- Writing Levels
- Adaptable
- Genres
- I'm wary of magic with lots of rules.
"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.
"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.