24&25.Empire’s Imperative

His long fingers slowly swirled about on the wood carving of Ifrit’s horn. From where he stood, the wooden throne seemed so close: so…attainable. A soft red tint covered his skin—the palest of all Asura, so he imagined. Almost elf. Acerak said that, “He who would attain the throne must first lose himself to his people.” The horn was soft, and ridged. It curved like the horn of a ram, yet larger. It was resting place for the left hand of the Emperor, the cruel, yet guided palm of the ruler of the greatest nation on the planet. And it was so close.

The folds of his cloak swished as he removed his hand. His eyes which had been half closed while touching the horn swished languidly toward the banner at the front of the “Emperor’s Hall.”  He believed what Acerak had to say about being Emperor. One must, must absolutely be the servant of the people, to a degree. Sometimes, one must stand firm and fight the tide of the majority to protect the majority. Be a father, as it might be said. The problem, as many of his peers might have said, was that Acerak had, according to the knowledge offered from the ancient texts, had never been a servant to his people, but had massacred them. There was the “Hero of Light” incidence, and he had certainly fought his master, but only after following the leadership of the four who “saved the world,” as they say. His chest rose slowly, and deflated quickly. His chin and angled face gave him the appearance of arrogance, he knew that. Especially when he sighed with such ferocity, but it was a habit from childhood, and he found it difficult to break. Once again, his hand found the horn of the empire, the foremost weapon of Ifrit, the patriarch to Pandemonium, Invictus.

The right arm rest to the throne was the head of a dragon, carved intricately in wood. Mouth wide open, breath being sucked inward slowly for the final descent of madness before death, the flame that would come, it was the national policy towards other nations were they to interfere. The Asura had suffered enough. The former Emperor was right to place a dragon at the Empire’s right hand. Many, really. Of course, in all his wisdom—as great an Emperor as he had been—he was captured, possibly now dead. And unfortunately, (here, he smiled his one-sided grin on the right side of his face, and his eyes focused again on the banner), the man had decided that the Empire’s left hand, the hand of mercy, was to follow the way of Ifrit. To summarize, the man was dead. No help nor succor would come. An entire nation could not wait for the leadership of one man. He chuckled as he thought about today’s daily lesson from Acerak “the Sunblade-less”: when you put your hand in a bucket of water, even if you swirl the water around as fast as you can, when you pull your arm out, eventually the water will calm. To summarize, the man was not essential for the continuation of the water. He did his part, and now it was time for someone else.

Footsteps. Someone had interrupted his thought process. Mortlock slowly twisted his head towards the door. Sterling, carrying a large leather-draped square-ish object flowed into the chamber. Focusing on his peripherals towards the main entrance, Mortlock began to descend from the dais leading to the throne. Sterling floated towards his peer, his white leather clothing making no sound as he walked. Taking one last sidelong glance, Mortlock placed his hands on top of the object.

“Careful. It is exactly what you think it is. Stolen fresh from Murgana. Seems the men had trouble escaping once in, but a dragon had a grudge against a certain group of Ocean Lords in the city. He helped our men escape. Calls herself Priscilla. She’s waiting by Acerak’s home. His hidden home.”

“I see.” Mortlock unveiled the leather draping to see the tome beneath. Commonly known as the Altus Magus Vol.1, the “brothers” referred to it as “Thangoruin’s Black Journal. “Well done to set this plan in motion, brother.” His smile covered his whole lower face, his white-lined teeth showing their points. “Herein lies the answers we’ve sought to place us amongst the contenders for the throne. Yes, well done, brother.”

23.Smudged Silver

The imperial guards of the north and south surrounded him, each with a black spear and gray armor formed from the toughest rock. They were giant. Enormous. Larger than his father had been, and the man was, in a word, a well-built Dwarf.

As much fanfare as the troupe commanded simply by walking, no one they passed along the castle’s corridors seemed to care much for the Dwarf boy-king, Blue. He was king! But…even he knew that a “king” in this case war really more a description for “hostage.”

Asura, those pig-faced cowards of the north and south, now ruled the Dwarf kingdom of Silver. Half-demon people, not to be trusted…and they smelled of feet. And not Dwarf feet, mind you, but human feet. Or goat feet.

They had a village called “Soul” in the south, from which they had travelled a long way to overthrow the Dwarves of Silver. He scrunched his nose and stuck out his tongue at the guards, but they wouldn’t rise to his taunting. So, he did what any Dwarf boy would do in his situation. He pouted, and crossed his arms. Several minutes later, no one seemed to have noticed, not even the guards nearest him—and oh, he checked, multiple times—so he stopped.

Little did they know that Lily, his trusted advisor would soon be leading an army of moss-covered purple Dwarves against the Asura “kings.” A master strategist, she would overcome his foes. The little king laughed just thinking about his victory to come, but…slowly stopped as he perceived no attention given towards his general direction. Oh, why had he inherited the kingdom from a too-soon perished father? Mother had died decades ago, and father had been the strength of the nation. Now, Silver was merely a town. No longer did surrounding barons and earls, landholders, and knights, give homage to the crown. No longer did an armed entourage of Dwarf warriors protect the throne. None but Asura, the invaders. The conquerors for their own ambitions walked him around the castle, pretending to have his interests in mind. Who would kill a boy-king!? The idea was simply absurd. Only the invaders would kill a king.

His collar crowded against his ears, and because he refused to wear any boots but those of his late father, he had constant sores building upon his toes. His single beard hair looked simply regal, but no one complimented him on it anymore. Without his father around, people even made fun of it! Making fun of the prince of Silver! They would have been punished. But not severely, but enough to let them know that Blue was important.

The earthen-worked hallway, gray stone cut to perfection in shapes of diamond, glowed. The half-demons carried torches, and from their height, cast brilliant light throughout the chamber. As they walked as one, he glanced at the two Asura kings. The first, Varrias, he despised. The second, Diomedes, he loathed. Both together, he respected with a grimness that came from being conquered.

* * *

Marquis fired the ballista. Flashes of silver exploded down the cavern, reflecting light from the glowing white crystals. All of the ballista were manned on all three of the watch towers. As the tension elevated, people would twitch at the slightest shift in weight on the loose gravel, the sound amplified by the acoustics of the mine. As they waited, sweat began to form upon their brows. Marquis, the man in silver turned to face the crowd. Skinny around the chest, and worldly about the middle, he carried a sheathed weapon behind each arm. A cloak covered his face, and though his voice was muffled, he nevertheless distinctly said, “hello. What are you doing here?”

Eyebrows narrowed along with crinkling foreheads. There was much turning of heads and soft murmuring. Finally, a representative spoke. “We thought…why were you firing that ballista down the cavern?” To which the man in silver replied, “No reason. Why do you ask?”

Eight men, weary from battle, stained and dried from the salt left from sweat, turned each at his desired pace to climb down the watch tower’s ladders. Wood creaked and a few splinters snuck through fingernails when the dragon came. It shattered the rock on the right wall, carving its entrance in floods of dust and wind. It curved its many heads towards the party. Marquis jumped to the ballista. “Ok! I lied! That’s why I was firing!”

Momentum

Hey all! Just wanted to let you know that I am excited! Just heard from Eric and counseled a bit with him – Eternity will be coming out for your entertainment in the near future. Also, the campaign is starting to gain momentum. 25 Adventures in (writing coming soon), we have just about passed the length of the entire last campaign, and we will easily double or triple the length so far. Many adventures to come, lots more fun to be had, and many more updates on your Eternity on the way.

21&22. Knight of Blue

“I’m waiting for the Seraphic Might.”

Six men. None of them worthy of lifting my blade. Staring at the door, stepping near, looking about. A Dwarf, a Human, some others. Even the Paladin’s unworthy. None of them hear the beat, so I think they may have said. Maybe, walk to the beat? March? Murmurs. I hate that. Won’t they speak up?

“No, you may not touch my sword.”

Maybe my hearing’s been going all these years down in the dark.

“Really. I mean no.”

Stay away from the Dwarf. Lunatic, likely. The surface—are there some like my father anymore? Or, hmmph…Myself? Can’t they see they won’t enter that door? It’s locked, and I won’t open it.

“I said, the Seraphic Might.”

Perhaps I could-

“No, I will not open that door for you. Only the Seraphic Might may enter.”

-tell them of the well. Maybe they could make use of the knowledge…so many questions. They must have some talent to be here. A few blades. A couple wizards.

“I don’t know what’s behind that door, to be honest. Not really. It’s so far beyond me that it escapes my understanding. It might contain Eternity.”

It does.

“But who knows?”

Eternity, the well of time, my time-warped blade. Why do I have this task of guarding fate? Surely father could have done just as well, or better, Lanias? Thangoruin? Or what of Edigo? I’ve never stopped being a child, have I?

“Yes, I’ve been down here now for nearly a hundred years. My task is to protect that door that you see before you. I will only open it for the Seraphic Might. And no, you are not the Seraphic Might. None of you.”

Questions, questions. Solitude has worn on my socialiaty. Socialness? Sociableness?

“My name is Rhaoko. The Knight of Blue. For whatever reason, I’m here. The reason isn’t my place to know. I leave the fate of things this large to men much wiser than myself. But…I really wouldn’t touch that blade again, Dwarf, or you may find firsthand why I was placed here.”

Really, try me. Oh, but please don’t. Please do, it’s been so long. Muscles cramp from this little freedom. One room, exquisite as it is. Really? Drinking from the Well of Time? This is why I’m here. No one else understands. Chuckling. Laughter! This is nice. It’s been so long. Huh. I like that sound. The old days…

“That well contains Time itself. I promise you, you won’t be able to take its water with you. No container but that can hold it. Not even your mouths or stomachs”

What’s that?…Hmm, they do ask good questions, sometimes. Dwarf…

“We’re in a period of flux. You see, the realms beyond us are broken. The fragments and the Eternals now exist within a state of being known as Eternity, somewhat, mostly.”

Press on.

“Eternity exists as a separate realm from our world. Time and Eternity are moving. If you’re as interested in the state of things as you sound, perhaps you could do good with this. Time is running out. Literally. If it runs out before our world collides with Eternity…”

This’s fun. Their faces! Kinda sick I enjoy their reactions so much. This is serious. More than…I’m making it. Blame it on the solitude.

“…Oblivion.”

Nothing.

“Do with it what you will, but you six may not pass onward. I’m waiting for the Seraphic Might alone, so determined by the Bringer of Light Himself. You may stay or leave as you like.”

Leave.

“I implore you.”

20. The Iota Kingdom

80years after the Heroes of Light held victory over the corrupted Eternal of Time, Elmran, the Devourer, there was a kingdom built in the heart of Iota, the frozen continent. The man who established this kingdom was a rare individual. For one, he founded the core of his kingdom on a population of three hundred. Records indicate, however, that not only did his nation grow over the first ten years, but it thrived. Men and women from all over Altius began coming to the “Kingdom-Colony,” led by the “Heaven-Blessed” man.

The name “Heaven-Blessed” seemed to more than adequately describe King Barbariccia of the Kingdom-Colony, later fully established as Evizenium II—Evizenium of course being derived from the sister empire to ancient Yzarc, etymologically similar to that unnamed word being known to many as the beginning of creation. Adam and Eve, the Eternals, et al. Of course, many prefer to shy away from the so-called myths of the beginning of time, but on a personal opinion, the referenced material is essential to the man behind the story. For greater study, I recommend Genesis.

Barbariccia, the rare individual, had another inherent problem to the establishment of his kingdom besides the miniscule population and frozen terrain. The mainlanders of Altius were envious of the people of Evizenium II’s obvious success in resisting the Corillean Empire. Plus, the kingdom was growing in population and wealth at an astounding rate. (Frankly, Barbariccia won the race to wealth and arms at that time when he discovered the ancient tomb of Bahamut the Esper. From the wealth he acquired therein, he gave salary to some of the world’s greatest wise men, counselors, and warriors. Or rather, warrior-assassins). 90years after the Heroes of Light, Evizenium II was faced with defending itself from the nations of Murgana, Empyria, and of course, Corillea. Several warriors stand out in Barbariccia’s defense in the history books at this time: Ra’Zeas the wise, Seregring (ally to the southern giants), Honeybeard of the King’s Dwarves, Tar’phl, “Siegfried” (Risent Chross), the Animus Dryad, and a paladin whose name has been lost.

100years after the Heroes of Light disappeared, the “Barbariccia Agents,” those outstanding warriors from the time just before Evizenium II’s apocalypse, stood as the pillars, the rock core of the Kingdom, surrounding the jewel of wisdom and knowledge that had become Barbariccia. However, the madness of war seemed to have affected this wonderful mind that the human king had constructed over time. Barbariccia became almost fanatical about finding out what lay within a certain ancient shrine in Iota. Your author’s personal opinion is that, for whatever reason, from the moment that Barbariccia ordered his “Agents” into the Shrine, his kingdom began to decay. A short-wick candle by time’s endless standards was Evizenium II. Brilliant as the ability of its accomplished king, the Iota kingdom lasted only twenty-five years.

Strange as the truth may seem, Evizenium II was not conquered by foreign armies. Though many believe the myths that Nemriel finally overcame the brilliant king, the falsities of the statement and belief are simply extraordinary. Nemriel, brilliant (though evil) as he was, never matched Barbariccia in the faculty of mind. No, Evizenium II was destroyed by the human king’s adopted son who later took his name. As the coup shed blood and the walls crumbled, a new nation had been born. My favorite nation ever, may I humbly say. The nation of the True king of Iota, Barbariccia Lumen. To my understanding, the cohesion of the Lumen family of Trinati dates back to that race’s fall from “Heaven” (if so the legends be truth).

***The rest of the document seems to be missing, but the author has been positively identified as Temet Nosce of Empyria. The author presumably goes on to describe the Lumen nation in Iota.***

Quick Update

For those of you following the blog, I beg your patience. 20-23 are on their way!

19. Nemriel

A small light flickered, then spurted, and extinguished. Stillness. Nothing changed. He waited. The light sputtered again and cast its ember warmth. Not enough light to see what had happened since the stillness, but it was enough to calm his chattering jaw. One year and one day ago, they had left home. For one year and one day they had traveled: open plains, barren dunes, sea shores, open waters, barren plains. Magnetic storm zones. Volcanic rifts. Frozen depths, and finally…this. He had family back home. A wife, three children, a small white-feathered partridge that he had caught for them, tamed, and let live in their home. His children loved that bird. They would play with it and chase it, occasionally offer it worms to see if it would eat them. He chuckled a bit, but the motion felt empty and ended in short sobs. A tear splashed dangerously close to the flame, indeed streaked across his palm, just missing the tiny flare. If only someone could see this light! And his wife…beautiful, lovely, caring and adoring. The perfect companion and mother to their children. Would he ever see her amber eyes again in this life? When he escaped, he would go directly home and life would be fine, he would be wealthy, they would live as royalty, they would have the favor of Nemriel, and he would retire. He would—what was that noise?

Soft grating hollowly filled the cavern. Whispers stretched like ghosts along the floor, resonating through his boots, through his bones. Oh,  God, no.

* * *

“It was all a trick!” There was a boat outside on the river, manned by a man in a grey cloak. Honeybeard jumped in the boat. “So where are we going?”

“Don’t you get it, it was a trick!”

“Yes, we got it, now let’s get the hell out of here.”

Siegfried shifted what he was caring higher on his shoulder and pointed his finger at the crumbling brick wall behind them as he shouted.

“All that fighting, all those flames and hordes of – well God knows what they were! And all for nothing?”

Most were filing into the boat now. Cloaks ruffled, sheathed weapons clanked. It was largely silent for a time. Finally Tar’phl turned his beaded eyes and slithered a response.

“Yes, it was an illusion, Siegfried. The entire mansion. It was a trick that Nemriel played upon us. Are you happy? …Can we go?” Tar’phl lumbered into the wooden boat, his scales scraping the sides as he crawled in, eyes blazing.

Ra’Zeas, Seregring, and Beldor, the paladin whom they had rescued from the mansion—all set their feet upon the boat’s interior. The last lifted his eyebrows as he entered. “Another friend of yours, this man in the cloak?”

“Good question.” Seregring crossed his arms as the wall behind them collapsed completely.

“…I am Perseus. I was sent here to help you escape.”

“You also…work for their king, this…Barbariccia?”

“Yes. He has requested my services.”

Siegfried finally walked to the boat, and gently laid what he was holding across a wooden seat. The Elf king’s body was already cold. It was marred with frost. Siegfried’s scythe still steamed in the warmth of the evening as cold streaks melted away.

Perseus averted his hooded eyes, but whispered so that all turned their heads to hear. “He will live. The problem will not be reviving him, but in salvaging this cause for the king.”

The mission was a failure. Nemriel was alive.