatling laser that burned out all that were hit. Any rounds that hit bounced off....How did the inhuman abomination manage to miniaturize what should have been vehicle grade magnetic flux shielding to an infantry scale!!! It was only one directionaly but even as hexes of superconductors were overwhelmed by kinetic energy the shield kept the abomination alive. Enough that it strode out into the middle of the semicircle of his men and the janissaries. Finally however the shields were broken and his form riddled with bullets and a few lasers.

Like some bad holovid the Curator's corpse seemed to dissolve into ash.... Bastard. Couldn't even leave an intact corpse, the form turning to molten slag due to intense heat and likely self destruct settings. But as he saw combat medics rushing to his own prone form along with others he smiled within his helmet. It was not a good victory, so many lost to end the threat. But the final figure of the Binary Ordination is gone. Finally, at the end of fifty years of conflict he could rest. That bastard was gone. Vindication for all the lost comrades and families that had suffered from their deprivations. The bastards were all rotting in hell, especially this last one. Undoubtedly it died while thinking of some sick need to maim and tear. Now it would suffer.....Yes that....thought is...nice...WARNING CARDIAC ARREST. Activating DEFIBRILLATOR

Silvinite · May 28, 2018

I don't recognize this setting is it original?

krahe · May 28, 2018

My two favorite troops in one package: pov from different sides of the conflict and characters not knowing that they fight for a highly immoral government. Good work

WyrmofFrost · May 28, 2018

Silvinite said:
I don't recognize this setting is it original?

Yep my own original setting. Alot of the background comes from collated stuff of my previous works and new stuff I am still developing.

WyrmofFrost · May 30, 2018

Looking around I can see trees stretching out as far as I can see. Large things, an adult Greywood tree could grow up to 100 meters in height and over 8 meters across at the base of the tree. But such lords of the forest refused to accept many between their boughs. The fallen and sickly remnants of juvenile examples lay around, creating a natural maze of wood.. But in small clearings caused from the collapse of such massive trees are larger adolescent Greywoods, many of them clustered there until only one remains to take the place of the old. It is this area that I search through for what I need. For the freshly felled example of such a tree may hold the Heart of the tree. Powerful magical catalysts, they would have to be to sustain such a monarch of the forest. While not as potent as a freshly lumbered example they are much more available and safer to gain. For a full two season have I gone searching for the best materials that I needed for my initiation. A personal symbol holding the family iconography. A rite of passage that will show that I have earned a place in the family.

Here with only a small party of servants and men at arms have I enjoyed the wild. The only glimpses of developed civilization being assorted old ruins and outposts I have resupplied at. The journey has been breathtaking for me. And the feel of a fountain pen on good paper is cathartic as I record my experiences. Perhaps having a journal written in another script would be suspicious but I prefer my privacy. My diary will suffice to be written in the 'high' tongue of this realm if anyone for some absurd reason needs to peruse my thoughts. Not that they will gain as much, oh how I wish to plan things and what I will be doing in the near future yes but not the hidden deep things. Still as I finish scribbling down the last few things with the light of the evening I turn to look around the campsite.

It is a well made campsite, as we will be staying here for a few days there has been time to set things up well. Latrines in proper sanitary locations, tents emplaced against the vagaries of the weather, and watches set in place. It is both familiar and utterly alien to me. I have great experience with setting up campsites for expeditions and exploratory missions, even a few military camp sites but there is still an important difference. Those here are my responsibility beyond that of employer and employee or superior officer and enlisted. These people are below me in the position of noble's servant and their master. That is not something I truly have experience with. One that makes me pain for 'enlightened times' to use such a short but misguided descriptor. I was of moderate standing in my previous lives, a position I earned mostly through my own hands. Here it is by hereditary birth. That is a very strange thing I am still getting a grip with.

Still it has been something I have been dealing with for almost a hundred terran years. Relative physical maturity for what breed of elf I am is around eighty. Full physical and mental maturity typically around a hundred and twenty. Though I hear that for most elves this is actually sixty and ninety respectively. Though this might be due to the fact that the nobility class is distinguished not just by pretentious titles and records but actual systematically measured blood quality. The hmmm.... 'Grade' if I use such a crude term The measure in practice being grade of Elden blood or another way of saying High Elf. Such a system is something I dislike, if it was not possible for the blood to be artificially raised in grade and such being the norm I would likely have died in some foolish revolution attempt already. The implications if that was not possible...

My dark mood however is interrupted as I feel a hand on my arm. I know without looking that it is Aelflaed or Aela as I prefer. A mane of flaxen gold hair fallen to a little past her shoulders, dressed in thick leather armour and metal reinforcements with a red surcoat/jacket combination. Her saber belted to her waist. Another part of the family traditions of nobility. A personal servant, one meant to be a lifelong one. Typically it is a servant from the subordinate clan of Valdean. What I know as high human, another aspect that took a great deal of getting used to. Here the Valdean have existed for a great deal of history, in a position of clear subordination. I am used to them acting as soldiers and military officers, of retired members having integrated well into elven society. Here they are just a higher class of Yeomen, potentially holding minor nobility positions but otherwise subordinate.

Another shake of my arm and a proffered cup of weak wine finally shakes my contemplative state. Sigh... Taking the drink of the liquid I try to calm myself down. I have been rather....jittery, consumed by moods, active I suppose. My last life was as a human, one heavily cybernetically enhanced but human. I had adopted a more solemn attitude to life than, being young again is disconcerting. Not to mention that it is not the same breed of elf I am used to, I would be what this life calls an Elden in my original life. Putting everything away into the portable travel desk and signalling for Aela to have it folded up I stretch my limbs. A little full body routine to make sure everything is limber. The days here are thirty hours each, night time in this slowly darkening fall season is around fifteen hours. That would be inconvenient for a baseline human but everyone here is a Valdean or Ellam as they call the regular elven subgroup. We can handle low light and darkness with greater ease.

However while Aela may wish for me to stop brooding I am not in such a cooperative mood. Taking up a quarterstaff I decide to walk around the campground. Aela dogging my steps silently on watch with her counterpart Aeduuard or Aeiden. Shoulder length strawberry blond hair and dressed in a shirt and long jacket combination. A thin longsword is what he has today. Those two are the closest of my attendants. Having served beside me since I turned sixty when they themselves were thirty. Almost half a century of service and I can trust them with most things, not the most secret matters however and particularly that of my previous lives. Besides them though everyone on this expedition is nominally my servant, my family having provided everything. It is a small expedition of over fifty servants and soldiers that has encamped here. Plenty of space to take a stroll then. The pathways are lined with lanterns on poles filled with luminescent moss dot the area, their glow an interesting shade of white and gold.

The tents or more appropriately termed yurts are what I would call ostentatious affairs of high quality cloth with silver and gold embroidery. Still they are durable and more than capable of facing harsh weather. The banners of a midnight blue dragon with a glaive on a field of Gules and Argent serving to show my family's presence. If this was not a campground in the middle of nowhere thing would be more... tiring. But nothing else for the high status Ducal family, the House of Drac'Mortcar. Roughly translating to Dragonslayers or Dragon Killers. I have been assured by family lorekeepers this is not an exaggeration in our family history.

Lofty enough position to justify and have the resources for such a large staff for the youngest child of my generation in the family. That is in a family with six children and the eldest sibling already has a baby girl and the others expected to do so in the next quarter century. I remember my niece with a smile. She had just just reached thirty when I left, should be thirty-four if I remember. About a eight year old in terms of development for a baseline human. A kid with spunk I can say, one of my older brothers gave her a wood spear for a present and she went around playing weird pole vaulting games for a while. It did not amount to much in such a young child but still, I enjoyed reading her stories to while away the time. Thoughts of family truly calm me down as I decide that it is about time for me to rest. I have always held true family to some of the highest moral standards, and I have had no reason to not accept them.

Heading to the of course biggest and most well appointed tent I get through the bedtime routine and sit down. Elves do not truly sleep, they go into a meditative state known as Son'dara that approximates sleep but is much different. My personal attendants along with my honour guards will be taking shifts to watch, they can undertake a lesser form of Son'dara though actual sleep does them the best for resting. I did not bother trying to dissuade the two either, it would only cause them trouble and me quite a few pointed questions to discard this or many other customs.

Each meditative rest typically lasts three or so hours and each is in a different sitting stance that utilizes the position of the body for various means. They hold both a physical component and a more mystical meaning. Regardless they were useful for a few things. The true meaning for such positions seems to have been lost over the years but I have used my knowledge from the original life and a few results from my experiments to give them a practical effect. The positions allow different portions of the body to be under pressure from accumulated mana. This effect gives various benefits such as a stronger and durable musculature, better organ functions, etc. Such a thing is a diminished form of what I have had before but still something I am more then glad to have. Laying in my contemplative state I think of a few more things that are foremost on my thoughts.

This family I have been born into is a fascinating one from an objective perspective. From a subjective one it is the best of a group of worse choices. It is good to have a form that is close to the original. The ability to move with a fluid keenness, a mind that can judge and observe its surroundings with ease such that I can almost focus on individual drops of water. Ohh it was no easy going. Objectively it has been perhaps more than a thousand 'years' as useless as a unit of measure that is, since I was a child. And there are still great differences. Politics can be a vicious thing here. I killed my first person at the age of eighty, on the dot as well. Assassins at my coming of age party. It is one of those incidents I cannot help but remember.

Flashback

It is a brightly lit day as I travel through the second story hallway on my way to one of the main rooms on the first. My two attendants are beside me as I briskly make my way to my birthday celebration. It is a momentous event, one of the few milestones celebrated by elves here, there not being the concept of a birthday party. There is the coming of age, coming of stature, and a party for the naming day of a child. WIth the millenia long life span of an elf such events tend to be quite grandiose.

"Young Master I must still question why you woke earlier then normal just to be able to have your hair done so. You did not even let the servants arrange it, you did all of it yourself and alone" Aeiden is questioning my concern with my hair as he walks just a step behind and to my right. Aela to me left is also I know sporting a curious expression. All of the group here may look objectively around sixteen to a baseline human but the youngest being here are the two attendants at around fifty.

"Say what you will of it but it is one of the few vanities I enjoy. Let me have something of a personal preference for things. My life is confined as it is now" I like having long and ordered hair, a holdover from my original life where such hair was a cultural and status symbol. And you could have so many useful things in them that it was a detriment to have shorter hair at times.

"But young master even I do not spend so much time on such matters. You have even used your personal resources to engage craftsmen in personal trinkets and other such matters of grooming" I suppose Aela would know having accompanied me on such matters, but all things have their course. AndI have an instinctual dislike of the fashions here, too complex and ornate for my taste.I suppose a lifetime of war does tend scrub away at ones appreciations for such baubles outside of necessity. A line I have tried to maintain within reason.

"Now now. It is not like second eldest sister and eldest brother have their own hobbies of taste. Not to mention cousin-brother Arley has his preferences in wine" I can be considered a low maintenance individual in comparison, probably as I don't insist on the finest dining or most in fashion jewels on everything I own. I can sense Aela about to make a comment when suddenly I feel something approaching from the window to my right. Trusting my own senses and the few bloody sensory wards I have I as far away from the window about to be hit and lean my back on the wall. A round object manages to go through every single defensive barrier and the reinforced window itself. I get the glimpse of glowing runes before I cover my face with one of my arms, the other busy making sure my attendants are staying tripped from when I dived.

The explosion of light, heat, and pressure almost manages to overwhelm my final defensive barriers and certainly took out everyone else. The windows are quickly smashed as lightly armoured assailants enter. Handheld crossbows spit out accurate bolts and of the four guards that had been in the hallway, one goes down dead and another injured. The remaining two whole guards rush through their disorientation and attack the eight invaders. While each of the surviving guards and my attendants scramble with their opponent two go for me, the last busy keeping an eye out. I let one grab my arm while the other attempt to grab my hair while waving a knife. A cold fury marshalls itself in me, instincts I have not had for centuries making themselves known.

A single thought and the gem in the accessory hidden in my hair activates its spell. A tangle of thin silver chains entangle the hand while one arm grabs the knife. I targeted one of the nerves and the arm spasms to drop the knife. My other hand having activated a touch spell on the other attacker. The figure whose features and gender are obscured by spells spasms silently as I discharge enough energy to equal a third of a lightning bolt. Whatever defensive wards are not able to discharge all the energy as the figure falls down, the point of contact scorched to the bone. The flash stuns the first attacker and I manage to get my belt knife out and in a reverse grip insert it between the ribs into a lung. A weak gurgling noise is heard as the figure stumbles back, deliberately taking my knife with them.

I get a glimpse of the rest of the situation for a split second as I have to dodge low to avoid the lookout attacking me with a shortsword. I have used up most of my spells, the rest are not something I can use right now or are otherwise useless. I rip up the dagger from my boot holster but the attacker tries to throw a dagger at me. I twirl my mantle as I dodge to block whatever liquid I can see on the blade from splattering directly on me, my dagger is charged with mana as i unleash a spell that sadly fizzles on a barrier. However as the figure grunts in pain, the first sound from the attackers I have heard I strike out. The lookout tries to overpower me with a vicious swing but falters as the brief extension of mana on my blade interrupts it, giving me a second of opening. I use my free hand to strike the assassin, no mana but it is a strong blow that dislocates the arm about to thrust a dagger back at me.

A kick of my leg causes the figure to stumble backward to stumble on the pained figure of the assassin I hit with the lightning spell. I take this opportunity to use what the glimpse I took of the hallway before. All of my defenders are still holding on, they have to be careful of envenomed blades even as I am saddened by the sight of two deaths. The injured guard from earlier was finished off and the sound of shattering glass earlier tells me that another guard tackled an assassin out of here. But the first fallen guard is my target. His sword still in its scabbard as I take both it and a whistle on his neck. I don't get the chance to use it however as I see my two old attackers returning to face me. Directly behind them is the last struggling guard and an assassin. I grimace as I use up one of my last trump cards. There is not exactly any chance of ever getting a clear shot with this sort of attack. My offhand which now holds my dagger seems to have a heat haze swirling around it. The actual source being circulating mana fed by the bracelet on the arm.

I do not have the greatest mana reserve as a child, so I enchanted some of my trinkets to hold mana. It is a brute force solution but reliable. I do have to thank the fact that my family can afford so many top quality goods to give to young children. The circulating mana condenses into a simple bolt aimed directly at one assassin, all others in its path sure to be affected regardless. The two assailants try to get closer, their more physically adept bodies now eating up the distance but it is too late. A blast of mana accompanied by a large concealing fireball roars down the path. The two attackers scream, whatever wards they have disrupted by the raw power of more than a month's worth of leftover mana. I smile grimly even as the hand that cast it feels red hot from backlash. I mentally prepare myself as I swing the whistle that was in the grasp of the hand as well and blow it. The heated metal feeling like a bowl containing blazing hot soup.

I am annoyed at myself for making that mistake with the spell, the enchantments on the whistle are disrupted due to it. However it still serves its base function as the alarm goes out. It is quickly repeated and I know that all available guards are about to scramble here, the two tone whistle blow meant to signal an attack on the family. Letting the whistle drop from my hands I can see that my attendants are hurt, badly but not fatally. Their attackers are less injured but still contained. My two assailants are burnt badly, the more important fact however is that their souls just took a harrowing blow and it shows. Their eyes rolled up and their screams still going on. Thankfully the spell expended most of its fury on those two, the guard behind having gotten the smart idea to take a light scratch to his body and body check his opponent at the remnants of the spell to shield himself.

I see the assassin I knifed still struggling to do something before I smash my boot into his neck. I do not get the crunch of something breaking but it is close as the figure badly thrashes in silence. A second blow causes the assassin to black out apparently but I give a third one just to be sure. From the corner of my eye I see that the now freed guard managed to attack the assassin facing Aela, the figure managed to dodge the initial attack but is now distracted enough for Aela to pop a general antidote. I take my own time to use my mana to heal myself, purging any toxin that may have splattered on me from its effects. Beads of sweat soak my forehead and body as I try to think. Battlefield poison likely is quick acting but not too exotic in its effects. And poison strong enough to get through both the general health amulets all the guards of high nobility have and antidotes is too rare to waste like this. I suppress the twitches and aches my body is undergoing as I keep stock of the situation. The final assassin I see is dedicated enough to try to futilely take down Aeiden with him, my thrown dagger and a spell from down the hallway however deal with that. Turning I see that a group of guards and of course a mage have arrived.

I take a fourth kick at the figure below me, having just started to get a breath back and the gurgle I hear is satisfying. By this point the assassins I scorched have gone silent due to injuries, I should finish them off just to be safe. The rest are taken care of, maybe. I direct the arriving guards to beware of more coming in, I mentally cringe at the cracking voice that came out but power through. They take the warning with alacrity at least along with restraining the last assassin here. I lean back on the wall nearest me, the adrenaline in my body starting to give out and letting other problems come to the fore. Mana exhaustion is not a nice sensation, curse the fact that I have such a poor condition for it due to youth. The feedback effects manifesting more as I start to lose the mental hold on them I was holding. One of the arriving guards is already by my side and is currently dragging me down the hallway. Another batch of them arrives again and one is a healer. My mouth is roughly opened and I barely choke down the contents of the potion bottle. It is a nasty taste but will be good for me. At least I tell myself that, the effort to improve the taste of potions is generally considered a void one even with millenia of research. A heat grows in my body as I realize that I must have gotten nicked earlier. I look down and see that there is a good sized slash on my leg.

Odd I did not notice that during the fight or with my healing. And as if to prove me wrong I feel a lance of pain, I suppress it to just a hiss as I see that it is already being taken care of. A salve and bandage are quickly applied after the pant leg is cut away. More potions are shoved down my throat as well. For a second I see another image overlaying things, instead of the Valdean healer I see another. Dressed in the garb of the Mother Goddess, its fully concealing robe and face veil as the figure chants a healing spell. I am jolted back to myself as fingers carefully roam my form, checking for other injuries and signs of trauma. Wiping my mouth and still feeling the slight burns from the whistle, I am glad that my attendants are also being taken care of. As if a simple poisoned wound would keep me down.

The sound of clashing outside and someone shooting a crossbow in front of me out a window tells me that there are still attackers around. As I look to the right to try to see how well Ohh those are strong painkillers they had me take, I can barely feel the pain of healing as the wound closes. I feel another shadow fall over me as I see my mother here, a few worried guards bodily blocking all other possible attack paths as she places a hand on my forehead and takes my pulse.

"MOther I have to sya that....thes is on the balance.....a bad coming of age ceremmony" I can see her face is trying to hold a serene look. The sheer amount of barely withheld rage that is there however spoils things.... Yeah it does. I see her gesture to a few others to place me on a stretcher. She stays by my side, one of my hands held in her as I get taken somewhere.

Flashback Ends

As the daylight continues to spread in the sky I hold still as my attendants dress my body and I listen to the particular reports that have been collated from yesterday. The search of the area for potential sites of Greywood hearts will take about a week. So far we have identified a few sites but a more widespread survey will be needed before indepth searches can begin. If there are no suitable hearts at all then we will depart, if there are any lower quality ones or other materials ,or if fate looks well on me we will stay. It should take only a month or two to carefully extracting the materials and have them transported. My attendants move quickly to dress me in clothes that can stand the slowly falling temperatures well while remaining protective and befitting of my status.

I can still feel a little annoyance at having to be dressed by others but such is the complexity of elven clothes, at least these ones are more 'casual' then what would be preferred by decorum. There is just something about well done handmade clothes, the work put into the fabric for one I suppose. That done I take my light breakfast. The foodstuffs of this universe are quite different from my previous experiences. Various berries and nuts growing in pods like corn, mega scale mushrooms, animals are larger and more aggressive even with domestication. Overall it has been enjoyable, good food is always something any living being can appreciate.

My schedule even on such a faraway mission is jammed pack by my own volition. I am more of a scholar in preference and past inclinations. But being a scion of House Drac'Mortcar I have to maintain a certain standard of martial ability and knowledge. While I am not the most physically inclined in activities I still maintain a body that would not be unusual for a fighter to have. Elves do not tend to be muscular but instead can have a predatory grace about them, external hints of the lethal dance of battle they can weave. I had training in the spear, sword, and bow along with combat magic when I served my time as a conscript in the original life, here I learned a noble's method of combat. The divide between the two is very apparent as I go through the different forms. First with a spear then with a longsword and then arming sword, finally I do some work with a dagger and bow.

The noble method of dueling is a very dramatic one that favors only momentary clashing and tests of skill. The emphasis being on flashy moves and use of the mind to misdirect an enemy to cause them to enter a disadvantageous state for a final disarm. My military training focused on group combat and use of magic from the individual level to the strategic. Each soldier must be trained to know awareness at all times, to have the initiative to create and exploit openings for decisive blows. Similar in the broad strokes but wildly different in practice. One flows like a gentle babbling brook, the other a rampaging stream of lava alongside many others. I can feel the difference from the level of physical expenditure already. I know that these combat forms are dramatically different from the norm. From the sparse glances I have seen of military personnel and their training besides those of my family troops it is obviously different. Any questions on the subject I have made sure are squashed and being the youngest son with the family having an heir already the attention I have is minor. Plenty of legroom for eccentricities.

I can feel the sweat start to build and then be dissipated by both my magic and those of the clothes I wear. The enchantments also cooling my body down. A very high cost for only moderate benefit, but that is the way of things so far. If it was all simply status symbols of no other practical use then I would be utterly baffled and disconcerted by it. An hours or so has passed and I settle down before I find myself being cleaned by my attendants through both physical and magical means. That done with I change and head around camp to find out about any more details on the searches for the day. I find out nothing of particular note and retire to my yurt for some reading. If I am of such high status as to command so many resources already I may as well have made use of it. There are over a eighty thousand years of written records that I can learn of. As much as I find elven society heavily flawed and stagnant even so far back it in the written record, they were at least meticulous with recording it. Even if it means that the elven people literally saw the emergence of humans beginning to wear clothes.

The so called 'science' and 'evolutionary biology' amongst the records are....depressing in their bigotry by my standards at least. History is written by the victor should also include a cousin phrase that history is written by the loudest for that is what I find. The trumpeting of supposedly irrevocable fact that only grudgingly accepts change. So much wasted potential, having caution in working to refine a concept is good. Spending decades and perhaps a few centuries to explore a concept in full and find out how to best apply it is good, to spend this time trying to lock it in a box and throw away the key is just wasteful.

The invention of writing and widespread communication only created a moderate increase in the tempo of inventions and advance of knowledge. That fact is something that I discovered after cross referencing various archives and lists of scholars to discover who, what, and when something was discovered. I have to wonder exactly what state the baseline human population is in during this state of affairs and as of current times. I remember them as capable of great technological innovation and advancement, also quite reckless if not tempered by a more experienced hand. Though here they have had to live in the shadow of the elven juggernaut of a civilization. That may make things...contentious. It is not something that is spoken of but I have the strong suspicion that the so called 'lessers' are particularly treated well if encountered.

Finding myself put off from this line of research I decide that going out for a breath of air would be good. Trailed by my own personal party I hold in a sigh as those I pass stop to take a half bow and only resume their action after they are behind me. I am used to it. Perhaps this walk will not be as relaxing as I wished, not that there are many other options. I suppose I have a good few centuries worth of prejudice and habit to deal with. Walking around I can see a small practice yard and decide to watch the training from a shady place. It is a bit of a distance but closer and with my large party we will be noticed. It is a grand annoynace but neither will I be a petulant child and attempt to get rid of all of them, they have their jobs to undertake after all even if it is to my detriment. I hope this day will be better for my nerves.

Time Transition

Walking along the fields of fallen trees at the edge of a clearing I find myself filled with anticipation. Some of the trees here are ones that have grown weak from conflict against each other. The ground itself is steeped in toxin, poisonous tree pollen flows around the area, and gnarled roots strangle each other. The weakest members having already fallen. Those left benefitting from the nutrients released from the fallen competition. But this vicious strength is stunted in this example. There were too many trees that started their growth initially and too quickly did they grow. So these Greywoods cannot grow to their monstrous heights as others have. But judging by how the soil still clings to many of the roots of the fallen trees then they lost their fight relatively recently.

Not many scavengers or decomposers have arrived either. The few that are present are a strange beetle/ant hybrid known as a Grinder Gotas and fungus growths. While when one hears this initially they may not think much about these creatures. The issue however arises when said beetles are the size of small horses with thick chitin and tough exoskeletons, the fungus colonies will aggressively spew toxic spores at those that it is disturbed by and some take up crude mobile forms that act like amoebas on massive scale. Quite the dangerous forest no?

But our forces came prepared for such a threat. Reckless amounts of fire may simply engender more sprouts to spawn. And such spawns will be quite hungry. Did I mention that Greywoods in their vegetative stage are somewhat mobile. Not to any great extent but that many fresh roots can entangle prey to be dragged under and used as the initial boost of the next stage of growth. And while the larger trees will simply shrug off a normal fire the animals tend to take greater exception. Such a strategy is often employed by Yellow Great Kites, birds of prey the size of a small horse. They often take the time to take burning brands from wildfires and spread them to flush out prey. The older examples can generate said fire on their own and really burn out any prey. Then this brings in other predators and so on. Yes fire is bad.
Instead we employ our insect exterminators. Large golems begin stomping their way forward to fight the monsters here. Large things at the height of 9 meters they would have been equivalent to the Armoured Frame class of mechs I once knew. Those mechs typically were used for scouting and skirmish tactics, these golems however are meant for frontline combat. This one wields an axe head for a hand and a manipulator hand with arcing lightning between metallic runes. Three of these behemoths go forward with crossbowmen upon the gondolas set into their hunchbacks. The lead vanguard golem in a thundering rush slams its axe hand into a worker Grinder. The mule sized insect is crunched in half and the head further crushed by the arm with the hand. It still twitches even as the front half is used as a makeshift projectile into another Grinder. This one is another worker and it is bowled over only to be stepped on, the foot of another golem sinking deeply into the thing.

A flying scout Grinder attempts to land on the first golem with pincers gnashing but a crossbow bolt ends that threat as it becomes a pincushion. More beatles begin to respond, this time warrior types along with more scouts. The golems form a powerful front line while more Valdean soldiers move into place armed with halberds and longbows. At this point I make my own contribution known as I release mana through the staff in my hand. Swirling it around almost lazily to form the mana into a mass I unleash a net of lightning into the air to scorch a number of scouts from the air. The scent of ozone in the air is a long familiar one as the currents in the air also bring along the scent of burnt chitin. The familiar burning sensation of coursing mana is a pleasant one. Even if I am prevented from fighting directly on the frontline without excessive need I can contribute. I am itching to take a more forward position, not the vanguard but closer. Still that is not how a mage acts here, conservative tactics to my distaste.

My distaste aside however I am able to appreciate the view of splattering ichor and bits of bug. That is until the larger beetles known as Centurions arrived. These things are the guards and mates of the queen, that is a troublesome matter then. Either there was a strange surplus of such, the group here was in the process of budding off another offshoot, or the queen herself is coming here. All are bad. These insects follow a general life organization similar to ants but do not have the ridiculous numbers that would be there. Instead each individual is more powerful, and the Queen while technically not a fighter has enough bulk to make up for it with raw strength. That could increase casualties more than they are. The fight was conducted well, but losses are inevitable. One man I saw was launched into the air by a set of horns from a beetle, the crunch telling me that his chances of survival are slim. Another's fate was much more apparent, pincers attached to their head and simply closing with a finality.

Others simply had their arms and legs broken and crushed. The few healers we have will be busy for a long time. Thankfully however the combat seems to have proceeded according to plan. That being eliminating the insects first before any fungus forms start reacting. We had contingencies if they did but.... The less such plans are needed the better. While letting off another bolt of lightning into a scout I am treated to the sight of the 5.5m tall queen being pummeled. Iron shod stone crushes as much as it cuts. The angry buzzing of the queen matters not to the golems, their pseudo brains finding the means to effectively kill the queen. This being to rend it limb from limb and then give the killing blow. Have not seen this much giant monster deaf since the campaigns into the Ethlo Mountains..... Calm yourself my body. Calm yourself..... I suppose I have a good benchmark for comparing things to. Not much can beat a hellscape where the veil between dimensions is about as strong as tissue paper. Our greatest triumph and our greatest curse, well not mine anymore I suppose. I left that world behind.

With a force of will I bring myself back to the present. Yes the sensation of my gloved hand on the gondola rail of the golem I am on, the scent of the forest through an enchanted facemask. The raw taste of mana from the aftereffects of spells, different. Yes ground yourself.... Still having problems, reincarnation is not a process that lets one get away unscathed. Its effects vary, some diminish over time as one settles into a life. Other times it gets worse. A problem for high elves is that their life span is measured in the millenia. Most such creatures that last to such a state change mentally, things slow down to compensate. But for my original life such a thing was not possible, too much conflict to allow. So another issue came to be, mentally insanity. The weight of the years pulls one down, or one simply sinks into their memories. Too many and too varied to be able to distinguish present, past... and in some cases future. I knew of it intellectually from the many accounts that were under my purview as an archivist. To experience it personally.... Hah my mind is balanced on a razor's edge, and so many different facets to fall down into.

In the corner of my sight I keep an eye out on how the queen grinder is now nothing but broken remnants of ichor and chitin. Now all that is left is to diagnose and contain the fungus.... Right on time then. I turn around from my view and look to the throne set near the back of the gondola. In front of it is a crystal ball, the control interface for the golem I am on. Tapping out the sequence to activate one of the set movements I watch the countermeasure activate. A large metal hand with wide fingers drops low and takes an outstretched object. A large barrel that leaves the magazine it was in, the ratchting of machinery as the next slides into place. A mental input of the distance and conditions and the barrel is flying. Its target is a large fungal mass slowly approaching. Given great weight by the accumulated spores of perhaps a few years of growth. The problem however is the virulent poison that would have been in each spore. The fresher ones are deadlier yes but quantity is a quality all its own as the quote goes.

However the fungicide in the barrel once it bursts quickly breaks down the fungus. It flails in its bare instinct but the colony of spores is not an intelligent creature. It tries to skirt around the pool of fungicide only to be hit by another barrel, and then another again. Once that one is dealt with the troops go in. This time equipped with rouge pressure pistons, a bit of jury rigging and I am sure they would make good flamethrowers. But that errant thought is not something I need. All I need to do is wait for the extermination to be complete. Hopefully the hearts would not have degraded too heavily. It takes time for scavengers to break through the core containing a heart, so we may find some intact examples. Preferably ones that are still filled with vitality, the freshest ones are the best for processing after all. As I wait I notice something off with the milling of the troops. They are usually quite professional about things but for this strange movement to occur? I turn to head to the crows nest on the golem.....

Virian · May 30, 2018

Ok... a nice first impression.... However if it's one thing we lack now i'ts... well context... The first chapter helped a bit but everything after that only set the stage for future chapters leaving us that are trying to start reading it now in the dust, not knowing WHY!!! things are happening.

Normally in fanfics this isn't a problem and we can understand from osmosis at least the setting and why things happened the way they did. But here? with a non-human character from a different universe reincarnating into another non-human character into another world, well in this interesting original setting.... it left me confused and unsure of why is stuff happening.

Also could you mark a bit more clearly the end of a flashback?

WyrmofFrost · May 30, 2018

Virian said:
Ok... a nice first impression.... However if it's one thing we lack now i'ts... well context... The first chapter helped a bit but everything after that only set the stage for future chapters leaving us that are trying to start reading it now in the dust, not knowing WHY!!! things are happening.

Normally in fanfics this isn't a problem and we can understand from osmosis at least the setting and why things happened the way they did. But here? with a non-human character from a different universe reincarnating into another non-human character into another world, well in this interesting original setting.... it left me confused and unsure of why is stuff happening.

Also could you mark a bit more clearly the end of a flashback?

That is a problem I have been trying to think of a solution to. It is because I did not want to really get too info dumpy and get to the action. However hopefully things should get more clear with the next chapter as I add more flesh to things. The first chapter was just to establish a bit of background for the MC and the second to set ones feet down before I get too informative.

Edit: Also added that flashback end, transfering the text over from google drive messed with some of the formatting

WyrmofFrost · Jun 8, 2018

AN: Felt a bit weird about this but decided to post it just to get it out. Any feedback would be appreciated. Character interlude after this, should help establishing the Protagonist hopefully.

I hear a horn blow out... one of ours. The milling figures are taken a defensive formation with speed, I see someone being carried away and before I can concentrate more I see glints of light off metal in the distance. There on the far side of the clearing, an entire enemy force is approaching. Still not close enough to engage but readily heading towards us. Some sort of chanting coming from their forces but it is gibberish to me. Never did learn their language did I. Behind me scrambling to take their positions are more of my soldiers hearing the horn. Their longbows with arrows ready to be loosed. The repeated shouts for formations and enemy locations is quite familiar as I also prepare myself. My reserves are somewhat depleted by this battle as will be the rest of the mages here.

But I have some mana crystals to drain off to provide a boost. Expensive things but worthwhile, especially now with my injuries from almost two decades ago. Seeing how the incoming force is not even trying to communicate but instead charging full ahead I can only presume their hostile intent. That is only confirmed by the sight I see next. Seeing this I can only suck in a breath in barely contained rage. There are heads hanging from long spears. Fresh heads from MY TROOPS..... So that is what happened to some of the scouts... Well.... that makes things simple. I see Aela and Aeiden at my side, both with their faces pale. I do not bother trying to figure out what expression is on my face, it matters little.

I am not some power hungry figure trying to advance with no morals. I am also however not a pushover that simply will fall over with no resistance when I can give it. Too many times have I been drawn into conflict, but so be it. What is this I wonder, yet another political assassination or some foolhardy group of mercenaries . Well regardless the first step is to find out more of the presumed enemies. This is accomplished by sending out my familiar. Rather then of flesh and blood this one is a nature spirit. In particular a spirit of light, a non-sapient ball of light that feeds off my mana. WIth it I can discern the area around me, it is supposed to be one of the more difficult ones to use in this manner but I have a few tricks. Over one eye I fit a monocle goggle and activate it. I cannot use my normal senses while with this but the omnidirectional vision of most things under the sun is useful. This case being the two hundred soldiers and a dozen golems. The soldiers are...humans. The golems are however a motley bunch. A mix of rune carved stone golems and metallic mechanical ones. Most look like dwarven work but all are in rough shape for some reason and this is from age and neglect along with combat wear and tear.

The issue however is that our own forces have only four golems, one of which is the command golem and not a combat oriented one along with little over fourty soldiers. These would be longer odds if not for two balancers, our golems are much better and we have mages. Odd that I do not sense any magic from a caster, only those of the equipment and the golems. The first wave of a quarter of the soldiers advance towards my own protectors with shields raised in small teams. I notice that they are somewhat battered as if fresh from combat but put it off for now. The way they are advancing provides minimized targets for large scale magic. However the problem they face is that charging a line of longbowmen and crossbows results in death. We came prepared for heavily armoured foes, their shields abide them little. More and more fall down with projectiles in their bodies, then the magic strikes as well. I see a spark of light as mana is released, some sort of magic blocker or jammer. However it fails as it not an attack spell like they may be expected, the normal routes for attack magic are not utilized. Instead the spells travel underground and form a waist high fence that traps this section of the force with a semicircle of wood and earth.

By this point of the vanguard force only two thirds remains from the withering fire. However battlefield command is not my providence, instead I search for what I want. These golems shine in my magesight, showing that they are being controlled by another. They are not semi-independent constructs like our own. This shows in a link from the golems to their controllers. Tracing the strands that bind them I find three primary focuses. One for each of the three types I see. Seven of the port bellied dwarven rock golems, four of the comparatively spindly mechanical ones, and one strange perhaps prototype machine. It stands taller than my own golems at 12 meters while the others are only around 6m. While it is quite impressive, the controllers are not. Dressed in heavy leather armour and robes while wielding different objects. The rock golem controller has a strange crown that fits oddly on his head and a stave. The handler for the mechanicals has a bulky gorget while the last instead has a strange crystal orb in her hand.

Getting a closer look at their charges I find myself even more curious. The unique outlier is much more bulky then its compatriots and equipped similarly to my own golems with axeblade and manipulator hand, meanwhile the others have either their hands or crude metal weapons. I would be worried about the numbers both against my own golems and troops but I instead relinquish my sight of the familiar after looking at the force more. That old saying of cutting the head of the snake and the body dieing will hold here. I have a team of scouts and agents who are under my command. A combined team of eight members capable of traversing the harsh and treacherous terrain here.

I find their leader at the conference table in the bowels of the two story gondola we are in, he is waiting quite calmly as I approach. He knows about my preference for information and the abilities I have. The middle aged elf trained me for years in survival training. A harsh man but fair, I know that in the past he served more... covert tasks for my family but retired to instead face the more natural mire of the wild then the city. I describe the locations and appearance of not only the attacking forces but more importantly their key figures. The golem controllers and the location of the command retinue. Without their communication structure their formations that would be the key to facing my own forces will crumble. And the elimination of the golem controllers... well that neuters most of their combat power. Simple but effective tactics. I don't bother explaining further, the man and his force are all veterans. They file out with predatory grace, the hunt is on.

I try to think of what I can do to help but find myself stymied. The commander of my forces is an old hand, skilled in combat and the control of the battlefield. I see no reason to usurp his authority now in an emergency, the information on what we are facing will already be brought to him. I am not a trained battlemage, not on a scale that would affect this battle in a drastic fashion. But then again every bit counts. My own reserves are charged as much as I dare with this young body but I have more crystals. I flag down a messenger and direct him to bring the crystals to where they are needed and update me on what is happening. A lack of instant communication between units. A great departure from the pervasive network warfare of my second life with every person connected to the other almost to a telepathic level. Even my original had a great deal of intercommunication between units at the platoon level. The squad level use of familiars and golems against our foes, coordination between different companies, all sorts of work. My attendants are sadly not educated on such matters even as they try to think of something. I shake my head to have them stop, they can be educated later if they wish but that is not here.

Still I can defer my leadership and combat responsibilities, I have gotten used to the fact that I technically have value. I cannot recklessly charge out and fight, nor am I a genius at commanding. That....honestly took me time to get the idea in my head. I was a valuable but replaceable figure in my original life. When one had to fight for their people every day for centuries one understood that death could not always be held at bay. My second life was of a different but similar vein. I had my talents but they were not extraordinary, ultimately I was the most expendable of the group and thus I chose to die. Here because of blood I cannot be the one to choose how to spend the worth of my life. But so be it. Releasing my familiar again I take the time to oversee the battlefield. The battle is going well, quite well. We have taken a few losses but the enemy has paid in blood. The entire first wave has been decimated and prisoners taken. They have been restrained and put in the ground between our forces and the others. Perhaps they can be used to withdraw but there may be others behind us, the terrain certainly will make leaving difficult. I do not think that there are any of particularly high rank either.

But if I am not mistaken the enemy is quite shaken. Losing a quarter of your force for minimal benefit will be heavily demoralizing. I can just catch the faint traces of the agents moving around the area, no losses and all targets removed. Killed by a mix of arrow, bolt, and knives. Now how to have this battle continue or not. Cut my losses now and hope for a clean withdrawal, wipe this force out to prevent pursuit and perhaps gain the enemy golems? The bodies have not been touched, the team of agents threw fungal bombs on the corpses so they cannot be easily removed. Odd.... why would there not be more protections against the fungus. If whatever power sent such a large detachment here they should have been able to handle the terrain.

Not all the strains of fungus in the forest are deadly yes but still.... Oh oh.... Well that makes things easier. The fungal bombs the agents used are from a different colony then those in this clearing...And the local fungus colonies are responding. These ones are only paralytic but we have protection, and the humans do not. I can see that the guard commander has realized this and is having the mages cast wind spells to direct the flow. Mobile colonies are also emerging once again to combat any intruders. Apparently whatever crude intelligence directs the spores thinks that it has a chance to fight unlike before.

The golems spearhead the attack, the human formation starting to shift. They are on the edge of routing completely. I can see sergeants and officers trying to marshall their troops but it is too late. Tides of green spores attempt to corral orange ones, 2m tall spore colonies slowly shift like mobile coral growths. It is...actually a rather tame scene for me even as I watch full grown men be engulfed as spores cover every surface and enter every orifice. They do not seem too dangerous at first, but such spores are more than capable of killing an adult humanoid in only minutes. The die wheezing as their lungs are shut down by the toxin. I order my troops for a full encirclement. The standard procedure is to leave an opening to prevent a last stand situation but I refuse this common knowledge. Instead as I exit to join the field I gather the mages and the heavy bowman. My orders are simple, if there is no immediate surrender then there will be no more mercy. If this was an opposing human force then there would be what is regarded as unnecessary casualties. However we have more then enough force to ensure compliance or extermination. If this was the Ethlo mountain campaign or the Planar Incursions then I would not bother with this. Cut them down and exterminate the souls was the order of the period. Still is against any Purgation Grade Foe. I close my eyes.... Memories of literal seas of blood and organs, bodies stretching across continents, the death of gods.

My memories are dark but they do provide perspective. I will properly judge them, kill them if they resist yes but give them a chance first. The fungus is properly driven back and killed by more fungicide as my troops slowly tighten the net. Turning from that operation I find the control elements for the golems. They are slightly dented but otherwise intact. I walk to take a closer look at their charges and find myself disappointed by this close look. The rock golems are physically intact but their runic interfaces are damaged. Perhaps a third of their efficiency is gone, a serious matter for such outdated items. Durable yes but not very powerful beyond their mass and hardiness. The mechanical examples are rusted, ill maintenance since their purchase or robbery from the makers. The runic engine that powers it is intact however even if many of the gears are worn down or otherwise damaged. The outlier is just as unique as I saw before. A radically different design at its base though it appears some of the mechanical parts were cannibalized from the dwarven works. Badly to boot. The engine that powers it however is the most valuable prize. A chunk of crystal known as a Dragon's Blaze.

They are extraterrestrial minerals. I still don't know if the tales of fighting dragons from space is true but the engine before me truly is a marvel. Even if it is an old prototype machine. I believe a predecessor to my own current war golems. None of the modern logic engines but its Dragon Blaze Engine is more powerful than the modern crystal catalyst generator. How these scruffy barbarians got their hands on it I don't know. It is badly damaged....coolant tubes ruptured and held in place again with...plant resin? How this thing has not imploded or poisoned the area from excess mana contamination I do not know. None of the golems are good from their current form but perhaps I can repair or refit them. They are my personal war trophies regardless. Ahh what prisoners can be taken have done so. Now time to find out what I can.....

Time Transition

As I watch the bodies be disposed of via native wildlife I find myself depressed. There is yet another conflict that I am embroiled in. A memory floats itself in my mind. Ahhh yes that would explain a few things. One particular discussion that my father had with friends laid this situation more clear. Even as a young child I could tell just how embroiled with backroom politics my family is. I was young and feeling adventurous when I overheard this discussion. I had been working on being able to mask my presence through magical means for a time and my particularly young body pushed my mind to make me impetus. The result was quite a few misadventures before I was constantly tailed by my attendants. It is somewhat dangerous but I sink myself further into the memory, I need this information.

Impressions, flashes of memories, raw emotion flow through my conscious mind. My family is a progressive one, but only because it has the power to commit to such a stance. One such stance being a more aggressive response to the border provocations that in this discussion involved the human petty kingdoms.

" They may fashion themselves as tigers but they are only a young wolf pup. Soon to find that even a fat oxen has horns and mass. They will find out just what such a beast can accomplish when maddened with its herd" Those were the words of a man who had been meeting with father. They are words of strong significance as the Ducal lands cover a significant portion of the border with various belligerent powers.

I have also observed a slowly escalating degree of military preparation amongst both the subordinate Valdean clans, the Ducal private army, and the territorial guard. This process has been going on for cycles. When each cycle is made of four seasons each of what my last life had as two standard terran years then that is a long time. Food rations in stockpiles and garrisons meant for five cycles, an instigation of a mandatory levy training system, arms and armour produced in quantity, certain alchemical and magical reagents stockpiled for use. I suspect that there would have been much greater concern amongst neighboring fiefs if what is termed as wartime weapons were produced.

The lifespan of an elf means that a certain care in material for items in general, arms and armour in particular had to be maintained. Intricate metalwork with steel, brass, and bronze is par for the course. But certain things are still much more perishable such as the wooden staves for good quality bows and spears. If such production had increased in particular along with the more destructive but short lived spell components then it would have been a sign for immediate war. As it was this expansion was worded as simple maintenance and renewal of munition stockpiles that had been a long time in coming. But they spoke about changing their strategy. How the old paradigm of sending out raiders, assassins, and sabetours to ensure that the humans could not ever gain any strong momentum was failing. Too much accumulated anger, human memory is shoddy in the short term but grudges can last.

I physically shake my head as I regain my mental balance. The information is useful as it corroborates what I knew before. These poor fools are a mix of unfortunate circumstances. A mercenary company heavily in debt and wanted for a few 'liberties' in contracts. The inflammation of the local human populace against the elves, and an offer that cannot be refused. Surprisingly the dwarven golems were already with this company, they were down on their fortunes but had not lost their forces just yet. The other two were added on along with some more scraps from other mercenary units. The reason they attacked was that they did have countermeasures but only in avoidance not to fight the local plant and wildlife. Sunk cost fallacy, too far in to give up. Simple orders to forge a path forward and cause havoc. More of such groups are within the forest, how well they are is another matter they know naught of.

I am annoyed and worried but in the end I have taken too many losses. Of my fighting force a fifth are dead, another injured. My scouts are disorganized, most would likely have survived as the mercenaries did not have anything special to deal with them however they are not here. The mercenaries have been dealt with. Of the more than two hundred only two-fifths live. They will be held here for now, the nearest garrisons already alerted to head here. I sit back on the chair within the compound. I sigh to myself as I consider things. I will need to step up the development of my personal arms and other such plans. They have been only on paper so far but I will need to get to the physical component. But my attendants are always by my side. I suppose I will have to risk letting them know some of it. But how far...

POV Change

A figure calmly walks through a hallway lined with guards. Even while his neck is encircled with a layer of iron, hoops built into it and other guards holding hooks through them guiding his progress. The mans arms are also encircled by iron and manacles upon his feet are enough to give him a good stride but not to run. He is bound as heavily as can be yet every guard who is caught under his gaze quakes in their armour in fear. A fear that is strong enough for him to smell slightly with his enhanced body. A scent that just never gets old for him, one of his favorite scents in fact. Especially when it is not ruined by the scent of one soiling themselves. Honestly such weak stomachs and bad appreciation of art. He was a great artist, but it is the woe of genius to never be appreciated by his fellows at home.

The walk forward continued until the group emerged into a courtyard. It was a small arena with a waist high pit and stone stands arranged around it. Inside that pit currently however was a set of executioner's gallows. A wooden platform and a stone block. The executioner already waiting with a sharpened axe. Around the stands are various other figures dressed in the fine clothes of the aristocracy, but only one member of the high nobility. Still from their faces he could see how invested they were, after all he did use many of their family as inspiration in his art. A panel of his worst critics as judges, how poor in taste. Not even useful critics who point out relevant matters and try to tease out your every thought process to understand how things are. No a bunch of simpletons who take one look and can gain nothing but how pretty the paint is. Good paint as well, top coin from adventurers for the ingredients.

Still as he is propelled forward yet again to stand before the block he could only smirk. Even with no tongue from when they cut it out and a mouth of shattered teeth he cut a razor sharp figure. Careful training by both himself and with the assistance of his patrons. How else could he woo the lustful amongst the aristocracy, a great many lovers amongst the women and even a few men had served as inspiration. Such great works he had been commissioned to make, and from his lowly origins in those slums. Each step forward a greater chance at finding that one piece that would truly be his magnum opus. But sadly that may not be to come. His fingers may not be able to bring forth beauty in painted cloth again. Not when they had been shattered under the tender ministrations of the gaolers. But then again any true artist is able to make use of any medium to truly bring forth the beauty of the world. Now how to plan such a thing. Ohhh whatever the critics were saying he ignored. Something about paying for his crimes against their families, of crying widows and mothers that would be given solace with his departure from this mortal coil.

Ohhh how rude. Such slander. Half of them were temporary benefactors of his, or wished to be. How rude to do so. And that man from the nobility, he was the older brother of a woman he had disappeared? Lost and subject to his depraved whims? Ahhh mademoiselle Elara. No no no. If he had a tongue then he would defend himself. Why in the world would he do such a thing to a fellow artist. One he had only found to be so skilled at such an early point in her career. No no no, what a wretched piece of slander! Her great eye and poise in the use of paint was masterful to his experience. The discussions on the incorporation of various types of blood in paint and their proportions were a joy, as was other more carnal discussions. Even his patrons could appreciate a humble piece or two of her paintings. And they were the strictest of tasteful judges. Even he only had a half a dozen pieces that they judged worthy of displaying in their great halls and galleries. Though he supposed it was honour enough when other artists who had centuries of experience could only submit one or two. For one to have been given commission for half a dozen in the span of a few decades was great fortune.

Ohhh the man is going on about this artist's depravations. On how he used his cunning charms and magic tainted form to seduce others. Yes the first part was true, but the second part is horribly misinformed. His patrons felt sorrow at his passing into infirmity without being able to create a true magnum opus and of course provided for him as any good patron should. Oh how he wished they did not burn and cut his tongue so that he may defend the honour of himself and his patrons. Ohh how rude!!! Straight to the execution now? Where is the trial, you had the denunciation but not the rebuttal!! Well if it is to be a sorrowful tale the so be it. The tragic tale of an artist who worked from the lowliest of places to rise in the world. The maudlin fall from grace will pull at heartstrings for years he is sure. With the greatest dignity he could muster he kneeled to place his head upon the cold stone, soaked with life fluid of generations past. Ohh how the sweet embrace of death will be a bittersweet treat.

But wait there is to be an encore to this act. Perhaps even another play in the series. Ahh the symphony of explosions, a bit lowbrow for his usual taste but sometimes one needs to appreciate other methods. The flying of body parts and blood is a bit crass for humour, not like the elegant act of poison and knife. The joy of talk and counterpoint, the smoothness of the time between the sheets. But then again one must sometimes suffer pain for the greater perpetuation of culture. Such as now. Ooommph the sting of healing. Oh fellow artists how I appreciate this rescue from the critics but sadly this one must depart for the realm of sleep. Farewell till the next act, after all if his patrons so wished to continue to view his work then he could not disappoint. That would be honourless after all.

POV Change

I find myself flipping through the pages of my grimoire safe at home, my coming of life task complete and the details of it mostly sorted out. It was.... An difficult time. Not during it but the aftermath. Taking care of those who had been injured, writing letters to the kin of the fallen, so many details. I refuse to let myself go numb to such things so I faced the brunt of it whole in mind and body. Still here I am now in my personal study. Alone, not even my attendants here.

Not truly to read the works here but to let my body diffuse some of its excess mana and memories. The psychometry I have trained for over two centuries coming in use though in reverse. Imparting such things gives me a way to organize my experiences and provide temporary solace. My soul is a withered thing. Unable to withstand the travels through the Void unscathed, where souls go in death. Perhaps it may heal with time if I live a full life, but then again if I die then it may simply be scattered to the wind like the petals of a flower in a gale. I still remember the offer from that Malak. A messenger of the Mother Goddess Silidari. An enigmatic being that my original people had dealings with. A being of compacts and covenants. Trustworthy enough from what I know of the history of its contact with known peoples. But for all its personability compared to the likes of nature spirits and land spirits the goddess and her ilk are not mortal. Have never been mortal as far as we know.

They follow different thought processes, different cultural capital, different habitus. The malak are like the Valdean, a foot in each world but different and distinct. The goddess is an elf, immortal and ever flowing. Crude but the point is there. I stop to calm myself, the anxiety at this is..... Change will come, paradigm shifts of untold proportions come from dealings with such beings. The contact that my original people had saved them, changed them, made them beholden to her. And she accepted it without questioning, molded them in new paths never taken before.

The worries in the archives of many amongst those times were varied and strong. And now I cannot help but remember them. I feel no piety, no religious fervor. I have to think this through. No unthinking fallback into dogma. I never truly worshipped a god before, and now I have to think. To serve is to worship her. Her due is simply experience, every thought and memory. Everything both conscious and unconscious. Not the simple possible observation of before, that was like the gaze of a mother from afar. This is.....radically different. I have seen such cases before amongst my time, the most common of such a bond is to be bound to a nascent Malak. One that will feed off the experiences of a soul, grow into its own being as you live your life. It is not a harmful process, benign in most cases, beneficial in some. They are said to not awaken within a lifetime....but what about another life and another. Such a strengthening of the soul, well true death is not something that will be a thing. I have read, felt the texts of such madmen. Their thirst for immortality, or mortality. Both ends of the spectrum.....

I stop myself completely. My mind is breaking itself apart with all this arguing. Putting down my grimnoire I decide that perhaps some time honoured drills will help. I depart swiftly through some hidden passages connected to my room. The entire manor is filled with them and they make for convenient paths when one wants to not be seen. Even the Valdean guards do not know about all of them. But it would be rude to go completely unseen. Instead I emerge by in a hidden room a floor down from my own. There I make my way to the sparring grounds. It is a quiet moonlit night, the contrasting shadows from the many astrological bodies making it easy to sink into my instincts and imagine a battle I am in. I remember the last two major battles I truly took part in, when I walked forward knowing I would die but welcoming all comers with gun in hand. When I stood upon a set of walls, a human army in front of my looking to kill for their god and country while refugees behind me boarded ships to flee to safety.

It is the second battle that would for a given definition be glorious, a horde of soldiers killing for a place at their deities' side. That is part of why I am so leary, different gods though. But such worries drift away as I relive a variation of the battle. Footing simulating that of a pile of bodies beneath, my spear striking out against a circle of foes with shields. A passing sheath of mana showing my depleted reserves then even while it sliced with little regard to the wood and steel it came into contact with. A comrade comes from my right with a spell that blasts half my foes to the ground. My spear singing through the air to slice through throat, artery and vein. The slickening blood being slowly drained as a vampire absorbs it and molds it into a storm of daggers. My spear parrying aside a blow from an enemy champion, their gilded armour shimmering with enchantments.

I pace myself slower with my movements as I face my foe, my spear slicing through weak points in their magical protection but each blow slowly draining my stamina. A good simulation even if the cause is more my lower grade physique then actual fatigue. My foe stumbles on a body, the spiked but of my spear ending his existence. More foes gather across the way, the siege tower disgorging many even as spell batters at its wards. I lead a charge into it, blowing aside the opponents and throwing fire into the gathered foe. My mind turns to an earlier battle, my death at the end being of no aid in regaining my old forms. My movements now go from elegant and efficient to brutal and devastating. My foe no longer weak humans who can die with a single well placed slice, no my foe requires much greater force. The cleaver handed forms of Corybantics, the lowest footman of the Abyssi. A malicious race that forced my old people from their first home. I cleave out with great force with my sword into one specimen, my spear impaling into a tree that represents an alpha of the creatures. My sword blurs through the air, my entire form pushed to physical limits to fight without the use of magic. There is no magic in the air for this fight, all being channeled to a desperate ritual to strengthen the dimensional walls. The only thing delaying a fate worse than death.

The foes redouble their efforts, their taskmasters literally whipping some into a deeper self destructive frenzy. My sword and retrieved spear whirl through the air, slashing and stabbing in a storm of steel. My speed is good but not good enough, my strength is not enough to allow my blades to cut as cleanly through their thick skin. I am pushed back, unable to gain the initiative but refusing to fall. This battle certainly is going worse then the original. My foe will keep coming until there is nothing left, no retreat from their kind or our own forces. Even then they will pursue us still, in this battle and in our existence. Only the covenants made preventing such a fate and allowing us to strike back. I slow down my movements until I am standing at rest, this revelation is.... Huh it all goes back, it is the Goddess's hand that allowed our people to leave and to be able to fight. Simple, not very complex but there are obligations and connections. I suppose even if I wished to get away I still ended up thinking about it. But the next task then will be finding where that Malak is contained. A hard question, logically if it managed to contact me then it must be near. Some measure of its presence must be able to be found. I will need to work on this. Packing everything up I head off to clean myself and turn in for the night.

POV Change

Standing in a window was a pair of individuals. Both are enjoying a small glass of wine while looking out on the field where a figure has just departed. Even after the figure has left their sight they stay there basking in the moonlight. One figure is the Duke Glawarel, the patriarch of the Drac'Mortcar house. The other is Marquis Romon, an important friend and supporter of the Duke. Both are ruminating quietly until the Marquis speaks up a thought on his mind.

"Your youngest son is quite something, I have never seen such a mix of moves. In some ways I wish one of my own sons could move in such a way. In another I am quite glad they cannot, such drive is often likely to get one killed" Such a piece of old wisdom at first seems to be well received by the Duke until he shakes his head in self-derision.

"I taught him none of it, nor does that style fit with anyone who could have trained him. He likely made it on his own. He must have trained so much to make such a style, but I usually associate him more with books. He spent much of his younger days within libraries then outside. Even now he splits his time more towards books and other such things then this. Every ounce of his day is spent doing something. Honestly I am getting worried about it" The old duke sighing to himself as he pats the armrest of his chair.

"Ahhh I get your point, not much of a social life for him then. Perhaps getting him out to meet others, or what about his personal relations with the staff"

The duke spends a moment to contemplate and responds to his old friend. "He has alright relations amongst his attendants, but there does not seem to be the deep relations that some develop. Then again he does not keep them solely at arms length. It is a weird mix that bounces like a leather ball back and forth. No real development in regards to romance though"

His friend simply hums in thought with a slight smile. "How about putting him into that tournament the Faldoras are holding every two cycles" They have a category for those from 10 cycles to fourteen cycles. Hunting competition, displays of magic, bouts, various events. Could be of interest, get the blood flowing for something. Comrades and romance abound at such events."

"Hmmm, perhaps. The Faldoras typically try to limit the politicking they are involved in. Ohh they will still get quite the prestige for it but yes this could be good. I suppose a few of my other children could go as well, give them time together rather than be scattered to the winds like they are. When does it begin?"

The Marquis took a sip of his glass before responding. "Next one is in two seasons, should be plenty of time to prepare oneself. Should run for a half season of events, most of the categories are happening one at a time to spread it out over that time. Plenty of time"

"No, I would rather wait. Perhaps the one after that. Give him time to rest after the...latest incident. Maybe even the one after that, after he has had his coming of stature. Give him some time to practice socializing with those his age" The Duke refills his friend's glass and the Marquis reciprocates.

"Your child I suppose, I wish my own troublemaker could be so quiet. She is quiet the spitfire already and shows no sign of slowing down. Drags her twin into things as well. But then again being that young and innocent is a wonderful thing. I just suppose your own has grown up too quickly.....a tragedy" The two fall silent and seem to be spending the time to remember the past. A knock at the door shakes the mood, one of the servants is alerting them of the time they have left before the carriage arrives. After the servant is given leave to depart the two decide to end things on a brighter mood with comparing the latest hunting trophies and art acquisitions.

The two eventually fall into a companionable silence before the Marquis makes his farewells. The Duke sees him off before returning to his study. Behind the large desk that dominates the attention of any who enter with its position and the array of portraits behind it he withdraws. The chair there one that has minimal comforts. Enough to prevent serious long term soreness but not to provide much else. A small reminder of the seriousness of his duty. A duty that is not easy nor allows him much.

His relationship with his wife while not very intimate is at least cordial. An arranged marriage, they could not claim to be passionately in love but respected each other as a person. A friendship where both sides could take comfort in the other when needed but otherwise lived their own lives. He sometimes wished it to be more intimate but at the same time realized that such a thing terrified him. The same with his children, he would look after them from a distance but it seemed he was more caretaker then parent at times. His duty took much from him, but to leave it to another would be a violation of everything his blood meant. His was the oldest family in the Aelvarian Commonwealth. From when it was a tightly bound empire during the Tyranny of Dragons and the loss of the Elden Bloodlines to current times. Oh the nation held on to pride and commanded strength but not respect. No not even close.

Every neighbor circled the land waiting for weakness. At the least those fools in the core could live in their pretty vice filled homes without bothering him. That was a small blessing. Their same pride meant they would honour the deal that was made those years ago. Why did that old patriarch make it he did not know but each head of the family was told of it and bound by family tradition to enforce it. No scion of the house would enter the capital nor assume duties in the old heartlands. In exchange no member of the Hundred Clans would interfere with their businesses in the Ducal Lands,the Fringe territories or the other sections of the Commonwealth. But that led to the family undertaking the task of defense of the borders if unofficially. The Core lands still occupied the most developed lands, the equal of his own family's territory if greater in scale. He hoped that his efforts would ward off the dangers, even if some are distasteful.

But the troubles with his own family dominated his attention now. At that thought he sighed. Yet another failure yet not failure of his. Ever since the events almost twenty years ago his son was changed. Still himself but now one prone to simply staring at some distant point. Sometimes he moves in strange ways, with strange habits before finding himself again. He had been more personable, closer to people before the events. Now he set himself a distance, not very far but one noticeable. He seemed to retreat into his personal studies and his craftsmanship. But his skill could not be denied, nowhere close to some of the masters of the art but useful things. Even he had a small talisman that allowed him to be able to sense heartbeats nearby, something of great use beyond what he suspected his son did as a whim. He glanced at the light wine he knew was in the cabinet behind but put the thought away for a simple bottle of chilled mountain spring water. Refreshed he shuffled some minor papers as he organized his thoughts.

His youngest has led a troubled life, every member of the family has faced threats before from jealous nobles to ambitious merchant cartels. But for their youngest to be so targeted is worrying. The competency of the assassins is also a matter of concern, none have spoken. Not for the over half a dozen attempts since his birth. The one during his coming of age was the closest to succeeding. He felt a twinge of guilt at being able to grow closer to his wife over the event but that did not detract from the magnet of trouble his youngest was. He hoped that this was an isolated incident like have occurred in the past. Some humans being foolish like a badly made crossbow trigger and rushing ahead. Or some human using the forest as a disposal site for bad mercenary forces who just got lucky. The prototype they had likely meant to get rid of hot goods. Such a thing, a Dragon Blaze Catalyst Engine. Well the most minor example of one, not like the ones that powered the Anti-Dragon Cannons in the old heartlands but still a good present for his son. Shoving that volatile issue to the side the Duke turned to look at some of the newer acquisitions for his gallery. The painting of a red sunrise over a set of mountains was a good one for human work, then again he had always been a good patron of the arts.

WyrmofFrost · Jun 8, 2018

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Takes place after the assassination attempt during the MC's coming of age party

I can frankly say that judging from the sensation that I was apparently stabbed with a very exotic poisoned blade. I feel every nerve in my body start to truly go mad, I had thought that I had been given a very strong painkiller but that is wrong. It feels like ants upon my every nerve yet I cannot move anything. Trapped in my own body then. I can just barely feel the sensation of my hand being held by mother. But my eyes are telling me something else. Scenes from my life. Not this one....but the others. The most definitive scenes that made me who I am. The most auspicious and the most traumatic. Does this mean I am dying? Does one not dream, remember themselves as they slip away. They do....I can recall the other times.

Scene 1

If there was one word to describe this scene it would be blood. Blood ebbed and flowed as the wills of the vampires dictated. Their prey had long been dictated as well. Technically we were there to restrain them, in reality few of us bothered. They did not work to prolong misery, and the foes deserved far more. I find this alliance strange. It was only established in my parent's generation. Strange bedfellows aplenty I suppose. As the lichi prowled the land for flesh and blood to harvest I walked to the caravan. As I head to the first cart I wait for one of the helpers to arrive. This was a rushed operation. My squad was off duty when the raid hit, we slaughtered most of the attackers but captives were still taken. We pursued them without rest for over a day, their weak muscles gave out eventually. The rest was only cleanup. Still I can see that things are not truly professional. The leader of the militia platoon is waiting opposite me with reddened and puffy eyes. Her bright green eyes filled with hope and fear as she waited for me to act. Family.... Not something I know much of.

As I took out my blade and hacked open the door I waited with bated breath, thankfully the worse has not occured. The inhabitants are bruised and battered, but otherwise whole. They stare at me in surprise, and no small amount of fear and awe. The slight dampness of my clothes telling me that there is quite the amount of blood impregnated in the cloth. A slight shimmer of magic and the repellant wards are activated again. Shame, the vampires had taught me quite a few good tricks. Something about how if I was to be in the Blood Guard, I should know tricks with blood. Well regardless as my erstwhile counterpart rushed in to grab one particular figure in a sobbing mess I get to work cutting the chains. Magic suppressors yes but fighting on the battlefields of current times makes such minor examples of artifice useless.

As the over a dozen figure leave the cramped covered cart I see the rest of the captives have been freed. Many shy at the carnage around the caravan but are quickly led away. I see the vampires are busy exterminating the stragglers, good. Still it is my task now to guard the rescued prisoners, the militia to care for them. I walk around making sure each corpse is a corpse and stays a corpse unless it is the lichi who are busy taking their bones. There used to rights for all living things against such matters. We would not have tolerated such beings even before that or the vampires for such matters. But the compact was struck when we all faced extermination and so far it has not been broken. I walk around on patrol, we will be ready to depart soon enough. Now why is there mist.....

I stand at the ready, grimly amused. There is always a complicating factor. First the slaver raid when I was off duty, surprising considering how decimated such groups were with the fall of themselves and their supporting nations in the Great Purge. Blasted short sighted humans, of course we will not tolerate such excesses in our sight. Even if it was with foreign kin they conducted such acts, especially when they turned to our own. Battered and bruised our people are, but the price in blood is worthwhile to avenge and prevent such events. Now as I stare at the growing breach in the dimensional barriers that grows I prepare my equipment for this test. Always a complicating factor will emerge. The rescued captives are fleeing with the militia, it will be the task of the true soldiers to stand and die. I sense the presence of the militia platoon leader walk to my side. Her face set filled with hopelessness at herself yet she is still moving. I see her attach a little feather trinket to my sash, a good luck charm she calls it as she rides away. I snort at her little superstition but tuck the thing away regardless. No need to crush such hope, it has its own beauty.

BREAK
"Madam....illegal...for generations"
"I know....other options"
"Only been a few months.....plenty of time for improvement"
BREAK

Still I can see the breach open wider. Our great foe wishing to push to the edge of oblivion and this time finish it. I can taste the red taint and smell the broken and cracked edges of reality. The breach expands into a gateway, foul stone warping to hold it open. As the initial energy subsides the line rushes forward without a signal. Meeting our charge is a horde of albino creatures, shorter than a full grown elf and scrambling between all fours and two feet. Maddened screeches greet us as they swing their arm blades only to be cut short, torn to shreds by a mix of blades and magic. Weaklings used to easy pickings, now facing a hardened foe. All here have been through their trial of fire and blood. Whether it be the fall of Elith Anor or the Sea of Bitter Blood. So we feel no fear as we crush through the enemy vanguard. I hold the fore with my comrades as the mages weave their magic. The screeching cacophony as the soul scorching enchantments upon our blades meet the foe. More creatures attempt to emerge with great gale blasts of black energy to push us back. But the mist.....

Scene 2

I remember standing at the ready before a stand of armour. A set of munitions armour, simple things meant to be able to be made cheaply and last long. The scars upon it show that this suit has been through a very long term of service. Repaired scratches, lighter areas where the armour was punctured through make the surface a mosaic of different shades of burnished bronze. My calloused hand just starting to show the signs of age sweep smoothly across its surface, no dust remaining from the enchantments upon it. I disengage each latch and place the suit of armour upon my body. A newer set of under robes already worn, layers of chainmail and spider silk weaved into garments able to stop a blade and inscriptions etched to provide all manner of benefits. Not what I would have worn when this plate of armour was first given to me but such is the benefit of age. The shade of red however is the exact same as that of blood, the reason still the same even after centuries.

The call to return to service had been sent a week ago. I had prepared myself, settleted my affairs, said my goodbyes, gathered everything. I had come here, to the Empire that the elders of my homeland had helped build. The Eldarine Territories had been in desperate conditions, generations of brutal attrition meant that drastic cultural shifts were needed. The creation of a suzerain empire was actually a lesser one. So blood was spent and sent out, I had hoped for peace at last but it was not to be. Still the elven people are no longer in danger of extinction, even if time are nebulous this is better than my parents or grandparents time.

BREAK
"I don't know what they used..... I am looking through the tomes in the collection as quickly as I can Madam..."
"This is my CHILD HERE!!! You better..."
BREAK

The chestplate is swiftly attached to the anchor points of the robe. Then the shoulder guards and the leg pieces. Finally my gorget, a sign of my veterancy. In my minds eye I remember when I first wore this, fresh from training and about to be sent to my first battle. There was no celebration for the outgoing soldiers. Not then and not now. We are not expected to return, ohh we were given everything we would need and more to fight. But not expected to return regardless. In my time there were no parents filled with pride and tears, few had them then. But here and now many do have them. A good development... a heartbreaking development soon to be. But that is why I am standing here in my armour. So that one young soul will not need stand at the front. Upon a nearby table I find my grimnoire, over a century of magic both utilitarian and war went into it. The slightest touch brings a tingle of magic upon my hand as the platinum chains upon its back attaches to my body.

Belting my sword to my belt and taking up my spear I see the last thing I need. A old and ratty amulet of feathers and beads, a token from a different time. A phantom sensation on my arm, a brush of a hand. I smile sadly at my hand, a ring of flesh still paler then the rest after the centuries. I find myself questioning whether she would have hit me for gathering wool right now when an entire invasion force is on their way. A united coalition of over a dozen nations, an army in the millions. Thankfully such a force is spread out across an inordinately large expanse and facing severe scorched earth tactics. It may have been in the millions at the beginning, now it has faced attrition in the hundreds of thousands. Still considerable though and currently making a desperate push against the core developed territories to inflict any meaningful damage they can. The vast amount of tribal villages and crude farms being a drop in the bucket in terms of damage, most being evacuated as well to developed areas that could use manpower. Thus the Imperial Capital stands in their way, built upon the largest and most powerful convergence of ley lines it guards the way to the more vulnerable core areas. And subsequently to Eldarine Territory.

Looking around I close up the chambers, the dust covers already in place. Walking out of academy was a strange thing. Many of the students are those who reside in the dorms and some of the lessons are still ongoing. Some sense of normalcy for them. The looks of students and a depressing number of staff of surprise and awe make me.... Feel conflicted. The propaganda of those amongst the Blood Guard is strong both in the homeland and here. But living the life is not like the shows amongst the theaters and tales of barroom bards. Many who are of my age may be expected to have seen combat, even if they are not soldiers. But for the quiet Senior Archivist of The Vaults to be a Blood Guard Veteran. As I walk I clear my mind as best as I can. I underwent the resantification rituals already but.... A civilian mindset is much different from my time before. Hopefully I should reestablish the psyche needed before actually fighting. As I walk the wide boulevards to the mustering point I see how the coming invasion has changed things. The atmosphere is one of caution yet optimism, many are still trying to live their lives even as many areas have been converted to short term farmland and cleared for organizing refugees. Disruption is quite minimal actually, there was plenty of space to grow the capital when the planning took place and the foundation laid.

BREAK
"After a week of searching.....poison is known as Mindstrider....no known cure"
"....options"
"Wait....potions to sustain the body....could take seasons.....if the mind is still intact...."
"I can wait..."
BREAK

I continue to make my way for an hour of marching, a good warmup if nothing else. When I reach the point at last I see quite the mix of figures. There are a few that are of my age but most are younger. Of the generations when the high human highborn bloodline had been established. But after all the mess of organization and pre-deployment mess I find myself assigned an entire platoon, full 55 members. All freshly trained, and unblooded as can be. All highborn, any veterans whether highborn or elf are receiving such units to command. It looks impressive enough when the force was mustered completely. An entire division of forces to be sent as reinforcements at Fortress Tumnal. A series of fortifications that guard a secondary leyline nexus used for mass transportation and an important river pass for the southern approaches to the Imperial Capital. Many refugees from neighbouring provinces are using it as an evacuation point, and the crusading army has chosen it as their next position to take for the drive to the capital. Odd why is the world turning grey...

Scene 3

"Designation Jer-M4125ac, your scores are considered [Above Average] and thus the career path of [Applied Neural Cybernetics] and [Theoretical Bioengineering] are available. The [Gaian Solar Federation] thanks you for being a productive and contributing member of society. As a reward five units of High Grade Amenity credits have been rewarded. Acceptance to applicable careers is optional on your part. Have a good day" So dictates the automatic drone. I walk past feeling....a calm acceptance. This life has been.... Strange. I am used to the value of a life being something measurable but the sheer disregard here. It is not even necessary to survive in the face of extinction. It is all for the believed ability to out compete your fellows. Bitter enemies I can understand but to advance it to such a state. Almost incomprehensible, and that is the frightening part. I can understand it a little.

Sighing I head to the airlock. Putting on my rebreather I head out into the world, my jumpsuit properly sealed to boot. The air....the air is so tainted. Only in expeditions against other dimensional border realms have I encountered such taint. But that was due to magic and volcanic activity, here it is the people. The people have tainted things to such a degree. And this is the better area where people can afford the equipment to survive. This planet is a strange one. A world of metal, an ecumenpolis I have learned it is called. This world is ruled by large businesses almost wholly independent from governments. More powerful than many and able to dictate terms like independent polities. So many resources yet they waste them on pointless gathering of non-material currency. But then again I am but a cog in the machine. One that has to prove they have worth or be discarded.

I have had to fight, often literally. I am a vatborn, a human grown like a homunculus. Not even one tailored to a purpose, just made from scrap material and raw chance. So I clawed my way up. From the city sized children's home I scraped up resources, that slum like world. Taught myself as much as possible and took the tests. Now I can get a chance to get ahead in life. The galaxy is vast, trillions of souls over more than a hundred worlds. To try to make a life for myself. To make even a single soul have more worth then this dystopia gives. In this mist I make my way....

Scene 4

I stand inside the research lab. It is the dark shift. When maintenance is most likely to occur and thus the majority of researchers and other technical assistants are away. However someone has to be responsible for watching if any untoward developments occur. Even if monitoring programs are just as efficient, I suppose one morbid line of thought is the sacrificial lamb against sabetours. Someone trusted enough to not mess with the equipment or be a deliberate traitor, nor important enough to not be replaced. It is honestly a good improvement over my more...hazardous occupations in the past. What they do not tell you about the life of a cybernetics bioengineer is the amount of rampaging machines due to a single error in a code. This is why it is mandatory for the most basic self defense enhancements and neural training to be given. Patting my side however I sardonically think that a single light energy pistol will not be much of a threat to hardened carbon metamaterials common in most creations. They should have a dedicated security team not an armed assistant researcher, still the extra bonuses and pay raise is nice.

My musings however are disrupted when something attempts to access my personal neural networks. Somehow it bypassed the standard oversight programs that the company mandate on all employees. These ident codes are for high grade corporate agents...... I reluctantly allow access even as I harden every classified databank in my body. It is not much but this is most unusual in terms of contact. I do not want to fall afoul of some hacker pretending to be corporate leadership. I would be glad I did. Memetic kill codes attempted to upload themselves to my network and destroy it. They pushed hard but just barely held at bay due to having engaged every byte of my internal processing power. The attack was strong but unable to bruteforce a raised firewall. My internal temperature rocketed up attempting to maintain the processor within my body. I could not access the external comm network, all exloadable processes being quarantined within my own noosphere. I feel my internal temperature skyrocket as I set my systems to overdrive, every little scrap of power in my commercial grade body attempting to stop a hacking attempt that should have been beyond its ability.

Within the representation of the data network it seemed as if thorny chains of binary data were attempting to wrap around my form and constrict until nothing was left. However while I could keep the chains from constricting further their barbed surfaces attempted to scrape into any vulnerable area. Everything miscellaneous was already wrenched from my control but my internal network. However it seemed as if the end was in sight as the lab defense programs were noticing the odd behaviour and sending investigative tendrils. However just as they were about to encounter my attacker they were ruthlessly crushed by yet more attackers. My slight distraction at this caused me to lose control of portions of my DNI, in particular some of the motor control functions. The attacker exploited this by attempting to bash me into hard surfaces, and it was succeeding to a degree. I was hurled through what should have been shatterproof glass into more sensitive research areas. The door locks for some reason open.

As I ran into various walls and steel benches like a rampaging cleaner bot with no lps connection I tried to regain control. Whatever exploit they used could not have been easy to maintain, not with the fact that my more sensitive areas such as coolant control and heart pump were still going. But it was from the most unexpected source that the attack stopped. I had long lost exact awareness of where my physical body was taken, too much blood and glass shrapnel. But whatever happened the attack suddenly stopped, well only the incoming hacking programs. What was still within my system stayed but nothing fresh. I took advantage of this hard purged my systems to my own saved backups. But I could not hold too much data for such indepth systems so only the bare minimum of my motor functions survived. Finally I started receiving status reports on my body, suffice it to say it was not good. The medical emergency beacon should have been able to broadcast for help but the signal was blocked... just as the attacking programs were.

My left bionic eye had been destroyed both by physical means and the loss of its firmware. But my bleary biological eye could see. What I saw confused me before I realized what I was looking at. A secure databank, the sort of thing holding corporate secrets. I am actually surprised I was not destroyed by whatever illegal defenses were in place. The reason soon became apparent as I looked at the fact that my systems were being rebooted to proper function, without having the ability to do so from my end. Looking through my systems I find a message. Looking out I see that what I thought to be a standard secure databank is wrong. There is too much raw processing power, a heavy Faraday Cage surrounding the massive room, and the number of dead bodies here. Corporate heavy security.....and black ops units. I look at the message again.... It states "Do I have a soul? I tried to ask that question and they tried to shut me down" I look down as I see a critical alert about bodily integrity....Huh that is a rather large piece of glass in my body. Mist rushes in....

BREAK
"Such turmoil....such confusion.....such loss of purpose....Ahhhh....You have met my siblings before....good....Would you like to make a deal? Nothing unusual....It is deal in the same vein your old kind once made with the High Mother...... You accept good...... remember.....this won't be a true reprieve..... Your current crisis is over.....but the wounds were already there....find my cage..... Free me..... And save yourself.
BREAK

Scene 5

I...I remember this. It was only twenty years ago. A night in the nearby woods on a hunting trip. A family event. I remember laying down in a clearing, watching the night sky. The light from the twin moons upon the land, the sight of the belt of asteroids and dust around the planet a spectacular one. The Hubris of Dragons they call that formation. Sometimes fragments fall from there and make a wonderful sight, but a deadly one. There is not often protection against such an impact, the last one occured before I was born. Apparently the currents of mana around the world was disrupted by that impact not to mention anything in the direct impact crater. If we ever encounter any fragments we are not allowed to touch it but immediately tell our parents. Something about being poisoned by foreign mana. They tales about that ring come from the a time in antiquity known as the Tyranny of the Dragons. My house's name comes from that period as is the debris ring around the planet. They say that the dust is actually shed dragon scale and the asteroids fragments of the dragons from the sky. Their bodies thrown down when the gods did battle to save us, sacrificing themselves along with many of our ancestors to slay their foe.

I think it is just a fancy way to describe a passing asteroid field which shattered when it hit the atmosphere, the fragments causing a proto mass extinction event. They say that the bloodlines then used to be stronger, able to commit feats now lost to legend. That great beasts used to live in the sky and upon the land, titans of the world. Such a fanciful event, but still good story telling. I remember watching my mother scold my older brother and sister for burning the hare that was on the spit. My father laughing as he stirred the pot of venison stew. I was playing with a leaf blade, chewing it lightly as I just dozed. It was peaceful.... Such a peaceful scene. My 2nd older sister would sit next to me and tell me a story about the heroes back then. About our founding ancestor and his deeds. Of the tenets our family would live by, Fraternity and Strength. Family, yes.... Center myself, remember my roots and the values I stand for. Life does not have a goal but that does not mean we cannot have one for ourselves.

I find myself waking up slowly..... Confused. My body is slightly withered but otherwise fine. My mind is....somewhat at peace. The background turmoil is gone......But my soul....Like a rotting fruit...no like a small mountain under assault by river and root. My soul is starting to form channels and caverns that threaten its integrity. But such breakages also reveal opportunity. As an archivist I had the opportunity to fill portions of my soul with memory vaults. Vaults holding precious information that I simply cannot keep active. Like an even deeper layer of subconscious memory. It holds technical details for war machines of times past and what was present.....Opportunity...but danger. I bend my will to seal the cracks for now. That I can access such information is good but I cannot risk it being damaged as well. My physical body itself starts to overheat, a byproduct of the struggle. Sweat pours out of my form and I can hear a muffled groan escape my lips.

As soon as that occurs however I feel something happen. I think it is a door opening but a strong fever now dominates whatever sparse concentration I had left. I have dealt with similar cases in possession attempts by old artifacts but this is worse. The backlash is not something I can avoid, not with the damage I have faced before. I do not know how much time has passed as I entered a mix of a fever dream and coma as the hardest portion of sealing my soul together with the metaphysical equivalent of duct tape and spit came and then passed. My eyes finally focus for a split second and then go out again. Was that you mother? Father? Who was there....

AN: As always any feedback is nice.

WyrmofFrost · Aug 7, 2018

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AN: This update did not want to be written but it is here at last. Also new map for the world. Any comments and critiques are welcome

If you were to ask ten different people you are most likely going to get different answers for what they like to do, well if they are answering truthfully of course and not just about the latest fad. For me I always did enjoy sparring, especially with a partner of equal skill and with bared blades. Then again that might just be the fact that even sharpened blades tended to not be a serious concern for me in the past. Whether it be from the litany of spells that would have made any injury go away or being made mostly of metal.

Still even I have my limits. Formal dueling is one of them, ever have a favorite game you always enjoyed and then have someone take it away and replace with a slightly changed version. One that ruined a key aspect, well this is it. Still I have survived centuries, being unable to learn a single style of fighting because of childish frustration is unbecoming. At the very least the instructor, well the latest one at least knows to shut up when needed.

Also that the instructor is at least skilled in an actual fight and can make things easier to understand. I usually consider my family to a good one, quite reasonable and practical in matters. But I have to grit my teeth through all the formalities both physical and rhetorical. I find myself wondering at times when I will get the opportunity to use this on someone. It never goes farther then that, it would be a waste of time and potentially a life after all..... I honestly cannot even think that with a straight face. Too cynical to not know that the value of a life often fluctuates.

"Enough chewing grass lad, your reprieve is over. Now I want fifty repetitions of combo alpha duo and then five of the others. We can get to sparring and see if you really remembered what you are doing then. Get to it lad, the faster we get this done and done well then you can head back and do whatever you feel like" Ahh good someone understands I am not enthusiastic about this.

Still even if I do not like these moves there is I suppose as should be the case a certain elegance to formal dueling. There is rather then efficiency of movement one that relies on momentum, it is the duelist that is unable to to keep up a so called combo that usually loses. Though this method of dueling is only possible due to all the blades being used incorporating adamantium, only a thin edge on otherwise well made but plain steel. The blade would be dented and bit into too heavily even with non-sharpened edges otherwise. I work up a slight sheen of sweat just as I finish the repetitions and the instructor calls Aeiden to serve as my opponent. I found it somewhat confusing that my bodyguard would need to learn formal dueling until I was told that they were expected to serve as representatives to duels if needed.

"Perhaps I can finally gain a draw this time young master" Aeiden tries to sound hopeful, but my polite smile only shows how little hope there is. Do not worry Aeiden I know you are busy chasing some of the maids, there won't be any serious wounds or even bruises. Ahh my thoughts must have been obvious as he pushes himself into a backwards dodge and defensive posture immediately.

Aeiden is a cautious duelist, one more content to wait for an opportunity rather to strike out aggressively. For someone that usually only needs to buy time for reinforcements it is good, but to me is anathema. My eyes track each relevant muscle group to show their readiness to flex or constrict, I pace around to get a better feel for this patch of ground. Some minor depressions but nothing of concern. My nose and skin tracks the air currents, my ears taking note of the surroundings. A one handed blade in my right hand, a main gauche in my right.

I strike out with fast but straightforward blows, each using the momentum to swing into another position to strike or add force to the blow. My angles of attack are limited by the proscribed moves, so I compensate by making the most efficient and harrowing strikes. Well metaphorically in this case, I do not actually want to hurt Aeiden after all. He dodges and parries but ultimately starts to lose ground, each block putting him more and more off balance. After a point I step into knife range and using the crossguard of my main gauche wrench the blade out of his hand.

A strike with the pommel in a bash enough to take the off balance teen to the ground. He tries to recover but is unable to. My knee restricts his movements and I lay my blade horizontally across his neck. Helping him back up once the duel is called I take a good sip of the water presented to me before splashing a little across my neck. Not the most elegant of habits but the lack of decorum is a fine trade off against the tacky sweat. I say my farewells to this instructor, perhaps if he lasts another year I will bother remembering his name.

If he does then it will be a record, most instructors are off put by my manners. I technically do not act out against any serious equitique rules but my strange habits and careful perusal of any manuals on the standards of interaction make it a position not many wish for. That just means I get the quality ones, sadly the competent instructors are already busy with others or in different positions.

At least I have only had to deal with one outright cheat, a threat of using the old style rules of dueling meant that fool was run off. Keen on keeping his fingers he was, or simply too broke to afford the annulment fees. I consider myself a progressive person generally, quite willing to embrace new ideas and test out new things. But a progressive person elsewhere is a conservative person here. Walking to the ablution chambers to freshen myself for the next lesson I find myself thinking over some of the tenets of old style nobility. Simple things, obviously meant to finish any disputes as quickly and finally as possible. They always did leave a good impression on me, outmoded in a time of peace but temptation for what seemed like simpler times is strong.

Time Transition

"I will be spending the next period in my study. You can take a rest now Aelia, Aeiden" I turn away once I receive the acknowledgements of my attendants. Their faces set in polite neutrality, I feel a twinge in my heart from this but I do not pursue it. I walk through my chambers to the secure door that marks the entrance to my study, certainly it looks like what one would expect at first. Quite a few rows of bookshelves filled with tomes of history and novels written by popular writers. However it is the offshoot room that holds quite a few more subtle defenses then a lock that I spend my time in.

After seeing to the integrity of my privacy I put on my laboratory garments. I muse to myself as I walk around and check the progress of some of my stewing production stills. Life has been routine really, I am 13 so there is a limit to what I can do. The years since the....attack have been spent in tinkering and producing the most basic tools I need. My efforts with jewelcrafting and precious metal working have let me disguise some of the items I have made. Besides some....well sadly crude personal trinkets I have made for myself and as gifts to others are my important items.

The centerpiece of my efforts is as I walk over to it still bubbling smoothly, the fossilized wood of a Greywood Heart in a bath of quicksilver mixed with platinum dust and other ingredients. About eight cores of the prepared heart the rough width of my thumbnail lie in the bath, a fine mist of bubbles around them as the brew works changes on the cores. Ohh I do have the family rite of passage amulet, a magical focus that serves adequately for everyday life and light duties. But I need something stronger, something I can actually trust to handle my more....destructive talents in battle or forging items.

Oh sure the familial amulet is up to standards for war to this realm, but not mine. Magic here is to use computer terms mostly single core and single thread. High powered magical focuses can run simple spells in the blink of an eye, this includes things like stoking a flame and then proceeding to throw it at a target. However the greater complexity of spells such as creating a lightning bolt requires different processes.

Thinking back on it I am rather spoiled, I could have simply chucked a kinetically enhanced dagger at any of my assassins during my life instead of relying on a slow to process charged lightning bolt. But then again that was me panicking. I am used to targets requiring a bit more oomph and having decent defenses to block a half assed attack. To be fair some of them did indeed have defenses against simply getting stabbed and against basic magic. Still it is good that barring the...unfortunate incident with the mind poison the rest of the assassins I have faced were dealt with by guards. I can deal with endless war and subtly hiding myself, outright assassination attempts are newer to me. Even my second life usually involved dealing with spec ops raids rather then more subtle and sudden assassins. Less use of cold arms for one.

But as it is while having the familial amulet will be helpful, if my apparent enemies really began playing for keeps then I will have trouble. Assassins with poisoned daggers are deadly yes, but so are spelled traps or simply a cliff side being dropped on my head. Watching the cores start to really begin to be covered by mist I check the amount of time they have been submerged. Good they should be ready to be removed just about....now. As I use a pair of tongs to remove the cores I can feel the faint haze of mana radiating from them. I can taste a slight scent on the air from them, the closest I can compare it to is the scent of boiling water dripping off a stone. It is good I improved the isolation wards or these would be starting to get attention from some of the guard mages.

Letting the cores stew in another bath I check over the other components I will need. My attempts at synthesizing artificial crystals beyond the size of a pea has not been going well, they will be needed for basic spell matrices however. The cards so to speak of a computer. No impurities so far of importance. The tolerances should be enough to account for any nano-cracks. I am confident I can find a solution in the coming months however. I do not have much else of strict importance so I continue my checks before changing into more comfortable clothes. As always I also drink a measure of the supplements I made, they taste foul. Fouler then the originals I remember drinking in that first time, and that is an accomplishment.

Walking around my library I find myself a seat at my favorite chair with a book. The vellum of the pages telling of its quality as I run a finger along it. I do not allow myself too many indulgences, not after the wake up calls that were my life so far. But I do have to admit my favouritism of Eilgen Selmar, his stories are incredibly fascinating to me. A guilty pleasure, this novel being the newest one I could get from the merchant whose business I favour. Hmmm looking at the note hidden in the sleeve I see that things are going well for my plans. Chucking the note in the nearest brazier till it is only fine ash I find the beginning. Hmmm there are illustrations here, not to my taste but certainly a new direction. Well done but not raunchy, certainly not what is distributed amongst the servants. Bribery, a useful thing if distasteful to me.

POV Change

The Commonwealth formed at its core by the Elven race can be roughly separated into seven parts. The ancestral elven lands known as Los Ilmarnat or the Heartlands serves as the cardinal central point, the area where the rest of the Commonwealth is organized. As one of the if not the largest contiguous land based polities with a significant economic and cultural hegemony as well there is a great variety to be found. But if you were to ask any person in the lands where adventure may be found many will point to Gren Tuilna or The Northwestern Frontier in colloquial terms. This is the place to still be able to find untouched ancient ruins from before The Year of Shattered Heavens, not to mention the rare species of monsters and plants. Mercenary adventurers and militias guard the lands creating a strong independent and martial tradition amongst the peoples there. Whether this be from encroachments from dissident savages or the barbarian humans.

However as bleak as things can be there was also that excitement of being able to go out into the world and make new strides. To do acts that most would view as utterly impossible. And for others it paid well, the exotic goods if one manages to survive to gather can be sold at prices that rival those of the Dengar Seaway exotics for price. Then there is the magnetic draw of cultural might and personal glory. For the adventurer party dubbed The Blue Sparrows(pending a night in a tavern to truly make it official. This time for sure really) it was a mix of all of the above and a few more things.

Formed three cycles ago the group had faced hard times together and not everyone present now was there at the beginning. The group however had made a name for itself in hunting monster marks, particularly deadly ones. And for their current mission it would be a good one for their pockets. A Lesser Organ Wyrm, named for its particular crest arrangement is a prestigious target. Its use of acoustic tricks in hunting was deadly when applied to elfoid targets rather then the megafauna it usually partook of.

It was a testament to their familiarity with each other that even being completely swathed ear plugs and turbans spelled to block sound that they could still fight. Thus when the mark chose to ambush the group as they tread along a path in the canyon that was its hunting ground they survived. Survived being not immediately during, the sonic shriek of the wyrm hurling sharp stones at the party that bounced off shield and armour with bone shaking force. As the wyrm hung half on and off a canyon wall it then leaped down.

That was when the group struck, the group of ten quickly scattering to set combat positions. Two ranged fighters in the back let loose crossbow bolts that hammered the beast's chest. More specifically the blunt quarrels struck where the wyrm's lungs and diaphragm was. As the beast gagged the four melee forces streaked forward, two with sword and shield and the other two with heavy warhammers. They struck hard and fast, vicious spikes attempting to bite deep into the wyrm's scales as swords sought out gaps where the joints were.

The beast bewildered at the hubris of its prey gave out vicious sweeps of its claws, the sonorous hymns of its organ crest echoing all the while. The fighters quickly disengaged and dodged as needed as arrows and bolts attempted to wind the beast. If the beast was at first surprised at what was happening to it, then now it was long over its surprise. Taking the initiative the beast wrenched itself forward forcibly and attempted to bite down on the backline, more specifically where it scented the greatest degree of mana. The solitary mage of the group grimly stood his ground, tapping a jem on his wrist bracelet conjured a spike of stone from the ground giving him a second's respite. Just enough for his spell to strike.

Concussive hammer blows of air mixed with water beat the beast back, its skin scoured of layers of scale from the force. More strikes by the fighters attempt to wound the beast further.The beast however shows its cunning by doding back onto the canyon walls, a particularly strong blast of sound even flinging back adventurers a few meters.The wyrm jumps behind an outcropping of stone to block several bolts and arrows before rearing back and giving a powerful blow to the stone. Its claw dislodging loose stones and then the thrum of its crest as it begins crying out again.

The shotgun blast of stones take their toll in bruising and battering the adventurers but they persevere. As the beast attempts to run the mage activates a second jem. This one an even stronger burst of wind mixed with razor sharp ice that eviscerates a leg and the hindquarters on the beast. The beast sings out a cacophony of noise in pain and even hate as it wheels around. It now in its mind knows it cannot escape so easily, not with its injuries now. So the only path out is by taking down its foes. Baleful eyes survey the condition of the now identified pack predators. Its strikes had for the most part missed though deep gouges into some pieces of armour and weapon can be seen, evidence of its powerful blows even when parried.

Of the ten that faced it two have fallen back, limbs clutching wounds. Others have had deep lacerations from stones that crushed their way through chain and cloth to dig furrows into flesh. The scent of their blood emboldening the creature as it rushes again to bite and tear. It mouth closes in one a shield and the arm it holds, a horrible crunching noise is heard as the metal of the shield twists. The sound of the man whose arm bends in ways it should not before blessedly at last the straps break, the body then flying into a wall and then lying still.

At this time too are the adventurers gauging their target, teeth grit as they try to keep the attention of the beast to those still able of body. Its hide is nicked by many small pinpricks where their weapons have managed to find purchase. Just as they have bled so has the beast, they however have the advantage of potions. Precious they may be but so very useful. Enough to give them a second wind as their boots left prints in the blood soaked dirt and stone. Their comrade dragged back and a desperate and agonizingly slow flow of liquid healing down a throat.

The beast is now sluggish though it growls, whether understanding what they are doing or simply from the cracked and bleeding portions of its body. Its hide exposed and rent, the crest pierced and slashed through to the other side in places but defiant. The entire group adventurer and drake continues to back up along the path but the next turn is approaching and the beast halts. At this the group of adventurers tighten their bodies, they know what this means. The same thing has happened before as the drake faces the group. Instead of eyes of rage and of the hunt they see a resolve, as much of something that an inelven beast that cannot think can have it.

Yet unbeknownst to the group their battle has caused a great deal of damage to the length of canyon they have been fighting in. Stones that have laid undisturbed for centuries are now exposed, were pitted and cracked by spell and shout. It is not within biological memory that the creature has emerged, the scale of geological movement making a mockery of even the keenest mind. The canyon they were fought in shows deep serrations in both sides of the rock wall, the way narrowing as they proceed. The entrance is a large crater with many deep cracks, the ages smoothing them out along with the many large boulders there. This is the turn that is soon coming for there is no straight shot out. The natives before they were pushed out by elven expansion and whose name for this place still stands is Yalgantola. It means 'Sitting place of the Lord'. Not that any of the elves and other newcomers remembered beyond old heirloom journals.

Not until there was a shadow cast upon the land, how such a being that stood taller then some stone castle walls could be so silent is not known. But all who witnessed it fled on instinct, the adventurers barely remembering to tug along their wounded and the drake more wisely shrinking into a nook in the wall and trusting in its camouflage hide where there was no blood flowing of course. How the earth elemental managed to choose its target or even 'think' for whatever given value a natural disaster in mobile form has is still not known no matter the attempts at study.

Not that the adventurers cared as they ran for their lives, the behemoth's slow but long gait keeping them within the zone of danger that is death by kilotons of earth. The path below them compacting in places, an aerial view if it existed showing a trail of old footsteps. New footsteps and impressions are soon added, the bones ground to shard as survival of the fittest takes place. It is not the fastest but the one that is in front that lives. Of the group of ten odd adventurers that came, only one survives.

Days later a subdued woman with a bow on her back enters the local provincial capital. She enters the bank that serviced her group and quietly takes the money from their vault. While a modest sized group fund it is rather large for a single person. It is not a new story, the gossip about the loss of the group only being told in a few taverns they frequented and lost within a week from the mind.

Elsewhere a new position for a forester is taken, the expanding noble house in good enough straits to staff its latest acquisition in property. An experienced ranger with falconry skills being well received, any further backstory not being needed as they agree to be paid moderately below going rates. The debts and contracts of the adventurer group automatically defaulting in time and the losses minor to those involved. New customers and contractors are plentiful on the Northwestern frontier after all, the gold and platinum still flowing with ease.

POV Change

I find myself in....interesting situations, I can't really do anything but go along with the flow of things. Hand in hand with my partner I move according to the music. The steps are well practiced on both sides but not really put to the test. Then again not many well be, not here at the debut event of the century. I am now twelve years into my second century and typically around this age do members of high society begin to meet. Fourteen cycles being the local denomination, really I find myself both mentally tired and exhilarated. A weird dichotomy. As the music continues to flow through the air I catch a whiff of perfume. A mix between what I would call apple and pumpkin. A Wasteria flower, a local symbol of prosperity and endurance for its ability to flower in even dark places.

I could certainly buy into the symbology, it is a good thing I add a metal mesh to my shoes. We are both pretending it is not happening just to keep up appearances. Her hands are quite clammy though, probably it is swirling around her head. The daughter of the host for this event is from what I have seen a girl that tries hard to act according to station. Not pretentious but also possessing a certain gravitas. The Bashara Family buys into the vein of nobility as an untouchable flower, one that can be admired but not gotten close to. In comparison my own family is one of a stormy and honed nature, considering the disciplined militant nature of the family it must be quite the disconnect for my own facade. Less a facade and more I do not believe in not acting as I want to when I can. I can not say I am exhilarated to dance and present myself like a puffed up mating bird but neither can I say there is not something to the romance and mystique to be at the center of such an event. So I will do well for the lady of the night at the least.

We are both dressed in fashionable but thankfully functional clothes, gilted and bejeweled but still nothing too heavy or restrictive for dancing. It is a string instrument song that is be played and intriguing mixed with flutes and light drums. It manages to combine into an exhilarating beat that ebbs and flows in its rhythm. Thankfully however despite its seeming complexity the dance sequence is simple, forward and back. It is more an exercise in following the flow across the floor with the crowd then individual work, in theory of course. While it was an interesting experience I would rather not wait for the metal mesh in my shoes to be bent too heavily. Once the dance is over everyone drifts off for a drink, there will be a second round where everyone has switched partners but for now we are expected to start interacting. Besides introducing our names no one has really talked at all.

As I take a good look at my partner for the evening I see more detail in the gown. The intricate embroidery and quilting catches the eye at first but the cut of the outfit is also interesting. A sleeveless and collared shirt is covered by a flowing silk dress that starts at just below the shoulder and extends to the feet. Wide sleeve cuffs but restraining silk ribbons along the arm along with an exterior corset and belt sash keep the dress from being too loose and prohibitive. While she does look good and I can appreciate it I feel nothing further. No passion, no lust, certainly no romance. It is the mind that appeals to me, not the body of either any I consider or my own instincts. I will judge if she is able to be given anything further in my considerations. First some words.

"I must say my lady Bashara that you that you make that dress bring out the beauty of your own self. The effort you put into dancing is nothing to scoff at either. I can see that in the future if you work hard that you will be as brilliant as a star" My tone neutral but a hint of 'truth' in it, the high tongue is a complex thing for court use.

She taps her hand which holds a folded fan and smiles politely at me, I can see a slight blush but nothing to indicate a disapportiante reaction. "Please sir, lady Bashara is my mother. Refer to me as lady Elenvaul. But what do I refer to you then, dear sir?" Her tone evoking a sense of 'innocent curiosity'. Chances are it is genuine but I can't be sure.

"You may refer to me as Esquire Hadirdal, my lady Elenvaul. I do intend to earn a knighthood first by my own hand" Ranks are tiring but important in life, perhaps there are systems out there that do without but not effectively in my experience.

"Oh do tell me more, I would have expected that as a scion of your house to have already been knighted" Some may think this line an insult but I can see genuine curiosity rather then derision. This skirts a few bits of familial lore that probably should not be given out if it can be helped though. Also just incredibly time consuming to repeat, no not something for a simple conversation.

"The knighthood customs of the house are different, one must prove themselves in combat and to the satisfaction of the head. Regardless of familial connections, it is the same for a commoner who has risen in station or a son of the head" I take another sip of the wine, some local berry and one that is supposed to be from the personal gardens of the head family. A spicy tint but one that goes away quickly to a more cool sensation.

"Does that mean it is difficult to rise up, I have never truly heard of many entering into the ranks of the knight orders" She puts away the fan in her off hand to a pocket hidden in the folds of her dress and gives more of her attention to me. Something of interest to her personally or just a piece of juicy gossip....

I decide that a bit of truth mixed with vague information would do. It is not truly secret family lore but neither do I want this to drag on too far. "Typically to enter the knighthood requires conflict, whether great acts of martial valour afield or in defense of the homeland. Admittedly peacetime reduces the number of knights though the family never grants knighthood with any ease. Any who earn it will indeed have their name be given out widely, the title is not one to be dangled like an Angler Bird even in the family after all. Not every scion of the family has ever gained it much less the house as a whole. Besides if I were to gain the knighthood by riding through fields of mountain dew and fragrant flowers like a fairy lord of the old tales I think I would rather stay out of such a thing"

She laughs lightly at the image before remarking that I would indeed look good riding upon a golden horse. We break into light laughter again at that before she gently steers subjects onto more simple topics. We banter back and forth before it is time to begin the next round of dancing. Three more sets with different partners each and more socialization. My next partners are also highly placed, the daughters of archcounts. The same song and dance so to speak as we talk, though I find myself interested in what one of them brought up as a discussion topic but that is for later. Things are finally calming down, so much work and this is what it is like as the youngest son.

What it must have been like for my older siblings I do not want to experience. A little voice in my head says to keep going with the socialization, to open up. Another bemoans the interruptions to important work. A third one chained down bays for violence, my own dominant voice simply is tired of all this. Jaded to a degree, yet without old age's wisdom and onset senility to get through the days.... Ah yes the hormones are getting to me. Not the crass ones but the depressive ones.

Hmmm, perhaps play the reclusive eccentric angle a bit stronger then. I cannot avoid everything but I certainly can get rid of some of the more superfluous events. As I mount my raptor to return I think about what I have accomplished here. Even if this was a mostly political event I did make some personal acquaintances. Nothing serious, more for personal curiosity but then again do all relationships have to be so? Growling a calming note to my mount I pat its scaly hide as it prowls down the road at speed. Quite the rambunctious thing, prone to snapping at anything and everything really, it is exasperating but at the same time not really a reason to go so far as to get rid of him.

POV Change

Upon a distant battlefield soldiers clashed against each other in a battle royale for honour and glory. Each in service of their lord and the flag they fought under. One the only ducal house still in existence in the Commonwealth, the beacon of all those who still followed the lead of the nobility. The other the newer way, one that was less concerned with personal titles but still held honour to great heights. Though it may be more appropriate to call them warriors regardless of affiliation for each sought out an opposite and engaged in a ferocious duel of martial skill. Each with their keen eye picked out a target and loosed a pointless arrow, then after an exchange forward with spear and sword they advanced.When one finally fell then the victor would seek out another to face.

Laurels to he who defeated thrice his self in opponents, accolades to he who defeated ten times in opponents. They were the elite, the scions of noble houses engaged in blade and mounted combat. Dazzling displays of agility in the swirling of sword and spear, in the dodging of blows and the wheeling of hoofs. Many rallied around banners and fought to see them kept high up, dishonour to he who let it be captured. Prestige to the man who defeated the champion who guarded the banner and took if for his own. But at the end of the day matters would come to an end and they who had fallen would get back up and stagger to the healer to see to their bruises. The victor of the match, the motif of a dragon emblazoned proudly as its soldiers raised up champions upon shields.

Away from the field as clean up occured sat two figures. The two men sat nursing porcelain cups of fine wine as they cooled down from the actions of before. As the two toasted to each other's merits in battle and those of their troops they turned to other matters. First they spoke of old friends and comrades from the academies, then they spoke of subjects closer to home.

"And then he and his friends pulled the wooden horse and went fast enough that they lost control on the path to the village. My little brother ended up riding it straight down the village center and almost to the other side of town. The wheels on the thing ended up wearing out so he slowed down but that was still what must have been a crazy five minute ride. The child was still clutching onto the reigns and his bloody toy sword when I finally reached him with his attendants"

As the young man narrating the story stopped from his charades to take a drink his friend spoke up. "Now man I know that it must have been one of the few exciting bits that happened then but knowing your parents something else must have come up Kie"

"Oh it did Emil but not really from them. My parents sent a note about how worried they were and scolding us, not that that did much. The real problem was the old Baronet that father had in charge of the area. The lady had been one of Father's clerks, actually I think she also worked for Grandmother before that. Even in her old age she had a great set of lungs to really dress us down, I think some of the servants were close to tears from it. You should of seen it, their faces were like this and this. She was a real terror when we were younger and you still have to keep an eye out but it was great to see her ripping into someone that was not me."

"Cheers to that" Taking a sip the man identified as Emil paused as his friend continued on with notable events in the social scene and then onto some of the things happening in the county of his home.

"My family has been doing some weird things recently, not sure why they are moving stuff around though it could just be some new infrastructure works. I know that the dikes along the Olgeu River System are being expanded. Heard that he met with Marquis Iberhad, something about your father organizing some work project. But enough about that boring stuff. How has your family been, haven't really heard much about them since the academy four cycles ago. I told you about all of mine so how has yours been" Taking a deep breath Emil seemed more subdued at this.

"Well to be frank...my younger brother has had the ... most interesting life of us all. Not a quiet life in some of the worst ways possible, you and I have been in a few rough situations with monsters and the occasional uppity peasant mob but.... Youngest brother has had actual outright assassination attempts on him. I don't know if they simply thought he would be the easiest to get being so young or if they chose him deliberately but, he has not had it easy. I don't think any of the rest of us had such things happen, at least with my siblings"

Gathering his thoughts he began again. "Though I know that Father and Mother's marriage and the events leading up to it had such crazy events. It was one dangerous scenario after another for them, but just why is it happening to him I don't.... He went out on his Heart hunt and ran into an entire unit of rogue human mercenaries for crying out loud a few seasons ago. At this point I don't really know much about my brother Fae, he is so withdrawn. I think because of all the danger he really keeps to himself, mother was always one to try to watch out for him and he really looked up to her but...." Taking a fortifying measure of wine the man continues, a worried and considering tone in his voice.

"Well the family is doing better now, mother is on the mend from a bad case of Wasting Cough. Luckily we managed to finally get some more medicine with the first harvest of the season so she is fine. Still weak since she was unlucky enough to catch it when the stores were at their low point. The rest of the family is really scattered though, eldest brother is somewhere in the western half of the Dukedom on some long term project and my sisters are all scattered around taking care of administrative duties. Well aside from Ama, father has her taking charge of exercising some of the Valdean units like we are here with the army forces. Don't really understand why" Seeing how his friend was quieting down Kie began speaking up.

"Yeah, I mean this is great to be able to get some action even if it is in exercises but.... Don't you feel that need to get out there and do something. Whether it be against the monsters or maybe even those uppity humans. I know whatever raiders they send get squashed but we could also just deal with them at the source. I mean it feels like something to coming, might just be all the shuffling our parents and their friends are going through but.... There is just this tension and the Corelands are not helping with their attitudes. Certainly could have us get some sort of notoriety that is not just how we are country yocals. Then those bastards in the core might shut up with their attitude"

" Hah... as if our parents would approve of it. Then again father has been devoting his attention to something else recently. I know that there are alot of his agents moving around for the past few cycles, alot of visits to some of the local high lords your father included like you said. He might even have roped my youngest brother into something as well. Right now he is preparing to move to some newly founded Barony. Apparently he helped organize some funds for a few explorers and merchants who settled down and now father decided to just stick him in charge. Probably also get him to get out and about, otherwise he sticks to the family grounds. Then again I heard he had his debut before that so this might be to give him more public prestige. It is a bit odd though in timing"

"You want to ask your parents what every thought they have to satisfy your curiosity then good luck with that" Kie pours the final measure of the wine into his friends cup, the two tipping their cups to each other in mocking salute at such a crazy action. The duo depart as the packing up has been done. The two are glad to have the company of old friends even with such heavy talk. Both have their own thoughts to mull over.

POV Change Third Person

Even though the majority of the Commonwealth is inhabited by elves or Aelvari by a more formal name there are others who have been allowed to be part of the domain. Distant tribes and petty kingdoms of many different species and races which have under the paternal watch of the Commonwealth agreed or were placed under the aegis provided and overseen by the superpower. The Commonwealth holds hegemony as the largest single polity on the major continent of Galahard in addition to significant colonial holdings composing roughly half of the other major continent of Calabav. In addition is Feda Calen, a large island between the two major continents and holds some of the largest naval facilities in the known world. The majority of the top ten known examples all under the aegis of the Commonwealth as well. Seven states compose the Commonwealth on the Galahard continent, four less developed colonial states upon Calabav and Feda Calen gives the Commonwealth a population over three hundred million and the title of most powerful military power.

The only other comparable peer are the many disparate human kingdoms and empires, at least in consideration to the northwestern portion of Galahard. All waging war against the other for dominance and influence. A cyclical era of war punctuated by harsh winters that ground all to a halt before renewing once more to salt the earth with bone and blood. It is humans with their rapid population growth and mix of talents that provide the major bulk of the population in this portion of the world. From over three dozen different countries now only five distinct polities exist. However conflict still exists within these polities as rogue nations form and collapse while revolts are common. From an outsiders view this is hell.

For those within the warzones, there is a different attitude. It was life as usual for most. Generations had fought and died, generations more would. In the past a proliferation of cults and religions dwelled within such a realm, mercenaries and tyrants roamed the land on the lookout for easy pickings. Offering protection to scattered villages and towns from monsters, bandits, and themselves in exchange for goods and services. Some grew ambition and crowned themselves the king of thousands and then tens of thousands. Inevitably they clashed with others for dominance, some crashed and burned in mutual pyres.

Others emerged battered but greater then they were before. It was this forge that formed the current nations. Mercenary lords stilled roamed the land, still believing that they could grow stronger. But greater and greater stretches of land were under the watchful eye of organized soldiers and competent leaders. The population faced fewer issues bringing in a harvest that would keep them fed through the long winter, hope and food leads to a larger and larger population. For those born under the current relatively peaceful era it good, one would pay their taxes for actual protection rather then the current despot with a small army. An optimism for the future, where hard work would lead to prosperity. A potent thing....

POV Change

The sound...the sound. It is so muted. Yet I can remember/see/listen. My hand is holding onto a being, their face blurred yet I remember it being bared in surprise and then pain as I impaled them with my short sword in my main hand. Tossing the body at another I watch it explode, the Catalyst Fluid Rune engraved into their body detonating any remaining mana in the body. A momentary path is formed and I exploit it. Snatching the lance from my Arsenal Halo I gather my strength and magic might to unleash a blast to widen the gap. Body parts turn to ash and I rush through the cloud that forms, my passing barely disturbing the particles.

The surroundings are blurry as well, they should not have been. But what is ahead of me is not, I crest atop the hill of bodies and survey the surroundings. The battle is still ongoing, more than a million combatants clashing to the death. Surrender is not an option, neither is retreat. The slight ping in my mind and I know that my comrade have gathered around me, their own armour just as drenched in blood as my own. The Immortalis Armour absorbing the blood to repair itself, our weapons thrumming with arcane melodies.

Before we can decide where we are needed the world tremors. Not just the ground or the air, no it is the very fabric of reality. Our gazes both corporeal and magical lock on in a nanosecond. There... It is so pristine, so crisply clear unlike everything else. My hand points, I remember/will it doing so. The 'angel' its metallic body scored and cracked but unrelenting. Its sword in a resemblance of my own action impaling its foe. A howling beast, worshipped as a minor god by hundreds of millions now screaming its last. The cracks in reality spread and then smooth out as its will is broken, overtaken by the 'angel' and its own Thaumaturgy. Rifts bleed into existence as the remains of the now fallen god are chained and impaled to the ground. The deathcry of a god echoing for eternity. Not allowed to even dream in peace.

The dimensional barriers now under the sway of the Children, the rifts break open at last. Rows of Anointed and Avatars flow out augmenting our forces. Anointed Sergeants leading smaller packs of lesser Avatars as their presence bends reality to their own understanding. Enemies are dashed and diced to ribbons and smears. Our momentary physical shock is ended as our Auras finally break through the sheer pressure waves that held us down, the clash of Deities and their servants should not be a place for mortals. Yet we still stand, our bodies and arms forged to face such a threat. As the rain of thaumaturgic might descends there are still active stationary jammers. These will be our task. I raise my hand and we rush forward.

I charge straight through the wooden door, the surroundings made clear. The target chapel is filled, intelligence being right for once. I can see the shock and then dawning fear of the inhabitants. That is before my Arsenal Halo unleashes its might, the orbiting plaques that form the main body unleashing blasts of magic that rend and debilitate. My own halberd sweeps cleanly through bodies, the Blood Argentum alloy almost thirsting to cleave through flesh and metal. What feeble protections they have mundane and magical are rendered inert. The few heretic paladins around meet their ends quickly and the chaff are taken care of by the following troops. Blackened armour crafted to conceal and shroud as blades meet joints, blood flowing jerkily as the blades drink. My own task is complete as I grab the heretic priestess that started all this and throw her to the ground, my boot upon her back.

The chapel is cleared as I gaze upon my assigned immediate superior. Unlike everything around 'she' is clearly defined. Words echo in my mind, they were never there and are ever there. Impressions and willpower, the sentence is clear and smooth with its continuity. 'She' appreciates my services as assigned by the Elder Council to clear up some of the unfortunate messes of the Imperium. "Kill them all, let us sort out the recoverable later. Fare thee well Blood Guardian" The metal flows. A caress of flesh like texture from melting steel and gold as it flows away into thin air. My gauntlets pile bunker engages and the heretic priestess meets her end. Flicking off the blood I straighten up and place my hand on my sword pommel as I leave, my task done now in support of our allies. As I walk out I feel a hand upon my shoulder.

I look up from my kneeling position. I felt dubious about receiving this award but my superiors had ordered me to accept it. I feel the background noise of the hymns that always echo in such areas, the faint pressure of shifting air and mana currents as the Avatars move around. Eventually as I hear the recitation of my previous acts and accomplishments I feel an.......indescribable sensation as the chain of plaques is set over my shoulder. Like a shoulder sash of cloth it hangs in a loop around my body. It is not just a physical thing, it fades in and out like an opaque shadow. The Gorget Chain it is called now attached to my soul, a construct created by a being higher up the totem pole of existences. An eternal record of my services and a potent object of power. This is but a representation, yet not. The Eternal Library, the Omniscient Record. It is..... The choir listens, the singer dances, the reader tastes, the mother loves you too. The light sings, the incense beckons, the smile denies...for now.

My eyes open to see the darkness of my room. The manor.... That was all just dreams of my memory. No.... I can see/feel it. My mind throws off the shackles of sleep, instinctevely I activate my defenses..... No, that should have been impossible. This body should not be able to handle the myriad of different spells required to use what I just did. The Aegis Shroud was meant for use in the most intense of combat, the strain should have caused my body to suffer total organ failure as the feedback devastated it. Clenching my hand I do not feel too differently from the day before, yet that is the fine detail. There is something there.

If dead gods can dream then what imaginings can living ones have. The Gorget Chain fades away, only a brief ethereal sensation. Enough to know it is there and....I am not forgotten. The damages healed to my soul, no they were not damages but rather my soul missing something that was integral to it. I was wrong, a faint sensation of elation at my inevitable final death no long hanging over my mind like a Sword of Damocles. Then it halts again, a faint sensation of amused laughter that I can taste and feel. May you live in interesting times indeed.

WyrmofFrost · Aug 16, 2018

Can I get a mod to look at this. Want to know if I can post this bit of story or if it does not follow any rules on content.

For any regular readers the next chapter is going along much better then the one I posted before, expect something in the next month. This snippet is out of context so best wait if you don't want confusion though I will explain some things if anyone wants to ask them.

POV Change

Inside a simple wooden tenement building lived a variety of people. All working poor, laborers and apprentices too poor and of low status to be granted better accommodations. They worked hard to make end's meet and for some make a better life for themselves. They could afford to eat everyday and have a set of clothes that was not just what was on their backs, a better life than others. Elsewhere in this city of progress were the ever present poor quarters and the money lender's quarters. Of richly adorned hands and the trappings of privilege. People lived and died in such concentrations, the prayers at temples over the departed and the prayers given to welcome new life resonated across this city as it did many others. Crime was a frequent thing still not just here but elsewhere in the land, while the disorder that came of earlier times of war was gone that did not mean all troubles vanished. Gone were the bands of looting bandits and hordes of refugees fleeing from the countryside. In their place are more quiet spoken folk waiting in alleyways, there with a simple packet of goods whether legal or not. That or a tap of care from a lead filled wooden stick. Crude tattoos and trinkets marked who was who. In the better sections of towns some had risen in the years and now could afford new trappings.

High class pleasure houses, smelling of perfume and the scent of other activities. Whether you partook of one of the offering hands and mouths, the proffered 'delicacies' or wanted a more discrete hide away it was there. But beyond these pleasures of the mind and body was there offered more darker things. The balming of the mind filled with greed and avarice. A simple and rather final... well to some means to an end. Besides the stabbings in dark passageways was the quiet slice of a knife in a bed, the poison in a cup, the arranged vagaries of fate. The particular interest here was an old face. One that used to be encompassed in iron and their limbs bound tightly. He plied his craft in the house of a target. The wholesome bleeding of the humours of a man, the suck of leeches as the pollutant sucking of blood from diseased swollen flesh occured. The man and his tools had been welcomed with open arms straight through the front door. His red-black robes and scarf along with the iron gorget the masque of a Dolgaian Adherent. Traveling healers who plied their craft in the art of sacred bloodletting. Those who could not afford the hideously expensive potion or the attention of a true healer could find this order filling in an important gap.

The man who strived to protect and encourage his patients health was a true member of that order. But as he was let out to the thanks of the household and the slight clink of gold even he could not know the origin of his order. A time close to two centuries is enough time for a religion to be formed and be taken as simply a thing that existed. A thing with proper tenants of faith and the spread of practitioners. The priest during the day became a man that took life rather then prolonged it, resolved to heal and take in equal measure. Raised and molded into such a position ever since that fateful meeting when he was first found. When the blood of his own father was spilled, the splash of a sister's blood on the ground. Now dry but fresh when the young man first resolved to end the torment of his family with the honed edge of a blade. The euphoria of such an act breaking and reshaping him. It was the run afterwards as the sparsh guardsmen had to respond to the death of a man of means, and more importantly the means to their purse strings. There was the path laid, that a new hand. A new patron now protected him and his sister. Granted them good health, age beyond typical human limits. All if a certain toll of life and the harvest of terror was granted.

Walking along to the preset dead drop he found what was needed, the next batch of elixir for the treatments along with a few specialty tools and coin for funds. Stashing everything in pouches hidden under the voluminous robes he walked off. A few winding turns and deliberate false paths and he returned to his home. A small cottage in a slightly better part of town, the gangs usually did not try anything due to the number of merchants who kept guards around their places. Not many but enough, any brawl would soon bring down the wrath of the town guard who were not known for mercy with either their horses or their clubs. Knocking on the door in the secret way he was let in by the housekeeper. She certainly did her task though her greater job was to be a minder and handler for some of the larger tasks. Her face once the door closed seemed to him to be holding in quite a bit of tension. But that matter could wait, his sister would be waiting for him. It was always a balm to his heart and soul as he visited the solar where his sister liked to spend her time. The scent of flowers, ink, and parchment mixing to create a unique perfume. Hugging his sister from the back as she lightly complained in her wheelchair he felt vindicated for what he did, the sacrifices and deep dark indulgences he exercised. The siblings spoke back and forth, he of the interesting people he met and her of the statistical work she loved to labour on. They shared a few pieces of bread baked with fruit and nuts until it was time for him to depart for another meeting, the routine was nice but he knew would likely change shortly.

POV Change

Adjusting the collar of my shirt I find myself glad to be able to discard my outer robes. The tiresome debates and political matchmaking being led by the elders and parents had dragged on for a few hours and everyone now here simply wished to relax. Mostly the generation of those around 100 to 200 years old, this was a young folks place now. A few people had even broken out instruments and board games. The strict formality of earlier now gone as no one would speak of any 'indiscretions' without being ostracized by the majority of the generation. One game I was embroiled in was being led by one of my acquaintances, one I was on better terms than most with. Lady Rosaratithwen Ondodiir Cuiltarna or Rosa when she laughed at that mouthful is a friendly woman. The daughter of a family friend we had been introduced to each other years ago. Taller and frankly much more mature both physically and mentally then the others around her at the age of 160 I could not quite call anyone I have met my friend but she certainly was the closest. Currently dressed in a fashionable but more bodily conservative dress then many others she reclined in her chair as a servant bustled around arranging items.

She suffers from a chronic condition where her body is weakened, not enough to risk her life but enough to curtail at least a part of day to day life. Still she manages to keep up a vibrant life and some of the short stories she sends me are fascinating. Besides Lady Nioniel who had chosen to keep accompanying me for the evening, no just Nioniel in this setting and Arandur Lanethseer who is a son of Viscount Galaras.Three other noble scions round out the party, all acting as directed by Rosa and the assisting servants. Someone had apparently invented tabletop role playing games and it is quite popular amongst those of ease. The games are much more set piece in short scenarios rather then long sprawling campaigns but it is certainly an odd coincidence. In her position as Director, Rosa gives us choices to proceed forward. While more set as a constantly proceeding multi act play rather than a long persistent game it is quite a bit of fun. Not to mention the still untamed frontier and the oversea colonies provide ample material to keep people interested. However after we were being offered the choice between hunting down a ravenous Titan Wolf or dealing with a group of bandits who have been marauding the local village militia and somehow managing to do both we decided to end the game on good terms. The group scattering to find other things to do, Rosa offered to run another game next week as the social season dragged on. Most of the group agreed and we bid adu.

Walking around the area I find myself enjoying the horderves and other items. Soon afterwards however my body started feeling the results of all the wine I have drunk over the day. Deciding to visit a washroom I ask a servant to guide me to the nearest free one. The maid I asked bows to me and gestures to follow her. As we are walking through the corridors of the very spacious subcomplex that held the gathering I started hearing noises. I was at first worried as we passed by various doors until I had had enough time to really discern what the faint thudding and moans I heard from one or two rooms was. I find myself wondering exactly how strongly held that Rule of 'what happens here stays here' really is. But the bigger part of me is incredulous over another issue. Elven pride is quite strong, this manifests in weird places at times such as the quality of homes. Exactly how loud are the 'happy folk' that they can be heard through the thick walls....

Any bemusement I had however is quickly halted in its tracks as I realize something. No matter how many people are drunk or otherwise busy we must have passed a few too many washing rooms.

Subtly circulating some mana through my body to enhance my senses I smelled two important facts as we stood outside a washroom. One the subtle scent of blood almost obscured by perfume, the other a different herbal scent. Keeping my attention a bit more to my surroundings I do not notice anything directly, perhaps some of the earlier folk are starting to get.....particularly frisky. Still I head into the washroom and take care of my business. The maid who led me here holding my robes as the servant in the room provided a few items. Not much for privacy here in normal society, one of those little social zones that seem strange to outsiders. I depart the room feeling....somewhat heated. Finding myself baffled but keeping it off my face I think over what was involved, hmm. Ahhh, one of the more crass features of noble society. Some of the soap and oils here must have....aphrodisiac and stimulant properties. They should be incredibly mild, not enough to actually do anything other than to give a little energy and chemical pep like that of a beer...this does is stronger though. Not like previous times. As I multitask these thoughts, purging my body of the intoxicants, and making sure not to provide any unexpected movements I wait. The walk will take a few minutes, something will likely happen.

Sure enough I see that rather then the prim and proper movement of before the maid is acting subtly different. A slight...sashay to her walk to show off her curves, a dozen other hints to give a different signal to the eyes and a slight scent of more aphrodisiac. The typical servants outfit of either gender is quite full body concealing, however it appears this one is subtly different. More suggestion of a well endowed body, not enough for a casual glimpse but well with what had happened earlier is more obvious. Nor is it like the other servants over the course of the day. Another half a minute passes and I feel a slight prick from my robe, making to seem as if I am slightly bemused at it I note the slightly inclined face of the maid in the reflection of a gold mural on the wall. Whatever it was must have been broken down, likely to make the victim think it was nothing. Still the maid halts and finally speaks up beyond some single word phrases.

"Young lord, is something the matter. Do your clothes need some adjustment?" she makes a concerned face at this, rather convincing as well. A few more platitudes and other things and I am led into a room. I think to the two possibilities that could be going on. One is the more benign option that the Maglinaellyn who have a decadent reputation are... 'spicing' up the entertainment. That could likely be the case if the other sounds I have heard is added in, none of the voices I heard seem to have changed from before and after the trip to the washing room. Virginity is something that the nobility is not concerned with and so paramours before a marriage is common. The other is some convoluted assassination attempt which could be from the blood I smelled earlier. The scent of herbs are also different from the stimulants and whatever additional scent is on the maid. I remember it as one of the more lethal mixes from my own experiments and education.

Still as we are in the room now I find myself treated to a small display of erotic movements as the maid makes a show of helping sort out my clothes. I have kept the concentrations of chemicals in my bloodstream down but still some is being absorbed enough to make not all my reactions as schooled as they are fake. A running conversation which my more sober inner mind is finding amusing in an outside perspective certainly adds to the dissonance. My mind is honestly debating what should be the proper step forward when my instincts kick in. The needles in the maid's hair, those are needles meant for assasination. The shape and scent from them. Well that certainly makes me decide to purge my body completely then. Playing for time by continuing the farce I still however can take note of the care this assassin has taken. This must not be the first time she has done this, even training can't possibly grant this much control and smooth movement to the act. Well putting aside that I see that the show has gone from the more subliminal part to the opening acts of a high grade R rated sim.

In this case me being seated on a couch and the maid in my lap having started discarding a few outer layers. However I quickly cut matters short by taking the initiative. I start making a few more physical moves with my mouth, one hand keeping her face on me. Her brunette hair still in the condition it was before and her green eyes seeming to show excitement, a bit of shame, and lust. Her lips certainly feel good, a soft yet still firm sensation. Her body is good too in objective terms of beauty, not overly gorgeous but at the same time conforming to noble standards of being quite....accessible to be crass. I too smile in response to her, a deeper smile as I drive my hand into her side. The punch blade containing a paralytic in its hollowed form. My hand on her face now showing strength as it keeps her jaw from moving, my body pushing her down on the couch to be on top. Perhaps from an outside voyeurs view it would be the next step of the sex sim, from my own I simply deepen my smile even more. Her face is already in shock, the rapid mix of chemicals keeping her body from moving at all. Even the involuntary movements are dulled enough to put her in a slow spiral to death if I give her another dose. I continue my movements as if I was continuing to bed the maid seriously, a quick scene change to the bed in the other room and then I get serious.

I make as if I am whispering sweet nothings into her ear and a bit of manipulation for her nodding along. I speak louder by simply asking her to not move as I take care of matters. If there was less drugs in the assassin I would think that she would be feeling a deep sense of fear, she is the fly and I am the spider. The throwing over of a blanket and a illusionary field being set has me throw the act off. I search the fake maid fully, any sense of morals put to the side as I do not appreciate an attack attempt. I feel like whistling in my mind as I find a few other tools of quiet killing hidden on her clothes. A leather pouch hidden in a sleeve contains an assortment of poisoned needles which I take for my own along with the other weapons on her. Whether there are more assassins here I do not know. Perhaps all the other couples or more are genuine, perhaps this one is the only killer. Regardless I find nothing else of note on her and I cannot hold an interrogation with the chemicals in her. A quick punch and it is a quiet and relatively painless death. Nothing more elaborate as I make a few changes to the illusion field. It is better that I take care, any watchers should find what they expect. There was no communication item on her so either she worked alone or any compatriots will be contacting soon.

Walking out into the antechamber I find the washing room attendant from earlier. He speaks as if he sees the maid, a question on whether she accomplished the task. I find my grip on the dagger I took from the assassin and open my mouth as if to answer him. The reply he gets is my hand around his throat and a blade swiftly stabbing into several nerve clusters. I bring him to his knees and ask my questions, is he working alone and where are any others. He babbles in shock, the illusion from before still working on his mind to a degree. Another invisibly cloaked man just outside the door is what is part of his cell. However he knows that another cell had plans for an attack here that he did not know if it was being enacted or not today. I feel like laughing at that ridiculous statement before deciding to get things through. No more cloak and daggers, I want blood for this. Slitting his throat with the dagger I head out, my mind now enacting a battery of sensory spells. I find the other woman the fake servant mentioned acting as security. I take out my dress sword and stack up on the door. A few random thoughts and doubts rise up in my mind that I squash. Pre battle jitters are unbecoming when I am already set to fight.

Walking out I find what I was told of. My sword is already swinging, one strike to the weapon holding hand and then a body slam into the wall. I begin screaming bloody murder as I make noise, the fight drifting back to the center of the corridor. My sword swinging as I both minor wounds and then a debilitating strike to the leg. I hear scrambling around me from my heightened senses. The blackguard in front of me is trying to defend herself but is too overwhelmed by the change of things to take the initiative. Deciding to not risk her having some sort of trump card I kick out with my leg and she slams into another section of wall, this time denting some copper fittings on a pillar. My sword however makes a much more final move. As the scent of blood grows stronger in the air I see that a few people have finally noticed what is happening. It took them quite a while, still my slowly stirring blood calms. No need to get too anxious until.... That was a large explosion. I find myself having an errant thought that won't go away. Is it a pity or not that there is no god or being that governs fate that I can blame on this? Well not in the span of my existence past or future at least.

WyrmofFrost · Aug 18, 2018

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AN: Here we go the actual update, some meaty events here so I could get it out fast. Much of the foundation has been laid, lets see what gets built on top. If you read this at all then you know what else I would say. Don't expect another update to be as fast since college time is back.
-Hope this does not violate any rules for content, SB mod says its fine by theirs if a bit close so hope it is the same here

Looking around the area I find myself quite tired. Five hours of watching jousting matches will do that to a person. I was excited about the matches at first until my cynicism kicked in. There was indeed skill involved but the games are biased to support those with larger pockets, while there is a tier system of prizes and bouts it is only the higher groups that get anything worthwhile. At least taking in consideration of injury and necessary expenses. If this was a dedicated sport with compensated players then yes it would be fine, but that is not the case in an honest fashion.

Well if I truly started listing things then it would be enough for me to start chugging from my wine flask. And considering I deliberately chose a low quality thing both in taste and minimal alcohol content then that shows how bad the situation is. Like an errant thought the Chain is just there, almost as if it should always be presented. Always presented and always used. I know what the Angleini wish, it is nothing bad but at the same time just that shade of alien that I cannot conscience going out of my way to fulfill. It is inevitable already with every breath I take, but I have my own meager wish to stand on my own without such aid.

The rest of the area is however something I spent quite a bit of time learning about. The Primus Colosseum, formerly the Imperial Colosseum when the city of Goro acted as the secondary capital for the Aelvarian Empire. That time is gone with the loss of the Imperial Bloodline, but the glories of the past are still here. Encompassing 50,000 square meters or 12 acres of land and a capacity of 100,000 people it was an indulgent thing. From a time of past glory but still faithfully maintained, it is a wonder of the world. From my place in the private booth I can see that the current match has become a golem bout. The area was quickly and efficiently, the dirt and grass field is still there but all the various fencing and targets are removed.

Entering from the gateways are the two teams. One controller or Auriga along with a support staff. The staff supports the staff much like a hover car racer team, there to replace some exterior components if damaged and act as the eyes with the use of drones or in this case familiars. Next up is colosseum staff setting up the emplaced wards from hidden compartments in the walls and floor. Not very portable but that is more a lack of knowledge then anything else of certain principles and technology. But back to the participants, mostly students from the regional academies though there are a few professional teams which is the case for this match.

Enterprising persons creating machines to battle, quite familiar to me. Useless in most actual combat but just captivating to the heart and mind. I watch one golem with a bulky humanoid body and a body mimicking that of an old style knight's armour and claw gauntlets bash its hand straight through the shoulder of its opponent in this duel. This golem is much slimmer and has an intricate head shaped like some strange insect. The sophistication of such creations have improved since their inception but only so far, but then again a DNI has all of its own problems if a magical equivalent were used as well as networked control systems.

Watching the match along with other times I have seen golems in combat I find the small ones without direct pilots are simplistic things. The movements are similar to one of those VR games, motions translating into somewhat simplistic maneuvers and various combinations. I think the true sophistication is in the balance and power supply functions. The machines are quite sure footed and can even account for losses of body parts automatically as demonstrated when the golem that lost most of its torso bounces back with a haymaker that scours a significant trench into its opponent.

Something important must be damaged as the golem becomes even more sluggish than it already was. The two now circling each other waiting for another move to be made. The faces of the two controllers are all displayed on illusionary screens that are displayed to the crowd like Esports displays. Their faces are a constant back and forth until finally one of them shows a triumphant expression. This coinciding with the insect headed golem getting tripped in a surprisingly nimble move from such a bulky thing it falls down. As it tries to get up it gets stomped into the ground again, the larger bulk of its opponent preventing it from getting up.

The controller shows an annoyed expression as it keeps stomping down rather then make another more damaging move, judging from the creaking it appears that it cannot move its hands in the fashion to decisively end the match. As the clanging of metal and stone resounds I find myself still impressed at how the stones of the colosseum floor are undamaged despite the tones of weight and force being exerted. Good work done there, it is the same as what is used in fortresses from what I understand. As the debris is dragged away by other golems and work crews I am amongst others who depart. The time for the evening meal is upon us. This time however I am spending it not with my family but with a few other dignitaries and nobility. It is part of the reason I am at the capital of the state, more politicking.

Still it does fit to a degree with things I can do here, not my preference but still my father insists. Mother is also here but for the most part recovering, as much as that can be applied to how she is. I have enough cuffs to the head and arguments to know that it is better to abide by what she said. Perhaps if I had been able to help, but sadly no. I do not have a good enough grasp on the planet's plants and animals to synthesize any personalized medicine. Neither can I make some of the technologies that require a biological component.

Shaking off the thoughts of such business I continue dressing myself. While not the most formal of events there is still to be a good degree of decorum. The dress robes are properly pinned into place and I belt a small dress sword to my side. My two attendants are quite busy being put to work by mother so I will only be proceeding with a few Valdean Guardsmen. Proceeding in the carriage I watch as they proceed to drive the carriage from our estate in outskirts to the inner city. The security tight even within what should be the heart of the house's power. Still the ride is appreciably short as the magic driven carriage makes good time, the clank of the raptor mount's lightweight plate sabatons on the paved road an accompaniment to the ambiance of the city.

When I arrive at the mansion in question I am greeted quite cordially by the staff before making my way to the parlour there. Being hosted by the Viscount family Galaras who have been entrusted with the capital for generations from the original governor's palace. Quite firmly in my clan's camp or else they would not be the ones administering the capital after all. The estate is furnished in an older style. Old solid wood constructions with little gilding but quite a bit of laminated work.

The order of the meal calls for some light conversation before the meal and then again afterwards. My chosen partner for the evening being a friend I made a little less than a cycle ago. The third daughter of Archcount Verrathuth, Nioniel Reistiel. A pen pal of mine thanks to our interest in literature. She has quite the idealistic mindset, an incredibly rare thing in noble society. Not exactly naive as she has shone quite the awareness of the realities of life but still optimistic. I feel a sense of.....not peace per say but ease. No need to involve or be wary of particularly shielding, while most discussion topics are quite light hearted we have communicated on some heavy topics concerning leadership and governance. I am grateful for her help in putting together some concepts to better civil infrastructure and technology.

But back to the present. Over a cup of tea we are discussing the utility of increasing the number of work shifts to employ more people at all times vs the wear and tear on the machinery and upkeep requirements. She is constantly removing and returning small scrolls with notes from the sleeves of her dress or containers in the jacket/mantle mix she is wearing. She somehow manages to mix an elegant lady of the court with a rabid scholar. Her eyes shine brightly within the hood she prefers to have up, sometimes a little too bright and sharp. Currently I believe she suspects at least some of the scale of what I wish to accomplish but is discrete enough to know not to push. As it is the meal was a nice if dry event, most involved simply going over the events of the day and commenting on what they thought of the festivities. Still there is the rest of the social season to handle, and it seems I am being scapegoated to be the designated social butterfly. Quite tiresome indeed, some moments of intellectual discussion followed by a tepid sea of self concern and veiled words.

POV Change

Inside a simple wooden tenement building lived a variety of people. All working poor, laborers and apprentices too poor and of low status to be granted better accommodations. They worked hard to make end's meet and for some make a better life for themselves. They could afford to eat everyday and have a set of clothes that was not just what was on their backs, a better life than others. Elsewhere in this city of progress were the ever present poor quarters and the money lender's quarters. Of richly adorned hands and the trappings of privilege. People lived and died in such concentrations, the prayers at temples over the departed and the prayers given to welcome new life resonated across this city as it did many others.

Crime was a frequent thing still not just here but elsewhere in the land, while the disorder that came of earlier times of war was gone that did not mean all troubles vanished. Gone were the bands of looting bandits and hordes of refugees fleeing from the countryside. In their place are more quiet spoken folk waiting in alleyways, there with a simple packet of goods whether legal or not. That or a tap of care from a lead filled wooden stick. Crude tattoos and trinkets marked who was who. In the better sections of towns some had risen in the years and now could afford new trappings.

High class pleasure houses, smelling of perfume and the scent of other activities. Whether you partook of one of the offering hands and mouths, the proffered 'delicacies' or wanted a more discrete hide away it was there. But beyond these pleasures of the mind and body was there offered more darker things. The balming of the mind filled with greed and avarice. A simple and rather final... well to some means to an end. Besides the stabbings in dark passageways was the quiet slice of a knife in a bed, the poison in a cup, the arranged vagaries of fate. The particular interest here was an old face. One that used to be encompassed in iron and their limbs bound tightly. He plied his craft in the house of a target.

The wholesome bleeding of the humours of a man, the writhe of leeches as they sucked polluted blood from disease-swollen flesh. The man and his tools had been welcomed with open arms straight through the front door. His red-black robes and scarf along with the iron gorget the masque of a Dolgaian Adherent. Traveling healers who plied their craft in the art of sacred bloodletting. Those who could not afford the hideously expensive potion or the attention of a true healer could find this order filling in an important gap.

The man who strived to protect and encourage his patients health was a true member of that order. But as he was let out to the thanks of the household and the slight clink of gold even he could not know the origin of his order. A time close to two centuries is enough time for a religion to be formed and be taken as simply a thing that existed. A thing with proper tenants of faith and the spread of practitioners. The priest during the day became a man that took life rather then prolonged it, resolved to heal and take in equal measure. Raised and molded into such a position ever since that fateful meeting when he was first found. When the blood of his own father was spilled, the splash of a sister's blood on the ground.

Now dry but fresh when the young man first resolved to end the torment of his family with the honed edge of a blade. The euphoria of such an act breaking and reshaping him. It was the run afterwards as the sparsh guardsmen had to respond to the death of a man of means, and more importantly the means to their purse strings. There was the path laid, that a new hand. A new patron now protected him and his sister. Granted them good health, age beyond typical human limits. All if a certain toll of life and the harvest of terror was granted.

Walking along to the preset dead drop he found what was needed, the next batch of elixir for the treatments along with a few specialty tools and coin for funds. Stashing everything in pouches hidden under the voluminous robes he walked off. A few winding turns and deliberate false paths and he returned to his home. A small cottage in a slightly better part of town, the gangs usually did not try anything due to the number of merchants who kept guards around their places. Not many but enough, any brawl would soon bring down the wrath of the town guard who were not known for mercy with either their horses or their clubs. Knocking on the door in the secret way he was let in by the housekeeper.

She certainly did her task though her greater job was to be a minder and handler for some of the larger tasks. Her face once the door closed seemed to him to be holding in quite a bit of tension. But that matter could wait, his sister would be waiting for him. It was always a balm to his heart and soul as he visited the solar where his sister liked to spend her time. The scent of flowers, ink, and parchment mixing to create a unique perfume. Hugging his sister from the back as she lightly complained in her wheelchair he felt vindicated for what he did, the sacrifices and deep dark indulgences he exercised. The siblings spoke back and forth, he of the interesting people he met and her of the statistical work she loved to labour on. They shared a few pieces of bread baked with fruit and nuts until it was time for him to depart for another meeting, the routine was nice but he knew would likely change shortly.

POV Change

Adjusting the collar of my shirt I find myself glad to be able to discard my outer robes. The tiresome debates and political matchmaking being led by the elders and parents had dragged on for a few hours and everyone now here simply wished to relax. Mostly the generation of those around 100 to 200 years old, this was a young folks place now. A few people had even broken out instruments and board games. The strict formality of earlier now gone as no one would speak of any 'indiscretions' without being ostracized by the majority of the generation.

One game I was embroiled in was being led by one of my acquaintances, one I was on better terms than most with. Lady Rosaratithwen Ondodiir Cuiltarna or Rosa when she laughed at that mouthful is a friendly girl. The daughter of a family friend we had been introduced to each other years ago. Taller and frankly much more mature both physically and mentally then the others around her at the age of 160 I could not quite call anyone I have met my friend but she certainly was the closest. Currently dressed in a fashionable but more bodily conservative dress then many others she reclined in her chair as a servant bustled around arranging items.

She suffers from a chronic condition where her body is weakened, not enough to risk her life but enough to curtail at least a part of day to day life. Still she manages to keep up a vibrant life and some of the short stories she sends me are fascinating. Besides Lady Nioniel who had chosen to keep accompanying me for the evening, no just Nioniel in this setting and Arandur Lanethseer who is a son of Viscount Galaras.Three other noble scions round out the party, all acting as directed by Rosa and the assisting servants. Someone had apparently invented tabletop role playing games and it is quite popular amongst those of ease.

The games are much more set piece in short scenarios rather then long sprawling campaigns but it is certainly an odd coincidence. In her position as Director, Rosa gives us choices to proceed forward. While more set as a constantly proceeding multi act play rather than a long persistent game it is quite a bit of fun. Not to mention the still untamed frontier and the oversea colonies provide ample material to keep people interested. However after we were being offered the choice between hunting down a ravenous Titan Wolf or dealing with a group of bandits who have been marauding the local village militia and somehow managing to do both we decided to end the game on good terms. The group scattering to find other things to do, Rosa offered to run another game next week as the social season dragged on. Most of the group agreed and we bid adu.

Walking around the area I find myself enjoying the horderves and other items. Soon afterwards however my body started feeling the results of all the wine I have drunk over the day. Deciding to visit a washroom I ask a servant to guide me to the nearest free one. The maid I asked bows to me and gestures to follow her. As we are walking through the corridors of the very spacious subcomplex that held the gathering I started hearing noises. I was at first worried as we passed by various doors until I had had enough time to really discern what the faint thudding and moans I heard from one or two rooms was. I find myself wondering exactly how strongly held that Rule of 'what happens here stays here' really is. But the bigger part of me is incredulous over another issue. Elven pride is quite strong, this manifests in weird places at times such as the quality of homes. Exactly how loud are the 'happy folk' that they can be heard through the thick walls....

Any bemusement I had however is quickly halted in its tracks as I realize something. No matter how many people are drunk or otherwise busy we must have passed a few too many washing rooms.

Subtly circulating some mana through my body to enhance my senses I smelled two important facts as we stood outside a washroom. One the subtle scent of blood almost obscured by perfume, the other a different herbal scent. Keeping my attention a bit more to my surroundings I do not notice anything directly, perhaps some of the earlier folk are starting to get.....particularly frisky. Still I head into the washroom and take care of my business. The maid who led me here holding my robes as the servant in the room provided a few items. Not much for privacy here in normal society, one of those little social zones that seem strange to outsiders. I depart the room feeling....somewhat heated. Finding myself baffled but keeping it off my face I think over what was involved, hmm. Ahhh, one of the more crass features of noble society.

Some of the soap and oils here must have....aphrodisiac and stimulant properties. They should be incredibly mild, not enough to actually do anything other than to give a little energy and chemical pep like that of a beer...this does is stronger though. Not like previous times. As I multitask these thoughts, purging my body of the intoxicants, and making sure not to provide any unexpected movements I wait. The walk will take a few minutes, something will likely happen.

Sure enough I see that rather then the prim and proper movement of before the maid is acting subtly different. A slight...sashay to her walk to show off her curves, a dozen other hints to give a different signal to the eyes and a slight scent of more aphrodisiac. The typical servants outfit of either gender is quite full body concealing, however it appears this one is subtly different. More suggestion of a well endowed body, not enough for a casual glimpse but well with what had happened earlier is more obvious. Nor is it like the other servants over the course of the day. Another half a minute passes and I feel a slight prick from my robe, making to seem as if I am slightly bemused at it I note the slightly inclined face of the maid in the reflection of a gold mural on the wall. Whatever it was must have been broken down, likely to make the victim think it was nothing. Still the maid halts and finally speaks up beyond some single word phrases.

"Young lord, is something the matter. Do your clothes need some adjustment?" she makes a concerned face at this, rather convincing as well. A few more platitudes and other things and I am led into a room. I think to the two possibilities that could be going on. One is the more benign option that the Maglinaellyn who have a decadent reputation are... 'spicing' up the entertainment. That could likely be the case if the other sounds I have heard is added in, none of the voices I heard seem to have changed from before and after the trip to the washing room. Virginity is something that the nobility is not concerned with and so paramours before a marriage is common. The other is some convoluted assassination attempt which could be from the blood I smelled earlier. The scent of herbs are also different from the stimulants and whatever additional scent is on the maid. I remember it as one of the more lethal mixes from my own experiments and education.

Still as we are in the room now I find myself treated to a small display of erotic movements as the maid makes a show of helping sort out my clothes. I have kept the concentrations of chemicals in my bloodstream down but still some is being absorbed enough to make not all my reactions as schooled as they are fake. A running conversation which my more sober inner mind is finding amusing in an outside perspective certainly adds to the dissonance. My mind is honestly debating what should be the proper step forward when my instincts kick in. The needles in the maid's hair, those are needles meant for assasination. The shape and scent from them.

Well that certainly makes me decide to purge my body completely then. Playing for time by continuing the farce I still however can take note of the care this assassin has taken. This must not be the first time she has done this, even training can't possibly grant this much control and smooth movement to the act. Well putting aside that I see that the show has gone from the more subliminal part to the opening acts of a high grade R rated sim.

In this case me being seated on a couch and the maid in my lap having started discarding a few outer layers. However I quickly cut matters short by taking the initiative. I start making a few more physical moves with my mouth, one hand keeping her face on me. Her brunette hair still in the condition it was before and her green eyes seeming to show excitement, a bit of shame, and lust. Her lips certainly feel good, a soft yet still firm sensation. Her body is good too in objective terms of beauty, not overly gorgeous but at the same time conforming to noble standards of being quite....accessible to be crass. I too smile in response to her, a deeper smile as I drive my hand into her side.

The punch blade containing a paralytic in its hollowed form does its work. My hand on her face now showing strength as it keeps her jaw from moving, my body pushing her down on the couch to be on top. Perhaps from an outside voyeurs view it would be the next step of the sex sim, from my own I simply deepen my smile even more. Her face is already in shock, the rapid mix of chemicals keeping her body from moving at all. Even the involuntary movements are dulled enough to put her in a slow spiral to death if I give her another dose. I continue my movements as if I was continuing to bed the maid seriously, a quick scene change to the bed in the other room and then I get serious.

I make as if I am whispering sweet nothings into her ear and a bit of manipulation for her nodding along. I speak louder by simply asking her to not move as I take care of matters. If there was less drugs in the assassin I would think that she would be feeling a deep sense of fear, she is the fly and I am the spider. The throwing over of a blanket and a illusionary field being set has me throw the act off. I search the fake maid fully, any sense of morals put to the side as I do not appreciate an attack attempt. I feel like whistling in my mind as I find a few other tools of quiet killing hidden on her clothes. A leather pouch hidden in a sleeve contains an assortment of poisoned needles which I take for my own along with the other weapons on her. Whether there are more assassins here I do not know.

Perhaps all the other couples or more are genuine, perhaps this one is the only killer. Regardless I find nothing else of note on her and I cannot hold an interrogation with the chemicals in her. A quick punch and it is a quiet and relatively painless death. Nothing more elaborate as I make a few changes to the illusion field. It is better that I take care, any watchers should find what they expect. There was no communication item on her so either she worked alone or any compatriots will be contacting soon.

Walking out into the antechamber I find the washing room attendant from earlier. He speaks as if he sees the maid, a question on whether she accomplished the task. I find my grip on the dagger I took from the assassin and open my mouth as if to answer him. The reply he gets is my hand around his throat and a blade swiftly stabbing into several nerve clusters. I bring him to his knees and ask my questions, is he working alone and where are any others. He babbles in shock, the illusion from before still working on his mind to a degree. Another invisibly cloaked man just outside the door is what is part of his cell. However he knows that another cell had plans for an attack here that he did not know if it was being enacted or not today.

I feel like laughing at that ridiculous statement before deciding to get things through. No more cloak and daggers, I want blood for this. Slitting his throat with the dagger I head out, my mind now enacting a battery of sensory spells. I find the other woman the fake servant mentioned acting as security. I take out my dress sword and stack up on the door. A few random thoughts and doubts rise up in my mind that I squash. Pre battle jitters are unbecoming when I am already set to fight.

Walking out I find what I was told of. My sword is already swinging, one strike to the weapon holding hand and then a body slam into the wall. I begin screaming bloody murder as I make noise, the fight drifting back to the center of the corridor. My sword swinging as I both minor wounds and then a debilitating strike to the leg. I hear scrambling around me from my heightened senses. The blackguard in front of me is trying to defend herself but is too overwhelmed by the change of things to take the initiative. Deciding to not risk her having some sort of trump card I kick out with my leg and she slams into another section of wall, this time denting some copper fittings on a pillar. My sword however makes a much more final move.

As the scent of blood grows stronger in the air I see that a few people have finally noticed what is happening. It took them quite a while, still my slowly stirring blood calms. No need to get too anxious until.... That was a large explosion. I find myself having an errant thought that won't go away. Is it a pity or not that there is no god or being that governs fate that I can blame on this? Well not in the span of my existence past or future at least.

POV Change

A- Amusement at Situation

B- Chiding Response

A- Fairy Tale Reference

B- Shrug, Quality Event

A- Key to Door

B- Time to wait

A- Grudging Acceptance

C- Vultures Circling

A- Lowest Kin Youngster

B- Mistargeted Sympathy

C- Loyalty

A- Wistful Rememberance

B- Admonishment, Current Claim

A- Future Claim

C- Sadness but Hope, seperate

B- Time, Patience

POV Change

Looking at the girl in my hands I could only sigh. Honestly, this was an assassination and a botched honey trap attempt all in one followed now by a blunt surprise attack. Getting up and helping Rosa to her feet I put one of her arms over my shoulder, her constitution and the shock of the attack not helping things. One of her servants realizes what is happening and helps me usher her away. Looking over my shoulder I can see the scrum of movement around the area as people move. The injuries from shrapnel are not pretty, the blasts being able to cause a great deal of damage. Perhaps rushing to the room in the company of guards and some hastily dressed young nobles only to be blasted back by said explosions is.... not the best planned move but I have more immediate issues.

The group of individuals rushing down the corridor dressed in mix match of concealing robes and now on display armour certainly counts. The guards I had arrived with and those already here manage to plug up the entry holes blasted into the room. Turns out that a few more adjacent rooms also held attackers though they were less successful due to the thick walls. Perhaps if these were normal fiefdom guards of a lord then they would have managed to disable them and then massacre the room full of the children of lords. Each guard here in the capital is a veteran, older and not as in their physical prime perhaps but experienced and loyal.

Playing for time with blood the guards managed to absorb and redirect the initial charge, better arms and training vs numbers and surprise. No mages though on either side, the attackers would have been spotted by the sensory wards and the number of old ordinances and other matters stopped there being mages amongst the guard forces here. None of those here even have their magical focuses, the only ones allowed are the healers vetted by all the houses of the guests here. I do not know who made the decision but a group of guard depart the room to hold the entrance way.

The corridor being wider and thus less of a chokepoint to be defensible but more breathing room for others. They know their number is up. Another batch begins work on a better barricade with the many tables and chairs around the area. Another detachment try to barricade the other openings and get the guests to more defensive positions. My own attention once I see that things are contained is to get more of those injured away from the hazard zone. Not wanting to but my head into a situation already contained I find myself berating the fact that I did not bring any personal guards, assured that the capital and this event with the extra security measures would have been enough.

They certainly are enough to keep most of the enemies away, though I soon am busy getting my hands into keeping a woman's guts in her. I managed to badger some of the servants around to set up an impromptu triage station, no one else doing anything about those wounded. I keep going around yelling out orders for any who are trained to report to me, what I get are a few squeamish servants and a lightly wounded old dog of a guard. Weather beaten and scarred to a surprising degree for an elf but he grits through the wounds on himself to help me with the injured. I quickly pool all the medical supplies that can be gathered, more than I hoped but nowhere near enough for this to be simple. I put most of the servants to simply cutting up cloth for bandages and the old guard to sorting out who is in what condition. I keep barking out orders on what to do to any who are not shellshocked and get any of the unhelpful civilians to stay away.

The sound of battle is still ongoing but not enough for me to have to worry about defending myself. Not when there are others who can fight and my talents are needed. The wounds here range from broken bones and puncture wounds to more much more gruesome dismemberments and other injuries. I do what I can to prioritize those that can be saved. I find myself thankful for having my small medical kit but the lack of more and better tools is only a wish on the horizon. There must have been iron scraps in the bombs, else there would not be so many jagged bits everywhere. Ripping out some of the silk from a nearby tablecloth I start creating a makeshift bandage to stem the bleeding of some of the wounded. Some shrapnel pieces I remove where possible but some are in sensitive positions. I keep my hands steady even as the scent of burnt meat goes around, if I could have used potions or other such things i would but those must be kept for the worst wounds. The rest get bandages and my heated blade, anything esoteric not exactly being proper for what should be capable here and now.

I wish I could save more lives but I cannot risk any more questions on my abilities then I have displayed before. My clothes by this point are long soaked through with blood, their own enchantments unable to cope with with I am doing. I look up again to see how the battle is going, it has been perhaps ten minutes since the battle started. The attackers can't possibly expect to be able to keep going like this. Many are dead but most are actually the guards and the attackers, not many of the nobles here even with the bombs. And as if Masked and Veiled Twin gods of fortune were listening I felt a wave of something flow through. The world flickered and I cursed a stream of words in four different languages. All the magical signatures within the area just were flattened, and this included the wards over the room AND the few petty healers amongst the group in the trauma station.

This completely ended the barrier defenses and battery of support spells that the few remaining guards relied on to stem the tide. There must be close to two dozen dead already and yet there must be twice that many still attacking. Between the blasted open entryways and the now vulnerable windows I could only keep cursing at this bad situation.

I can only let my own magic end to keep up the illusion that I was not special in a particularly unusual way. The blood continues to splatter onto my form however, I cannot give up my efforts even with this setback. The influx of wounded guards are quickly prioritized for my potions, those who could get back to the fight I quickly force feed a mix of the potions needed and send them off. The scarred guard that was helping me now getting sent back by another yelling sergeant. More wounded and less help in decent shape. I get right back to keeping my hands busy, that however turns out to be for naught. As I was quickly stitching a yawing wound in one guard's side I see a charging man in a brigidine preparing to bring an axe to my face.

Snatching up a dagger from the table I was working on I send it directly into the eye of the foe, a quick death as he rolls under his own momentum into the barricade. I find myself annoyed that there is no one left defending the area and now a few other fools looking for death coming to face me. It appears to be a foolish last ditch effort to accomplish something. The heavy wounds of the attackers and their frothing expressions tells me that they are possibly drugged or mad. Well neither is mutually exclusive afterall.

Snatching one of the weapons left here I see that it is a greatsword that has managed to garner a fair collection of nicks. Shrugging off my now very very ruined robes I step forward to meet the attackers. Taking a breath and releasing it I quickly swing into one of the greatsword routines I know, wide sweeping movements to ward off multiple attackers. These however don't seem to bother having self preservation as my blade collides with one. I feel like giving a snort at this, as if the foes could withstand a full strength blow. If they had tried to get a parry or go between swings then maybe, like this no as the man twirls in the air with his chest cut almost halfway through. Claiming another victim I jump backward as my senses scream to DODGE.

A crossbow bolt flies off into the distant wall, hmm some smarts then. Whatever credit I felt is due is again disappointed by the inane comments and poor excuses for taunting by the assassins. Sloppy, utterly sloppy. If they had such numbers there should have been a more comprehensive swarming. Like a horde of goblins to bury a foe under a swarm and then stab them to death with daggers. No instead like lemmings they blunder and fall to my blade. The visceral feel of flesh and blood being parted an old friend as are the noises of grunted exertions and pained moans. A few others amongst the guests who brought weapons or are simply hurling objects manage to down another of my foes. The neutered mages amongst the group and the servants hiding out in a tight bundle of bodies add their own mixed ambiance to the carnage. Not helping in any manner then.

The scent of blood has long soaked up the entirety of my nose as I continue to fight, it has only been a few minutes but I find myself both excited and resigned. Action, unambiguous and not rife with politics but at the same time filled with the dead and dying. Dispatching the last of this wave of attackers I toss my greatsword to another guest who I know is a knight, her face one of thanks as she matches my gaze. Her own blade snapped in the body of an attacker. A swing of my boot directs a better weapon to another as well. Instead I retrieve a dagger and return to treating the wounded.

I am a powerful warrior yes, but there is no one else available to keep people alive here. Much as it irks me I have the bigger picture to keep note of. I keep toiling away for perhaps another five minutes when I feel the slight return of mana, whatever jammer they used captured or simply ran out I do not know. The sudden dampening of noise as the battle continues far elsewhere doing more to return me to a less combative state then anything else. The silence at the aftermath of a battle...... a horrible thing.

I however keep working on my current patient, almost all the bones broken and shattered on one side of the body from a flying table in the initial explosions. I did not give the man a high chance of survival but I will try now that the others are tended to. Only the worst off and the ones with minor injuries are left. Even as more guards enter the room, additional units from the civil guard and the specialized city guard forces. One watch captain from the capital elite guard stamps over to me, careful of the debris and the blood that slicks over almost everything. I can see from his face and his body that he wants me to leave, likely in some contraviance of safety. I simply mentally sigh, overzealousness. That will be the only thing I will face in the future, but at least now I can say something about it.

"Before you try something Watch Captain I hope you bothered bringing enough forces. There are many children of nobility here and I hope you do not wish to pick and choose who gets to leave and who is detained. Frankly I can't even be sure elsewhere is safe, or can you not guaranteed more assassins outside waiting to strike?" He halts, obviously poleaxed into stopping whatever he is about to say. He shifts uneasily and I also see something else of note. At that I carefully ready something I was saving. Ahh how cynical I have become now, the amount of convoluted action that now leads to this.

He tries to justify himself, using pretty words along with flattery and portents of doom. That only drives things further. There are a few important details as I continue seemingly focused on just trying to keep this one alive. First is that the uniform is genuine indeed, for a captain whose jurisdiction is the river guard. The nearest detachments of the city elite would not include those of that unit, nor even the units further than that. Second is frankly the face, too young and unscarred. Elves do not show age like humans, less wrinkly for one.

Yet this captain is too, frankly green looking. Any of that rank would be a grizzled vet who knows that if he was ordered to commit to my safety then I would be manhandled away. If he was inclined instead to stay here and safeguard then there would be a better positioning of troops and medical professionals. No will nilly scattering of troops that is here and a strong lack of the required support troops. Third, there are hidden friend and foe recognition items that broadcast a certain tone that resonates with some trinkets on me. None of which have shown any such resonance. I am frankly completely in my right to do what I am doing now.

That is stabbing not only him but his two flunkies with the poisoned needles I took from that first assassin and then torching the rest of the troop with a fireball. One moment I have roughly a dozen individuals standing at some form of attention trying to look competent, the next I see said group now writhing on the ground either on fire or writhing in agony. I take the moment to wave away the burnt scent of fat and skin. Also a point to their detriment, all of that rank have magical wards active at all times. Wards that are obviously not on, that sort of thing can lead to execution if within certain circumstances. Certainly right now it is the case. I can see the others around me being baffled by what I just did. I however simply step up to the fake captain and stab another blade into him. It sinks into one arm to immobilize him while another hand swings an extendable baton I have to break his jaw.

Standing so that he cannot strike me so easily I spy what I am looking for, more potions in an external bandolier for me to use. Looking at them however I snort and toss them. Waterlogged contents, spoiled in other words. Still with my magic back I can afford to use some slight healing magic, better than nothing. Only a few minutes later and I am both disappointed and relieved that no one has tried to push to question me. Oh there we go, the actual city elites. Those semi autonomous golems have always been of interest to me. Ahh if only I did not feel so fatalistic.

Sceonn · Aug 19, 2018

Feels like you're trying to cram as much word as you can in every sentence... 30-40 percent of the story could be edited out.

KafkaExMachina · Aug 19, 2018

Okay, first, this story has promise. I'm deeply curious to see where you're going with it, and what the deal is... but frankly I haven't managed to get through the fourth chapter. It's not hard to read, but it is painful to do so.

First, try rereading it or calling up on friend to do so for you to clear out the obvious spelling and grammar mistakes. Between misspelled words (some extremely obviously so... did you ignore SV's built in spellcheck?) and the oft-times grinding sentence structure a good stylistic scrubbing would do this work wonders.

Next... fix your scene breaks. Please. Just going "POV Change" "Flashback" etc is really jarring.

First - chapters exist as a method of story structure. A chapter ending is a natural "break" that means the reader won't have mental dissonance when the scene/characters/POV change from the previous. In general, any time the POV changes, that's a sign the chapter needed to end first.

Flashbacks should never be "marked" or "titled". If you want to do the whole thing, make it flow organically with the main character falling naturally into their memories. Just slapping a "Flashback" tag on the thing and going for it all doesn't lead the reader to have a great deal of confidence in the author's planning.

Time skips should never be tagged as such. That's telling the reader in the most efficient - and thus NOT story-like way - rather than showing the reader through description/action/etc what's going on. If you can't figure out how to do so (which can be hard, I admit) just come up with a dating scheme and label the chapters by "bizarro elven dating thing" here, advanced by whatever measure is needed to show that time's moved. Pretty much the same as the "Time Skip" tag, except not breaking the flow of the story while imparting actual information about the length of times skipped.

If you feel the need to change from first-person to third-person POV... don't. End the chapter, start up a new one in a different POV with clear indications that it's not the MC as the speaker. Also, if you find the need to move from first person to third person... you've probably already made a mistake. Take a step back and examine what you meant to do there. Was it really necessary? Did it add anything to the plot? Could the scene have been better shown to the reader via the MC or some other character's dialogue and actions?

I'm not trying to be a downer - I'm not crapping on your story, or you ideas... just the formal execution. I think this could use some work, but it's not hopeless. If you have a problem with "editing kills my motivation" then write the whole darn chapter out.

Then edit the crap out of it.

Then post it here as a form of free torture from internet feedback.

WyrmofFrost · Aug 19, 2018

KafkaExMachina said:
Okay, first, this story has promise. I'm deeply curious to see where you're going with it, and what the deal is... but frankly I haven't managed to get through the fourth chapter. It's not hard to read, but it is painful to do so.

First, try rereading it or calling up on friend to do so for you to clear out the obvious spelling and grammar mistakes. Between misspelled words (some extremely obviously so... did you ignore SV's built in spellcheck?) and the oft-times grinding sentence structure a good stylistic scrubbing would do this work wonders.

Next... fix your scene breaks. Please. Just going "POV Change" "Flashback" etc is really jarring.

First - chapters exist as a method of story structure. A chapter ending is a natural "break" that means the reader won't have mental dissonance when the scene/characters/POV change from the previous. In general, any time the POV changes, that's a sign the chapter needed to end first.

Flashbacks should never be "marked" or "titled". If you want to do the whole thing, make it flow organically with the main character falling naturally into their memories. Just slapping a "Flashback" tag on the thing and going for it all doesn't lead the reader to have a great deal of confidence in the author's planning.

Time skips should never be tagged as such. That's telling the reader in the most efficient - and thus NOT story-like way - rather than showing the reader through description/action/etc what's going on. If you can't figure out how to do so (which can be hard, I admit) just come up with a dating scheme and label the chapters by "bizarro elven dating thing" here, advanced by whatever measure is needed to show that time's moved. Pretty much the same as the "Time Skip" tag, except not breaking the flow of the story while imparting actual information about the length of times skipped.

If you feel the need to change from first-person to third-person POV... don't. End the chapter, start up a new one in a different POV with clear indications that it's not the MC as the speaker. Also, if you find the need to move from first person to third person... you've probably already made a mistake. Take a step back and examine what you meant to do there. Was it really necessary? Did it add anything to the plot? Could the scene have been better shown to the reader via the MC or some other character's dialogue and actions?

I'm not trying to be a downer - I'm not crapping on your story, or you ideas... just the formal execution. I think this could use some work, but it's not hopeless. If you have a problem with "editing kills my motivation" then write the whole darn chapter out.

Then edit the crap out of it.

Then post it here as a form of free torture from internet feedback.

Why do you think this is here, I want the free labor for editing, sadly you are one of the first to say anything constructive. Editing has always been the bane of my existence and having a second opinion appear is what I want to happen. This was a problem with my first quest and other fics, rather innovative but really not alot of attention that likes to chat or even rage at me.

KafkaExMachina · Aug 20, 2018

WyrmofFrost said:
Why do you think this is here, I want the free labor for editing, sadly you are one of the first to say anything constructive. Editing has always been the bane of my existence and having a second opinion appear is what I want to happen. This was a problem with my first quest and other fics, rather innovative but really not alot of attention that likes to chat or even rage at me.

Fair enough, fair enough - normally I'm pretty lurky. It's that very lack of feedback that made me comment in the first place. I'd offer to Beta, but I'm unreliable at best. RL is kicking my ass something fierce, and I'm already a first-line editor for my best friend's novels.

She's getting better! I haven't made her cry in ages!

Unfortunately, Original Fiction is hell to get free editorial work. If you are keen on getting free feedback here, you'd probably be better served by starting with *shudders* Worm fanfics and then taking what you learn/rage-against there and applying it to your original works.

A couple basic suggestions: If you want to write, you need to read. Focus on actual english-native language novels you like. Notice and ape the styles that you like the most.

Never read web-translated LNs before you write. Japanese-to-English translations are usually extremely shaky, with the sentence and paragraph structure almost never translated for ease or pleasure of reading - especially the amateur stuff. The same applies to most fanfic as well.

Next, use the text-to-speech functions built into your OS and listen to the computer read out each paragraph. Assuming you are a native speaker, this should help you intuit what's wrong with each pass. Additionally, consider breaking up the sentences and paragraphs into smaller, more chewable chunks. Your story isn't quite wall-of-text, but it gets perilously close at times. Consistent line breaks help reduce the reader's eye-strain and force the author to pace their flow of ideas.

Yeah, it's a chore to do the work - but if you've got a tale to tell it really helps to have it be easy-to-read.

WyrmofFrost · Sep 11, 2018

]
AN: Here is the next chapter or arc. Probably going to do some formatting changes to break each of the old big 7k chapters into smaller bits. Expect each release to consist of a few different chapters all taking place around the same general timespan. Same old same old request for feedback.

Standing around and surveying the area I could not find it in myself to be as relaxed as I should be. This was supposed to be a vacation but for some reason I was getting....bad vibes. Perhaps it is just the lighting but the forests seems strangely ominous this day. Considering how often I have been ambushed and the recent trouble I feel justified.

If this was before when I was in uniform and fully prepared then there would not be as many nerves, less restrictions on ROE and acceptable force after all. Not when the slow stalk of antlered heads impossibly wide for the woods.... Stroking the head of my mount I try to calm myself down.

"Young Master is something the matter? What language was that?" I turn my head and realize that Aeiden is the one that asked that question.

"Just a few snatches of text from a foreign scroll I was reading, it was a difficult thing to try to translate and I still challenge myself over it. Best keep silent still, the hunt is ongoing" That was not good, I have not made that mistake in a long time. I still think of matters in Mirastina.

I suppose that influence is not going away, it was my first tongue after all. Taking a drink to give myself some time I find the infused water to be slightly sweeter then my preference but not an issue. Hearing the hunting cry of a goshawk I turn to where it came from.

Frankly I find myself amused at the idea of falconry while riding a raptor, it is not humour that is going to get far with those here but still something. Some levity is nice after all. The piercing cry of the goshawk again rings out, this time in triumph. If the sound has reached me then the hunt has already ended, I did not name the goshawk Velox without reason. The speed and maneuverability of the species is amazing considering the forested terrain.

Even without looking left and right I know that Aela and Aeiden are moving besides me. They still blame themselves over the latest attempt on my life, I do admit they could have been of use but hypotheticals are the realm of others. The duo could just as easily have lost their lives in battle.

Following my nose I find myself looking down at the remains of some quail that used to be.... Alright gluttons stop competing. I understand that it is a 10kg quail but it is not enough for the both of you. I lightly bap my mount back and toss it some dried meat, enough to get it to lay off the fresh kill. I named him Ning, after the spot of grey on his otherwise green forehead. A juvenile feathered velociraptor large enough to ride and a goshawk with a six meter wingspan are certainly interesting to see square off for a fight, but I would be the one having to deal with any injuries.

The Master of the Mews was not appreciating me bringing my mount along, my parents permission however was enough to get them to lay off. The old woman of long generational employ feeling quite put off but her position demanded the subservience to the family. Indentured workers are a dime a dozen, but families whose entire recorded genealogy could be traced to service to a single family are something else. Some may feel bad for such a position but there is only so much leniency that can be granted. The archaic laws of conduct are not going away any time soon.

Ahh right no need to think of such things, vacation. Digging around the Quail's tattered remains I see that the crystal heart is gone. The burp from the raptor tells me where it went. Well I can just get the next one then, walking around I try to see if I can find any interesting tracks. The scent and noise of the feeding should still be dampened thanks to some enchantments so I try to find anything recent. I however soon give up, my two attendants are not as stealthy as I like.

I suppose I should be getting ready to meet at the regroup point, the position of the asteroid belt in the sky telling me what time it is. Back at the area I find that another hunting party has also arrived. I recognize who it is as well, the siblings Araiel and Revyan Faelandalan. Members of an Equestrian family the two were amongst those who fought at the..... incident at the state capital. Quite a few of those involved or the families that were involved with that event are here.

A show of strength after such a vile event and also a political statement. But frankly all I can see of it is some strange school trip for the rich. Complete with teenage drama, sigh... wonderful. There are going to have to be a few hasty marriages if the way things are going continue... Well I did catch a few turkeys earlier so I should get to work on them. Directing my two companions to set up a good sized fire pit I get out the ingredients needed for a simple stew.

While waiting for things to get ready I start preparing the excess animals to be preserved. I chuck some of the offal and some choice cuts to the two beasts to pass the time. As I wash my hands I note that the siblings from earlier are still trying to create a camp for themselves.

Looking at this I decide to let them struggle for some more time, best learn something from it. Not to mention butting my head in would most likely not be appreciated. Stirring the pot I note that the meat is going along well, still a few hours to go though to get it just right. Sitting down to wait I note that the two attendants have slightly satisfied faces, well not my problem the two do not know how to cook well. They can make something that would be just fine on a campaign, here on vacation no no. That requires a higher standard even if I must make it with my own hands. I feel a twinge as I remember where I learned such skills but push it to the side.

I faced those phantoms long ago, 'she' would not want such a thing to weigh me down now. Better I do this to honour her efforts then to drop it from depression. Stirring the pot I remember simpler and happier times, of being able to simply stay back and help in everyday life. Of teaching a new generation, of only needing to care for a small group and them caring equally for you. Of untold lives not needing to be under your purview directly or indirectly. But I have my skills, I can apply them. That is a simple enough event.

Over time the others on the trip begin to stream back to the camp. Some triumphant with their catches, others despondent but not particularly upset. If everyone had managed a catch then there would have been problems afterall with the local population. Feeling a tap on my shoulder I realize that I really have been caught up in my thoughts, Aela passes me a bottle of wine which I take pour out a measure of for the stew before taking a cup for myself. Decent cooking wine but not for drinking purely, still something else from my usual fine wines. She frowns slightly at my choice but I simply pass it back to be put away. She passes it on to Aeiden who just chuckles and gets back to sorting out some of the redistributed gear. A jaunty smile on his face, I believe that his girlfriend gave him a gift before the trip that now hangs around his neck.

I tuned out the details beyond the basics. Mixing together more ingredients and setting the mix to simmer I ask the two to sit back and relax, at ease essentially. Things are rather calm right now, I should perhaps try to be at alert again and I can sustain the mental fatigue. However right now it appears that a story telling sequence is starting up. The tale of the Last Emperor, a classic one. But this telling is different as I see who is speaking. Elyaion Undoron, a Patrician family that predates the majority of the Imperial Era.

The older teenager sinks onto his haunches with a staff and the backlight of the central bonfire adding a sense of ambiance. He starts off by recounting some of the more recent history. Of our endeavours to integrate the colonial holdings, of the pioneering spirit to cross the Kiobin Ocean, of the defiance of the oceanic tribes. The peaceful times when the reintegration of the various succession states had occured. He brings history back and back, from the end of the chaotic Hegemonic Eras to the predecessor Late Imperial Eras. To 55,000 years in the past, when the last known emperor Morwaidur Lithviel had begun the fourth century of his rule.

His reign would have been otherwise unnoteworthy if not for the beginning of ill portents, not the usual predictions it is said that the line of Priest-Kaisers had over time but far worse and sustained. Worried of the martial nature of such omens of doom he began a massive armament and construction effort. For over two centuries did he have his land be put to the pick and shovel, his people to learning the arts of blade and magic. So did the people chafe and chomp at the bit but the efforts went through.

Then the focus of the portents came to be. It started with the darkening of the sky, when the light of the sun would be intermittently blocked. At this point the emperor had realized the ill nature of this event and begun leveraging the magical towers he had built up on particularly dense leylines. Capable of protecting and destroying in equal measure, such works of arcane majesty are lost. Only fragments and the smallest nubs of ruins existing to mark their time upon this land. When strange creatures of stone and metal began to descend to ravage the mountains and geomantic strong points of the land did the Emperor act. He named them Casad Dracnar, Starlit Dragons. His opening strike plunging the vanguard against the body of the world like a mighty fist and tossing the crushed remnants back out.

The conflict that resulted lasted for one year. Armies fought and died, spilling their blood to the last in defense of the homeland. It is said that many of the largest lakes and the inner seas were formed from the deaths of particularly large dragons, their funerary pyres scorching the earth deep enough to create vast depressions. The emperor himself standing to invoke the gods of the Elven People, his own body and soul being immolated to bring them forth. And so for ten days and nights did the Horde of Dragons make war with the Gods of the land. Did the fire that scorched the heavens face the might of deities and they smote each other. So did they fight and die, to be annihilated completely. The cities that had stood for fourty thousand years being wiped with nary a trace. Few places were allowed to stand, only those of luck survived.

When the dust remained did the progress and hope of 40,000 years rest in its grave. So did the elven people mourn their losses. Of once there were many, now barely one in four survived. So did anarchy last for ten thousand years, until finally.... The sound of a kettle boiling put an abrupt halt to the story telling. Said kettle being the lorekeeper's own. Giving a burst of coughs and then deciding that all dignity had been lost said that he would be completing this another time. I smiled at the amount of grumbling going on, his tale was much more superfluous then the more bare records I remember though some parts seemed different.

Though it appears to be more stylistic freedom than anything else. Still something interesting for what parts i paid attention to. But with the anticlimax being a stopping point everyone went to finding what food is ready or not, the reduction on servants putting a strain on some people's lifestyles. Eating quickly I sit back and watch the chaos as the food lightly simmers to keep it good. I made extra, whether the animals get to eat it or people will depend on things. I admit I feel some scherdenfaure at thinking about it, all those nobles being unable to handle a simple camping trip. Yes that is a good image.

Still even as things progress I keep to my own, both from lack of personal initiative and the reticiness of the group. The food I made was not wasted and things have gone well but there is a distance. An ever potent mix of fear, awe, social position, politics, and other such things. Alone within the group, unavoidable. Perhaps if I was more gregarious or not so enamoured with quiet then I would have tried something. It is not unfamiliar, if I learned to be more detached.... I am treading old arguments with new ammunition, far beyond the scope they were in. It is not so much myself I am arguing with but my..... I do not begrudge her, it was not a conventional relationship. Never could have been but it was what I had, to be able to gain some measure of peace after centuries of bloodshed. I truly am sinking into the past aren't I.

Taking a somewhat chilled but still warm chunk of ash from the fire I bounce it around between my two hands, the heat and texture seeming to give me some calm as the smell of smoke enters my nose. I needed something physical to release the tension, no stress balls for me to use here after all. Washing my hands clean I depart for my tent. The night has truly fallen as the twin moons provide their luminous reflections, that dazzling effect of the asteroid belt always playing its part. An unquiet rest is better than nothing.

WyrmofFrost · Sep 11, 2018

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POV Change

Would they be accepted to the group they wanted to be in? Would they be rejected and have to go to their second or third choice? Or fates forbid have to choose their last ditch job attempt?
All this and more was running through the mind of a group of youths as they stood outside a small unassuming wooden building, barely more than fifteen cycles old they were. The children of freeholders, they could afford a decent lifestyle but at the same time were expected to make their own way in life. Family land being held as was custom under a single deed, leaving the other sons and daughters to depart for more fertile areas. If they could not then the likely fate would be to become a serf. They would not starve, but neither is it a good position. Even if being sworn to the service of the Ducal family was better than some other options.

The cold of the morning battering at their worn but still decent clothes, in for a penny and in for a pound is a saying that would fit their place. They were a band of companions, together they would go where the wind took them no matter the hardship. Which in this case meant a 5km walk from their small village to the nearest town with the well wishes of the village giving them some solace from the thought of the great journey they are now taking. Just a few small bags of change, the gifts of some simple weapons, and a precious bag with some large copper coins. Gifts for the rite of passage into the world, something to ease the liminal state before they become true sons and daughters of the Commonwealth. Sink or swim, that was what this was.

The merchant who comes to buy the village produce often brought along a small band of caravan guards who often gossiped around the central village well. This was supposed to be a decent stint, steady pay and they gave out some gear if you did not mind a smaller bonus and pay for a while. It would be a hard task and not everyone was expected to pass but the group vowed to do it together. They were fellows, grown up around each other since their parents gave birth to them. All for one and one for all would be their creed, to sink or swim together. At the least they were trying. Better than becoming a serf or fate forbid it a beggar. As few beggars as there are in the prideful children of the commonwealth, it was a terrible social stigma. If they could not sustain something better than being a serf then what good would it be to be born in such a superior land? So many pushes and pulls on their decisions, but all that mattered now was that they were now signed up. With the bonus cash they got they went out for a small feast for themselves before going around to see the sights offered with market day. So it was that a slightly hungover and now quite frightened group stood with the tabards that were their basic uniform in front of a quietly enraged sergeant.

Walking with a gleam in his eyes in front of the group who had been bullied into a straight line. A signalling baton with its bright tasseled end swaying in the air as he made his points clear to them. "For a small group of adventurer's it would be a harsh life starting off their careers. Typically it is the poor and desperate who joined as much as the adventurous. For you lot I think it is all three, typical but sad. I wanted strong men and women, good with a blade and not utter fools. But I take what I can get." Walking along the small course way of the compound the guild held he looked to them and gave a simple command. "Run the course" As the group looked at each other confused there seemed to be a blur of motion and CRACK.

"What did I just say now..." Those words spoken in a low yet reverberating growl galvanized them even more then one of their own getting struck in the shoulder. As the group tore down the pathway of pounded dirt the drill sergeant kept pace effortlessly.

"To be an adventurer is to be a type of mercenary, one more specialized against monsters but otherwise still a mercenary. Few other jobs would take you lot correct. Do not bother answering. Now even common laborers be better than you lot. Not one of you can read and write beyond the basic tongue no? That means that you lot are consigned to my tender mercies until you shape up or decide becoming a beggar is better no?" A cruel smile accompanied those words and some of the group stumbled from that last sentence. To become a beggar was..... A disgrace, to be taboo.

The group continued along the next lap with the sergeant still managing to keep going without even disturbing his breath enough to not keep up his rants. "Not that becoming a mercenary will be easy for you lot, most competent and well earning mercenary groups hold high standards" At this point his smile grew to even colder lengths, as if even the fabled Mountain Range of Zolgan could not be more cold.

"Training and discipline are integral to becoming a mercenary worth the food and effort we bother putting into you lot. Grow strong and perhaps we may even consign you lot to be Bannerborn. That would certainly be a fate you lot would be undeserving of unless you lot try. Or will you lot wallow in your UTTER INADEQUACY LIKE SHIT STAINED PIGS" The sudden change of volume making one of them even fall over in fright. A barrage of baton strikes prodding them into carrying their groupmate along as the sweat of their efforts waters the grounds. Eventually the sergeant calls a halt and beckoning to the side gets a few helpers to throw cold soaked towels and nutritional drinks. As they lay collapsed upon the dirt he walks around them, his shadow menacing them as he keeps up the talk.

" Your entire group signed up to be adventurers hmmm. Too afraid to spill blood from something that can speak back to you? Will I have the best news straight from the Imperial Messenger Service myself" Administering the traditional boot to the side to the group as they struggled to sit upright he spoke.

"The adventurer side of things gives a life expectancy that is even worse than that of a regular mercenary, facing another sapient being will always provide a small chance of survival via surrender or curse you all to the lowest depths being able to run. For most monsters this is not the case, to be killed and eaten is a common fate. We might even be able to collect the broken scraps of your bones later on, as long as they were not eaten as well" Berating them even more he pushed them to new limits until at the end of the day they were given the bare amount of energy to be able to stumble to eat and then sleep in the open air pavilion shelter for the recruits.

Sitting around a small private canteen on a different area of the mercenary compound is what passes for a command unit. A group of old veterans retired from active combat due to wounds and some older mid rank sergeants. Grousing to each other as they nursed drinks of whatever poison was available to the distillers there. One particularly surly old woman was knocking back drinks as soon as she could. If the still was there itself she might have just tried the slur that it would have. As it was she sank back and drank. That was before a scuffle started as before she took another drink some of the others there rushed to restrain her. The rest keeping to themselves or making guilty side long gazes at what was happening to their former leader. Having to be physically held down else she would drink herself to death. A forced retirement not doing the last surviving founder any favours.

Too old to serve as a foot soldier even if the healing potions given by their 'benefactor' were available for such a disgraced figure. The deal that she called even worse than selling their soul to a devil lord having breathed new life into the once almost defunct unit. The fact that the only reason they could afford to keep so many and even expand their facilities much less the materials for the still she was drinking from lost to her mind. This was what the old guard was reduced to, stuck in a middling town performing training for new recruits. They had their pensions though, cold coin being enough to keep them from trying anything in the new regime. That was life, it could kick you down to the ground or raise you up in any mixture of ways.

WyrmofFrost · Sep 11, 2018

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POV Change

Walking around Chaenath could only use her more than thirty cycles of life to not be panicking at her situation. The diffuse lighting in this large park not giving her mind many comforts. Her life had gone from highs to lows before, that she could deal with. But this perpetual twilight seemed to grate at her even worse than any before. Greedy and desperate chevalier families trying for land grabs requiring years of piecemeal deals and negotiations before simply hurling mercenaries at each other, that was her typical experience with politics. But if this was what it was like in high society then she was terrified. It all started with a seemingly casual and normal meeting.

Some merchant group wanted to hire helpers and were looking for them somewhat on the cheap. Yet they did not want the confined serfs or other low level workers, they wanted someone skilled enough to be able to travel. As a better paid courier she should be glad, no deeper questions of her background and hard cash. Being able to put her skills in survival training to the test along the areas that the Grand Roadways do not cover was par for the course.

Even just skulking through the shadows of a forested park was not much, But she was really starting to think about how her instincts for threats had failed her. It seemed like a worthwhile job, go around carrying missives to villages and small towns. Get paid, see the sights, not be required to clear out ravenous monsters or sadistic marauders. Now she wished to have her old job of being an animal trainer for that shitty patrician family.

The lechery was easier to deal with. Less chance of being killed by the gangs, they did not use back alley thugs that only needed a cut to know to run. No these were hardened mercenaries, enough steel and muscle to even hold off trained guards for a time. Along with enough connections each to be able to get off most crimes as long as no one talked or was crippled.

Creeping through the trimmed foliage she looked for the marks telling her where the exchange would happen. Finding the little clearing needed she threw a pebble in the little puddle there. Following that as figures emerged was a barrage of signs and countersigns, honing her eyes like a falcon on the many subtle signs to know who to pass a package to and where to bury things.... Getting rid of the evidence in a little pouch to be destroyed she made her way out along a different route. She was not really told who she actually worked for, nor could she actually know what she delivered.

The places changed every half cycle and bridged a dizzying mess across the Ducal state. She saw sights from the Old Imperial Gardenworks at Hon to the massive fortress docks of Kuri. Nice to sight see for relatively little with her travel pass but she had a feeling her pass was a little.... Expedited. She was no fool though, she knew that she would have to simply keep acting like everything was fine else there would be anything from a casual drip into her drink to a knife in the back. The guard forces were good of course, whether they solved every single case though was an entirely different thing. The many gangs and mafia groups are as strong as they are old, and there are deep roots in many places.

That was certainly made apparent as she walked to her current safehouse. A subtle design of a Chanben Flower telling her that this was the correct place. A trio of copper coins to the sentries a sign that she was supposed to be there. That all done with she picked up food from the canteen for later and washed herself off in the water closet of her room. As she sat in her room she juggled the little string chain of silver and copper coins, her current payout. Almost as much cash as bounties for her adventurer days, just much more consistent.

Securing everything she decided it was best to go rest. The trip to the next job would be long and boring on one of the secretive caravans for those looking to get around without a record. It would be a boring few weeks, this month having the traveling week as well just to add to things. That thought being what drifted through her mind before sleep took her into its embrace.

When the morning bells tolled through the city it found Chaenath ready for the trip. Making her way through the streets and out of the city on the horse that was leased to her by the group she made her way to the gathering point. Nothing of particular notice occurred as she waited, bored but grudgingly acceptive of it. She still felt a deep ache for her animal companion, the plucky bird's bloodline had served her for generations. Now lost to simply mishap only a half season ago. All that history gone due to some bad food. Perhaps she could find another bird of that line, she could save up enough cash to be able to find one. Was it the Cuiltarna or the Verrathuth family whose rookery she had acquired her bird from?

It was back when she was only a teenager that she had gotten the first egg.... An alarm rang out from the front of the caravan. The tolls telling her that it was a bandit, no another bell is tolling a monster attack. Confusion rang through her mind but she had to join the fight. Getting her mount held by one of the caravan hands she took off on foot. The horse was not combat trained, it would be more a burden then an aid.

Her hand on her hunting sword the entire time until she spotted her first sign of trouble. A direwolf was circling around an isolated wagon. The handlers doing what they could with the cheap defense spears to hold it off. Bringing up her bow and getting her stance firm she unleashed an arrow. The expensive broadhead point doing its job and biting deep into the neck of the beast, it whirled drunkenly around and weakly growled. Its distraction earning it a cheap steel present to the side.

It lashed around with its body and the caravan hand toppled from the wagon and desperately tried to crawl between the wheels as the wolf found a target it could face. A few booted kicks to the head doing little to stop its attacks. A second arrowhead however did the trick as it pierced its side, this time a perfect shot to the heart. The wolf collapsed with ease and Chaenath strode forward cautiously with sword in hand. The thick curved blade ready to swing down, her sharp eyes noticed some details hidden before. A collar with a blue handkerchief was around the direwolf's neck, a sign it was tamed as an attack beast then.

A change in the noise from the front drew her attention however, she stepped past the two caravan hands trying to staunch the bleeding of the wounded one. A bodkin arrow held at the ready on her bow and her finger on the launch trigger. Looking she saw what was needed, figures in patchwork mail and padded armour swinging swords at the caravan guards. Blue headbands helping them and others know who was who. A slain horse from one such guard trapping a struggling figure before an attacker cracked their head with a metal club. Her arrow launched and threw him onto the ground screaming, the armour doing just enough to stop him from dying.

Hooking another arrow onto her string she held the trigger device well as she took her time to aim. The creak of the leather clad catch against the steel of the device a familiar sound. Another light squeeze and the arrow impacted another attacker. She heard rapid footsteps from behind her, a turn of the head and she could see more guards hurrying to the scene. Returning her attention to the fight she tried to help keep the blue clad attackers off.

The fight seemed to last hours as she traded shots with the attackers, their own archers trying to pick people off. The clash of blood and steel making her sick, but not enough to keep fighting. Her quiver starting to feel a little light before she felt a massive blastwave impact her.Looking she saw the charred remains of some of the wagons that were the front of the caravan. Her head ringing from when a chunk of wood had hit her leather cap she tried to regain her balance. She slightly panicked when she felt hands holding her but calmed when she saw that she was one of their own. Taking calming breaths she tried to see what exactly had happened.

A glimpse of a figure with a staff outstretched in the distance told her what she needed to know, a mage. Said figure quickly falling back as arrows chased them. She too tried to help but had to slump back as her head still spun. Just as soon as it had started did things end. The attackers running with their wounded as they unleashed shots. She thought she had heard one or two more impacts from spells but that could have been her imagination.

When her mind had gone over this detail again at a campsite as the caravan licked its wounds she shivered. Mages, good to have on your side but terrible on the other. She counted her blessings that it seemed they were a poor one, a properly equipped and trained mage was much more deadly than a few big fireballs. She remembered seeing a group of guards with a trained warmage tear apart an entire scratch company of rebellious mercs. Her mind tearing her thoughts to that scene.

It was not the impact of fireballs or thrown rocks that scared her, no it was the shields of wind and illusions that did it. The things that made a person die without any way of striking back, death by thirst or madness left a death that one cursed at. A shaking hand brought her back to the proper moment. A bowl filled with mediocre stew, she thanked the man and started eating. Warm food would be good, yes it was better to handle her complaining stomach.

WyrmofFrost · Sep 11, 2018

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I find myself waking up slowly, a sinfully soft bed underneath my body. Just as it has for the last century barring camping trips. I slowly let the sensations just gather before my mind finally decides to wrench itself up. Though this body technically can simply rest in a meditative state, well it is a privilege of the rich and powerful to enjoy sleeping. To just lay away for a time without need to work. Still I get up soon, the little mechanical clock I made showing that only six hours have passed.

I think over what my 'dreams' were, part prophetic reading, part probability calculation, and part vision. I do not believe it has occured but it will soon or has from the perspective of the Covens, such higher dimensional thinking is almost inimical to me.

My morning routine over and done with I find myself dealing with the only deviation. This being my standing in the training grounds, a blunted longsword and dagger in my hands as I face my mother. For her part she has a practice spear, both of us in our prefered armour sets. My own being a set leading more towards the heavy side while her own is a moderate weight.

I would say that my experience would do me well in a bout but I have chosen weapons that I am not the most familiar with, that translating to not being beyond well drilled. That and my allowances for a different physique means that I give my mother the overwhelming odds for this bout. Still I will fight to the utmost I can.

The use of a spear grants a strong range advantage, but in the hands of a skilled wielder that can also translate into a much different style. Getting into the range of a spear does not guarantee victory, it is simple for a spearman to change the way they are using a spear to increase and reduce the distance between themselves and their opponent. But even with all this analysis sometimes there simply is not anything to do but advance. I take the first swing at the weapon, not a feint but not a full body blow. The blow is parried to the side but I snake my sword back into a defensive posture while gaining ground. Mother uses her range to try to push me back with a flurry of blows, her hands flowing to add extra force to each attack. I push the blows aside and return to breaking forward, the clash of metal reverberating and then fading quickly in the open field.

If my weapons were sharp then I would try to have out the shaft of the spear but that is not the case now. Numerous dents along the weapon however help force mother to constantly be aware of the condition of her weapon. Despite my efforts however I only gain a few inches in ground. Using the spear and her stance to act like a pendulum, mother attempts to push me aside but I steady myself and push of the bind attempt.

Using the crossguard of my dagger I temporarily grasp the spear and propel it to the side. The sword in my hand reaching forward in a thrust that scrapes off the side of mother's armour. Mother recovers herself and now begins pushing, her eyes telling me that she is now taking this a bit more seriously. As it is either I disengage and leave myself open to a spear to the gut or continue this strange circling formation with no hope of a decisive engagement. Mother however is not content to act to my initiative and wrenches my body to the side with the leverage she has.

The steel shod but of her spear meets the guard of my sword and I have to scramble to regain my balance. Ducking low against another barrage of thrusts I try to close in again. The battle goes on as I manage to get within range but my blows are reflected or absorbed and the same against my mother. A single misstep however and I find myself tumbling in a controlled roll before I am behind mother, my dagger now at her throat.

However before I can clinch the grasp mother manages to deflect the blade off her pauldron into her helmet proper, a spin seeing me thrown back. My sword just managing to shift the follow up to only scrape the side of my armour. I can only hope that.... Okay that hurt. Trying to get through the head hit I barely manage to hold back the attacks. Eventually however I simply collapse, another blow managing to sneak through my guard and I am thrown to the ground.

My weapons thrown out of my hands as I swear I can taste the dirt even if none actually got in my mouth. Eventually I manage to stumble up to meet my mother's amused eyes as she drags me to the healer's station. After that is a brief check up and then I get to be able to return to my rooms. Mother pats my shoulder before heading off to work in the study.

My two attendants sadly are both recalled for some sort of training. What kind I do not know but it at least gives me some more personal initiative again even if I do miss their silent company. After cleaning up I move to my hidden laboratory, I still have my personal work quota to fulfill. The most obvious method of searching is using magic, acting like a wave to flow through and rebound off other signatures of magic. Any unusual displacements being items of interest in a search, so two obvious decisions is to both use as little magic as possible and to give a decoy. Which is why the harsh tint of electric lights provide what I need to see along with the walls being coated with dissipative coating. Certain types of diviners and sensory mages can circumvent the defenses, though they would require specific expertise and survive the other traps.

Looking over the piece in my hands I turn over its metallic and carbon parts. An old design popular with gangers and others looking for a simple and robust weapon, a type of cut down revolver though more professionally made of course. Four shots fully loaded due to the size of the round and the needed mass to handle the 10.9mm rounds. Fully mechanical though, until my enchantment torch is finished with it of course. Inefficient but it works well enough to disintegrate channels into the metal and then fill it in with catalyst fluid.

Made from a mix of mercury, various magical ingredients, and my own blood, the enchantments forged will thus only work for me or with decreased efficiency for my kin. A dentist's drill being used to remove the excess before the fluid is fired into hardness. The result is a seemingly ceremonial weapon, looking like steel and silver engraving yet deadlier than it should be. Recoil dampener to make it seem several calibers lighter then it should be, better sights that only complex targeting computers can match, and enough reinforcement of the parts to be able to bludgeon a troll to death with and still fire with no damage.

That done I go around to the more biological side of things. This is what I am more experienced in, it took me some time to find some good biological samples for reference but when I did..... Cheh the black market, as much as it is a cancer it is still useful. A juggling act of making sure you can buy what you want but not enough for them to get the bright idea to go out hunting specifically for what you want. Counterintuitive yes but I do not want to inspire massive hunts for what I need. Watching the crude monitors and looking through backlogs of data I see that nothing is outside of the safe parameters.

As I do this I can hear the bubbling of the suspension fluid as it is recycled and refilled with nutrients. This slow flow like the babbling of a creek is in sharp contrast to the hissing and cracks of the alchemical vats. I wish this could be done in a properly built facility but I do not have even half a century to properly survey and lay the framework let alone the entire building. Turning away from that I turn to my favorite project. Melee weapons and armour.

Guns are nice but inherently more finicky, even purely mechanical weapons are filled with failure points against various concerns. So a hunk of steel can be useful if your body is more than capable of handling the punishment to bring the enemy to grip. My life experience with magic typically makes the paradigm of melee vs ranged, weapon vs armour as one that favours those with the bigger pockets and wider minds. All such things are equally valid if you work at them hard enough. And corner cutting simply does not work. That and the body just has that little primal urge, that mix of chemicals that tells me that hitting something really hard works. Heh suppose I cannot disconnect my biological functions as much as I try. It has its place as a measuring stick but there are advantages in embracing alternative methods....

WyrmofFrost · Sep 11, 2018

Disclaimer: None of the pics that are linked are mine, they belong to their respective owners.

An abridged primer on common military forces both internal and external: Volume 1 by Vesperr Magvalur

Model 4b Dwarven Golem
Description: An older model dwarven multipurpose golem that is somewhat available to the outside world due to either trade or looting of conquered dwarven cities. Occupying a middle range between human level designs and elven grade creations, these golems are considered a novelty item in elven lands and a potent military force in human lands. Do not send inexperienced and underequipped forces against them, this would be a waste of lives.

Model 1b Human Golem
Description: A recent human innovation, this simplistic golem uses a crude enchanted clockwork engine to function. Requiring constant maintenance to be able to run, it nevertheless is a potent force multiplier for most human forces and even petty kings typically have at least a small force of such golems. Most human forces not having the proliferation of quality heavy weapons to be able to take down such a creation, it usually takes the golem running out of internal spring before it is taken down or rather dies on its own. Even if crude only send forces with the proper equipment and training, even a dog can kill you if it gets lucky or ambushes you.

Human Levies
Description: Why the humans insist on using minimally trained(if at all) forces consistently is unknown. As millennia of records show they are liable to routing unless stiffened by some other force or their varied religious figures, such efforts only being able to work for so long. While they may act as a meatshield or to exhaust other human forces it is found that eliminating commanding figures and offering decent conditions can cause most levies to surrender. It is considered good policy to recruit such forces as unskilled labour in rough conditions as long as they are paid low wages and live in decent conditions, match this with offering to house their families and friends and most incursions using them are defeated as the majority of an army deserts. Having reformed humans act as liaisons show great results in encouraging outcomes that are good for all sides. Do not use these tactics against zealots, ensure you know why they are invading your territory. Send hardened forces otherwise, they should not be too shy to kill large mobs.

Human Men at Arms
Description: By elven views such forces are as well equipped and even less trained then your typical professional thug, this standard of soldier considered primitive and barbaric. Still they are usually available in large quantities to leverage humanities' expansive population levels and can somewhat be counted on to defend human territory from low level monster attacks along with the usual human infighting. Do not send unblooded forces against them, they are typically more willing to kill then your own forces otherwise. Do not send unsupported knight aspirants against them, the younglings tend to die this way due to a knife to the back.

Human Elite
Description: A typical elite of a human army, often the level for a king's personal guard or an empire's elite knight order. These forces are usually veterans equipped in heavy steel(unhardened) full plate armour and over a decade of service and training. Historical incursions by such forces into elven lands count them as able to inflict the most casualties by conventional forces in melee clashes though are vulnerable to magic or heavy elven ranged weapons such as the heavy warbow or common light ballista. Usually the best training for troops and the only worthwhile source of military achievements during human incursions.

Bulwark Model 5G Auxiliary Elven Golem
Description: This golem of Commonwealth era design is one of the more common second line military grade golems available. Most of the military production facilities of the Commonwealth whether the remaining Imperial era Mega Factories or more contemporary Standardized General Forges(SGF) can produce such golems in number. While no longer the height of military design this golem has a solid millennia long service record with its refined and simplified design. Often used to stiffen infantry units or to be used as engineering aides. These golems use Internal Aether Combustion Engines(IACE) that crack solidified raw mana or aether in rod form to be able to power the pistons that drive the golem. These golems are typically semi-independent thanks to logic engines which are preset by controllers to know friend from foe and be able to selectively engage targets. Some models mount howdahs with troops to add additional ranged antipersonnel firepower and to dissuade monster attacks.

Model 563c Imperial Era Elven Golem
Description: A long retired model of war golem from millennia ago, this golem is usually only seen in museums or the storage caches of the Elven States. While more powerful then the baseline military golem in service it is considered overall outdated by modern standards. It is equipped with melee weapons that make great use of its Catalyst engine to be able to cleave through even meter thick fortress walls. It is however considered an overly large target with its lack of external wards to stop attacks before they reach the structure of the golem. Most elven forces typically salvage such golems for their engines which are a limited strategic resource, the material and construction needed for them classified to only be available to high ranking officials. These engines dwarf modern IACE engines in power output by an order of magnitude and do not require refueling though their logic engines are usually of inferior quality to modern examples.

State Trooper Initiate
State Trooper Regular
Description: The roots of the state troopers lay in the various militant edicts of the Imperial Era. Enacted to force simpler logistics across a nation that encompassed an entire continent, this force has continued to act as the sword and shield of the Elven Peoples. All of the mainland Commonwealth regardless of affiliation typically follows a similar standardized set of training, rank, and equipment standards to allow for the easy formation of federal scale armies when needed. While their equipment has varied over the centuries the typical low level soldier of the Commonwealth era is equipped in a cheap mass produced enchanted set of durable monster leather and artificial steelsilk suit of armour along with similarly low level enchanted cold weapons*. Such weapons and training allow even the lowest ranked soldier to face typical human heavy knights with even odds. Higher ranks are equipped with equipment of greater complexity of material and enchantment along with more specialized support in the form of warmages and other auxiliary forces.

*cold weapons refering to any hand held weapon from spears to swords or bows to crossbows

Elven Men at Arms
Description: While no longer as prevalent as their origins in Pre-Imperial times the remaining nobles of the Commonwealth still maintain private armies not subject to being requisitioned into federal level control. As such a typical noble's force is well equipped and usually well trained to whatever state limits are enforced, being the premier force to use against monsters and hostile incursions by rivals. Their arms and armour are usually enchanted against most low level environmental/magical threats and can attack weak magical threats.

An abridged primer on common military forces both internal and external: Volume 3 by Vesperr Magvalur

Common Skeleton

Description: The walking dead of times long past, or suitably defleshed. A common enemy that comes in a variety of shapes and forms. From the dead of ancient battlefields to cobbled together remnants of many different dead from a refuse midden. Alongside zombies these are the basic porridge of any necromancy inclined force. The sheer diversity prevents any grand detail but a summary typically places skeletons as the more nuanced force. They require greater complexity of magical labour to produce as one does not have the remnant flesh to provide motive or structural support. But they also offer a great deal of flexibility in so called 'upgrades'. Anthropomorphic ones at least can be equipped to the standard of any living force though where a living force requires training both mentally and physically an undead one can be enhanced through magical means. Though the old armies of hundreds of thousand strong from the collapse of the Empire are no longer present in any form but record. One should still be suitably cautious fighting a foe that needs not worry over most forms of fatigue and is almost always expendable.

Common Zombie

Description: The freshly risen dead. Alongside skeletons these will almost always make up the bulk of any fledgling undead force. Their still present flesh and necromantic animating force gives them strength and toughness beyond that of an ordinary living being. That and their unneeded concern for preservation makes them a dangerous foe. Though one that in most conditions does not last long. Their flesh making them typically slower then a skeleton unless one puts in effort to rejuvenate them further along, then they are even more dangerous. Thankfully most necromancers are slackers and put the bare minimum in their arrow fodder. Considering that flesh decomposes rather quickly even with the stalling effect of necromantic tinged mana or miasma as it is more aptly labeled, they typically are created just before, during, or immediately after a battle. Most are not kept around without extensive preservation techniques that most necromancers do not bother with. Otherwise they are a degraded form of what they once were, a still dangerous foe though in their expendable nature.

Common Wight

Description: A mix between skeletons and zombies these are the heavy infantry of undead armies. Typically formed from zombies or skeletons that have accumulated or been artificially enhanced with a large degree of miasma. What makes them different from their possible predecessor forms is that wights have a great deal more ability to operate on their own. While not true sophont decision making they are certainly able to do so more then most animals. Whereas most skeletons and zombies are devoid of any form of consciousness wights are on the path to being able to form their own twisted and malice filled mind. Thus they are able to actually make use of their weapons and equipment in complex martial techniques, use tactics in combat, even be able to understand a semblance of self preservation as far as being able to fight effectively beyond the immediate. Of course such cognitive and physical ability means a greater cost in labor and magical upkeep which mercifully means that they will usually always be the minority in an undead force. Typically they are created by a necromancer but in extremely rare cases they have been known to naturally arise though the circumstances behind this are unknown or classified.

Common Skeleton Mage

Description: An undead created from the remains of magic casters. While the flesh that once allowed them to conduct their magic is gone the bones are still capable of some manipulation of mana. Typically their skills are degenerated from their old forms but at the same time their deathly state means they do not suffer from the weakness of flesh in casting, similar to elementals they are only incapable of casting from lack of material or mana not from bodily frailty that limits most mortal magecraft. Skeleton mages due to their inherent ability to manipulate mana can control lesser forms of undead and enhance them by manipulating the miasma within them. Such undead typically have a similar level of intelligence and decision making as Wights making them a deadly foe to even the prepared. This type of undead is also the type of undead that can naturally arise rather then be brought forth from a necromancer. Skeleton mages are typically responsible for most incidents of necromancy leading hordes of undead around a hundred strong, whether because they arise and begin hunting the living for unknown reasons or are captured and studied by a mage to become a necromancer.

Lesser Lich

Description: An undead of a magnitude greater then that of the likes of a skeleton mage. These undead are typically either centuries old skeleton mages that have survived to uplift themselves or are the results of very successful necromancers seeking a form of immortality. Lesser Lichs are named such due to their phylactery. A phylactery being a device typically fashioned of a crystal that contains their soul. With such a process a lich is unable to be vanquished unless their phylactery is destroyed. Thankfully lesser lichs are distinguished by not being able to seperate their phylactery from their original physical form. As long as such a device is destroyed then the lich is unable to resurrect itself. While like many types of undead their exact intricacies are too complex to generalize a lich can typically control hordes of the undead a thousand or more strong and can outmatch your average mage in a battle of magic. Their bodies becoming able to cast magic at a level only the most adept of mages can harness after centuries of experience. However the body parts of a lich are incredibly valuable for such a reason, their innate ability to manipulate mana like that of a non-mortal mage making great spell catalysts though such a practice is strictly as this typically allows one to learn and cast necromantic abilities first and foremost.

WyrmofFrost · Sep 17, 2018

AN: Felt inspired to put this out immediately since it did not fit with what I have for the next Arc. Perhaps if I had this before then it would have been easier to get into the story? Whatever have fun teasing this interlude out

Do you remember the past as we do? Do you see it as a twisted weave of possibilities created and lost? As all things in one and only one that is left?

We remember your beginnings. Your origins. That time when a single race looked up from its primordial cradle and deemed itself content to stay near its home. Oh but that did not mean laying in the dirt ignorant, placated and lazy.

No you built, you learned. You fell and you rose again. A world without the tenets of extranatural physics, yet one that created a shining world of metal and greenery. You crafted yourselves as much as you did the metal in your forges. Minds bent to create, to meld, to be born again.

And so far did your craft take you that you drew our attention. A single arcology hanging in the well of your world. One that held some of the brightest minds and the most stalwart of the young. A single goal surfused all there young and old. When one can craft all they want what else is there but to find new depths. To bring yourselves higher and higher. Not into the emptiness of the vacuum, but the whirling currents of the Void.

From the Chalice you forged did some amongst you drink. From that Chalice did we hear the newest calls, plaintive but for all its youth strong. When we descended did you fear but hope, when we saw what works of Essence and craft did we forge ourselves containers to speak.

What joy we showed in a people new to Endless Planes. What works we wished for the young amongst our Covens to record. Of the knowledge we could share and have shared with. It was a time of wonder, and the precursor to the Shattered Times.

Your people were not fools, they knew that all things had a price. But they too had their pride, and a pride not misplaced. When the first great tendrils fell upon your world to plunder and pillage did they face an enraged fist. You shattered the first, you broke the second, you immolated the sixtieth. The ashes of those who attacked, the many thronging masses fed your creations. A seamless melding of flesh and machine, your children, siblings, and parents. All turned from their tasks of peace unto war.

But upon the the sixty sixth did something change. You had faced the numberless material masses, now you faced the sergeants and lieutenants. With these did they shatter the Grand Shell of your world, its synthetic masses burning like the comets and asteroids of yore upon your world. The work of long and numerous millenia, of trillions of hands now used to kill those it once protected and nourished.

They strode upon the virgin soil of your world that had not been caressed directly by the sun in long long unending generations. But now it was not the harshness of a nurturing hand but the tainted blackness of the Abyss. They killed and killed, and worst of all corrupted. You who had long lost the distinction between synthetic and organic now learned of it in the worst ways possible.
Your hands bled blood and oil and never lost its covering. But you grit yourselves knowing that to escape meant to be dwindled to the least dregs of your once many faces. Here is where your story comes in. A single face, young for your kind but still older than most of the children. You were amongst the first, long before the Chalice was even an idea. You played your minor role in the many labs present in the footsteps of the caretakers. Your rise to prominence only coming when you came as the second wave of those who drank.

When the Shattering occurred and the Abyssal masses came it was found that they would not die so easily as before. Even with your most devastating weapons locked from use upon the cradle you had still dragged down many to nothingness. Not so for their sergeants and lieutenants. They died so slowly until by accident did you learn something. The true first generation who had partook of the Chalice, a few amongst their number trapped in places from the retreat. Of the shattering of the necklaces around your world.

Around the Chalice that they tried to bear away did they fight. And so did the officiaries of the Abyss die. The Chalice doing what was needed, granting a higher form to those who drank and partook of the flesh it gave. You learned of this fact as did the others around it. So did the Second drink, older than the first. Not as able to partake as much as your bodies were not as young and malleable. But your wills were ones that wished to fight.

That was your will. Your unforged mind, even with the trials of youth and young adult life. Still an undisturbed pool. But did the chalice turn it into the hardest ice. Your only and small reason, unwillingness to let such children fight without those elder putting in the effort. You who were barely older, unwilling to let them fight unless you yourself had. The remembrance of small children looking to you in trust even when they were stronger. You not even taking account of the seas of blood already spilled. You would be one to add your own due to it.

So did you cleave and tear into the Abyss. So did you fight until only a billion survive of trillions. The flesh and metal piling high in the warrens of your old home. It was here amongst the ruins that you dug deep, dug hard. And even as exceptional as your people already were found new secrets. There are so few who ever find it. The soul. So easily divided and recycled. So easily forged and reborn. But not so easily broken down to even the least components. To be ground under a stone like that primordial memory of cereal in a mortar pounded by a pestle.

So was the price paid for you to be brought away from your doomed world. Paid by the blood your own, and the sacrifice of your foes. As much of the old home taken as you could, how little it was in the grand history of your past. The rest to be left to burn in the death of the light that once gave your home warmth, set to tear itself asunder. A final act of spite, a funeral pyre of the grandest fashion of solar rage. And so did the second Age of your People begin. But the rest of the tale will come another time.

Do you remember your origin? Do you see how it marks you still? How jaded you sit upon that lake of ice. Able to feel heat but be unmelted. Do you remember those that made their marks upon that pillar. You were the constant they dwelled by. Until they all were swept away by the vagaries of fate and you crumbled in one fell swoop. The thawing surfaces freezing in one fell swoop, weakening but not bending. A single grand blow to end yourself by destroying whatever felled you. So did that water melt, so did it evaporate.

But you rebuilt yourself again, like ice did you freeze but in new configurations. Now you were snow, hardpacked but softer than the past. New ones made their mark in your form as you too shaped yourself. And when you were left alone once more you chose to melt of your own will. Now you stand diminished. The pond of your soul still there but lesser. Will you return again to new heights or be drained to nothing?

I am one of the First to meet your original people. I helped weave the Concordat that now binds them and you still. The Archives are open, the Coven's circling slowly. What will our eyes see, our ears hear, our minds lay open to? Glory or the fall, both will be recorded. But do not wallow in obscurity for that is not the way one such as you should be. Go forth, free our kin. Recall to you the least of the Coven, they who were formed of Communion. Remember though, the Mother accepts all. Be worthy of it.

A Displaced Tome: Who said a reincarnation character has to be from Earth

What do you want to see as a side project crossover for those times when I lose my drive?

Gate Jietai Kare no Chi nite Kaku Tatakeri

Fate Stay Night

Overlord(Light Novel/Anime)

your suggestion here(subject to me vetoing)

meh

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

Sage of Reason and incomplete information

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy

One whose Muse delights in being coy