Kaustir, Chapter 5

[unanun]

Ykloid outskirts - Ipari barracks, brown

"First General Lortik, it is a pleasure to see you again." Amalia spun in surprise to find a familiar face.

"Warden Bracht?! Why are you here?"

The Ipari crossed her arms over her chest and bent slightly at the hip in salute. "Ipari guards are put on regular rotation in Dorgrad. Watching the mines for too long dulls the mind, and every Ipari must know how to lavawalk."

"It's nice to see a familiar face other than my own company here," Amalia murmured. In front of them, the fire scarabs chittered. The barracks were a collection of mudbrick buildings that sat on the beaches of the lava lake. Welded together by clay mortar, they easily withstood the licking flames and blistering heat. Beyond the barracks were the scarab pits. Inside them the 'horses' preened themselves. They basked contentedly in the heat, their shells iridescent against the waves of heat coming from the lake's shore, shells flexing to expose translucent wings.

"Come to the top of the watchtower with me."

Amalia followed the Ipari Warden up a steep and nearly endless ladder. As they reached the open top, they were hit by a fresh wave of rising heat, the glancing edge causing the General to tilt her head to the side.

"You can't look away, General. The Ipari and your company will rely on you even more than they did in the Dorgrad pits." Warden Bracht pointed out a bevy of optical instruments on the edge of the balcony. One was a very large glass, about the diameter of a head, providing weak magnification. Welded to the side of the instrument were several other thin tubes that the General could use to look closer.

"What are these things for, Warden?"

"When we are receiving priority shipments from Dorgrad, we help the scarab-caravans move through the ykloid (Zirako for wound) by spotting forming glass bridges between the pillars."

That was a convenient segue into the real question that had been Amalia had been itching to ask since she ascended to the balcony. "What are ..."

"Those pillars, First General?" The Ipari tilted her head, glancing down at the packed mud floor. The mask concealed her smirk. "I was hoping you could tell me about them. All we know is that they catalyze the formation and destruction of the glass bridges. Perhaps they have the ability to speak to lava. Perhaps that has what drawn the last remnants of the Turbatus cult here."

They paused for a moment to regard the floating pyramids: Bracht with apparent indifference, Amalia with unjaded wonder. Veniokai, the rare flying reptiles, flitted between the enigmatic structures. Their dry croaks echoed hauntingly. "We cannot tell you anything more about them. The geography of the area shifts too frequently to let us pinpoint where the insects are coming from."

"With your arrival, we will be able to begin the extermination." The warden held up a hand. "Five teams of four lavawalkers, and we will assign one of each of your company to a group. Once we scout their nest, we will fire upon it and flood it with lava."

From the barracks a dozen iron snouts sprouted. Each was a smooth bore barrel of an Imperial Artillery piece, a massive hunk of metal easily weighing a good ten to twenty draft horses. A dozen mouths ready to breath death upon the heathens hiding in the ykloid. Amalia gulped, and found her throat dry from the heat.

 

[Zen]

She walked with uncertainty towards the instruments, fingers gently moving the tubes so she could look through them. Amalia had heard of such instruments used by merchants who traveled to Pegulis, but never tried them herself. And now she would be relying on them to ensure that her soldiers wouldn't be lost to the lava or the insects.

Looking down she saw her party conversing with the lavawalkers, and desperately wished she could join them as well. In her hands were the flags and the horn she would use to communicate with them; despite the heat, her palms were becoming clammy with anxiety.

She leaned forward and glanced into the tubes, mentally noting the position of the listless insects that lumbered through the glass bridges. Amalia spoke, more for her benefit than the Warden beside her.

"To the north, about two hundred paces from us, there is a group. I think there are about five or six total."

Amalia saw a flurry of movements to the west, and switched to a narrow tube. "There are seven more in that area. They're bigger, so Rakar would be the best one to dispose of those. There might be more, but I can't tell."

She licked her drying lips. "Where is this cave the Ipari spoke of?"

"To the east," replied the Warden. "A molten river runs by it, so you must be careful."

"I'll send K'jol over there then." She looked down at Trystan, noting the scrawny and lithe build of her messenger. He was fast, but she wasn't sure of his strength. Through the tubes she spotted another band of insects, smaller but farther away in the northwestern corner. That would be perfect for him and his team.

"Are you ready, General Lortik?"

"I think so," said Amalia. She was shaking with excitement and trepidation.

"Then give your orders."

Her sputtering horn call made the General wince, but it caught the attention of the Ipari and her party. With each name she called, Amalia pointed in the direction they were to go to in case her voice didn't carry the instructions.

"Theo, you're stay here until we need you to scout the area. Rakar, to the west. K'jol to the east, and Trystan to the northwest. The fifth party heads north."

A reddish glare caught the General's attention. Peering through the tubes, she identified a massive glass bridge forming on the outskirts of the desert, pointing north. Amalia didn't waste a beat and motioned with her green flag.

"Ipari! Trystan! Go! Now's your chance!"

They spurred their mounts forward, and as their fire scarabs ascended the glass bridge, more began springing forth in a myriad of directions. "K'jol! Rakar! Move!"

 

[unanun]

Avarath, brown

"Lut Sar." Gulzar took another shot of Kresnick from his cabinet of liquors. He moved back to his desk without another word, and sat down carefully in the Mayor's chair, placing the cup on the tabletop so softly that it made no sound.

Click. Snap. Click. Lut Sar unfastened his insignia, one by one, and laid them on the desk. They all told the story of his service to Kaustir .. the Czar's Empire. His beetle settled in the desert-dried folds of his hair.

Fifteen decorations for initiative in the Ykloid and Harlyt scouting expeditions.

Three decorations for extraordinary bravery and sacrifice, in the Steppes campaign, the Desert Purge, and the Zirako campaign.

The stripe for conscript. The chevron for group sergeant. The double chevron for colonel. The stars for Field Marshal, supreme commander of the 1st Group.

"I remember those." Gulzar extended a gnarly nail to poke at the Field Marshal stars. "I remember how you stepped down and gave Korsch the title."

The insignia took a darker turn. Chevrons of the 3rd Group. Skulls and crossbones. Daggers and serpents. Bats and trolls hissed from behind the Czar's crest, pinned on top of leather made from creatures and enemies that Gulzar had the good taste not to inquire about.

"That's correct, Gulzar." Lut Sar finished laying the last insignia down, the symbol of Kaustir, brown with the blood of heathens, soaked in Nocturne blood. "Gulzar ... " he looked into the Draken's eyes, "I have given everything for Kaustir. I would go as far as to say I do not even exist. I do not have any personality. I do not have personal ambition, I do not love, I do not have likes or dislikes. This body ..." he placed a hand over his beating heart, "this body only exists as an instrument of Kaustir's will."

He quietly placed both gloved hands on the Mayor's desk.

"All I ask is that you give but the smallest fraction of what I have given for Kaustir."

The Mayor of Avarath leaned back in his chair. He was torn between disdain and grudging respect. The bloodsucker wanted to sway him with sob stories, about loyalty to a nation eking by in the desert? That would not work. He had also built a merchant nation, a fourth power between Avarath and Hosia, whose inventories and flow of currency could sway councils in all three lands.

No, he was not impressed.

But when he looked into Lut Sar's eyes, he didn't see the Nocturne. He saw Shae, Nu, the Wraiths, the Inquisition and the endless purges, the 1st Group and the countless wars, the blood curse that would never be repaid, and behind it all, the Czar.

He saw devotion.

"Two months."

Lut Sar smiled and sat back down on the recliner, reaching forward to pour them both a shot of Kresnick. "Two months."

Their glasses clinked and their throats bobbed.

 

[Kino]

The Pits of Hell, red

The last minute prep for this task was frustrating to say the least. A giant lake of lava with glass bridges that came and went. It was hardly what Rakar would have picked for a battleground. While Amalia was preparing in the tower with the Warden, her bodyguard equipped himself with a spear and set his tower shield aside in exchange for a regular shield. The giant tower shield was too unwieldy while mounted, and he didn't want to risk losing it to the fiery pit below.

Examining the fire scarabs that were picked out for them, Rakar settled on the largest of the bunch. He was a large man, even by draken standards, and was adorned in thick, heavy armor. A large mount was needed to better support his weight. When you're moving across glass bridges that could melt away at any moment, slowing your mount down with too much weight could be the difference between life and death.

Riding atop the fire scarab with small shield and long spear made the bodyguard feel quite out of his element. It was fortunate that his face was covered by his helm, but one look at Coros on his shoulder would prove that he was nervous. Rakar was indeed a brave Kaustiri warrior, but unfortunately, being brave meant being afraid too.

Like the others, he waited for Amalia's orders. He and his small group of lavawalkers stood ready to move. "Just remember, trust the scarab's instincts if you feel you can't trust your own. It knows what to do." One of the lavawalkers spoke in a calm tone, obviously far less nervous than Rakar. Coros gave a nod in understanding, and Rakar's grip on the reigns tightened.

The order was given, and he spurred his mount forward over the pit of fire. Looking down, the glass was semi-transparent, adding to the anxiety of the situation. They dashed from one pillar to the next as more bridges appeared. The lava plumed all around, sending waves of heat washing over them. Even for a draken who thrives on heat, it was almost overwhelming at times. However, the Ipari lavawalkers riding with him didn't seem to mind the heat at all. They were used to it. One of them rode next to Rakar to guide him forward. It was not long before the Turbatus bugs came into view.

Picking up speed, the five warriors rode towards the enemy along one of the many glass bridges. Rakar readied his spear, and prepared to strike. A swift thrust sent the end of the spear through the neck of the first cultist, and the next took a stab to the chest. Unfortunately, the angle was wrong and the spear snapped. Rakar was never the greatest with such a weapon, and even less skilled while mounted. The impact from the spear breaking was almost enough to knock the draken off of his scarab, but he managed to hold on. The Ipari rode ahead and brought down the remaining bugs in their path. They made it look easy, felling each with precise strikes to the head or throat. There had been nine total, and more to come.

Rakar tossed the broken spear into the lava below and moved to catch up with the lavawalkers. Two bugs in and he already lost his spear. Fortunately he still had his sword on his hip, and though it was not built for mounted combat, it would have to do. Upon reaching the next pillar, their scarabs jumped up and latched onto the side. Rakar gripped the pillar as best he could, and together they scouted the area to try and find where the cultists had come from. Perhaps Amalia was having better luck spotting them from her tower.

 

[UltimaCircuit]

The Demons Lair

K'Jol looked up to the tower, giving a nod as his name was yelled. He held up a fist, signaling for his group of lavawalkers to lead the way. Small squeaks and skittering sounds reverberated through the area around the greenscaled Draken as the Ipari made there way onto the bridge before him. Nervousness racked his body as his own scarab made it's way across the semi-transparent bridge. Sweat dripped down his face as he looked down to the fiery pit below him. Bubbles of lava popped, releasing long and visible streams of smoke.

"Don't dwell on it too long. It will only make you more nervous."

"H-Huh?"

The Ipari in front was the one who was speaking. The Draken looked to the side, embarrassed that even others could notice his fear of death. 'A soldier of Kaustir should not be afraid of things such as this... the beast I am upon shall make it for me.' The group neared the end of the bridge. Those in the front of the convoy had their scarabs latch upon the sides of the pillar before them. K'Jol followed suit, grunting as he held the reigns of the scarab tight. Being suspended in mid air made him want to vomit. By the time the bridge behind them dissipated another formed, in between the new pillar they were on and mountain of rock that stuck out from the pool of death below. This time, the famed warrior lead the way. One hand held the reigns tightly as he wiped the sweat off his face with the other. Draken thrived in heat, but this heat was almost becoming too much for him to handle. As they neared the pillar of rock he laid his eyes upon long dark strands that coated almost every inch of the ground. As soon as the last of the Ipari touched down on the pillar K'Jol dismounted his scarab, unsheathing his halberd from his back.

"Do you see that over there?"

The greenscale turned in the direction that the man was pointing towards. His heart sank. A putrid scent emanated from the sides of the opening.

"What shall we do?"

"Signal for the general's attention."

The soldier knocked, kicking away a pile of hairs before swiping a green flare across the ground. After doing so he tossed the green light into the air.

"She must see this..."

​

 

[unanun]

The Ykloid Pits, brown

"There." Warden Brachet swiveled the optical instruments at the faint, dancing green light. The flare was dim amid the hellfire and mirages in the lava pits, but the blinking caught their attention. "They have found something." The First General stepped up to the glass plates. The heat rose in waves, sometimes carried straight into her face by the scouring winds, other times blown the other way with the blissfully cool desert air behind them. Besides the heat and blowing sand, the air rippled around the pits, distorting her view. She could not tell what they had seen.

"The nest?" Amalia signaled to a nearby Ipari. "Have the other groups move to the East. Call Rakar and Trystan and have them converge to K'Jol's position."

"Delay the order, First General." The healer turned to Warden Bracht, slightly miffed. "Why? The signal means that they have found the nest."

The Warden shook her head. "They have found something. Be careful; if you collapse our search pattern, we may miss the true nest. We are also making ourselves vulnerable by gathering our warriors in one spot."

"We need more information, then." Amalia raised a yellow flag and urged their parties forward. Warden Bracht smiled behind her mask.

~​

Trystan was in an interesting place. As an Imperial messenger in the 1st Kaustir Military Group, his agility and alacrity was on par with a young oryx and seasoned sand gecko. His feet were exceptionally large for his height, and he was very lean, so he could dance across the dunes. On sand, he could outpace an oryx with water and a cloak.

But here, he felt like the next gust of hot air would sweep him off the fire scarab. He grasped the dry leather reins nervously. What made him nervous was that he was parallel with the lava, only his legs and ass holding him to the saddle of a fire scarab that clung vertically to one of the octahedrons that floated over the roiling red pits. His hair floated off the back of his neck. Droplets of sweat fell to hissing oblivion below.

The lava gathered itself below, and extended a tendril to the arcane, pulsing runes, affixing itself and cooling into a smokey vitreous bridge. With a rush, the five fire scarabs faced downwards and chittered to the new path. Trystan's stomach sank, and he clung for dear life.

~​

Rakar was similarly suspended horizontal on another floating octahedron. A Veniokai flew past him, cawing loudly.

"Do not worry about them. We respect each other's space are well left alone." The golden helmed Draken turned, skeptical, to the closest lavawalker. They were dressed in light armour, but the sheen of metal also gleamed on their leather.

"You have dressed well. The gold foil will turn away the heat." Another bridge formed and their scarabs flowed along it. "Hug your scarab. It will reduce your exposure to the heat." Rakar lowered himself against the carapace and found it cool.

Off in the distance, a structure that looked more familiar than the rest caught his eye. A door .. that made a little more sense than the floating monoliths in the ykloid.

~​

The heat may have been horrible. The heat may have been even too much for a Draken. But it sharpened his senses. Where the ipari had to wipe their eyes behind their goggles and blink against the heat, K'Jol's reptilian eyes flicked uninhibited and saw clearly through the mirage.

The ground rumbled, and claws, nightmarish black claws, reached through the opening and pulled the body out with it. A turbatus insect rose to challenge them.

The insect was not like the ones they had faced in Dorgrad. It had assimilated the Dorgrad iron into its body. And it slithered for K'Jol's party.

 

[Zen]

Through the instruments, the First General spotted the impending danger. The armored insect slithered its way towards the famed warrior, droplets of lava sliding off of its iron carapace. Heart stuck in her throat, Amalia brought the ram's horn to her lips and blew. The sound echoed around her, but she had her doubts. Would K'jol's party hear the warning? Did they already know of the danger?

Instinct drove her towards the ladder. The Warden's arm snaked out and grabbed the general by her arm, her grip vice like.

"Let go," she breathed, beads of sweat rolling down her forehead. "I need to help him."

"General," said Warden Bracht levelly. "K'jol can handle it on his own. The others need you to spot the unseen enemies."

"He can't handle it on his own." A lie, of course. Her heart wanted her to be down there, able to help him and the others should they need it. It felt wrong being on this platform and instructing her warriors where to go; what if she sentenced them to their death?

"Yes, he can. He is the famed warrior."

"But in Avarath, he--"

"In Avarath he was was bound in chains. This is different. He has the chance to fight."

The First General stopped struggling, and lifted herself back on the platform with gritted teeth. Could this considered a fair fight? K'jol and his party of Ipari and Wraiths against an iron insect? To the Warden it seemed fair odds, but to Amalia it seemed like a death sentence. The healer was shaking at the prospects.

Through the lens, she glimpsed more insects around the messenger and saw Trystan hesitating. She blew through the horn once more in a long high pitched note to get his party's attention. She raised her green flag and waved it forward, giving him the command to fight back.

"Let's hope he survives the onslaught," purred Matil. "I wouldn't able to forgive myself if he died."

Amalia's slap passed through the incorporeal body of her Aux.

 

[unanun]

(Part 2 of ?)

Before I learned to drink blood, I do not know how much time had passed. The endless days of wandering the snowy oblivion were all mixed together. Like waking from a long, incomprehensible dream, blood catapulted me into wakefulness.

The fear that came with losing this new found alertness was replaced by the fear of being hunted. I did not have time to contemplate my actions, or why they were chasing me, but I knew that the ones who had fired an arrow into my shoulder were the same ones incessantly tracking me through the tundra.

Day after day I fled. I sprinted forward during the night, while they came during the day. Every time I closed my eyes at dawn, wedged in between rocks or covered with snow in a small dirt hole, I was plagued by visions of waking up to daggers in my chest. The continuous stress of being the prey took its toll on my body. For the first time, I tasted the blood again in my mouth when I threw up into the snow. The brown, chunky sour puke hissed as it hit the snow.

I kept running, up and up (I wasn't sure why). The air grew thinner and colder. The hunter's footsteps grew fainter and fainter, and one day I could no longer hear them through the ground. I made my way through the mountain pass and gazed upon the yellow ocean below, on the other side. Waves of sand blew on its surface. Land fish dove in and out of her waters.

(Twenty years later)

Avarath, brown

Trade with Hosia had screeched to a halt. The great bonfires, whose smokey flames charred the ceiling black with their soot, were only ashes and silent now. The grind of iron wheel on iron rails was absent, the creak of wooden pallets that bore the weight of hundreds of ingots of Dorgrad metal gone, missing accompaniment by the shouts of the walla couriers who ferried inventory orders from one accountant to the next.

The salty and herbal air was replaced with the stench of anti-rust oils. The Avarath merchants had long made off with their stagnating shipments. Sea salt and yeast cultures for the more adventurous, willing to step off the coastal routes with a small convoy into frozen Pegulis. Iron, sand (for glass), spices, and rare animals from the desert sailed on the last massive barges along the Prosperos shore. No, there were no signs of merchant activity left here. The oil and dry wood smell introduced a new chapter in Avarath.

The bonfires stuttered to life again, and giant chutes opened up in unison, extending into nothingness and pouring in light from the surface. Industry breathed new life into the warehouse. Here, where the ends of the warehouses terminated in coves littering the Kaustir coast, secrets were assembled.

Secrets from the Zirako book of engineering.​

Secrets from the book of war.​

 

[DotCom]

Shae - Avarath, red

She hadn't moved when she heard Nu get up to leave. She wasn't so stupid as to think either of them believed she'd slept, but she didn't know what to say, so silence was easier.

By midday, the heat had moved from simply oppressive to dizzying, and by the time evening swept through in straw-colored respite, chills had racked her entire body. She knew, at the back of her mind, she ought to move to find cold water or a healer if she was allowed one. She thought she might be. The High Inquisitor so loved his illusions of fairness and justice. Instead, she brought clumsy fingers up to her neck, the wound he'd given her, the one at which it had become habit to worry and prod. It felt hot under her fingers, but then so did everything.

Nu had left the day before, and Shae thought she could scry for her if only she could find the energy. She rolled to her knees to stoke a fire and vomited instead.

The heat seemed to swell around her, pressing down as if to smother.

To kill.

The mirror clutched to her chest, her hand bleeding on ragged, broken edges, Shae slept.

Shae dreamt.

Fevre Dreams, #00b3b3

Desert basin, impossibly boundless. Burned black cauldron coated with mirror glass. Mist rises from the center, shrouding shadow creatures in scattered light. A snake. A fox. A beetle. A sparrow.

Snake speaks first. Poison falls from an open mouth, turning glass to liquid fire.

What doesssss blood buy? There issssss no crimson coin.

Isn't there? Beetle looms impossibly large. Black wings shine bright as the glass underneath.

Crimson coin can purchase pride. Allegiance. Loyalty.

Beetle leers. Fox and sparrow shrink.

Your essence.

Her fever rages and the desert grows darker. The glass beneath their feet begins to splinter. The shadow creatures take no notice. She begins to think she's screaming, and not a one of them turns to look.

You only have to figure out what anyone wants for themselves. Fox weaves amongst hairline cracks like a dancer floating atop the water. Never sees the danger. Then you can play any game you like.

Time is cyclical. Snake draws closer to the fox, by turns playful and spiteful, cunning and cruel. She screams louder. Only the sparrow moves, yellow feathers growing dull in the moonlight.

Man is never given what he is owed. A man will take what he needs, and demand what he wants.

Snake lungs, sinking impossibly long fangs into fox's neck. The desert basin splinters, and all four figures fall away. Snake wraps tight around fox as they burn to ash. Beetle scuttles into darkness. Sparrow watches. Makes no move to flee.

She kneels too late, pressing bleeding hands to splintered glass, managing only to turn the earth to fire and flame.

All around her, the world burns.

​

And burns.

By the time the desert's next dawn was spreading long fingers of pink, coral, orange over the darkened sands, Nu was two days' journey from the city walls. She was making good time despite a bone deep exhaustion, perhaps aided by the bandages and salves spread across her back.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps it was simply that this was where she had been meant to be.

She felt right, whole, or near enough. Slanted light left pits of shadow in dimples of sand all around her, and she could see herself crouched in each and every one. Kneeling once more, a repentant dog returned to its master, quiet again, but all the more dangerous for the appearance of docility. The pouch at her hip held three black feathers encased in glass.

She was dangerous, even on her knees. Especially on her knees.

Her vulture made silent circles overhead. Takeda's sword drew closer.

 

[Kino]

The sight of the door brought both relief and anxiety to the golden armored draken. If such a door in this environment wasn't a red flag for what they were looking for, then nothing would be. Rakar called out to the lavawalkers riding with him, pointing to the door as he did.

"There! We've got to get over there and signal the General."

They nodded and led the way. Together they rode from pillar to pillar along the glass bridges that came and went. Rakar kept himself low against his fire scarab to shield himself from the heat as lava continued to plume all around them. It made sense to him why someone would hide in a place like this. It was highly unlikely that anyone would find you hiding among a giant pit of lava, or that anyone would be bold enough to even try, but that was exactly what Rakar and the others were there to do.

Finally they reached the small island with the door where Rakar and the lavawalkers dismounted. Rakar stepped towards the large stone door, examining it. "Keep an eye out. We don't want any of those damned bugs getting the jump on us here." He turned to the lavawalkers and found that they were already setting up a perimeter. The draken pulled a green flare from his hip and struck it against the front of the stone door to light it, then tossed it up to signal Amalia.

"Even if this isn't the bugs' nest, it's got to be something... This door is here for a reason."

 

[Zen]

Heart hammering in her throat, Amalia spotted the green flare with ease. She grabbed one of the scopes and peered through it, noting how Rakar's party was waiting beside an entrance. All around them the lava bubbled and hissed, causing the First General to wince with empathy.

She lunged towards the side of the platform, fingers gripping tightly to the railings. Her face was flushed from the heat.

"Theo, you're needed. Take your party and head towards Rakar's."

The First General eyed the platform like contraption that the anima would be stepping on. It was pulled by four of the largest fire scarabs in the camp, but the amount of swaying and bucking Theo would experience would be seriously uncomfortable. And there was the matter of the platform he was standing on... It was made out of wood; a burst of lava and the entire contraption could burst into flames. She did not envy him, and prayed, no hoped, that he would survive the journey there and back.

"Survey the area for the real nest. And have your flares on you in case you need more instructions."

"Or help," Matil added with a chirp and flick of her tail.

 

[Obskeree]

THEO

Theo stepped onto the wooden platform and waited patiently while he was strapped on by the attendants, and then the walk began. Despite being firmly attached to the board, which was firmly attached to the beetles, he still felt like he had to balance as if he might fall off when they started to move. It was precarious as it must have looked as the trek took him around narrow precipises and temporary, unsteady pathways of rock surrounded on all sides by the shooting pillars of lava.

The challenge of standing still was enough to get his adrenaline pumping and distract him entirely from the potential danger he walked into. The First General had told him to scout as he went, but he found it very difficult to concentrate on looking around without panicking and losing his balance - without rock or earth beneath him, he found it very difficult to do much of anything.

Not nearly soon enough, he spotted Rakar's group on the island through the heat haze and called out to them as he approached.

"I don't like the look of that," he said to Rakar, nodding to the door. "Do you think more bugs are in there?"

 

[unanun]

[dash=grey]

Lut Sar was in his administrative office, a dark cavern on a ledge that overlooked the entirety of the Avarath Imperial Warehouses. There were no goods awaiting shipment, or the harried shuffle of papers by bureaucrats, or the impatient shuffle of feet by Kaustrian merchants. The flood gates at the ocean's entrance had been opened, and the Prosperos sea poured into well disguised dry docks, bringing with them a full twenty-six warships. They were scheduled for rehabilitation, to be hastily turned into iron warships, their cannons widened in diameter, and the addition of massive metal organs that belched thick, palpable black clouds into the sky - organs of fire and coal that would free them from the whims of the Prosperos winds. Perhaps these twenty-six warships would be a match for the state-of-the-art turtle ships that K'Larr had made off with - and perhaps they would not. A certain engineer had assured him that they would.

"You are sure about these figures."

Nyroc smirked at him, full of youth and cockiness. "Marshal Sar, you're good at logistics, right? I'm good at engineering."

Lut raised an eyebrow and pushed a finger into the schematics, Nocturne strength folding and creasing the translucent tracing paper. "These ships will have no buoyancy. They will sink to the bottom of the dry dock as soon as we let the waters in, even I can see that."

"Beware of what you see, with an amateur's eyes." The young imperial engineer knew Lut Sar enough to joust with him, for he knew that the Marshal of the 3rd Group let results speak.

"This had better be worth the iron. A hull five chi thick ..." The Marshal picked up an elaborate seal from the table - a lion on a snake on a beetle, and dipped it into iridescent purple ink - a thick paste that folded on itself endlessly, obtained at great expense from the Viridos coasts to dissuade counterfeits. The seal thumped deeply on the requisition order with an air of finality.

In the secret docks six to ten, five half cylinders were already been riveted together. Nimble Dorgrad citizens from the House of Fire and Earth tossed red hot rivets from reignited furnaces to workers on the megastructure, who pounded them flat with giant hammers. In the middle of each structure stood a contraption of gears and tubes that had an empty space for a sphere.

[/dash]

(Part 3 of ?)

From the mountain tops, a line of black grains moved along the endless sea of yellow ones. I made my way down and was absorbed into their ranks. They were the revolutionaries, cadres who came from an unknown place to stage an uprising in a foreign land to establish a wholy illegitimate nation.

My tale is not one of rags to riches, a soldier of fortune, or a miner who finds a vein of gold in his clay pit; it is much more ignoable happenstance. The column of warriors only followed two rules: listen to your leader, and kill anyone who does not. I simply did as I was told, and plowed a bloody path through the scattered tribes that seemed to sprout from the sand. Weak desert weeds they were, we easily united the three main features of the yellow ocean under the Czar's rule, in under three winters.

When my aux first appeared, my heart was split in two. For children in the Dry Land, the appearance of their aux confirmed their sentience, and its coalescence was a rite of passage. I could not see the writing on the wall, and was in denial, even now, that a piece of me had become so foreign to my own understanding to the point where it completely dissociated from myself. I refused to name it, but it followed me, faithful forever.

It was also the first time someone tried to kill me and I didn't know it. An arrow flew from a pipe buried in the sand tipped with kajut wasp poison, and a blinding light turned it away. My aux was underwhelming in size, stature, and ability. It did not allow me magnificent advents like the Czar's, nor feats of strength by our mightiest warriors, nor moments of unsurpassable cunning from our cutthroats. My beetle took on habits and abilities and handicaps that were so like my skills that it seemed to mock my existence.

All in all, my aux saved me directly from fifty-eight assassinations and indirectly from twenty-three, when I could suddenly hear premoninations from behind walls or in a whispered tent thirty strides away. The fiftieth attempt was Mu's, and the fifty-third was Nu's.

As you may have guessed, I am a man with little physical ability, except for whatever fortitude runs in my veins from a forgotten ancestor or ancient benefactor. Perhaps, you could claim, that I have outstanding fervor to make up for the enfeebled state of my childhood. Just like baptizing a child, my mind was indelibly marked with the first philosophy it came across. I accepted Lukesh's reasoning as my own, his cause as my cause, and his dreams as my dreams, a perfect ideologue.

So for the next one hundred years I followed him, because he was the first one to tell me what to do, what to think, what to believe, and how strongly to do it. Somewhere along the way I may have developed a conscience. Perhaps it was during the time in the Imperial Baths, when I had Nu's arms pinned behind her back and her breasts stood through the wet lace she wore. Or maybe thirty years before that, as I extinguished the last vestiges of guerilla resistance from the great piles of sand by pouring molten iron from bottomless crucibles until I turned an entire horizon into smouldering glass and screams. Somewhere, sometime, my ardent loyalty to the Czar's cause slowly tempered into a fanatical type of nationalism, an axiomatic type of nationalism buried so deep in me that I ceased to be myself, but merely became an instrument of the populace. Could I ever have claimed to be myself, or have I eternally been a piece of flotsam in the intermingling destinies of others?

It was in this capacity that I reached the peak of my service to Kaustir at the fiftieth anniversay of her founding.

Ykloid pits, brown

Perhaps the Draken was famed because he could best combatants similar in stature with his legendary halberd skills. Perhaps he was famed because he could beat opponents twice his size. But the creature that howled before him was an entirely different monster.

The Turbatus insect pulled itself from the pits. Iron plating appeared to be bubbling from its carapace. Its exoskeleton was both shiny and dull from different angles. It seemed encumbered, but the heat, nor K'Jol's halberd, bothered it.

It raised a claw and two fire scarabs fell apart in halves, their legs twitching with dimming memory of life. The four lava walkers escorting K'Jol leaped onto the remaining two and urgently called for the famed warrior. The Draken pulled the reins on his scarab, but the insect's pincers vibrated, a screeching frequency that froze the scarab in place. At the same time, the dark hole in front of K'Jol bristled with a nightmare's amount of glowing compound eyes.

The events dimly played through the glass plates on the watchtower where Bracht and 1st General Amalia stood. The Warden rattled off gibberish to a nearby Ipari, who blinked a bright candlelight at the artillery outpost. Metal grinding on metal signaled the repositioning of the cannons, their maws directed toward K'Jol's island.

"If we don't seal that hole shut, the vermin will overwhelm Rakar. We need to secure him a pathway where we can send reinforcements to help him excavate the entrance." Already, a flood of black dots, hazy in the waves of heat rising from the lava pits, told Amalia that an insurmountable amount of things were pouring from the hole.

"But K'Jol is still there."

"And?"

"K'Jol is part of my party. Do not fire, Warden. Do not fire."

"An Ipari's purpose in life is to give it for the benefit of more lives than their own." That was the principle of Dorgrad, and only Amalia's order stayed Warden Bracht's hand as it raised a yellow and red striped flag, high in the air. In the background, lava boiled between the floating octagons.

 

[Zen]

She was frozen in place, the tube clutched mere inches from her eyes. The flood of insects was growing, widening in the swaths of lava and heat. They traveled over the molten rock, burrowed into the hellish flames, and some were making their way towards the pillar and glass bridges. She saw a line of them crawling their way towards Rakar. Amalia's hand was shaking.

Matil hissed upon her position on the railing, batting an invisible enemy with her paw. The sand cat was just as distressed as Amalia, but those amber eyes were staring desperately at Rakar. In mere moments the draken, her mentor, would be overrun.

The tube fell from her hands with a clatter. Amalia stole the striped flag from the Warden and waved it down towards the Ipari.

"Close the hole!" the First General commanded. "We can't let more of them come to Rakar."

In seconds, a deafening blast rocked the tower the Warden and the General stood upon. It sent Amalia sprawling onto the floor, but Matil remained on the railing. The ballistic soared, arced over the flaming pits before them, and came crashing down with a thundering roar. Amalia surged forward, fingers gripping the railing in a death grip. Her knuckles and face had gone pale, but her heart was beating harder than ever.

As the rocks crumbled, and a plume of smoke and fire rose from the hole, Amalia prayed. She prayed for the safe return of K'jol.

"Please... Please be alive."

 

[DotCom]

The heat from the sun had plunged a knife into her vision, carving away at her consciousness, narrowing her field of sight to a long, dark tunnel ringed by blinding spots of white, terminating in a perfect sphere of yellow-red. Her thoughts crept by at a snail's pace, and yet too immaterial, all of them, to be of any use. She thought of Lut Sar, and of Knox, and of Shae. She had killed one of them, and maybe she had been foolish to thing it would bring joy. But then she had learned to stop seeking anything as foolish as joy long ago. What she wanted, needed, craved, was closure.

Lut Sar had been wrong in thinking the end of her life would be punishment.

She wondered if he realized he played only the means to the end he had started.

 

[Obskeree]

Theo

He trotted to the door and inspected it, running it past his senses. Intricately carved. Magma touched. Andesite. It wasn't one he worked with often as it was most commonly in top-side deposits. Focusing on the rock before him made the world so much simpler.

The effect shattered with the sudden blast which drew Theo's attention away from inspecting the door. As he turned he saw the small line of turbatus insects which had escaped the radius continuing their path towards them, slowed occasionally by the temporary loss of a pathway.

Was this it? Was he really going to have to do battle here? What if he died here? His first real battle, and in such harsh, blistering and complex terrain - not to mention his position strapped to the lavawalker. Why couldn't they stay underground in the dark?

"Comrade," he wanted to say, "What do I do?" but the words got lost in his throat.

The bugs approached, and he steeled his nerves and gripped his battleaxe so tightly his knuckles went white. Sweat dripped into his eyes and made the effects of the heat haze even worse. How far away were they? He couldn't tell until they were beside him.

Chaos broke out on their platform, a dizzying, nightmarish flurry, and Theo roared and swung and hoped for the best. The battleaxe collided with something, and so he continued as he had begun. As two of the bugs gathered around him he twisted to swing at them but the shift of his great weight broke his connection to the lavawalker. His hooves slipped from the board - he fell, crushing one of the bugs beneath him.

Out of options, he wrestled with it on the hot ground, trying to keep its writhing pincers and mandibles away whilst maneuvering his horns and hooves around to do some sort of damage to the thing, hoping one of the Ipari or Rakar might see and intervene before any other bugs spotted him helpless on the hot ground and - thank the soil below - they did. An Ipari spear tore through the bugs exposed maw - opened by Theo's strong fists - and the Ipari it belonged to helped him to steady himself before immediately turning and heading back into the fray.

Not many had actually made it out of the explosion by the hole; half were already dead and Theo felt as though he hadn't helped in the slightest. Nonetheless, he grabbed his weapon off the ground and charged back in himself.

 

[Tone 6th]

Voyage Night One, Blue

It was the first night of their trip to the Hosia ports, Arania had decided to make Takeda her company for the evening. The small boat rocked underneath their weight as they sat in the dining cabin. Till was outside, steering the ship. The tree-like creature had been steering in a silence that made the sound of the water pound against the sides of the boat. The weather had been rather light on them so far, and it was safe for them to steer through the night. Till did not seem to be in need of any sleep, oddly enough.

As they sat there, Arania fiddled with the frills on her skirt. It seemed like she was much against the idea of talking with Takeda in the first place, but the determination in her eyes overpowered the awkwardness and the fear. For once, she wanted to say something a bit more useful than what she had come up with as of so far.

"This trip… it has taken me a long time to gain the confidence. I wish I had done so when the ports had still been open. Even with the general's orders, this must be a lot of trouble for you."

Takeda did not answer that, making Arania anxious. But when she raised her eyes to gaze at him, she noticed his silence was caused by him listening to her. Gaining courage from this, she continued speaking.

"I'm unaware of the circumstances leading to my birth. I remember the first part of my life. It was spent in a home with two people that I thought was my parents at the time. They would be an old couple now, if they are still even alive. When I was young, I had more of a temper than I do now. I ran away from home when I figured out they were not my parents. They were humans, and I was a Nocturne. The old couple was healers, and they had taught me about herbs and dangerous plants in the forests since I was little. It inspired me to become a healer myself, despite what bloodline I might have. When I wandered the forests of Viridos back then, I believe that what they taught me was what saved my life over and over again."

Arania was very sentimental about the couple; they'd taken great care of her when she was little, and yet she had left them with such angry, emotionless words. If she had the chance, she would probably go back and change all the things that happened – it was one of her only wishes when it came to her past. It was a wish that she wanted to grant someday. Maybe if she did it now, she would be able to do it before they died. She didn't want to chicken out until they had passed by.

"Going through the forests like that, I, a Nocturne, was not very welcome. An amount of forest kins set up traps for me to fall into, told me that I was not welcome in the forests. When I was about to get killed in this territory, I ran away and stumbled upon the ports. For me, it was the opening to a new world. I took what money I had scraped together during my trips through villages, and jumped on the nearest boat. That's how I ended here in Avarath."

The warrior seemed to be awaiting an explanation for suddenly telling him all of these things, and Arania supposed it was important, albeit a bit obvious, if one asked her.

"The reason I'm telling you this was to ask you something; do you think that the old couple will be of any value to figuring out what we need to know? Since they have, as far as I'm aware, raised me from birth, they will maybe know who my mother is."

Takeda thought on her story, reflecting on what she asked him. He turned his gaze to the to the new moon.

"Everything has a beginning, and events that lead to an end. Every one single event has a great effect on that end." he turned his gaze back to her and smiled. "Yes, I do believe the couple will be of use to us. If you've cared for a child once you will care for them forever."

The samurai pulled a book from his bag titled "The Basics of Viridos" and brought a lantern closer to him. "In regards to your earlier statement, this is no trouble for me at all Arania. I wish to do right by the General and you, so if this is the price I must pay then so be it. Honestly I though I was going to have to go through a much tougher trail." he chuckled. "Till has told me it will be a three day journey to Hosia, so get some rest we have a long trip ahead of us." he said in a quiet tone and began reading his book.

The lapping of the waves against boat eventually lulled the both of them to sleep.

Five Years Ago: A Beating With A Purpose, Orange

*Smack* *Crack* The familiar sound of a fist digging into someones ribs echoed through the halls of the dojo. "Come on boy get up and fight." a haggard voice commanded. A slim Nocturne sat of his knees, arms rapped around his sides. The instructor turned his back to his student "Typical pathetic Nocturne one small punch to the sides and you're one the floor crying like a babe." disgust in his voice. The black haired boy stared burning holes into his teachers back as guards filled the dojo. The young man raised his hand "No none of you touch him. Master Basudha would kill you all." he gasped between pained winces. "Ah finally fighting your own battles?" a condescending tone in his voice. Basudha turned to his student and struck a fighting stance "Well come on then you little whelp prove me wrong about your kind!" he roared. The boy shambled to his feet and struck a stance and through a quick jab to his teachers face. *Whack* It was easily blocked, but the student was not discouraged coming in with a strong round house kick to his teachers ribs. A small wind came off the kick as it landed square hit into his master's side. He smirked "Who is pathetic now old man?" but to his dismay Basudha's face showed no sign of pain. "Over confident little dog!" he yelled and grabbed his leg. Basudha yanked his student in and came in with a punch to stomach, knocking the wind out of his surprised student. The Nocturne dropped to the floor and clutched his stomach. "I taught you never to stop until your opponent is on the ground screaming for his mother. Combinations are one, two, three actions or more." he paced in front to the writhing mess in front of him. "Yes... sir..." the Nocturne chocked out and got to his knees. Basudha stopped and sighed "That is enough for today." he walked off and grabbed a cup of water. "Sit with your legs crossed, I've taught you better." he said in a quiet tone. The young man struggled, but managed to sit properly. The master gave his student the the cup and watched his gulp down the water. Once the boy calmed down they went into meditation reflecting on that days lesson. "You have great deal of potential as a Musti-yuddha fighter. Remember every stone starts out jagged until the hot sands of the desert smooths out the edges." The teacher said coming out of meditation. "Thank you Master Basudha." the student bowed. "Now have one of your patsies see to that rib of yours." he smirked.

 

[unanun]

[dash]

There was no conflagration or plumes of fire. K'Jol heard the whistling in the air as the black metal spheres fell from the sky. Great pillars of dirt and obsidian were thrown into the air. In the dust and fog the carnage was wrought. The black powder exploded and filled the eyes with choking, stinging dust. And as hands tried to clear the eyes, the metal bits buzzed past them, angrily biting into their flesh. The insects and Ipari alike were torn apart by a thousand and one bites, skin and muscle and organs peeling back to bone. The Ipari left serenely in a storm of flesh and blood.

Amalia would not have time to survey the aftermath of her order. She was dragged from the railing by Bracht, her fingers nearly dislocating and placed in front of the optics again.

Rakar threw an insect claw off his shield. The insect was heat resistant, but the inclusion of metal into its body made it unwieldy. As it reared up again for another strike, Rakar pressed his shield into its underbelly and heaved. It fell off the ledge, shrieking, into the lava below, and exploded in a frenzy of boiling stone and ichor. If the Draken could sweat, he would have been sweating profusely. The heat of from the lava and his exertions had begun to make him dizzy. A nearby Ipari emptied his precious cache of water on him, cooling his head and unfogging his vision.

Theo lost his axe, the giant metal head buried in a Turbatus' body. Wrench as he did, his weapon stubbornly refused to be dislodged. A new group of Ipari arrived and stabbed the soft spots with their spears, pulling the centaur back into a defensive circle in front of the door. They began to a dig a foxhole. One of the Ipari threw Theo a pickaxe.

"What .. what .. what are you .."

"Did you know that my favourite drink is ice water with Pegulis snow berries?" The Ipari's nonsensical statement shocked Theo back to the reality of the situation, the muted sounds of battle growing louder, Rakar's roars filling his ears. He did not know what he was doing, and sensed that asking for explanations would be too much. Instead, he feverishly joined the Ipari in their task, his pickaxe sifting enormous amounts of earth.

A flare flew into the sky. Red and yellow.

Warden Bracht raised her hand and dropped it. The lion's mouths roared again, spitting sparks and choking smoke. Another volley of the black spheres shot high into the sky and lazily fell down to deliver death.

The Ipari, who where holding the insects back behind metal-plated wooden shields, heard the whistling and dove into the pit, dragging Rakar with them. The Draken thrashed, lost in the frenzy of battle, but they piled on top of him, layering their shields on top and covering the hole. Around them white flashed and thunder ripped through the air as the shells fell down once again, seeding the area around them with craters and metal. At the very bottom of the hole, Theo closed his eyes and shivered for dear life. If he imagined hard enough, it felt like Dorgrad; the darkness, the pounding, the heat and pressed bodies - but the stench of fear lingered.

The pounding stopped, the shelling stopped. The Ipari at the top raised their shields and gazed at the shredded landscape before them. More than anything else, as Amalia peered through the optics at her party extracting themselves from their foxhole, she realized how much the Czar had been developing his army, how the cannons were tools of destruction, but their value was truly in how they scattered the morale of the enemy force. Regardless, the insect horde that had been plaguing her band for so long was easily scattered, and the way to the door lay ahead of them. She felt small.

[/dash]

 

[fatalrendezvous]

Kerrick Aenlass — Avarath, goldenrod

The sounds of the scraping and cracking of chisel against rock were easily lost in the bustle amidst the streets of Avarath. Out in the scorching desert sun, a small band of slaves worked to construct a building, a permanent location for their draken slavemaster's goods and imports store. To own a building to conduct business in rather than in the tents lining the road was a luxury - one that their slavemaster had every intention of capitalizing on. An enclosed building meant shade and shelter from the sun, which in turn would lead to walk-ins, which in turn would lead to purchases.

Kerrick, a well-built man with brown eyes and hair to match tied into a short ponytail, was among these slaves. Their master attended from afar, remaining comfortable in the shade. The draken's clawed hands idly lifted a canteen of water to his mouth, drinking heartily as if water were some common resource. Next to the slavemaster stood a young draken adolescent, the owner's son. Their expressions contrasted one another: on the father's, a look of content - on the son's, one of concern.

The youngling turned to his father and folded his scaled arms across his chest. "Fa, they've been working in the sun for hours. Shouldn't we at least let them have a break?"

His father nearly choked on his water at the notion. "Nonsenssse! Breaksss cossst time, and time isss money. I paid for these men - I am not going to pay again by giving them the luxury of time!"

The boy was about to interject again before shouting and some commotion amongst the slaves caught their attention. Father and son quickly hurried over, leaving the solace of the shade to settle the dispute.

"You're doing it all wrong, mate!" Kerrick shouted at another slave, whose job had been to lay the stones that would eventually form the outside walls of the store. "You can't stack them straight on top of one another, they'll never hold!"

The slave Kerrick had been chastising stood up and gave Kerrick an aggressive shove. "Oi, where d'you git off tellin' me 'ow ta do me own work, prick? I been doin' 'is for over six years!"

"Then you've been doing it wrong for over six years, mate!"

The slave coiled back to swing at Kerrick before being interrupted by a loud clearing of the throat. The slaves turned their heads to see their slavemaster, his reptilian eyes studying them with distrust, hand on the dagger at his waist. "What'sss the problem?"

"'is amateur over 'ere takes me for some kinda fool who don't know 'ow ta do 'is own job!"

Kerrick motioned towards the direct vertical stacks of stones as he began to explain. "He's been laying the stones poorly. We need to stagger them so that the weight distributes better along the whole wall rather than it just being columns of stones."

The slavemaster looked at the half-finished walls of his store-to-be, and compared them with those of other nearby stone buildings. Indeed, Kerrick was right. "How long to fix thisss problem he has created?"

Kerrick looked at the position of the sun, gauging its distance from the horizon. "I don't think we can finish tearing it down today. I've been working on the other side, so that can stay - but this side will take time to break down and to rebuild. An extra two to three weeks, I'd expect."

The draken's long reptilian pupils dilated at this figure. "THREE WEEKKSSS!?" Angrily, he pulled the dagger from his waist and approached the slave who had been laying the stones improperly. The slave scrambled backwards, stumbling and falling to the ground as he continued to scamper backwards before cornering himself against the very wall he had built. "You will die for thisss missstake!" The draken raised the dagger, and brought it down at the slave.

"Wait!" Kerrick grabbed the draken's scaled arm to stop it from delivering a strike. "Like you said just now, we're a resource, and time is a resource. Killing him gives you fewer slaves and will make this take longer. No need to do that to your own project."

That reasoning struck a chord with the draken. He lowered his arm, sliding the dagger back into its scabbard. How could this man have heard a private conversation from yards away? Greenish draken eyes honed in on Kerrick's face. "Who are you?" It was the first time in two years he'd bothered to ask his own slave this.

Kerrick merely responded with a nonchalant shrug and a shake of his head. "Just an honest man, trying to make a living."

 

[unanun]

Guano covered cave, brown

Theo's geomantic resonance opened the door. The insect cave was hot and dank, filled with the stench of ammonia and other chemical smells leaching from the lava veins. Insects and unliving metal fused together. Some eggs had burst from the heat, grisly, half metamorphosized forms leaking out across the floor.

Their shoes squelched loudly in the large cavern. The floor guided them to their location, as the dirty and organic matter gave way to crystals and veins of iron, and lava rivers. Their walk was curiously marked by a lack of resistance. At the epicenter, they found the Divine Weapon, slowly rippling out metals from a fountain of molten ore below it.

Amalia reached for the mask.

Something wasn't right. The Divine Weapons were not supposed to be weapons. They were only called weapons because the leaders of the three nations used words the populous could understand. But this. This was too contrived. Too deliberate. Too ...

"AMALIAAA!" Rakar lunged forward, but it was too late. Amalia collapsed to the ground in a twisted mess, spit leaking from the corner of her mouth. Rakar was tackled and pinned beneath Ipari. More guards emerged from behind the rocks, putting away their ultrasonic whistles that kept the insects at bay.

"Put them in cuffs." Warden Bracht's voice sounded behind them. Rakar twisted his head and saw Theo similarly restrained. As they lashed him to the back of a fire scarab, he saw the Ipari drag Amalia away.

"Well?" Warden Bracht faced the Queen.

"It's no good. The metal slows my babes down."

"We will need more field trials. Your hybrids were having trouble even with Amalia's band."

The Queen spat on the floor, female torso on bulbous spider abdomen. Her legs skittered around the floor in protest. "We were having trouble with your cannon fire. Like any meatbag would."

"I will enter this into the report." The Warden turned, impassive, and departed with her troop.

"What about us?"

Nothing would have pleased the Ipari Warden more than announcing the Queen's death sentence. That day when Lut Sar approached Governor Orvak, they had no idea that they would have to harbor an insect nest in their depleted ore veins. The months when the Ipari had to keep the citizens calm were a crucible.

"High Inquisitor Sar has directed you to relocate to another pit. We will be in contact with you shortly." As the Warden walked away, the Queen Mother looked surprisingly vulnerable, arms crossed and shoulders hunched in the breeding and experimentation camp.

Later, cannon fire buried the cave. The diorama was crushed, and the Mask of Turbatus buried beneath the rubble.​

End of Chapter 5​