Ancient History - Beginnings

[Herald of the Storm]

The Sands, Fallien - Present Day

Echoes of the Mountains of Zaileya rose in the distance. They were still far enough away that only the tips of the peaks rose over the horizon, clawing their way into the cloudless sky. Their presence sent a murmur of excitement rippling down the caravan. It meant they were deep into the interior of the Wastes. It meant they were near the outlander’s archaeological dig site and the end of their journey.

It meant they were nearly finished with Sheillal.

This deep into the interior there was nothing to shelter the caravan from the full wrath of Mitra’s undivided attention. The heat soaked into Madi, bearing down on him like a physical weight. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically.

“How much worse has Sheillal’s madness been on those who aren’t driving one of the wagons?” Madi asked himself. He looked over at the men trudging along beside him, wearily slapping one foot down in front of another, driven only by routine. Truth be told, he’d ordered the walking men to switch out with the waggoneers two days ago, but there was only so much rest that could be gained. Sheillal seemed to push them longer and get them up earlier every day, and everyone in the caravan had been driven to the breaking point by the relentless pace that Sheillal was setting. Everyone except for the foreigners, who rode inside their specialized wagon, and Sheillal himself.

Sheillal. Madi was surprised that he didn’t think of the man as Master anymore. That was a title which had to be earned on the caravan roads. And the actions that Sheillal took on this trip showed Madi that the man was no longer fit to be a caravan master.

Madi had tried to approach his former friend multiple times during the week that they’d been away from the Heshazde Oasis, but had always been placidly rebuked. The last time, Sheillal had coldly assured him that the interest of the caravan stretched only as far as the foreigner’s archaeology site and that there would be no hesitation in reaching that goal. Madi had stopped approaching Sheillal after that.

Madi looked back down the caravan train. Despite his disgust with the foreigners, he knew that the only way to end this disastrous journey would be to do as they asked.

Something occurred to Madi then. There was another way, he realized.

Madi looked back up the line, watching the implacable motion of Sheillal’s wagon at the front of the caravan. No matter how much coin this job brought in, Sheillal’s caravan was finished. Too much hardship compounded by a flippant discarding of Khemal, a man who had been solidly respected by all of the hired workers, was the death knell for this group. Madi doubted that Sheillal would be able to hire enough hands to manage a three wagon train anywhere in Irrakam once word got out about his actions.

The caravan had once been Sheillal’s life. What would he have once it was gone? Wouldn’t it be kinder to save him from that fate; leave him with what he loved?

Madi’s hand unconsciously slipped to the knife at his belt.

[Herald of the Storm]

Eye of Khoalaeris, Magitect Academae – Glorious Empire of Kron’tyr

“West End has fallen,” Vyrabron announced. “The renegades are marching on the Academae.”

A hush fell over the assembled workers. The Magitects in the room looked nervously amongst one another in panic. They knew that this eventuality would come to pass, but they hadn’t expected it so soon. Several were openly glancing at the doors to the chamber, or through the Eye itself.

“We’re not leaving,” Vaahnzerekh announced. All eyes in the chamber turned to face him, all save the Praetors, who remained ever vigilant. The nervous tittering continued, but Vaahnzerekh now held their attention.

“If you flee now,” Vaahnzerekh continued, doing his best to hide his own nervousness from the other Magitects. “If we leave the Eye open, then the renegades have truly won. Psychic amalgamation may preserve the Glorious Empire within living stone, but when the Kron’tyr emerge once more to take our rightful places, is it the Children of Thraciah who will have colonized other worlds first? Is it the Elufians? Or the brutish Szkor?”

Though there was still an air of nervousness in the laboratory, though now there were more than a few faces filled with shame. Vaahnzerekh nodded and then went back to attuning the energy convergence field between crystal focus four and five.

The attack came suddenly and without warning. Skilled as the Children of Thraciah were in the mystic arts of light and shadow, it was a simple matter for them to slip into the chamber. One second there was nothing, and the next the shadows were spilling forth blue blooded assassins. Over half their number died in the first five seconds, the Praetor’s instantly taking the fight to their enemy. But a handful of the Children of Thraciah caught their intended targets, mixing the red blood of the Kron’tyr Magitects with the mystic assassin’s own blood of blue.

“To your left, Oracle,” Vyrabron commanded quietly, suddenly at Vaahnzerekh’s side. Surprised, Vaahnzerekh fell away from the Praetor, who smoothly moved in to replace Vaahnzerekh. Vyrabron’s warblade flashed twice and two assassins fell to the floor, headless.

Attacking a Child of Thraciah would normally result in a retaliatory strike from the Child’s innate magical defenses, but the Praetor’s warblade had been magitect-crafted to bypass such meager enchantments. There was nothing that the Children of Thraciah could produce with their sorceries that wasn’t overshadowed by the Glorious Empire’s magitect.

It was one of the reasons that the Children had roused the other lesser races into open rebellion. Now, here was their so-named “Coalition,” on the very doorsteps of the Glorious Empire’s greatest achievement. Vaahnzerekh felt soiled.

“How had they even managed to sorcery themselves into the Academae?” Vaahnzerekh cursed as he rose. Magitect seals covered the entirety of the Academae’s grounds, which was supposed to protecting it from incursion by the lesser races’ sorceries. Vaahnzerekh had never heard of a magitect seal being overcome by one of the Children of Thraciah before, which meant that the creatures had to have physically slipped inside the Academae before employing their sorcery.

“Heralds preserve us,” Vaahnzerekh muttered at the thought. If the renegades had truly breached the Academae then they only had minutes at best to complete their working to seal the Eye of Khoalaeris. Vaahnzerekh surveyed the remaining Magitects critically, doing the calculations in his head. As the Senior Oracle in charge of the Eye, Vaahnzerekh had been put in charge of safely closing the dimensional portal. Closing the Eye was even more dangerous than opening the Seal had been, so only the more proficient and knowledgeable Oracle could be trusted with the delicate work.

But now there would be no way to safely close the Eye.

“Vyrabron, can you still get us to the amalgamation chamber?” Vaahnzerekh asked, thinking his options through.

“Perhaps,” the Praetor answered immediately. “But only if we leave now.”

Vaahnzerekh looked around the ritual chamber, locking his eyes on the few remaining Magitects and their Praetor bodyguards. He nodded to himself and then focused his will on crystal focus four’s energy convergence field.

“I’ve made the energy convergence field in the crystal focuses unstable,” he announced aloud. Though the importance of the proclamation meant nothing to many of the Praetors, Vyrabron and Vaahnzerekh had grown close in the two years they’d spent together and had often discussed Vaahnzerekh’s work. He perfectly understood the meaning to the Oracle’s declaration.

“All Magitects with me,” he commanded. The other Praetor’s looked at Vyrabron, then nodded.

“We shall ensure that the Eye remains untouched,” one of them said. They then took up position around the portal, warblades at the ready.

[Herald of the Storm]

Psychic Amalgamation Chamber, Magitect Academae – Glorious Empire of Kron’tyr

Vyrabron and the Magitects successfully made it into the chamber ahead of the resistance horde. As Vaahnzerekh transferred his consciousness into his prepared vessel, the knowledge of what he’d done passed instantly to the Heralds. They assessed the information and adjusted the hibernation patterns accordingly.

[Herald of the Storm]

Magitect Academae – Glorious Empire of Kron’tyr

Fluctuations in the energy convergence field between crystal focus four and five caused a massive destabilization of the Eye of Khoalaeris. It erupted violently enough to crack the tectonic plate that the Magitect Academae rested on. The hordes of the rebellion were destroyed, along with the Glorious Empire’s seat of power, and a handful of bloodied, defiant Praetors.

[Herald of the Storm]

The Sands, Fallien – Nighttime – Present Day

Madi waited until nightfall before making his approach. Just as with the every night since starting this journey, Sheillal could not be found resting amongst the main body of the caravan. Once the wagons were rounded, and the tents put up, Sheillal had set himself apart. He and the foreigners made their own fire and closed the rest of the caravan out of their business.

It had been a simple matter to wait for the rest of the camp to fall asleep. Tired as they were by Sheillal’s demanding pace it was a wonder that the camp had even been properly setup. But these were professional work hands, Madi knew, and they would carry on diligently despite their complaints. Sheillal didn’t deserve that kind of loyalty. Not anymore. And the caravan deserved more from its leader. Madi was going to balance the scales.

He’d removed his boots to dampen the crunch of the sand beneath his feet as he glided across the distance to Sheillal’s fire. Madi was an experienced desert hand, and knew how to move quietly in the wastes. What little sound he made was covered by the blowing of the cold night wind, and he was approaching from behind the fire. He’d make his move quickly, he owed Sheillal that much, and would then see to the foreigners.

Not much was known about the foreigners, save that they sought to dig around the ruins of Fallien’s lost civilization. And that they’d somehow corrupted Sheillal. Madi wasn’t sure how the last had been accomplished, but he was certain that they were the reason and he wouldn’t give the foreigners time to work their sorceries on him. Once he was caravan master, he’d rouse the camp and leave the foreigners to their fate in the sands.

The workers would likely be displeased to get moving with so little rest, and in the dark at that, but there was enough light to guide them over the horizon, and the night winds would see to the covering of their tracks. Tomorrow, they could mourn in peace and rest the whole day through, as needed. It was a good plan.

Madi slid his knife from its scabbard, careful not to let the curved blade catch a stray hint of starlight. There was only a handful of paces between him and Sheillal now, and both the caravan master and the ever-present fat foreign mute were facing away from him. They were focused on the horizon, as Sheillal had been throughout the journey, never grounded in the present.

“Whatever they are looking for, they will not find it,” Madi thought as he swiftly covered the last steps. Hissing, he thrust his knife. “Suravani take you, Sheillal, for making me do this.”

The knife sank between Sheillal’s shoulders only a fraction of an inch before the foreigner’s iron grip closed over Madi’s arm and locked it into place. The pack master gasped in pain, surprised as both how quick and strong the fat mute was. He’d greatly underestimated the man.

Before Madi could cry out, the fat man had him held in a complex binding lock with one hand painfully holding Madi in place and the other clamped over the man’s mouth to prevent any noise from reaching the rest of the caravan. The foreigner looked to Sheillal and nodded.

“As expected,” Sheillal said quietly. The caravan master rose to his feet and turned to regard Madi. Something deep in Sheillal’s eyes burned with a strange luminous intensity as he did so, boring into the struggling pack master. A wince of pain crossed his face as Sheillal reached back, his arm twisting in an unnatural way to grasp the hilt of Madi’s knife. It came free with little fanfare and Sheillal dropped it into the sand before him.

Madi’s eyes flicked to the wound, with oozed brackish, sickly blood. As he watched, sparks of green suffused the wound, slowly knitting it closed before his very eyes. He looked back to the foreigner holding him, his look of defiant determination having been replaced by terror. The foreigner paid him no mind.

“Your services are no longer required, human,” Sheillal said. The placid emotionless mask had slipped into place once more, though now Madi could see the true inhumanity behind it. “Vyrabron, do what you need to.”

Vyrabron nodded once, then wrenched Madi’s head around with enough force to turn it nearly completely around. A splash of blood sprayed from where the pack master’s flesh had been torn by the assault, but Vyrabron paid it as little mind as he did Madi himself. Then, job completed, Vyrabron simply dropped the body and returned to his post. Madi slumped liquidly to the sand.

Vaahnzerekh, wearing Sheillal’s flesh as he had since Irrakam, returned to his seat and stared out at the horizon.

[Herald of the Storm]

Archeological Dig, Fallien – Present Day - Epilogue

Vaahnzerekh let Sheillal’s flesh slough off in a heap. Beside him, Vyrabron did the same to the foreigner’s body, leaving a much larger, messier pile than his companion. While he had no difficulty wearing the dead man’s flesh, Vaahnzerekh had no further reason to do so and thus efficiently moved forward with his and Vyrabron’s plan.

The caravan was dead. The Kron’tyr infiltrators had set upon them the moment the caravan reached the archeological site. It had taken several hours for Vaahnzerekh and Vyrabron to hunt the last of them down, but in the end all of the humans had been accounted for and disposed of. Sheillal’s caravan and all its workers would disappear into the wastes as surely as if they’d never existed.

“Let us begin,” Vaahnzerekh said once the flesh had fully peeled away from his skeletal, obsidian frame. The living stone flowed smoothly under the command of his will and soon enough the two Kron’tyr had all of the excavation equipment pulled from the foreigner’s wagons and laid out, ready for use. The rest of the wagons, filled with food, water, and personal belongings, were left to fade into the wastes.

Vaahnzerekh and Vyrabron tirelessly worked the sands for two weeks, slowly but surely uncovering their prize. Inch by inch the Kron’tyr repository came into view, one of hundreds just like it secreted throughout Althanas. As soon as Vaahnzerekh had learned of the foreigner’s findings and their intention of working the site, he’d known that he’d have to reach it first.

Unblinking green eyes took in the Oracular seal on the repositories entrance. His and Vyrabron’s late arrival to the amalgamation chamber meant that they hadn’t been placed with their respective repositories. Instead, they had been secured with the Heralds themselves, the last of the members of their race to go into seclusion. The others hadn’t awakened when the foreign warriors had challenged the Storm Herald, but that was about to change.

The Oracles would be free. The Kron’tyr were ready to rise.

[Philomel]

Name of Judgement: Ancient History
Participants: Herald of the Storm
Judgement Type: Workshop

Rewards:
Herald of the Storm receives:
1530 EXP
210 GP

This thread has been submitted to the Writer's Workshop for Peer Review!

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

All rewards have been added!