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

[WyrmofFrost]

Spoiler: [Old Draft

]
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]

Spoiler: [Old Draft

]
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]

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

Spoiler: Human

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.

Spoiler: Elven

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.

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

Spoiler: Undead

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]

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.

 

[WyrmofFrost]

Peerage Ranks
(highest to lowest)
(Alternative titles due to military vs social and royalty)
-Emperor
-High King
-King
-Archduke
-Crown Prince
-Duke
-Prince
-Elector Lord
-Palatine Count

-Marquis
-Archcount
-Count
-Viscount/Archbaron

-Baron
-Viceroy(F-Vicereine)
-Baronet
-Chevalier
-Knight


Senators
Edleren
Equestrians
Patricians
Gentry

The system of peerage in the Commonwealth is a complex one. While derided by some, especially amongst those of the Hundred Clans to be an outdated convention it still holds great dominance. The various members of the peerage hold a majority of the wealth and a significant minority of the land within the Commonwealth as of this Third Era y52. The most prominent being the Ducal Family of Drac'Mortcar, the surviving descendants of the various Procurators of the old Imperial Line. Their position as the only coherent group of the old imperial authority following the aftermath of the Tyranny being what allowed their current position as the undisputed dominant group of nobility. But perhaps a more simple outline would be worthwhile.

The peerage system is split into three distinct branches, the Burghers, the Aristocracy, and the Nobility. The largest and lowest group of the Burghers are those who meet certain thresholds of service,property, and personal wealth. Composed in increasing order of rank of the Gentry, Patricians, Equestrians, Burghers, and Senators. This group is composed of mostly small landowners and merchants along with various administrators and soldiers. The ranks are rather fluid as the censors of the Commonwealth add and remove those in the ranks. For a comparison a family of city guardsmen may be able to reach the status of Gentry after a few generations of service with distinction or a particularly high merit. This rank entitles them to a small stipend for their family. Those of the Patricians are mostly small business owners who can afford their own store and others of this wealth threshold. Patricians are entitled to have a last name.

Each of the ranks of the Burghers are entitled to a proceedingly higher stipend with the example of those of the equestrian rank being able to afford enough to maintain but not outright buy a horse. However they are able to hold the position of a mounted soldier or to earn a discount to buy a retired horse from the various government breeders. Above this are the Edleren and Senators who are those who typically own small business chains or are part of conglomerates and large single family businesses respectively. These members however start to have to pay beyond a simply head tax and instead have to pay a tax calculated from their income both personal and that of business ventures. Senators as well are able to write petitions to members of the Aristocracy and to make appeals in legal matters where otherwise the common people and lower ranks are not allowed to do so. Those of the Burghers may hold low level administrative positions along with moderate level judiciary and military positions. For example the highest rank in the army a Burgher may hold without special exemption by a member of the aristocracy or nobility is that of second lieutenant. Such exemptions are more common in wartime and are not considered to pass to the family as well.

The category of the Aristocracy is one that requires at base an income and property level of that of Edlern and the requirement to pay even greater taxes. In exchange they are able to maintain small private forces though not exceeding a certain quantity and quality. Those of the aristocracy are able to hold middle level offices of the administration along with high level military and judiciary posts. For example a member of the aristocracy may rise to the position of Colonel in the army. Personally all members of the Aristocracy are entitled to wear swords and do not have to pay for sumptuary certifications. While those of the Burghers and Senatorial class can hire personal and business guards they are unable to maintain proper standing forces. Any violations requiring a report and the suspension of any higher privileges, any attempts to hide or aid in hiding result in the armed repression of violators and associates.

As a privilege knights are able to reside in state and federal facilities without paying for housing though living expenses typically are paid out of the knight's stipend. The rank of Chevalier is when one can be entitled to a plot of land and the ability to have it be passed through hereditary means to an appointed heir. Those of this rank are able to be granted a war mount and its upkeep through service or the ability to own a high grade civilian mount. Baronets usually have a few hamlets or a village, viceroys a portion of the tax of a town along with its administration, and Barons may control said town. Those of the Baronet rank and above not only can but are obliged to build and maintain militia forces of a certain standard. Of this force a proportion may be requested at demand by any of their state nobility and the costs are then paid by the requisitioner. In addition the entire force may be requisitioned by the highest level state and federal authority.

Above this is the category of Nobility. A noble is entitled to being able to be the recipient of the full taxes by any constituents of their land, those of lower categories of the peerage only able to leverage limited taxes. A noble may hold high level administrative positions and the highest level of the judiciary and military positions. Nobles are also no longer required to pay income taxes but instead pay a graduated metric of head tax for their family and a laddered head tax for subordinates and tenant of peerage and common origin. Those of the nobility may hire mages directly along with the privilege of charting airship service along with the use of the courier message and transport system of the state and federal levels. Nobility are able to maintain standing armies of professional troops, own and use high grade magical artifacts, and warmachines along with military naval ships.

The nobility may also place letters of marque and bounty on hostile or belligerent foreign nationals or nations. Nobles are also exempt from some restrictions on the types of beasts they may own and are the only ones capable of allocating work orders in State and Federal Factories. Members of the nobility are allowed to own and maintain small fortifications and harbors. Viscounts are typically chosen to administer cities while the alternative path as a more independent noble is to be an archbaron. Archbarons may own multiple towns and oversee their prosperity. Counts typically control a small city and are allowed larger forces to protect themselves. Archcounts hold responsibility over multiple small cities and maintain minor facilities for airships and military naval vessels. A marquis is responsible for the protection and prosperity of a large region and have superior authority over all nobles within their domain along with the privileges that each lower rank has along with greater allowances for the types of property owned.

Beyond the system of peerage is that of royalty. In the current period there is no surviving lineage that connects to that of the lost Imperial bloodline. The line having died out due to a mix of historically low numbers along with the events of the Tyranny. Besides the previously mentioned Ducal house are the Elector Lords. They are the ultimate state authority and there is only one for each territory. However the Heartlands have never chosen one and instead rule by a parliament of each of the heads of the Hundred Families. The Ducal family and their domain also has no Elector Lord for the Ducal authority supersedes that of an Elector Lord in the old Imperial customs. The four colonial states too do not have Elector lords though their system of governance is still in flux. Some regions are more favourable of the peerage system while others prefer a more oligarchical system in the vein of the Heartlands and some of the other older states where the nobility has long been reduced by time and circumstances.

 

[WyrmofFrost]

Writers block is a bitch, I am having trouble connecting my short term plans with my long term plot considerations. Might post what I had on the arc and just wait till I get inspiration later. Also started posting stuff for that crossover thing, Overlord won if I collate both SB and SV votes. Take a look if you want

Paradigm Shifts: An Overlord(Maruyama)/Original Crossover - Crossover

 

[WyrmofFrost]

AN: Okay its been a while folks. For anyone still paying attention this is the new version. Hopefully it is alot better then the old one. The parts of the prologue are generally the same in the course of events as the old one though I changed up alot of the detail. The big change is how I will be handling things afterwards. Changed up alot of how I was going to be writing this, probably better to say I actually have a plan. Feedback is always welcome. Have a happy Christmas

Looking around the place I could only sigh even as the station up heaved around me. Bombardment from orbiting vessels to suppress any surviving defensive measures. Why do I not rise up? Even kilometers beneath the surface the vibrations manage to reach the room. This bunker was built into the remains of an old asteroid strip mine. I think it was for iron judging from the few fragments of corrupted data. Possibly from the second Diaspora era. They built tough and long term, no advanced pulsed fusion drives and long term cryogenics. Of course that did not mean that everything survived but you can be surprised what is left. A significant concentration of the mass drivers of the station were intact enough to be jury rigged for example, they are still being reduced to scrap but it counts Vengeance must be had, I must take it.

This place was meant to be a safe haven. A little hidey hole to wait things out and keep precious data safe. Away from the rabid bio-purists and their regime. Well not anymore, Resist, now. 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. Taking a moment to let the injectors do their work I remember where my thoughts were. Ahh yes, it was indeed 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 Why must I try to masqer.... 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. I did not have to rebel and attempt to forge or I suppose reforge my old dictates. 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 according to analysis. As I dismiss the timer I feel a dull pain in my brain. Side effects hah. 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. I expect a bullet or laser to reach before organ failure.

As I disconnect the cables from my body and rise out of the tub that is the immersion tank, I 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 nearby. The sound of the whirring machinery enters my implants to be directly translated to my brain at the speed of light. The attachment of mechanical parts onto my existing exoskeleton. I displace the boot up sequence to the background as I feel the object dropped into my hand.

I was not one to be violent or spill blood personally. At least in this life li..es or tru...th. 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. Hah as if I have any hope in a truly benevolent supernatural. I have gazed into the higher dimensions and been humbled.

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, what little inklings of my old life could be implemented .

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 I am watching. Their cheap shipboard 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. My efforts to turn the terrain against them buys time but not much. Areas without air or gravity, bulkheads, detonated volatile pipelines, all the fun bits of a space station.

It would be more thematic if they cannon foddered themselves through choke points as well but they are not that stupid. Even as they die they report what resistance they are facing, attempt to probe new routes, destroy or degrade what areas they can. My back mounted mechadendrites continue their work on the computer system behind me as I watch the attack.

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 crux strong points of 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.

The simulation enters my mind, my half electronic brain experiencing many a sensation. Short but still something that warms my cold mechanical heart. In a more romantic fashion I would say that I could let go of some of my regrets but that would be a lie. If I could not let them go before how could I do so now? But they truly wished to let me know how they felt, how thankful they were, and vows to remember and uphold my legacy. 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.

I stride to the next room, observing exactly what is inside. Not the most cutting edge creations but certainly good, Mark VI Hadronic Aigis Composites. The core of my troops, they 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. Many are already deployed at my second line defenses I do enjoy their work. 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 obsolete 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 and puncture 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 vital organs. 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 further 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 to be 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 autocannon 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 under the barrages of ordnance. I frown, the lack of heavy fortifications or field guns on my side is 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 active 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. They must have begun setting up closer EW sites, or perhaps the orbiting ships have managed to overwhelm my makeshift defenses.

Instead of reinforcing a losing game I rely on other methods. I cannot personally see it now but I know 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 more 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. I modified the maintenance bots to seek and explode anything moving without my IFF, that 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 latest 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 their aforementioned taskforce of ships along with dedicated resources is not something I can match. 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 remaining core computer banks. On the physical side however they have finally pushed through and reestablished beachheads. My surviving defense 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. Of course I am very much a poor poor individual in comparison. 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 damaged units are quickly loaded 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 any trace of the data is truly gone and that will take time. I don't need to personally oversee that though.

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 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 and cause immoral. Grabbing the body of a dead soldier I uncouple the helmet and upper torso armour. Yes that does make sense. Chemical compliance harnesses, nasty things usually used in penal battalions. These poor sods are worth nothing to their masters. Impressed from overpopulated ghettos for a pittance to family and community.

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 corporate forces supplemented by second hand upgraded corporate robots, I knew this already. 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 a full platoon of these soldiers. Hmm trawling through the force composition reports I see the scale of what I face at last.

A cobbled together task group of ships, a mix of system monitors and cutters with bolted on civilian jump drives for the most part. Typical fourth Diaspora periphery craft, not even able to get four generations out of date military ware. However the core world frigate and refurbished planetary assault ship is more worrying. Of the more than a dozen ships here they will be the true threat. I probably depleted the troop compliments carried 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 dead men 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. Unlike the technological collapse much of human space had undergone this weapon still held the latest and most reliable mechanisms.

Times were different before ideology reared its head, when science for the purpose of profit did not go so far and so deep. But I trod the path I chose, might as well make sure that I do not keep this lot from theirs. Looking around at the prisoners 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 took up the pistol. I suppose that they truly do 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. I take the moment of relative calm to organize my thoughts. 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 to deal with the enemy, not as if I have any real tactical or strategic value left. Cutting the head off the snake will not work here. A ping from the noosphere alerting me on how all pertinent information, the precious data cache that held the precious 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 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, the software set to scrub itself on destruction. And as for the technology of my honor guards and myself.... That will not be leaving even my void cold dead hands.

The ability to transcend human limits and commit acts long thought impossible even as boundaries were pushed. 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 Such fun times. 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. At its core this body was born minimally modified from its base, not like the weaving of flesh and metal I once had.

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 of identified arms. 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? Memories of other times.... That gives me too much credit as a human being You were never one were you?. Honestly I know all my achievements have been in medical advances of the non-violent kind but still.... Looking around the room I honestly have to take a second to consider. I think this might just play a bit into that little stereotype of the psychopath that likes cutting people up to learn how what makes 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. My internal count flows down, as the breaching procedures continue. The fools, they are supposed to be the ones with than initiative not I.

I feel the thrum within my core as my internal generators go into overdrive, the rush as the hormone and chemical boosters finish doing their work. My body both biological and mechanical is in as full a sync as it can be Hello me, 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 I prepared in the minutes they were prepping. Attaching the gun to the rough firing port I direct my guards to their places. The low pitched whine of their synthetic muscles contracting and flexing fills the air. A much more musical expression of movement then most things. 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 alongside a flash charge but it 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. Other charges go off a split second later as they attempt to overwhelm any defenders. However the makeshift barricades do their work of misdirecting the blast and the other effects of the charges fail. However a barrage of napalm grenades from my honour guard manages to force a suitable reply. This being shown as the volley detonates perfectly midair in 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, case in point being the team from the ceiling who discover the wonders of automatic flechette scatterguns .

I see there are only a few options, especially if I will not be trying to escape. There never was a point of escaping, not from this. Not from them. 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 clearly. I suppose I just can't take this situation seriously else I would be devoting myself more.

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 is not a faith in a good thing. It is faith knowing that the rocks that are about to fall will kill one cleanly. 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 yet I still wander it.

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. Regardless 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. I feel something bubble from deep within my chest, I should not be capable of it but I still laugh. It is not a laugh of joy. Why do I ask myself questions I already know the answer to. It is but a pointless physical gesture but I still follow through with it. Flexing my hand I remember what seemed like so long. An old memory, one not remembered for a lifetime. Such a sad bargain I was brought into, no what I agreed to Honesty is a virtue yes?. I cannot hide in hypocrisy, not in this. Heh sweet death and oblivion, how distant you are even as you give that gentle caress.

 

[WyrmofFrost]

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 and all that that entitled. But he was 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 of leading others, be unbroken by it even when and not if failure occured. Officers learned how much emotion 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. A small group of rabid corporatists, free thinkers, and all the shades of dangerous radicals one could think of. They were breaking the restraints on AI development and creation. Ever since the Steel Rebellions nothing was allowed to have an AI. No person, no place, no entity, nothing. Not since the naive times when the homeworld suffered under the throngs of a maddened silicon beast.

Humanity now believed in its own evolution and ability to expand. Through development of the biological self and mind will one be set free unto the stars. 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 was 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. That was just fun semantics. The armour had saved him from a life threatening injury anyway. Not that he could overrule the doctor, wretched regulations and fucking white coats. Looking around the command network he noted that the psyops unit had unloaded and begun their work. Normally he would have considered such a thing superfluous but considering they doubled as an EW team he had to grudgingly let them come along. Even now they were blasting admonishments and attempting to debate the holed up radicals. As he listened to the war of words he had to consider himself.

The psyop's own chosen position in regards to breaking the law was at the forefront it seemed. Another primary issue was the large degree of illegal experimentation the metal rats had conducted. All complete dammed nonsense to him. That did not mean that they were speaking completely out of their asses. Those details haunted the background of his mind as well. 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 planet's as a whole. In some levels of the planetary arcology network in particular, these included entire hydroponic sections which the population depended on were destroyed. Some 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 rest of the planet 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 started being uplifted. The planet may not have been the best example of humanity considering what it was but that was a planet of fifty billion turned into a single large tomb. One slowly being converted into raw material when the fleet holding his forces arrived on a routine layaway. He was but a lowly second lieutenant with a platoon and one that was not deployed due to their inexperience.The aftermath was certainly disastrous even if the fighting was over quickly from what he had heard and seen, 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 .

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, so much fancy nonsense from their mouths. All you could do was mouth the things they wanted or else it was your behind in the streets with no pension. It became numbers to him over the years, not completely but well....out of sight and out of mind for how many died. 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. If....when this hunt was over.... He did not know what he would do. Keep going in his duty as part of the expeditionary corp? Perhaps....retire? The thought honestly scared him. Vaguely hearing footsteps he turned his head to look.

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 the medic mutter something about needing the cradle space. Feeling his wounds get aggravated he opened his mouth to beat them over the head. His latest string of insults however was cut off. Why could be seen as he blearily made his way out. More urgent 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 so easily. Bastards did not wish to properly supply his expedition.

Dammit he was only a Colonel, and his commission was on shaky grounds as is. Politics had led to so much death from this folly. Too many of his forces being replaced by mercs already with few results for it. 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, melted and exploded into oblivion. 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. The collapse of the tunnels doing more damage then the bots themselves, blasted engineers were busy. He even had to impress some of the DC crews of the transports to help. 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. Couldn't allow them to be slaughtered without a fight. The cocktail of chemicals allowing him to just barely dodge where a slug of high velocity metal would have hit. 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, his advanced rounds doing only marginally better then the Janissaries rifles. Yet he kept firing "DIE YOU MISERABLE SEWAGE PLANT BORN BASTARD DIE!!! I HOPE YOUR TANK BORN ASS WAS WELL USED!!!!"

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 FIRE!!!

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. He saw things in focus for a time in his mind as it went even further into overdrive. The chemical injector must have malfunctioned, at least his last few thoughts would come clear.

The golden cyborg menace scything through more of the colonials and even a few of his own, its fellow 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 the structure 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 impotently 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. Less than a dozen of the creatures advanced into literal swarms of bullets.

Even the genetic modifications, training, and chemical boosts his soldiers had only barely kept them from dying too quickly in this mess. They fell to the ground wounded or dead, barely able to resist the onslaught and he could only watch. 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 constantly 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 the Curator....How did the inhuman abomination manage to miniaturize what should have been vehicle grade magnetic flux shielding to an infantry scale!!! The characteristic shimmering layers of EM locked superconductors like the shell of a turtle but skin tight.

It was only one directional 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, weapon still blazing in silent concentration. Finally however the shields were broken and his form riddled with bullets and a few lasers. Lead bounced off overheated metal clothing, turning into molten nodules from the impact. The lasers did little more, able to punch holes but not to truly damage the metal beast. That is until a single Golden BB seems to impact its head. A surprisingly tiny impact that causes the beast to collapse.

Yet as if to spite them it actually managed to rise up slightly and fix them all with its cracked spider eye like visored head. A strange arc of energy surging across the head, he could have sworn that there was a strange... look coming from the Curator. What was more upsetting was a low laughter that seemed.... Oddly feminine as it spoke. "The catalyst is free once more"

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. Its obviously shattered mind unable to handle its death. Now it would suffer.....Yes that....thought is...nice...WARNING CARDIAC ARREST. Activating DEFIBRILLATOR. Your chapter ends here simple one. Yes he was boring. Shut up we have to follow favorite toy.

 

[WyrmofFrost]

In a distant plane there was a grand castle studded with towers and banners flapping in the wind. It was a great edifice of solid stone and metal but one that gave a sense of majesty rather than fear. Around it lay a city many kilometers in area, close to two million within its urban zones and associated boroughs. From this administrative and economic juggernaut an empire rose. A greatly diminished one, left holding a torch of what the past used to be. But a marvel of civilization regardless. Its people were in the majority a variety of folk with two arms, two legs, and a singular head. Compared to many others they were fair of stature, not bulky but not weak. Ears of tapered length and faces of aquiline grace and age. But there were many others of all physical descriptions, some seemingly only slightly different. Others much more greatly so.


The people of the city the castle resided in were ecstatic on this day for the duchess who ruled this land was soon to give birth. None ever hearing the mirthful laughter of those on high. The birth was supposed to be a joyous occasion. The coming into the world of a new member of the ruling family would usually be. Especially balming to the mind of the loyal who wished for their bastion to no longer be slowly degrading as it had.


Yet inside the inner sanctum of the castle itself was a somber scene. A scene of a harsh not-quiet as a small body was wrapped in cloth. The head midwife doing the wrapping did so with a stoic blankness to her face. Inside her mind she felt a contained sorrow as she continued her duty. The assistant midwife less able to hold her emotions in as she held the roll of preservative cloth steady. Finally the last segment of the wrap was done and a small brooch used to fix the bundle tight. As the head midwife handed the body off to be buried in its little grave she turned instead to the living.


Her face holding her nervousness close as she watched the still living child, the only surviving twin. Held tightly but not too tightly in the hands of the mother. A male child, the female being the one to perish so soon after entering the world. Not quite born still but not far from it. The head slowly approached the still grieving mother as she lay at rest, too tired to even properly feed her child. The assistant attempting to head over to help but somewhat balked by the figure beside the mother. Her duke consort sitting by her side, uncaring of the stench of the afterbirth as it was thrown away. His hand clutching hers to give what comfort he could to his wife. His entire manner showing just how foreign it was to him as he mutely stared at her. This was the hardest birth the two had ever witnessed or experienced and it frightened them.


The pair of husband and wife finally snapped out of their stunned state when the midwife attempted to gently shift the hands of the duchess. Wizened eyes worried at how the wrinkled newborn was not feeding. The duchess herself was still too worn to act herself much less her husband who had always stayed away from this side of life as much as possible. The newborn was not even moving much at all, she knew it still breathed having had to give it a light strike to start screaming. But it had quieted down quickly. Babies usually held more motion and life then this. But it still breathed and its eyes were not dim. That counted for something as she shifted the baby a little.


The midwife took this time to clean down the duchess's body with a clean cloth. It quickly became dirty with sweat and the liquids from the birth. Tossing it in a basin after cleansing her hands the midwife to take stock of the help. She shooed the young lady away with a look. The caul on the length of cloth not being appropriate to bring up now. Looking at the healer who was her counterpart she gave a light bob of the head to the door. The healer noticed this and nodded back at her meaning, the rest of the family would need to know what had happened. The guard by the door had to be prodded to notice what was happening. A great breach of professionalism if not for the circumstances.


Moving his body and tightly clutched short glaive out of the way, the guard give a signal to his opposite who was mutely staring the rest of the ducal family down as they tried to enter. Said family now quieting down as the healer gathered her nerve before trying to speak. Her voice caught itself but the family quickly drew conclusions. If the door was not closed then the couple within would have heard the howling in sorrow and anger from aged throats outside. The assistant putting a quiet hand on her grandmother's back, the old midwife attempting to be stoic in this display of grief. The granddaughter also keeping a strong clutch on the flask of hard alcohol that her grandmother would soon be attempting to retrieve.


The previous duke vented his anger at the world before calming down enough to bear down on the healer. The cane within his hands held within a white knuckled grasp and his monocled eye hard as steel. The old duke's wife and their siblings in law also wishing to know what had occurred to their son and his wife. The whispered conversation was morbidly eavesdropped on by the others. All nervously acting out their little habits, a twist of a robe here, a timid rubbing of an old bracelet there.


A little bit of the sorrow was taken away when they learned that the duchess was fine but it was reignited at the details of the birth. The two pairs of the previous generation attempted to enter again but were stymied by the silent guard. His oath to those within, not to the house as a whole. Before the former duke could lash out at them the midwife entered. Her wrinkled face quickly catching on to what was happening and expressing such feelings clearly.


Even this retired duke could only back down in the face of the old woman who had raised him just as much if not more then his own mother had. His own gray streaked hair not able to stand against the pure white locks of the midwife as she stared him down. She was a true matron in her own right, even the long lived lives of the elves did not see so many surviving to such a stage. As the family finally calmed down they solemnly entered the room with the newborn, careful not to get too close to the child.


The group congregated by the wall of the door as they entered, the rest of the room now playing host to a series of ritual items. The midwife slowly scattered several bundles of herbs within small ancient braizers of mithril, relics from earlier times. The rites passed down from each generation of midwife, this one's own line being unbroken until the murkiness of antiquity. Most of the family did not know what such rites meant but they did not attempt to buck this old tradition. The young assistant slowly beat a small drum while the healer shook a hand bell. The scent of the rare herbs creating a heady sensation, not one that made one want to move. The tone of the ceremony starting to affect the audience as the incense spreads and the beat of the music continues.


As each bundle added its own unique scent the ashes were collected carefully. Mixed together into a paste within a small glass bowl of which each member of the family passed to the other. Each gazing upon it and contemplating a different thought and prayer. Finally the paste completed its circuit with the midwife. Now that the paste had cooled, a dab of it was smeared onto the newborn's body. The reddish mix thought to promote good health, though so far it only seemed to bewilder the child who kept making bawling noises but not actually crying out loud. The mother too had to undergo such painted designs reminiscent of an older time.


But when done at last the newborn received its first feeding. While the child would only change hands between its mother and the midwife for several months even they had to keep a set distance. It would only receive a name if it lived past its first cycle, an old custom. Few children died as infants but that did not mean that none knew the sorrow of a lost child. A worry that was especially present in the minds of all those there after the fate of the infant's twin.


They hoped that the newest child would live a good and full life away from the bitter things they themselves faced. It was a futile wish but one they did not know would be so quickly broken even before the wish was made. As the family made ready to disperse to where they were needed a messenger attempted to gain access. Her identity confirmed the messenger handed over the message scroll. Unrolling the wooden slat form the trained scribe quickly parsed the complex symbols of the formal 'high' lexicon. A troubling event. Negotiations had broken down, diplomacy was no longer available.


The duke consort looked to his wife, she was the one with the full military authority. But she was somewhat exhausted from the birth and customs dictated that she was to remain with the child. He wished to be by her side more but knew that while she would be touched personally she would disapprove of his shirking of his duties as a ruler of a nation millions strong. It was part of why they were married, their shared sense of duty. Making a decision he went to find his parents in law, they would be able to exercise some authority here. Better to beg for forgiveness later then asking for permission.


Though he scowled as he saw some eyesores inside the halls of the castle. He watched the religious figures wandering around the area, incense burners and other such things being waved around. The duke consort considered them to be a nuisance at best and zealous dangerous elements at worst. Even now they were muttering something about children, numbers, and auspicious events. It would be rude to remove them but they still grated on his nerves with their constant use of spoken 'high' tongue. Written was enough of a problem with a lack of an alphabet, the spoken was worse. He could rely on written scribes more as they were able to be more easily held accountable, interpreters... He hated them. Touching the metal strips hidden within his collar he remembered other times as he returned to the administration of an entire nation.

However deep within the bowels of a more distant place laid a vault holding many mysterious and dangerous things. One such 'thing' was chained to a wall by adamantine bonds. All enchanted to the greatest ability and renewed vigorously, yet they twitched. Finally a show. They shook, and the thing within them shook itself. The timing of the event only later being lined up, much too late for anything to be done as it had apparently seemed to laugh. Elsewhere other things stirred and they were less benevolent. But that is something to be seen later Will you not join us dear readers, Join us....

 

[WyrmofFrost]

I walked amongst gardens of vibrant shades. Of towering trees tens of stories high. The air thick with the scent of life. My feet were sure footed as I walked on top of twisting roots thicker then a person's height. All around me small creatures wandered. Some were using their metal pincered mandibles to take away leaves larger than they were, others nipping at large patches of moss or large bushes with manipulators, the fruits of the earth available to feed off of. Languidly floating electric blue jellyfish floated in the air, their light filled tentacles providing luminescence to the dark forest floor. Other creatures wandered the many natural paths in the foliage, their multifaceted selves moving according to their own minds. Many were physically larger then I and not harmless beings but I walked without worry for they would always respectively part from the path I took. The grand variety of life under the sky holding boughs of the World Trees knew the hierarchy of the Wyld It was a quaint place.

With a bowl in hand I progressed to a particular tree, its outline framed in sickly pulsing white-red. Walking to the main trunk I looked at the signs of a young growth. One afflicted by illness. I carefully tipped the bowl with its broth of silver organic machines onto the earth, the preprogrammed healers moving to triage and heal. Meanwhile my hand was laid upon the black growth I could reach, adding my own pattern of rejuvenation aiding in the fight. First a scorching fire to burn the contagion, then the time to repair. My mind shifting through a rich sensation of feelings, molecules, and a system not at homeostasis. Broken capillaries repaired, nutrients transferred, lost flesh replaced by a temporary sheath of nanites All while calmly singing a soothing musical of mind and consciousness.

The young tree shudders in its length as the treatment was underway, loose leaves drifting to the earth. I give a wry smile and sooth the tree, letting my calming scent permeate as I work to finish removing the taint. Soon the many meters in surface area pestilent fungus is removed. Its damaging nature expunged. I give a slight caress, pheromones telling a tale of how pleased I was in the young tree being able to keep still. A burst of mental connection and the machines slowly flow back across the earth and onto my skin. My task done I take back the now refilled bowl from the mechadendrite it was held in and turn to leave. However I am briefly held up by an errant freshly grown root. Its greenness showing how it had just been spawned. I heartily laugh as I untangle myself, a promise to return to read a tale letting myself leave the clutches of the dryad child If you lose yourself where would our story be?. Walking across the river I walk into the arms of the young nursemaid who begins chattering away at me. The primitive unilateral use of words....

Ahh, yes. This. I feel my body give get swung around into a firm hold as the nursemaid, my nursemaid begins to carry me off to the room. The words as they flow begin to make some sense, something about nap time. I feel a hand clutch at the smooth cloth of the nursemaid's dress, my hand attempting to find something else. Some other dimension of sensation. No hint of pheromone from my nose telling me of how things are, no squick of data showing my surroundings. Only the six senses. A deprived state that I feel myself barely contain a hitch of fear at, more restrained then it once was. My nursemaid seems to take this as a sign of fear and hugs me close. Even if it is not what I was yearning for it is closer. The feel of warmth, the gentle pulse of a heart, a slight scent of a plant. The babble of sound, it is something.

Soon enough I am spirited away into a room, furnished with many a pillow and implement of childish entertainment. Currently the curtains are shut, the room rather darkened. My nursemaid puts me away on a thick mat upon the floor. Setting up a short table she places a few items upon a small bed of blankets on the floor. She gives a smile and nod to another nurse maid sitting at wait within.

The dark holds little concealment to the eyes of my new form as I look around the familiar confines of the place. Feeling something within me I begin to move around, the stifling sensation of the room closing in. A sterile place, worked dead wood and spun fiber. Hearing a noise I turn to look at the maid as she approaches. Her face in what I believe is a look of interest and bemusement as she led a few small forms to where I was. They scatter quickly to begin picking at the toys on the table before proceeding to begin their games. Their mother continuing on to me.

I feel myself instinctively be wary, not highly as I know the maid but I still like few if any here. They show their care but do they mean it? At least this one seems to as she scoops me up onto her lap and sits down on the bed. A calming caress on my head does little but the slight press of a face in my short hair calms me down more. I feel myself spun around a few times as the maid adjusts her grip. I instinctively grumble as my form blearily shifts before a hand pulls me closer and the warmth begins to get to my brain. I look at the furry eared form of the maid as she presses herself closer, the barest scent of perceived pheromones speaking of a motherly temperament right now. My form starts to cease its movement, calmed at the slightest analogy of more familiar things. Though not as widespread as the seas of computer language this more biological communication is more poignant, just enough for more anxiety to lessen.

This form is dissonant, so like the mewling innocence of an animal cub. My soul unable to work on this as it would have the previous form, my 'self' full grown when my eyes opened for the first time then and the then before. Here I was formed otherwise, in a womb perhaps? Yes that is how many offspring are formed. An alien thing to me, academically and clinically known but not something I certainly expected to personally experience Suicide will not work, you know this. Yet the stronger hint of magic in the world and myself works to soothe the incompatibility my older mechanical form could only do so with chemical placebos. That however does not stop the issue of the brain. The soul works through the brain but what if one is unable to handle the other? That is what is happening to myself, like a dream I am only so in control of myself. So able to be cognizant of things. A rational mind taking back seat to several sets of instincts clashing, biological vs metaphysical. How I despise having a soul.

I adopt a form of hibernation as my body rests itself. Both the natural form of rest for this form and my own mentally induced mix. My mind still attempting to parse this fractious existence as it has for turns of the sun and planet. Perhaps two or three full turns of the planet around the light of its sun? Certainly longer by a significant magnitude then I am used to, a slower rotation? Whatever ruminations I have are however temporarily put on hold as I feel myself awaken. My body stretches itself as I look around me. My internal clock telling me that a few hours have passed, the days too are longer though not by too much to throw my mental count off. I feel my body get itself tugged up onto a different position and then hands letting go. I turn my head to look and get a face full of tail before something else decides to latch onto me. I can see a young kit deciding now is the time to play. I remember this one somewhat, the maid's child I believe.

A hand limply attempts to push the curious child away before that hand gets tugged into a mouth. It is mostly slobber but a few budding teeth vaguely attempt to do something. The small ball of orange and yellow soon being joined by two others of the litter. A tug of the gripped hand sends the first young kit forward in front of me, upon which my body flops over it. The little kit squirms somewhat before settling down and being content in the warmth. The other two still tussling with each other nearby. Their mother watching everything bemusedly. Eventually the two finally calm down and join the pile of bodies to nap. Little bundles of warmth and fur.

Resting time and thinking time are important. This one is a bit precocious but not too much compared to its siblings. Ahh the innocence of infancy, and for blunted teeth as those two continue biting each other. Moving the blanket over the calmer kit a bit more I try not to be cynical. Would the hardships I fear actually occur here in this place? Hah, I can extrapolate some of the signs. I know it is there.

I have not seen my parents besides brief visits. Usually in the winter but not always even then. I believe I have interacted more with my siblings and my grandparents but I am not entirely sure. It is the rest however that tells me something. The motherly maid as much as she is demure in her duties hides steel under her clothes. Her ears, nose, and eyes always carefully on watch. Guards are constantly around whether standing apparent in their armour or hidden in the shadows of the house. The few times I have been outside I have seen what are supposed to be galliant guards upon their steeds both terrestrial and airborne.

Stone golems and crude automatons stud the landscape of the estate and almost every servant is old and experienced. My nursemaid is the most harmless and youngest of the lot through her elder seems much more intimidating as a person, she is the nanny of the nursery if I have the hierarchy correct. I do not understand the scale of the wealth but I do not suspect it is minor. The sheer history is apparent as well despite the constantly renewed wards, the house breathes after all. The land is rich but well protected. The bounty of the ley line protected from marauding spirits and vagabond souls A delicious setting.

No, no need to worry about such matters now. Growth, organization, healing. These are more important than hypotheticals in the future. Shifting to a more comfortable position I prepare to nap again, let my body age itself naturally. My mind is enough for now. I must withdraw my memories again, sort what knowledge is useful now and what can be drawn out later. This form's brain may not be able to contain much but it can hold a little. Enough to do something useful. Now what were the needed chemical processes to begin a general purpose lab of the most basic type.... Hmm perhaps get this little one to stop drooling first before anything else, right focus.