“Calm down. I am sure they won’t hurt you that much.” Albrion cockled the last knot of the thick rope coiling around the wrists of the maiden. Her deep smaragd eyes begged for mercy, whilst from her lips nothing but pleading moans escaped as a cloth sprawled within, pushing down her tongue. A second, silken red scarf circled around hear head, a taut knot cut into her nape, shrouded by the curling brownish blonde strands. No older than thirty, once burning with the vigor of revolution, fear took its place when she accidentally heard things she should not have. And now she became another pillar in holding Albrion’s image of loyalty.
Yet the fear was not her own, but one decreed by Ephraimur. A fear born from the fear of being caught and the punishment awaiting those of traitors towards the Empire and its promising future. She became the oaken horse of Thrauy, brought before the gates of the Order of Maghia’s Truth. Precisely, towards the hidden gate where numerous mindless undesirables laid dormant, awaiting their first command decreed by Terrianis. A decree Albrion learned upon his return was soon to be enacted by his father. Her turn of heart proved to be a good fortune. The two stepped onto the circle in the basement of the Cathedral and vanished.
“Lord Albrion, it is an honor to receive you in our abode once again!” Ophirig greeted him in the familiar antechamber. A feeling once strange made him shiver a little whilst he pulled on the rope, dragging the trussed-up maiden towards the dwarf. His body suddenly–and to the girl’s horror–sliced vertically down itself, bereft of damage upon his small, slender form until another of himself born carrying a smaller essence of himself. The second Ophirig walked to the girl and started examining her, peering into her mind which stirred a bit of unease within Albrion.
“A fine specimen.” He commented, both speaking in unison. Then he wetted his throat before continuing. “Calm my dear. We won’t hurt you. No, no we shall grant you a prosperous life full of excitement and devoid of primordial fears.”
Albrion could feel the tiny speckles of mana, forming the calming spell which brought void upon the girl’s heart and mind. Her eyes appeared faded in shade and light, and as he released the hem, the girl walked by the guiding hand of the second Ophirig whilst the original remained on his side. “I have my doubts about her qualifications.” Albrion added.
“Skill in our endeavor matters none. We only need blank pages, filled by the Prima Source we all were blessed with by the great one who looms ever so out of our reach.” Ophirig answered with a haughty smile whilst he fondled his sharp chin beneath his shabby beard. One eyebrow raised, Albrion looked down at him. “It is a bit complicated for one focused on the arts of warring, but in layman terms, they are the potions which bring ease and serenity upon the soul gnawed by the Rage, but in the same breath act as limbs through which she exerts the will of our Elhyrissiar.”
A few decades ago, he may not have understood it, but at that moment the weird analogy worked and he may even understood it better than the dwarf suspected. He knew they were essentially trying to create their own Primordial Intelligence, one who can act through multiple vessels, yet still more mundane and lacking the will to go against Terrianis and the dreams of the Elhyrissiar. And though he understood it, he feigned confusion at first, before speaking out, bringing up the aforementioned experiences. “Still, can a mortal mind–a soul be capable of the feats of entities not constrained to a lone simulacrum?”
At that, the dwarf seemed lost in thought as if he never–at least fully–considered it. “I believe she shall be able to in due time that is. Some kinks will need to be hammered in and out like with any artifice.” After a long while, he answered. Then the two entered the main hall where a dozen or more of his clones dashed, scurried, skimmed between the stone beds where the mindless undesirables laid, waiting for their new metallic forms to be called upon.
“Their numbers grew considerably.” Albrion said, his gaze sweeping and noticing that compared to the last time, the hall appeared even grander, and the number of tables reached approximately two to three hundred.
“Yes. The New Dawn tried and did their best before The Harrowing, but after it, The Mother of Fortunes smiled upon us.” Ophirig reached into his long, thick overcoat’s breast pocket, brought out a small golden coin bearing the visage of a dwarven maiden and pressed it against his dry, cracked lips. “Thanks to the cult, we could take the undesirables off the streets without further damaging the image of our esteemed Order.”
The two stopped at a wide junction point, and Albrion turned right where he spotted the now naked girl slowly guided down by a clone onto the stone table. When her bottom touched the cold marble, his eyes noticed a metallic tether slither out from a small hole, its flat end opened, revealing a long, sharp needle which quickly penetrated her hair. The silken, curling strands lit up in flames for mere moments as the needle thrusted into the back of her head with its blade searing in a concentrated manner. It focused on blazing away the strands, the skin, flesh and lastly the bone whilst at the same time healing the wound as it fixed itself into place.
“A little pain is unavoidable.” Ophirig whispered, his eyes blankly staring as through his clone he watched the girl’s ample breasts, felt her smooth, naked body whilst lowering her onto the cold, stone bed.
Albrion opened his Mind’s Eye out of pure curiosity, and watched the flow of mana infused with the Prima Materia of Ego, Mind and Self. And speckles of Nekrotic Materia sprinkled in to a definite effect, forever ridding the Undesirables from the wide scope of their existence entailing hope, joy, sorrow, imagination, intent, desires and myriad other small building blocks constituting a mortal being–or any other. Now the trees, flowers, the earth, the consuming natural fire and even the undead possessed more self than any of them. They became tools. First for the Empire.
Albrion had to exert force not to scowl.
Albrion stared upon the marvel of an artifice hung over the chasm, grown into the stalactite walls. The bulk consisting a grand nonagonal shape with each corner embedded with nine gemstones each associated with the Deossos. Sodalite the gemstone of communication, self-expression and truth, which the sphinxes of Septurrion carried over to Elhyrissian eons before the War of the Siblings. Clear, colorless quartz, the gemstone of awareness, clarity and the aux-stone often used to amplify the intended properties of enchanted crafts. Northern Obsidian which has white spots here and there around its smooth, gleaming surface, brought by Aydvroeghs from the distant realms of Dusk, the gemstone of simulacrum’s aegis, of change and the acceptance of finality. Often used by nekromancer in grafting and assembling of their servants.
Citrine, the gemstone of the Lustrous Empress and her feline servants who brought it from her bright realm, and blessed by his brother and former lover, the Monarch of Dawn, giving it a cleansing property. And many others he recalled seeing and hearing, but paid little attention to during his lessons.
“Isn’t it wonderful? Isn’t she wonderful?” Two clones of the Ophirig walked up on his sides, pointing at the center of the artifice, where Oyotarimel’s sculpted, golden metallic form gleamed brilliantly even in the dim surroundings. Her metallic lids shut; her red hair made from metallic threads flowing towards the trims of the halo surrounding her head. Encircled, deep, Albrion felt his name being called upon by the sweet voice which hurt the most. Those small words proved enough, Albrion almost eased on his facial muscles when her chilly lips graced her forehead once more.
“What purpose does she serve in this whole endeavor?” Albrion mustered all his strength to utter the words in a calm, collected manner. Ophirig licked his palm and flattened down a few loose locks of his graying dark brown hair whilst giving out a strange noise as he pondered a little on his answer.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“She is the heart and staff of this whole legion of brave Talos’s legacy.” Ophirig puffed out his chest, whilst Albrion looked down, his left brow raised questioningly. “Ah, what I mean is she is like the staff our Elhyrissiar needs to part his will upon them so they can carry it out without a fault. Without her, they would be even worse than undead who can somewhat act on their own without a master.”
With one thrust, he could bring an end to this. The thought came almost immediately, and vanished in the same breath, knowing both Oyotarimel and Grimslaukh wished for this. The latter he could understood, but his mother, that perplexed him upon first hearing. The length she went in her ardor towards the Nightscale and Grimslaukh surprised him no more. Even if seeing her like this brought him great agony. “I see. If possible, could you recommend me a tome on the history of Talos himself?” He turned and asked, a needless gesture to gain a little more trust.
“Oh, I could recount it for you here and now!” Ophirig said proudly. “I myself descend from the line began by his third-daughter when she wed into the Clan of Salamanders.”
“I wish I’d had the time to listen to it. Then maybe another time, I shall take you up on that promise.” He forced a genial smile upon his face, a child like smile appeared on the dwarf who seemed excited at the prospect of retelling the tale of his great ancestors. A feeling Albrion could understand well.
On his way out, Albrion stopped suddenly when the air grew tenser, mana particles moving as they tore open reality. An inky azure swirl rose from the floor right at the wall, parting into two and slowly taking on the wiry shape of Drussaev and the tall and slender of Angura. An etheric wind rustled his strands, and the three stared at each other with varying expressions. Albrion and Drussaev with mild surprise, Angura listless though speckled with mild entertainment when he noticed his brother’s expression. He found it amusing enough to allow a smile to creep onto his thin lips and his narrow eyes took in the expression, burning it into his mind.
He himself dressed in ceremonial garbs of a lightweight, flowing robe wrapping around his lean form with half his bosom exposed where his dread locks tumbled upon it. His fingers ornated with two golden rings embedded with azure and cerulean gems, brimming with spells keeping his mind, his attention sharp and refreshed constantly, whilst his a quite mundane wooden sandal adorned his feet, perfect for the lukewarm, vernal day.
A deep brownish red tunic adorned Drussaev’s wiry chest, his arms cuffed by two long vambraces stretching from wrist to elbow almost. Along its surface, serpents slithered near the sharp edges, whilst in the centers rhombus shaped cavities held two gems, one a ruby searing with rejuvenating flames, the other an azure keeping his body cool and surging with energy. His hair recently trimmed to his preferred short length, exposing his long ears with its tip reaching beyond his head, two rings dangling on each.
“Brothers!” Albrion greeted them after wiping off his surprise, his fist curled and beaten against his chest plate with a rang. Drussaev replied the same whilst Angura simply bowed lightly.
“Welcome brother and thank you truly for aiding in meeting our quota!” Angura said coldly, with a short bow. Still his gratitude for providing materials for his project was genuine in his heart, a little he softened up towards Albrion. On the other hand, Drussaev hid not a little of his disappointment, mingled with sorrow in his gleaming eyes. He believed no soul, no matter how wicked should end in such a miserable note. “Would you like to witness the progress we made on the legionaries?”
At once, he understood why Drussaev came voluntarily. “Gladly.”
“Oh-ho, come, come then, let’s waste no more time.” Ophirig said, his voice seasoned with a high-pitched shrill whilst his hands clapped loudly together. He rushed ahead, waving his arms to the three brothers whilst pressing one of his palms against a slightly protruding block. With a howl, the door parted ways, revealing a long set of stairs they all descended in silence, though Ophirig gave out occasional sounds resembling childish giggles.
“Is he always like that when he gets to show off one of his toys?” Albrion broke their silence, turning to Angura.
“Sadly yes.” He said with a sigh. “I advocated him to contain himself, but he could not go against his nature.”
“Dwarves love showing off, as much as they enjoy a good battle or brawl.” Drussaev chimed in, his tone felt cold to Albrion’s ears.
Directly they each took the last step down, awaited the training arena of the complex. A spacious, circular chamber with its center, a sunken circle, a pitch of warriors filled with myriad grains of azure and golden sand. Eight sleek and slender pillars rose from floor to ceiling near its promontory, their shells weathered by spells, scrapes and craters hither and thither, some even roughly the size of heads bashed into them. A deduction made by both Albrion and Drussaev just from a single glance. Shadows lingered between them, their edges wobbled as the light of the distant, sputtering torches reached far in the chamber of eight corners.
Their attention focused on the door, slowly creaking open emanating a deeper howl as cavernous warm winds blew in, not so pleasant to the skin as it carried the banes of the elementals lurking in the layers of the mountains. From the shadows, metallic creaks broke the silence, and Drussaev stepped forth into the pitch, cracking his fingers and neck.
“Let’s hope this hollow legionariar of yours is as trustful as my own.” He said with sophisticated vile. Drussaev gripped the throat of his axe and lifted it out from its sheath, though kept it lower as the metallic silhouette of an aevhen legionary strode towards the pitch, then ceased all its motions whilst holding a voluminous scutum shield with brass surface, gilded trimming of a long serpent trailing along, swallowing its own forked tail.
“Are you prepared brother?” Angura asked.
“I am.” Drussaev answered almost immediately.
The golem legionary in the span of a breath knelt down, stuck his scutum into the sand, then jabbed the lengthened trident at Drussaev’s bosom. He parried it, and in two quick and long steps, reached in striking distance. The axe’s curving blade sliced across the air in a wide arc. Though it never reached the smooth, metallic surface of living metal, constituting the golem legionary’s form.
Its heavy form moved nimble as any aevhe’s as it bent its torso out from the forthcoming axe. With utter confidence, swiped the shaft into Drussaev’s left side, sweeping him away whilst also lifting the shield, kicking him in the abdomen. Then jabbed at his abdomen covered in the brownish-red velvety tunic. Its sharp throngs dented the fabric and flesh in quick succession, though both mended swift. Albrion saw mild frustration contoured upon Drussaev’s countenance, before he charged at the golem again.
Once again it swept, whilst also taking a few sure steps backwards. This time, Drussaev ducked, one hand pushing onto the sand before he leapt like a frog towards the golem. His leg’s muscles burned, whilst spells wrapped around them, and for a moment all three seen naught but a blur of him, then heard metal thud upon the sand. The golem collapsed onto its knees, remained motionless whilst deprived of its head. Thought Albrion with pride, as a mirthful smile brightened his countenance.
Frustration faded from Drussaev’s, as he noticed the expression. For a moment, the woes of his life, born of his decision to return all faded at seeing it, and in the short duel.
“How was it brother? Be honest.” Angura asked as he stood straight betwixt two pillars, most of his features wreathed in shadows, except his listless, azure eyes.
“A bit too predictable. But overall, I think they will fare well against cultists and the like.” His gaze remained on the motionless golem kneeling headless. “Certainly, better than a lone auxiliariar, add two or three to the equation, and even they could take one down, maybe even two if they can work together.”
“Could you take on more than three at once?” Drussaev shook his head.
Angura tapped his sharp chin with his clawed forefinger. “I see. Well, it is good to know.”
Drussaev left the pitch, whilst Ophirig hurried over, with a Scrying-Glass as he began his examination of the core, holding the near-impotent soul. “Hmmm. Some small changes and we could make them more responsive, maybe even exert greater strength on hits, rely more on their limbs.” He murmured whilst lifting said heavy limbs.
Albrion kept his thoughts within. He could not help, but feel a little sour, let down even if the opponent of a Talos Legionary was Drussaev himself. He expected a bit more struggle even from him, after Angura who held in high esteem in regards of his arkhaine knowledge and rediscovery of certain artifice lost in the withering of old realms.
“Can’t wait to witness these improvements.” He spoke truthfully, truly wanting to see how they shall fare against the legionaries of the First on the grand day of their introduction. The gladiatorial games, when the Empire’s destiny shall take its last, dark turn.
And the last one. Though not the epilogue I talked about yesterday. Just forgot there was still this chapter written with Albrion in mind.
One that happened in the first volume, though at the time, even less was revealed. But expanded a bit on the idea how they wipe the minds clean, how in a sense they become batteries for Oyotarimel, whilst also becoming puppets, or well limbs she can act through. That a brought in Drussaev, for a short test. Also wanted to write it because the dwarf will have a bigger role later, and wanted to recall his name whilst making him a document before I forget it again.
Overall, got a bit longer than I intended, even though the lore of the Talos Legion did not survive the cutting room floor. Partially as I am working still on the War of the Siblings, and though had some break throughs, their piece I haven't reached to yet.
With this, the third arc is almost finished. The gladiatorial games, the final mini arc remains where besides Albrion, everyone gets one or two additional chapters, that starts of with Terrianis, concludes with Mirayroth's where the two have a duel.
Thank you for reading this, hope you all enjoyed this batch of chapters. Have a pleasant weekend folks, see you next week!
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