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

[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 While derided by some, especially amongst those of the Hundred Clans to be an outdated convention it still holds great dominance.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.

 

[WyrmofFrost]

I find myself rather relaxed as I can be. The sun is shining bright and the wind blows a soothing breeze. In my lap there is a good book to be read, if rather simple as I wait on things to happen. And more importantly my little schisms of body and soul are finally calming down for now You blew up your inner self, not fun he was great to manipulate. They will return later as my body grows more but it should be calm for a few more turns of the sun and planet. I have noticed a quirk of growth that seems to be from my body being able to develop 'naturally', it is obviously different from those of other infants though not noticeably at a glance. They call my race elves, it is an interesting parallel to the ones I knew of. The first cat's paws our people had after the..... Transition. The words are of course not the same but that seems to be the closest concept I know to compare with.


Having so called playmates has been an interesting development as I have been placed amongst not only the kits but other children of servants. My nanny feeling this would be wonderful for my development. I find myself acting mostly as a haphazard caretaker of my own. Not the most difficult of tasks as I have had experience..... With a great deal of mental exertion I push away the latest pout of pain, too many memories for one body to handle in its youth.


Old memories aside I watch as my little helpers arrive at the edge of the clearing. The trio of beastkin kits that the nanny is especially fond of having me be with have grown at a much different rate compared to myself. I believe their specific subspecies is that of 'Kitsunes'. Regardless back to the kit's actions, they have begun working minor chores, mostly just picking things up and running them around as couriers. Admittedly they will likely end up a bit soggy but the little balls of fluff are improving their self control.


On that note two of the triplets are here bearing tribute. The two brothers Ken and Yasuo each hold a small bundle of a somewhat common forest herb. The only female of the triplets Mai arrives shortly after with a larger bundle but also more dirty then the two combined. The bundles of herb are known as Eikane, their dubious medical properties being what I need. Considering I had to go through fairy tail books to get this information I was rather ill at ease to try it . Then again considering I was a small, well younger child I took a leap and tried chewing it. I could not say much of the taste but I can confirm it does help to calm my spiritual tribulations You can't block us forever. Barely more than a mental placebo but it does something. As I do not want to be like a small rabbit and nibble on such things constantly I am trying something else.


Taking advantage of their nature as kitsune I have had the triplets 'borrowing' items of use, this also garnering me a smaller stash of more miscellaneous items. Now I have kitbashed myself a rough distillery to make tisanes from. The infusion process hopefully working well enough to not give me heavy metal poisoning. I suspect that the process itself will not last long undetected but I just need to judiciously make what I need and then scatter everything to look like a prank. A key thing being to get rid of the scent else their mother would notice something else off. The nose of most beastkin being keen enough to ask questions.The kits are easily bribed to not talk about it with me reading stories, giving them treats, and wrestling them into submission. I think my place in the hierarchy is well established. I will need to actually find a way to test these to discover any long term effects. Hmm rats, I need rats.... Ah if only my magic worked and was not sealed. I know it was for safety reasons but that does not mean I like the blasted tattoos.


The beings here are smart and not smart at least to me. Why bother developing magical talent at a young age and not preparing it for.... Oh right, natural evolution. Rather forgot about that. Make what works, not what is best. I can only somewhat change what is expressed now, my mind just groans anew considering what I would need. Sequencing the genome, experiments to create the workable gene splicers, editing telomeres, so much to do. At the same time it fills me with... excitement. A challenge, something new to do. A scientific challenge.... Wait who is poking me. Ah yes Ken what is... oh I got horribly sent on a tangent. Is this a sign of recovery or degradation. Well best to clean up the things here and leave. The process is tedious but I am reasonably sure that at a glance no one will be able to discover what has happened.


I beckon the three kits to head back from our 'play' in the woods. Everything hidden under conventional cover and more scratch done bounded field. Hopefully there is no need to have a trained mage explore the remnants of a child's play area. The products of my work hidden in a makeshift leather holster within my clothes I walk forward and see the senior nursemaid waiting. Beside her are a few strange wooden toys, they appear to be wooden horses with wheels. I am rather confused by this. Is it just a play toy or is it something else? Standing beside it is an armoured figure, another beastkin with green eyes and fur. My grasp on the language is not the best but I believe she was introduced as one of the Guard-Lieutenants here.


I grudgingly go along with the events here, it is... not something I want to remember in greater detail. Roughhousing the kits I can understand and be fine with, the strange etiquette would be needed for integration, and the childish reading sessions were actually helpful. This not so much. I made my opinion clear but was rebuffed for it. When it became inevitable I tried to enjoy myself but could not find it in my heart to do so. Not when it brought me nothing but old remembrances. Parallels to other times. I kept up a brave face throughout the entire event and managed to be excused to return to my room.


Thankfully as I have grown older I am able to retain my own individual room. Though considering that my nanny is based directly in the room adjacent alongside a sizeable group of servants and guards in the wider complex, this will be difficult to keep things secretive. For now the kits have been drawn off by their mother to get an early start on more proper teachings to be servants so I am left alone. It is very good as I find myself nearly collapsing as I enter the room. I allow my body to finally start responding to the feedback, my internal temperature rising rapidly and my body going between utterly numb and raging pain. My limbs on the brink of an uncontrolled series of spastic seizures. My vision jittering as my eyes respond to the shock and trauma. The pain of the body I can deal with, most physical pain I have long been inured to. This however requires effort as I reassert my mental stranglehold.


Sitting myself down to meditate I look at my soul. It is mine, and I find it deplorable. The source of my issues. Such a static thing. But it is mine now and I have to take care of it, an unwilling gift from 'those entities' Contracts are contracts. Like a disease we had picked it apart, found what made it function, how to preserve and destroy it. How to mold it to the purposes we needed for it.... The everflowing tide of memories, like an unsealable leak in a dam Items sold as proffered. The one issue that could not be solved without Yet as I did so I could have sworn I saw one of the bookcases move.....


I find myself someplace else. This is not where I was supposed to be. Not as I feel myself being carried like a simple sack of flour on someone's shoulder. My vision dilates back and forth as I attempt to see what is happening. Swaying layers of darkness, glimpses of earth and roughly hewn stone. Strange glimpses of leering skulls and yellowed bone. My physical body is failing me. I try to spark something with my magic but can only curse the restrictions. Forcefully pulling my delirious mind together I try to plan. What can I do? What can I do? Held tightly in the grasp of a skeleton, flesh long sloughed off. There are several of them, rusted weapons held at the ready all around me. Overpowering them is not an option, outwitting them as well. I do not know where I am and I cannot find out more. Not that is not true. The wards on the house are not enforced here. There is little but that does not mean there is none at all.


Reaching out with my a tendril of my soul I connect to a blob of shadow. But it is not just shadow, no it is a nascent wraith. This particular one is a conglomerations of cast off pieces of soul, like drops of water that have not quite evaporated. The flashes of sensation telling me that these are the disturbed remnants of murdered beings, used to do....something. Old and nearly dissipated on its own without anything to feed it. Gathering the fragmented aspects of my Persona I muse that I finally find them to be something of use as I enrich the thing. A meal that would surpass anything else it ever had. I spare a thought for how my soul is so rich and so nebulous in its constant shedding but instead turn to what is needed.


The engorged proto-wraith begins to manifest itself, moving away from the tumultuous not-realm of its previous existence to this portion of the dimensional planes. This particular example showcasing as a floating mass of black satin-like cloth. It would be a benign existence if I did not need an attack dog. Spirits with such phantasmal bodies are interesting, one step within the dimensions that spirits reside in and one step on the more physical dimensions. Driving this one into a frenzy only takes a simple nudge, and that is all the time I have really.


The proto-wraith latches onto the animated bones around me, its somewhat blank emotional state now forced into an incendiary rage. The first skeleton is quickly consumed of its animating force, the bones now thoroughly under the wraith's control. The mass of not-cloth and bones collide with the other skeletons and it is the matter of seconds for it to add them to its mass. They struggle but are quickly consumed. The internal pressure of its form causing the many bones to meld together into a smaller and denser singular skeleton. The now embodied wraith or is it a revenant? Well it is not exactly delicate or precise. I feel a bit of air time as the set of bones carrying me is also taken What is that saying about random chance and failure?. Oh... The landing ...My...all...too...a concussion....huh...

 

[ptbptb]

I find myself rather relaxed as I can be.

Click to shrink...

Your last post doesn't have a threadmark, and there seems to be something strange happening with the threadmarks in general.

 

[WyrmofFrost]

"Mrs, should we do something about this?" That came from the maid usually on staff during the first day shift. One of the beastkin, in particular a kitsune with orange-yellow für. She had gone to get her attention at the soonest opportunity when she observed what was happening. The nursemaid's face was conflicted, instinct of protecting the young and her duty in the house warring against the knowledge of uncontrolled magic and the other half of protecting her young. Not a comfortable state to be in.

"Not quite yet, we will but there is no immediate danger. I will handle this, just keep watch over the young master in case of anything. He seems to have a good grasp on himself, and the child has always been a considerate one" Encouraging words for the both of them. The implications on the youth of the child hidden underneath aside.

The old midwife had rushed over and found herself stunned at the sight before having to seriously consider matters. Years of experience allowing her to be able to say something encouraging. She watched as he manipulated a tiny pinprick of light to float around his fingers. Like a very curious and fearless firefly it weaved in and out between the fingers of an outstretched hand. The three kitsune kits that were his playmates fascinated by this show, one even trying to reach out and squeeze the little light but failing. The young master's face seeming to be rather serene as he entertained the other children with a few tricks.

The young master was a powerful mage, only in the most exceptional of cases would a child be able to manifest their magic at such an age, much less seem to show some sort of control over it. It honestly created a tight bulb of fear within her when she was informed that the youngest master could do such a thing. It would normally still be a few cycles more before the magic channels within their body began to slowly begin to work, to draw from their core to solidify the ability to begin manipulating the world.

She did not know of any child who learned how to begin to even sense and manipulate their magic before their tenth cycle, when their body knew it could actually survive any serious attempts to begin no matter how minor. Yet here he seemed able to do so without any of the normal backlash. No overheating or leeching of bodily warmth that seemed to occur when mages began their work. A prodigy, one in a hundred million in a lifetime was what the young master was. She had sucked up her pride to go to another, to admit that she did not know what to do when it came to caring for a child. It was an.... Experience as always.

As this was a vacation estate and one that was often used but not a place of great importance there had to be quality controls in place to who was assigned. Trustworthy and capable of fighting were often key in any who served, but in short supply as always. The head of the mages when she had called upon the eveu for the estate was busy with their studies. Even after being alerted by their apprentices about the importance of the matter. It took a face to face meeting before it went into their thick head about what was happening. It was not a good time.


Not as she looked past the sheepish apprentices to their master, an eveu in their late twentieth cycles. Competent in magecraft, loyal to the family, but eccentric as could be with their personal... hobbies and studies.

"Improbable, utterly Improbable. Dear Solanda is that actually what the young lord was able to do? No, no I need to see this for myself. Kalden! Delali! Gather my items" The eveu was utterly exuberant at the chance to learn more. Treating the place as her personal research lab and her salary as a research grant. Oh the incidents. Speaking of incidents though.

"Barthala, if you dare take out a dissection kit with intent of so called 'study' you will know exactly where they will be going! I did not forget what happened when you walked into the kitchens and the stables! If I did not know better I would think you would be scrounging in the midden for things to poke" The memories of seeing them in HER nursery, causing such a ruckus in sight of all the children of the estate. Oh how she wished she could still hold a cane, not because she needed it but for some rather... well deserved discipline.

"Now now, that was important information to see whether there were parasites in the food. Admittedly it just turned out that the stock was bad from a leak in the storage but still needed to be discerned. Too bad there was nothing interesting to be discovered...why I wonder if our young charge...." The mage's probable next words.... The amount of times the youngling drove her speechless. Especially when she saw what the two apprentices were carrying.

"Why do you have a skeleton... is that of a child?!!" Her harsh words got an explanation quickly from the two pushing along the series of carts.

"N..no Maam! Its a fake made from wood and ceramic"
"Oh the indignity of the stairs. Why could you not make this lighter master?"

"Now now you two, it builds character. And muscles. Ahh the studies back in the academy" Thankfully for everyone else's temper and/or sanity a swift blow to the back of the head was enough to return the eveu's senses to the current matter. Oh how she wished she was allowed to use something stronger. Then they would see how character was built.

"Should we get the tools made from steel or silver, oh and also which kind of disinfectant? Do we know what sort of misbalances that the lord's body has?"
"Don't forget the type of potions? Is the young master a type a, b, or c for their intake?"

"Ahh get the silver set, type b I believe. Hmmm we will also need.." The list of materials the group of mages juggled back and forth confused her in its breath but at least it seemed they were serious about undertaking their duties. Finally the group settled down and left to gather what they needed.

"Right, best get a move on then. I will get the ingredients from the quartermaster, you two know how to set up the room. Oh and fetch the healer, I know what you would do if I was the one with the knife my dear madam"

The mix of masculine and feminine traits of the mage lending well to their pout though that withered away quickly. She had learned well how to put on such a disappointed and stern look, worked well in controlling even young impetuous lords from her long experience. The discussion finally turned to holding a serious tone as the two walked together to the storehouses.

They would need to seal the magic potential before he tried anything greater. That was the conclusion the two had managed to reach at the least. After a great deal of mild.... Disagreement. Her great granddaughter had been the one to ask the child to come in. As the one being groomed to take her place down the line it would be time to reveal some of the less glamorous parts of taking care of a child of nobility. She listened to the mage rattle on about why their young charge could have such potential as they collected the ink, powders, and needles for the work needed.

The mage explained about how the bloodlines meant that those of old nobility could handle channeling magic through their bodies with greater ease. Considering the Ducal family had an unbroken lineage to the imperial age and a distant relation to the Imperial family it was a surprise that the lineage did not produce many strong mages. Most of the more complicated details passed over her as she waited. Eventually her great granddaughter arrived, the young master walking in looking curious. His sharp gold eyes so like his mother and his father's silver-white hair flowing behind him.His face the unblemished look of a young child not even into his fifth cycle though quite tall for that age, none of the tattoos that any his elder would receive as they grew up. Certainly not any as extensive, or invasive as what would be coming.

It certainly did not give the mage here much credit for openly flourished a freshly heat treated knife and set of needles. But she hardened her heart and drew both her descendant and the young master to the center of the room. She bade him disrobe and be cleaned in the ceremonial bath. If only his parents were here but in the stead of any family member it was her task to give him the ceremonial cleansing. Once done the young master had to lie on his front on the stone plinth, its surface cold to the touch as the young child shivered. The mage at least having the decency to explain what was happening and why. Though considering that the healer for the estate was here and marking where to cut like some butcher.... No she could not blame the poor man, he was the only one trained to be able to successfully handle this.

She could not look the young master in the eyes as the preparations were concluded, the ceremony while barbaric was needed. She would have preferred for some sort of amulet or bracelet be used, but the young master was too strong for that. The normal stained tattoos would not work here either, he was too strong for such things. Her own child was not taking things so easily though. Her face was somewhat pale and her hand grasped her own quite tightly. It did not help as the blood flowed down the channels in the stone.

The pain was numbed but not by much. It could not be if the ceremony was to be successful. Lines were carved from flesh with a knife, to designate the main channels by what the mage had explained. Powders were mixed into the wounds to serve as the means for the suppression to occur. He was too strong in many things. Too strong for his age in magic, too strong mentally.... Even with a leather strap in his mouth she did not think he was making any noise. Clenched teeth around the bit for sure but not anything more. It hurt her heart and also fed that little voice in the back of her mind, the one that said the youngest master was different from any child she had ever met before. All midwives that worked for the peerages knew about the... unsavoury details of bloodlines and the ways that births can go wrong without leaving a physical mark.

No..No...NO she could not think like that. Not for the latest and likely last child the Lady and Lord would have. Oh her own great grandchild was taking this well, though she made sure not to squeeze her hand too tight the child was still not doing well. Giving the young lass a reassuring hand she also slipped her a scented handkerchief, it would help calm her mind from the sights and scents in front of her. The ceremony was blissfully quick if still traumatic as the wounds were wrapped in specially prepared cloth, all the more for them to properly set. Finally she allowed the child to return to the nursery under the care once again of her descendant. The instructions to speed his recovery along being muttered under the young woman's breath as she speeded along. It was an effective regime she knew and had worked for many cycles, but the extent the ceremony went to worried her still. Oh she wished things would quite down, children deserved a childhood to experience.

 

[WyrmofFrost]

Flashes of blood, the deepest red and black. Rivers of blood that churn at a command. And laying throughout it are the bodies, entire islands of black flesh riven and cracked horn. And upon such islands of meat and bone grow trees, trees of the most vibrant green and healthy brown. Plants grown well on their diet of blood and flesh. From their boughs hang slowly growing fruits, distilled essence of the fallen. Skeletal figures walking through the toxic mists of blood to harvest such bounty. Their forms studded with restraints, their eyes forced open and ever seeing.

At the edges of such a scenery is blackened earth, salt still upon it from when it was razed down. A free solitary brimstone fragments all that is left to tell that a settlement was here. All that was left of a grand keep, the heart and center of this node of civilization. All cast down in bloody revenge. Poles of silver stud the land, large cage like lanterns lit by phantasmal green. Any malice and restless spirit drawn to them and captured. When they glow like the brightest green star then they are removed and another container placed so that more are harvested.

Within a moving metal fortress lie tanks of fluid. Into these circular glass coffins are placed the refined products of death. From death comes life, slowly gestating to fully grown state. Within each blank body is placed a fallen soul. A resurrection most defiled and hallowed all at once. A raised fist, a slam on the glass. All to feed the cycle of slaughter, vengeance for those who have fallen but can never rise again. Restraints clasp onto still newborn flesh, liquid is drained. All must answer the call, no matter how weary. Flesh writhes as the final adjustments are made, all to aid in making the art of killing the finest that will ever be. All must answer for foes still stand, all must go for hatred burns with a cold heat greater than a star. A foot catches the weight of the body upon the cold floor, that first bad breath as the final remnants of fluid are expelled from raw lungs. Murder, destruction, infanticide, the loss of all good things. Eyes open wide to take in the sights, searching for the next order to be given. All must go... all must....

Waking up after being knocked unconscious is never pleasant. The pain of whatever caused it still beating strongly its drumbeat. It is especially harsh when you know that your awakening occurred in hostile territory. I try to make it not seem as if I had awoken but I do not know if I made much noise earlier. I would be slowly reaching for a weapon but I do not have one. As if anyone would allow a young child to have real steel to carry. My magic is just this side of unusable and I am all out of options for physically overwhelming any attackers. Cursing these facts I try to find out what is happening around me....

Well this is a familiar scene to be on the wrong end of. A subtle noise tells me the air here is stale, stale and filled with the odor of old blood and decay. Some sort of lab from the glimpses of tools around me, and a sacrificial altar as I am laying on it chained down. My other sight attempts to adjust to the room around me, there certainly is a lack of the special votive candles some would use in such scenarios. What I get is not the first thing I would expect but in hindsight rather obvious. There are many grudges formed in this room. The sort of thing typical near an execution block. The spirits here are almost completely decayed though. I think I can guess what is about to happen to me from this. Now the question is who or what is about to be the one holding the knife.

The lack of light means I have to track things by the rather morbid experience of psychometry. The chains grant me a knowledge of who were once bound here. Various secret assassins and temporary day workers, a rather eclectic mix. The rest of those traces are too degraded to find out more though. A touch of the stone slab itself however gets me what I need. I see the one who carved the edifice. A lich, a lich obsessed with achieving a better form of immortality by enriching his soul. Any deeper information has been bleached from the rituals here. Oh how ironic indeed. That path certainly is technically possible but is not what I would say is.... Viable. Oh no it is not Death, destroyer of worlds.

Waiting in darkness with no light, with only the sensations directly next to you is not pleasant. Especially when anything else relies on psychometry and the visions granted by the dead. The fact that some of the few emotions that the lich in question can feel include those for sadism is not what I need. The chance I will die here is rather strong. So young indeed. A meaningless death, I doubt the knife is enough to do anything serious to my soul. Not when I have already tried stronger. Now.... wait...how could I have forgotten. The concussion truly was strong. Is the revenant from before an option?. The essence here is too degraded to use, their proximity to the ritual site not conducive to sustaining the years. It certainly incorporate enough fragments of my soul to still bear a connection.

It is there indeed. Good, I have an option. It seems rather injured from what feedback I can gather but that is enough. A tug upon the connection it has to me and it is drifting back. The issue will be getting it through any protections the place will likely have. The simplest approach would be brute forcing myconnection to overwhelm any defenses. A more finessed approach however seems appropriate, brute forcing things usually should not be the first option.

Trying to calibrate my own internal clock I believe that it has only been at most half an hour from start to this current point. I have a plan to take out the lich but how do I remove the physical restraints? Removing the immediate threat but forgetting death by dehydration would not be good. But at teh same time can I guarantee that I would be able to take out the lich with the revenant. A glance at the surrounding spiritual disturbances makes me think I could also supercharge the revenant again, especially as the lich would be their killer. Just enough remnants left for a single frenzied strike if I cannot make another revenant.

No...I have more options. I just do not want to use them. I have many, some would say that any choice that averts destruction is better. I do not subscribe to such notions. Not out of reasoned morality but spite. Pure and simple spite against the origins of what I may come to do and what I have already done. Heh monsters should not regret. Such a lie, or is it?. Feigning unconsciousness will not do now. No instead I madly struggle, struggle as hard as I can so that the bindings can cut into me. There is already blood from other sources after all, and of course the diseases that will come from this desperate move. Bah a problem for later.

Feeling the bitter sensation in my mind as I divert some of my gathered soul fragments to the blood that is slowly and surely leaking from my body, oh the bitter memories. The finest kind of blood for a vampire, their methods too as I inscribe a magic formula with it. The blood flowing covertly to the pathways it needs, like electrons down a copper pathway. Calculate the ballistic trajectories, and that should be enough. I am guesstimating so many variables but it should suffice. One cannot help but gain an eye for such things after so long....

And here is the creature of the hour. The lich itself. I watch as it draws closer, busy observing what should have been its sacrifice. I do not bother to seemingly struggle futilely, no I give it a sense of my true feelings towards it. Complete and utter contempt and disdain. Perhaps it is used to such a reaction, perhaps it is simply uncaring. Regardless it does not waste time with pointless eulogies and monologues. No all it does is ensure its guards are well in place before taking out a knife from a sealed box. Even from a distance I can sense what the dagger has done before, how much history it has as a sacrificial tool.

The knife is not immediately plunged to end my life, no it is a clinical series of incisions to prepare the process. My charged blood upon the dagger, normally that would have increased the potency of the ritual as I can tell even as it slices into my flesh that it hinges rather heavily on 'significant' actions. I instead have to work hard to not break into a smile, not as the curse slowly propagates. Living things have a natural resistance to works of magic, it is why one cannot simply cause a fireball to spawn in a being or for a simple snip of a piece of brain to kill someone. Regardless of that debate however, an undead being has a weakness few realize to unforeseen and undetected magic.

I work as quickly as I can to take over the wards here, then the guards as a backup plan. I have to be careful not to cause too much of a change or trip any security features. Not easy as one is being dissected Your rage is so delightful. Working to craft my plans through the pain I begin pulling the revenant through. Just as it reaches the room interior I see that the dagger is being plunged for one final strike. The skeleton guards clumsily strike from the back, the revenant from below. The knife however still descends...

Haaahhhh ha ha HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. OHHHH THERE IS THE BACKLASH. HAHHAHAHAHHA AS IF SUCH THINGS COULD STOP ME. YOUR CHILDISH MAGICAL RESTRAINTS MEAN NOTHING TO ME NOW!!! REND AND TEAR, TAKE, TAKE IT ALL!!!!!

Oh...such a loss of decorum I wonder how long this shard will last hmmm, until you grow too emotional again HAH. I need to.... Where is it. Bleeding limbs pull out the dagger. Raw soul stuff taken to heal my wounds as the ritual is completed in reverse. 'THE' Blade returns. The lich's body is now mine as are the other items of inheritance, but first my own health. I grimace as I notice that not all of my potion efforts survive intact, however a few vials are not shattered. Taking one out I take a sniff to test its condition before steeling myself for the next step. The blood spilled here should not be left to waste after all.

I down the strange green brew in a single gulp down my throat. It is vile as all good medicine is. My magic rapidly reacts to the components within, the mixture rapidly making its way through my body in concert with the blood upon my form forming into reinforcing inscriptions. The magnified effect is potent for what it is. I can feel the course it takes. A thousand tendrils working their way through the pathways as my heart beats its erratic beat. In particular is when it begins to seep through the blood brain barrier. My pain lessens, not the physical but the soul based metaphysical one. Only a minor amount but noticeable. It works...good. Now for the aftermath.

 

[WyrmofFrost]

I personally find the eveu mage who is my current teacher fascinating. Eveu's being a semi-formal word for those with a transitory gender identity, a facet of cultural identity. While more of a lay over from previous eras with more strict gender roles it is unlikely to disappear, especially with some of the cultural change in other provinces. But back on topic, the reason I am thinking of this is sitting right in front of me. My teacher and supervisor for most of my waking hours. Rather then the maids in the nursery I instead spend most of my time in their general vicinity. Just one of the changes ever since the 'incident' where I scorched a great deal of my skin to charcoal in an apparent magical conflagration. A bit harsh but it certainly stopped any questions that may lead to alternative explanations to just how I was injured.

Honestly the household's head mage was not the first choice of teacher for me. However they are the only one left after I.... 'encouraged' the others to leave. Terrible teaching methodology from them with how long they wished to be stuck on the most basic material. I learned it quickly and was ready to move on. If it was advanced theory that required a firm understanding of other concepts then I would not have pushed.

However it was instead learning this land's mathematics and basic grammar. Even learning a very basic understanding of both the 'common' and 'noble' tongue was achieved. Writing and advanced grammar is an entirely different matter but that is not what they are teaching. I think in the end it was a mix of my own obstinate boycott and a quiet word from my parents. The teachers seemed to wish to turn this into a lifelong patronage of some sort from my guess. Well their ulterior motives did not last long. Thus the manor's resident mage whose name was Sanev was placed in charge of my magic education and education in general. None of the other staff had a particularly strong background in basic education beyond lifestyle, this is a vacation home afterall not an administrative center. Makes things easier that way

Back to my primary teacher though. I have had colleagues like them before, utterly dedicated to learning about the world but also utterly scatterbrained. Barely able to understand social dynamics, and unable to focus on any particular paths of learning. Useful for theory, less so for the practical. That would be for myself to figure out. And of course eyes that could watch individual specks of dust pass by and feign not watching my every move. Good eyes, dangerous eyes. Reminds me of -------- -

Forcing myself to watch the small opaque crystal dip before resuming to smoothly rotate around me I can say that otherwise that I am bored. It is I suppose understandable why I am doing what I am doing but still mentally wearing thanks to my problematic teacher. The first exercise I undertake whenever my teacher in magic and the scholarly arts in general is in attendance. They meanwhile take the time to go over some notes from whatever project they had to rush here from, it is only the efforts of the nursemaids that get them to leave even remotely on time. And also their efforts to evict them after a lesson.

"Is it just my imagination or are you thinking bad thoughts about me?" Came the lilting husky voice of my teacher.

" Why do you think such a thing teacher? I am trying to concentrate on my work. Surely you would need concentrate as well on whatever work you have in front of you teacher?"

Their response was quite swift. "How dry my youngest apprentice, how dry. No it is the wonderful act of multi tasking that you too will learn. Now hush and back to your work" So they returned to her watching and reading and I to my thoughts and tasks.

Part distraction, part honest exercise. A simple methodology behind the crystal exercise. One places their magic energy into the training device to move the crystal. The more precise your control is the more advanced the tiers you can complete. From a simple levitation to complex geometric patterns. It is not something that one can get lucky at for the most part, get moments of realization as how to refine yourself but it is not a game of chance. Which is why I am playing a rather subtle game, how to apply my rather basic understanding of psychology to stay ahead of the curve my teachers expect.

Suffice it to say I am not that good at this considering that it took the current fifth and longest lasting teacher to learn that I do not care for their hide bound methods. Even if it is from the entirely opposite direction. I have seen quite a few different mindsets over my well, complicated time but that does not grant me a wondrous skill at doing what I need to do. Compared to the magic I have known before these methods are much more codified, no desperate research to develop weapons drove this. No this was research for research's sake, one with the benefit of peace to spread out into seemingly innane side tangents. I had dismissed my previous teachers and this magic system in general but I suppose it takes a good teacher to actually bring out the subject matter. That and the fact I have two seniors to query about the lessons. As good as the eveu is, their efforts are rather slapdash in their own way. First going into basic theory before suddenly going into biological constraints, catalytic practicals, and back to pure theorycraft.

The methods here are based on using the body to funnel energy and external catalysts like mana crystals rather then entwining your own will of the soul into the work to force results in reality. All work is done on the most common physical dimensions. Plenty of chanting, though it serves as a mental recall exercise for molding mana rather then some actual mana manipulative language. Most likely because they are physically incapable of such, shame it has its uses.

Still their soul-body-release process is an interesting approach, not as powerful as many others but more controlled and less likely to find.... Interesting consequences of the metaphysical variety. You can find your body being set on fire or frozen due to poor energy management, along with frying your nerves if you fail but that is fixable. Oh there are plenty of sidestepped near dimensional issues that are much more deadly but that is another tangent. In sum weak and even if you are unlikely to suffer truly exotic backlash it is still prone to being disrupted. Not my preferred method considering the imbalance between soul and body and the requirements inherent of those two substrates... but I make do with these methods. Lack of resources means that the local methods are more viable. That and copious amounts of my now refined and cloned anti-tribulation medicine so I do not find my mind and soul ravaged every minute.

I prefer a system of rituals and calculation matrices. It requires a great knowledge of the current environment to function, everything from the local spirit's opinion of you to the underground leyline influence. It also cannot be overused in an area else you run into dimensional backlash though I know more than enough methods of reconciliation to make this work as an individual. Lets me bypass alot of physical parameters if I know what is happening. Quite complex and requires an enormous amount of preparation. So much fun rending things down.

Even now they put down their report and simply toss me a potion to calm my system from the magic use before investigating my results. The taste is vile but the cool sensation as I drink it is a relief. My teacher meanwhile is as always still taking notes about what I have done. They then have me start going over other topics,quizzing me to see how I have progressed compared to last week's lesson. Some things I have made a great deal of progress on such as learning to collect, diffuse, and manipulate mana in my body. Not to any significant levels but the mechanisms behind them yes. I would need to after all, annoying restriction tattoos aside. That is just with this body.... Oh right time. Has it been a few hours? My teacher nods along to my questions and gently pushes me out the door distractedly. Being brought back to my room in the nursery I warily remember that hidden door. Speak of monsters underneath the bed in the night, well there was indeed a monster and it came from elsewhere.

I did not manage to explore much initially, having first to ensure that no serious questions were asked that I did not want. Then there was the entire process of reversing all the damage I had self inflicted as cover, that initial recovery period along with the work done to rework the tattoos on my body was quite....tedious. Now however I have the ability to actually manage my magic, surprisingly well. Not the methods I would use but they do not have any kind of non-gestation genetic manipulation, genetic manipulation in general actually. Instead of the implants to handle magic I have experience with instead there are a series of tattoos that follow the channels that magic flows through in my body. The tattoos taking away some of the pressure for my body, less use of the nerves for instance to conduct spellwork.

Besides the use of the nerves to conduct magic however is the casting side effects. The most common being either a loss of body heat as the body shuts down portions of metabolism or the opposite in over driving my metabolism. It is more complex than that but that is the gist of reactions to casting magic. Generally described as hod vs cold and wet vs dry. My own body takes the form of hot and dry, this means I have to behave like I am in a desert and my body does not sweat to alleviate issues. No coolant systems of any kind beyond enchantments which don't exactly work well. The void of mana leaking from the tattoos typically enough to leach the enchantments and distort them into breaking. And one potential solution would be to wear clothes that allow strong ventilation to occur. Though when I mentioned this they seemed to think it meant not wearing anything. Odd but apparently it is some sort of cultural taboo.

Speaking of the body I take a good look at my image in the mirror of my room. Orbs of burning gold from my mother though I have heard mine compared more to the sun when Cola the minor moon is eclipsing it. My hair follows my father's line of straight silver blond rather then my mother's more frizzy brown. Physique wise I seem to be following my mother's more tall athletic build rather then father's lankier body. My face is also closer to my mothers in its smoothness rather then father's more distinct cheekbones though I apparently inherited his longer nose. Rather then father's pale skin I have mother's more tanned brown. Said skin being heavily interlaced with geometric and spiraling black lines. At first inhibitors now they are enhancers, as I grow so will they be reapplied. Though now that I think on it all these things are what I have been told. I try to remember if I have ever seen my parent's faces, perhaps I have? Hazy though, oh so hazy. I think I can guess what they look like from what I remember of my siblings though while I do remember them they have not visited too often either. Such an odd thing to have a family like this tracked by blood and parentage, the seeming symbolic representation of it staring back at me. Tell us does it feel good?

 

[WyrmofFrost]

Unknown to the currently slumbering lordling his caretakers were having a meeting over their charge. Around a small table set with simple delicacies like sweet meats and table wine the four women sat. Their number consisted of the old midwife, the current nanny of the nursery, the senior most nursemaid, and the Guard-Lieutenant from earlier. It was the old midwife whose name was Elencia that had called the meeting. The topic being something difficult for her to describe but otherwise necessary. Old half remembered folktales and other such things. Old tales passed down from mother to daughter as macabre things. A fortifying drink in her gut she began.

"The youngest lord is.... Different. We can all see that as much as we try to tell ourselves otherwise" Her lead on being rather rudely interrupted by the boisterous Lieutenant.

"Yeah getting a few crazy types trying to exorcise the 'devil among use' was funny. Bad funny but funny. Still kicked their asses out of here so he could recover from the 'incident'. Racist pricks" Her feline face grew stronger as she spoke, a half snarl seeming to stretch the slash mark tattoos upon her face. Burolia was her name and she had served faithfully for more than twenty cycles, 160 terran standard years. She had seen many of the youngest children grow up from toddlers to vibrant adults, seen just how the family of old nobility had truly acted out the concept of noblesse oblige.

"Let me guess however, there is something to it" The old midwife only sighed before deciding to get this quickly done with.

"Not to that degree but yes. I think this is in another direction though. I am old.... So old. I have been around enough to learn some things about the supernatural. Admittedly I only thought of this after having witnessed something... similar. A child acting very much beyond their age and very unusually at that" Another drink another confession.

"There was a child of one of the counts, almost always locked away in some far away rooms. The poor child was barely let out. I remember once visiting her as a favour to try to help out the servants in charge of her. Even through her magic potential restraints she could cast the most stunning displays of magic once thought lost. And her personality was quite...twisted" To this Eirina, the nursemaid responded scandalized.

"That seems to be a rather strong leap to compare our charge with. I have not noticed anything so... malevolent about our charge. He is not the most active child but you can see how he cares about Syndra's kits. Always looking after the litter so they don't get hurt... and encouraging some of their mischief making. I certainly haven't noticed any unusual magic or...." The last member of the quartet decided to at last add her thoughts. Mathennine the first wetnurse and current nanny of the child recounting her experiences at the time.

"As a newborn and toddler he was rather lethargic, and most keen to watching the things around him. A piercing stare he had, but also seemingly the most considerate. Very few fusses and they were mostly about actual things, though that might not be helping matters. And those foolish fundamentalist types did do their exorcisms which you remember Burolia did nothing but baffle the child" Taking a moment to chew on a sweet however she decided to help support her old friend.

"If they are about those old soul tales then he certainly was not a lecherous child. Obviously needed to be fed but was not very gropy like those crass bard tales that the young unmarried ladies gossip over"

A slight growl preceded the guardswoman's input. "If we are to be talking about recognizable activity then we can admit the child has a veteran's stare. The type that is really trying to decide whether you are a feckless suckling to be ignored or a threat. And I will admit those times he just stops and seems to draw back into his mind are disturbing in their parallels. Even then besides his eyes don't tell me that none of you have realized he looks alot older then he should be. I would swear he was three or more cycles older then he should be from look, even older then that mentally"

The nursemaid decided to put her thoughts in to gainsay their rumour mongering. "Even if there are all these irregularities what can we actually do about them. Would it ever matter? I do not think the lord and lady would condone anything happening to their child much less the rest of the family. There has been no malicious acts, the possibility of them yes but I think what we are facing is something that could be so easily solved. There is no crime, no one or thing to consult" Before any protestations could be made to this she continued.

"I think however that we can do something about this even if we do not know what exactly is going on. Burolia I think you are able to see what I am saying"

"Aye, treat the lad the same as any new recruit. Ignore their past, concentrate on the present and future. Lay out what you expect of them, the ground rules, what not to mess up, teach em how to do it, all that stuff. Give em a purpose most of all. Works on anyone else as well" The old midwife finally looking up from her glass to speak.

"That is... I must be getting old if I did not consider that. Very well I think that would be the course to take, I can not think of another now. However would we need to speak of this... matter again?"

The old wetnurse is the first to speak up "Perhaps, that is matter for the future. As you three are the ones actually likely to be able to do something about this you will need to consider it. We are making serious plans based on rumours, old babbled tales of the past, and a few random inconsistencies. Make sure to remember that this is the youngest child of the House we are considering. Whatever else may be I think that is the foremost fact. For consistency though tell use the tales you know Elencia. Just so we can judge them ourselves as we are rather scattered in our discussion about this, you are the one who brought this up over them" The midwife nodded and began her tale.

A group of scattered legends and myths dating to the imperial founding and back. Tales of glory, tragedy, and everything inbetween. A garbled set of lore that was soon interrupted another figure came in like a sledgehammer to a wall. The doors were hurriedly opened as a figure came barreling in. The face of the old midwife darkening as she gripped her cane before sighing in resignation.

"Ahh yes, I did invite you. Troublesome brat that you are" The scorn as those words were bit out was not meant to be hidden.

"My dear ladies, apologies for the late entrance. I was quite busy with a lesson for the young master. Though on that note I do have quite a few things to say about it. But first food. Ahh yes glorious food" The eveu mage rather quickly settled himself down at the table, a loud thump coming from the box of scrolls and books that was placed down and a screech of chair legs not endearing the eccentric to the group. They were resigned to his rudeness but that did not mean they would allow it to go unpunished. A cane to the back of the leg and the rapid hiding of the pastries alongside faces that seemed to beam innocence rapidly cleared the previous dire atmosphere.

"Ow owow ow. Okay, okay ladies I understand I understand. Now then everybody fill up, I even brought us a wonderful present. You two!! Bring in the treats" The two mage apprentices slowly wheeled in a cart, this time filled with various strange objects of confectionary. Unlike the previous dishes this was a strange landscape of ice and other chilled goods. The wisps of moisture floating off the winter wonderland managing to baffle those there.

"Now don't let yourselves be stopped by propriety, come take a bite of the dishes here. I was experimenting and wished to share. Here we have examples of ice with drizzled juices of various fruits, milk infused with various herbs and chilled to a delectable mix, choccan nut pastries, all sorts of wonderful goods" The mage personally chose to begin portioning out the desserts, each member there getting something that would appeal to their taste buds. Even the old midwife when confronted with her favorite mix of honey and frozen fruits could not hold her stern gaze and set herself to partaking of the peace offering.

"Right now considering we are all busy attempting to decide the young lord's future without actually having anyone who spends significant quantities of time directly with the child we should consider the actual practical concerns. So to summarize what has everyone gathered?" Taking the time to think over what they had they realized that half of it seemed too fantastic to repeat. Not all though. The mage seemed to be simply hmming as they dug a spoon absentmindedly into his own serving. When it became clear he had made up his mind though they spoke up.

"Right, I think generally everything can be categorized as the young master simply being too much of a prodigy and not enough of a child. Simple enough, have him meet with some other children, nobody too young. Actually no better idea, have him with a group that is younger and then a few older. Nobody too close to his own age. I know the lad is close to the other children in the nursey as in he takes care of them right? That is what you mentioned?" The others nod along and the mage continues.

"Alright, so he seems isolated and when with others he either ignores them, dislikes and avoids them if they seem shifty, or takes care of the youngers. Have people that actually have interesting things to say or simply need to be take care of, nobody that wants anything from him" Listening to the rather uncharacteristic words of wisdom from the mage threw most of the group for a loop, all but the old midwife. She only slowly swirled the last remnants of her dessert before nodding to his request.

"You all heard what he said, sadly it is the only reasonable plan I have heard or can think of. Now get along to it, you are all old enough to figure your own parts out. I will handle clean up here, Sanev your apprentices can pick up the things after they are cleaned. Now come along everyone" The group disperses as several maids are let in to clean up. Before anyone of the group can leave the room though a messenger bursts into the room. What would come greatly entertained the Watchers beyond them as they witnessed those events as well.

 

[WyrmofFrost]

Listening to my footsteps resound off the walls before the sound was swallowed I find it dissonant, the wards on the stone distorting it as it should or should not. Some sections starting to show their wear since the lich was divested of its grip on this plane. Unreliable to use my ears in this place. It would seem quite erie if there was anything within the darkness. But simple darkness held no fear for me, not when I had drawn it into my own domain. Every drip of water that flowed through the pipes, every wisp of air from behind me, the very temperature in the air. All of it I could sense, if only for as long as I command my senses to do so.

But let us return to the hunting of the dungeon to use that wonderful game terms I vaguely remember. In preparation for this I had to first retrieve the body of the lich and then review its memories once I retrieved the soul as well. That interrogation took quite a bit out of me. Having to first establish a mental connection to an ethereal decaying entity and then assaulting it. Experienced at it no? I eventually had to resort to overwhelming it by the mental equivalent of blunt force trauma and strangulation. No instruments, no preparations or tools to ease my work.

Once that was done I then recalled what fragments of the revenant I had created. Combining the two so that I would have some sort of muscle in actually taking the lab was the work of entire seasons. Having to risk dodging now rampant skeletons to collect reagents to use to anchor the thing was annoying since I did not want to risk going too deep and running into the experiments. The lich was not idle in its time hiding in the shadow of the estate, refuge in audacity indeed. Decades by terran standard, only a middling duration of cycles here. That just meant that I had a great deal of resources and a network I could make use of once usurped. A connection to the leyline nexus especially. Thankfully as the time frame here is with elves as a pretext I had the time to take the reigns. The hidden network that the lich ran to receive resources taking into account cycles worth of silence to maintain integrity.

But that came later, first was taking the lab complex for myself. I was lucky in that I bypassed most of the defenses initially by being labeled a resource specimen myself. Spooking the magical equivalent of an IFF for my first few series of expeditions was important. Keeping the equipment I needed to get through hidden within the complex as well was difficult logistically. I couldn't afford to overly exert myself as I could not exactly sneak out enough food to really sustain long term strenuous activity. Spec ops work without any resources, oh the annoyance of it as I plumped the excavated depths of this lab. I was lucky the sacrificial chamber was on the end of the complex connected to the manor rather then the opposite spatially. Surprisingly few defenses to deal with initially and a reasonably sized cache of goods to seize. The reason being that most of it was meant to be shielded by passive secrecy rather then actively defended.

The deeper portions of the complex were much more defended even if only by the environment.
Considering the presence of airlock like structures and the fact that undead do not need to breath, well that took time all its own to solve. Sigh it is so common for such areas to not have air. I was not surprised when I had to use my knowledge of biology to fix this, makeshift chemical filters within a stitched animal part mask and a sack filled with oxygen producing bacteria later makes for a rebreather system. The time and effort it took to find what I needed was another matter. The kits were useful in this. No they can't technically be called the kits anymore considering they are now fully grown and working. Low level servants in the household though I do manage a certain level of influence over them and others through those connections. I cannot afford anything too risky or suspicious though this tends to be trial and error. But back to the secret underground lair.

Crushing my way through resistance in as time efficient a manner requires... other measures.
The only weapons that could be reasonably used belonged to the various skeletons around. Cheap bronze along with a scattering of well maintained steel, all sized for an anthropomorphic figure of full growth and good strength. In other words not my current form, same for the armour. Best I could do was put together a ratty gambeson, layers of near decayed cloth and leather.

My magic as well was not developed enough to use without being obvious to my watchers and teacher. No I turned to an exotic option. I should have known it was still around, really I should have. Even with a body that was not the one that wielded it originally it coalesces with ease. It is a non descript seeming blade, until one things on the fact that such a definition is rather fluid across cultures. A deeper look will soon show that one cannot truly glimpse its exact dimensions, it is a weapon. No more, no less.

It was a weapon I loved and hated. It was 'MINE' though, mine as it resonated with its predecessor. As a sacrificial blade of another origin was subsumed into one with a much greater metaphysical presence. Nowhere near its peak of power thankfully The whispers of dead gods. Mine as it held the sum of my sins. Rovaam, the closest translation in a vocal tongue being Stained/Container of Hate/Sorrow. Stepping to the latest door of the area that I have not cleared I have a humorous thought, a grim one though. Oh this world will learn just what such a weapon means. I can hear the somewhat muffled noise of old but maintained mechanisms shifting as the door cycles itself. Once through the chamber though I am confronted by the latest batch of foes. A small gathering of skeletons, armed and armoured in makeshift fashion. An easy target.

Quicksilver like ichor flowed outward from the weapon in my hand forming into a longer blade. A hooked one as I trip the first approaching skeleton. Its bronze scale armour clattering as it collapsed. The bones in its remaining leg compacting as the weight shifted. Upon its skull was emblazoned a symbol of interlocking red ovals that formed a cross. A nick of my morphing blade caused the symbol to blink as the thing that allowed this skeleton to be animated was disrupted. The price of allowing these skeletons to last even without their master is another weakness to be exploited. Iits moment of weakness leading to it being drained by my proto-phantasmal lich.

Hmmm I think I will call such a class of entity as Eidolons. Yes that sounds better, the Eidolon I had was a prototype. A lesser example of what I knew it could become as it fed on more undead essence, as it devoured more bone to give itself a better physical anchor. Its current black form like a cloud only dimly keeping an anthropomorphic shape as it floated over the other skeletons. Tendrils of black mist connecting to them and causing the animating energy to be siphoned out.

Unlike the last revenant however this one had the gem I had found to act as a catalyst for its existence on the physical plane. One I shaped at first into a mask, just to make things simpler then any practical sense. Said mask floating around its central form, sometimes in what would pass for a chest and other times on its blank head. I had another purpose to let the eidolon fight, it needed both an anchor and sustenance to be useful. Thus the careful feeding of my foes to it. While it drained some on its own I weakened others to give it an easier meal. Cold calculation of the quantity of death aligned mana it expends to fight and what it gains back. Exactly what ways it manages to grow stronger and what else it may absorb from its battles I kept a close eye. As a newly risen dead it had no instincts, no knowledge of how to control its form. My unconcious puppeting of its body slowly faded away, learning from doing and remembering.

As it grew I could afford to lash out at more foes, to not need to avoid larger patrols but instead face them head on. Perhaps a third of the facility has been taken and cleared out. Mostly a few basic storage areas, basic workshops, and defensive posts. The heavier garrisons in my mind and the experimental labs are deeper in. Clacking behind my however is the sound of my bones, however it is not a foe. Besides this eidolon I have a few baser skeletons from amongst those fought earlier. Something must carry the spoils of my battles after all. Necromancy is not my calling nor one of the professions I specialized in. But one needs to learn how to commit EVERYTHING.... Everything into a total war... Do not lurk on those memories, just do not.....

What... what. Relax myself, realign the mind. My objectives, my goals, what do I need to do now. I find myself moving without even giving my body any thought to do so. A bronze macehead hurtles past me into the ground gouging out stone shrapnel. The shards bouncing off the leather reinforced armour I made. The sting of it however brings me back to the present.

Around me where once I was in a single corridor and a few skeletons instead I am in a larger antechamber. More than two dozen skeletons of various species, and more importantly some sort of spellcaster. Unlike the others it is not armoured but instead wrapped in a shawl of metal etched cloth, black lined scrimshaw denoting its ability to cast magic. It is not sophont, but its feral cunning allows it to overwhelm my guardian with numbers. Its magic used to allow the weapons to be able to inflict reasonable damage on the eidolon. A swing and the skeleton that attempted to end me takes a fall, its leg thoroughly disconnected of its animating force. A crunch and my boot cracks the skull into the wall, another swing and the next contender is torn in half. An unconscious thought and my weapon transforms into a bladed whip, the length of chain wrapping around the skeleton mage. The mage succumbs to true entropy and falls, the other skeletons instantly faltering as their boosted selves are no longer sustained. The clean up of the rest is easy. Now for the spoils.

Though my weapon had heavily damaged the skeleton mage its remains are still valuable. More mana infused then the other ones it is soon incorporated into my guardian's form. The exact spell work it could conduct is not immediately added to the abilities of my creation, that requires a restored set of magic conducting ducts and a replacement for the other half of its capacity that was the cloth. Technically magic does not require such additions to be used but it certainly allows a strong degree of consistency and safety. The eidolon cannot resurrect another from scratch but it can give itself a slight reinforcement to its defenses and attacks. And more importantly give those skeletons I have an actual chance at being useful. Considering it can now puppet them, giving more fluidity and dexterity to their movements. Should be able to overwhelm the opposition, perhaps even overtake them for my own use.

These are the good quality skeletons that formed the lich's personal guard. Not all of them but enough now to make use of them without needing my conscious to be split so many ways. Not viable with my soul degraded. Looking around the chamber I remember where this is, deeping into the second third of the facility. Here is where the core of the facilities are. The lich's personal quarters, more material storage, some of the labs, and the aforementioned garrison sites. If their inhabitants have not been activated and I can expand my eidolon's control capacity, that will be pivotal. That and looting everything, looting is very important.

But I have spent enough time here, no one has checked on my rooms yet from what my wards tell me but best not to risk it. Night time dungeon crawling, such a wonderful thing. Especially when I am on a schedule. I am fortunate that nobility are allowed a great deal of leisure for their sleeping periods. I doubt others can undertake the clearing of an enemy complex in neat three hour time blocks. Combat tends to not last very long but a battle will not be that sort of short scheduled nonsense.

Walking back along the path I took I can appreciate that it is much faster on the return. The help can return at their own laden down pace as I exterminated all possible threats. Beside the frequent amount of skeletons are other types of defenses. Not undead though, they are golems and other such things. Damaged and then repaired for use again. Deadly things if one does not know how to precisely avoid them. They appear to have been taken from the parts used to maintain the estate's golems. Corruption that will need to be dealt with, but it benefits me to leave it. The lich had notes for how to repair such things, ripped from the minds of others and in turn taken by me. It was shoddy work but I can extrapolate how to restore them to their peak capacity unlike the lich. And the improvements of course, there is always a way to improve even if it is only the specific circumstances In mind and body, in kith and kin. But only when I have the workshop the lich used to do so. Oh I want all of these facilities, to be able to get back to work. I need it so. But first cleaning myself off and making sure no evidence of my spelunking is left.

 

[WyrmofFrost]

Taking a bite of food from the dish in front of me I find myself interested in exactly why I have been called to eat this. At the age of eight cycles I have apparently been considered old enough to begin more serious education. Hence why I am sitting in one of the smaller dining rooms before an older middle aged man. He was short for a noble, only two meters tall compared to most who would be a hand. Currently he was dressed in more fashionably relaxed robes as he enjoyed taking a bite of his food. Pince nez glasses hanging on their string around his neck. His hands were calloused from a life of interesting events and a set of light scars on his forehead.
When he was first introduced to me he saw my interest and laughed calling it an old bit of childhood folly. His title and name is Senator Ildamo, an experienced diplomat and one of my father's trusted officials. Apparently he was considered most suited to become my tutor in statecraft, negotiation, society, and diplomacy.

I don't quite know too much about him, at least compared to his long life. I know he mentioned that he had been a friend of my father since he was young and at the academy. He also mentioned that he had met my mother during that time, his appearance is supposed to be one of refinement but he seems a little too boisterous to be so. Likely a preferred facade considering his task. He certainly is his own brand of teacher as the first act he decided when I met him was to bring me on a visit through the capital city. Disguised but still discretely escorted of course. It had been a surprise but eventually I simply went along with the event. It had been the first time I had been outside of the estate grounds.

He had come into life suddenly, like an unexpected cool wind. I had expected life to continue as it had in its routine. The servants around making sure I was fed, clothed, and educated for the inevitable family duties. Not the warmest but not cold either. Not even much sight of the three kits or their mother from when I was younger. A garden, tended strictly to the best conditions available. But that moment when I had been called for something was different. Not then but in hindsight I can see it as such.

I was led by the young nanny to the entrance hall where I would be introduced to the Senator. I honestly did not know what to expect of such a person, I had no experience with society beyond my little sliver of it. I remember give stiff short bow as was what was expected from my lessons. The man simply laughed it off and in a swish of speed had me shuffled off to the awaiting carriage. I admit to being rather on guard for much of the initial journey. Part of it was the physical contact. I admit that I do not trust anyone truly, it is more degrees of tolerance. But what was I to know about... so afraid of relaxing from your non-existent post. My mind.. my soul...

Where was I?... Oh right the soup in front of me. Today's lesson seemed to revolve around food. Fish soup being the main sample on display, not something common or of a variety I have seen before. Still as I carefully eat each portion laid before me I can take the time to let the flavor spread in my mouth. It is more enjoyable when the food is actually conventionally palpable, that is something I appreciate about this life. Regardless waste not want not is how I consider food. That and I need the calories and other nutrients.

Hmm was I doing something else beside this. Oh right the memories. Goro, the capital of the entire ducal realm. The crown jewel of the old and new, eternal city of prosperity and other such lavish praise. The city was indeed interesting, a mix of what I could tell was different eras of construction. The most ancient borough that contained pretty historical monuments and preserved architecture in the heart of the city. Solid stone work like an artificial mountain. Pitted but surviving. The still old but quite functional city center and its great expanse to the side of the heart of the city. The geopolymer mass of interconnected stone impossible to mold by other means of mortal hand. Even more imposing but also richly decorated with metal and paint. The signs of old battle could be seen in little out of the way corners though its defensibility even to my eye was good.

Then there was the more recent wood and comparatively crude concrete of the middle class, cheaper and not as enduring. But it was the outskirts, the many interconnected small towns and villages that made up the metropolis, the city state of the capital that we visited in detail.From the perfume and incense filled urban areas to more rural expanses, of pastures and farms. Much less fragrant of the urban, but just as constructed. Great scars in the earth, irrigation ditches filled with flocking fish that fed the many farms. Common areas of grass and flower with livestock grazing along. Fowl dominated some areas just as ungulates did others, webbed or clawed feet alongside hoof. Scenery I was actually interested in as It was not something I knew of beyond passingly in my full lives.

A massive variety of costumes did we travel through the area. In one I was a simple vagabond tinkerer's apprentice, another time the page of a knight watching serfs bring in the harvest to the granaries. The merchant's assistant as great sums were exchanged, the many beating paths of life.... I can honestly say that I enjoyed it. It was different. So very different. Such an experience was not one I had ever encountered. When the man had whispered to me once about imagining the faces of those that were having to hide out on guard duty I laughed. I don't remember laughing so lightly before.

The journey was good but it was not without its own serious nature. The focus of our observations was on the fifth class. The commoners who worked the lowest and most common tasks. The lowest were serfs who tended to farms with only hand tools all of which they did not own, growing minor plants to trade and fed from state granaries. Others were servants who carried out any task allocated to them. The highest were freeholders, not beholden to contribute their labour to the state and holding estates more than capable of allowing them to prosper and eventually join the ranks of the burghers. There were elves here, but mostly newcomers to the realm. A wild mix of beastfolk and humans from the outer reaches of the territory. Even many people from the colonial reaches apparently. A barrage of colour and sights like a vibrant forest scape, a symphony of accents and words as the ambiance.

The food and the experiences too were a nice memory. Words to describe them fully do not come easily with such a limited medium. A part of staying somewhat compatible with this multiversal cluster I suppose. The twinges of my soul's tribulations being just a part of the measure. I can remember a deeper language, one not so limited in its expressiveness that went beyond written or spoken language. Even beyond the five senses, but like a dream that one wakes from it is not here. But I did not let that ruin the experience. He spoke of the trip then as being to learn to engage with the people, to see life from their perspective. The needs and desires.

The senator after the months of observation were over said that this was a simple picture of life. A sketch that would grow into a beautiful painting. One I would be filling out for my entire life. He laughed then and told me that I would be taking other such trips later on. Just like he had with my father. That sentence seemed to be from the atmosphere more then something he meant to say for he quickly calmed down. I wanted to speak about what my father was like, what sort of people my parents were but he refused to do so. Why I still don't know, I think he was....bitter? I do not know for sure. He moved on to other matters and did not leave any room for asking again, or if I did still flatly refused. He does not seem to be a diplomat at all but his knowledge is useful regardless. He is certainly of interest, someone to watch and ask for knowledge from. With care of course.

The lessons on the estate when he did not take me traveling again usually involved a variety of props for a purpose. Throughout the meal I exchange small talk with the senator, minor things that I occasionally stumble on considering I do not know what exactly would be appropriate to bring up. Neither do I actually know much of the world to bring up anything interesting. I try to determine exactly what lesson he wished to be on display but I do not think I am experienced enough to know.

I end up speaking mostly of my lessons and my few interests. He seemed to consider my fluency in the various branches of Elgonin, the language of the Elven people to be very good for my age. He asked me to go through what I knew and how proficient I actually was. I started with the common tongue spoken in trade and by the commoners, some of the treatises I read considered it a bastardization of the proper tongue considering the amount of loan words and simplified grammar. Then I tried what was considered the more refined middle tongue typically spoken by most of the peerage and other learned groups. Then I tried the high tongue, the almost unchanged tongue from the Imperial Eras.

He spoke of how impressed he was for everything I had learned. Coaching his words carefully, part genuine part hidden implications. Perhaps there is even more to him then I thought. That seemed to characterize our interactions, his attempts to teach and the variety of masques he wears. Then my own learning and pointing out what seemed to be inconsistencies or things glossed over. I do not think that I need to go too deep. At least whatever shrivel of non-biological instinct I still have tells me that.

Besides the whirlwind that was the good senator I had lessons with some of the other servants and the mage. Learning etiquette as was usually the case was simple though long winded, remembering the many rules on how to act and with who. My master of magic and other scholarly studies focused more on how to stabilize and manipulate my magic along with other magic related theorems. That was the other major focus for my life. I wonder exactly how much of this would be considered conventional, the other two senior apprentices will not say anything to the seemingly out of proportion focus. I think that is enough of an answer. A strange disruption to me previous cycles of routine, but perhaps indeed a good one.