Ancient History - Beginnings

[Herald of the Storm]

Heshazde Oasis, Fallien - Present Day

Mitra’s light was fading fast, as it always did out in the dune seas. Sheillal had pushed his caravan hard, promising them that they would make the Heshazde Oasis before the light completely gave out. It would be a close thing, but the caravan master had been right. Sheillal himself had stoically ignored the muttered curses of his wage hands, riding at the fore of the caravan with his eyes firmly locked on the horizon. Complaints over long marches were a part of caravan life, and it was a poor master who took them to heart. Giving in to fatigue was a weakness, and in the wastes weakness meant death. Besides, he had been correct, and his forced march off the regular caravan route had shaved at least two days from their estimated travelling time. An audible groan of relief issued from every throat as the caravan rode into the Heshazde Oasis. Every throat but Sheillal’s.

“Master,” a stocky man called out, approaching Sheillal. Khemal was a hard man. A working of leathery sun-kissed skin stretched taut over the coils of thick muscle. He was stern and sober, and he was also Sheillal’s friend and second in command. The dozen years Khemal had travelled with the caravan had turned him into tough leather, both inside and out, but he’d always been thankful to the man who had given purpose to his life. There was little thanks in him now though, as he approached the lead caravan.

Khemal waved Sheillal’s attention toward the work hands as he came to rest before the caravan master. The men were visibly weary, worn to the bone by the day’s long march. “I did not voice my complaints over your decision to turn us to Heshazde but I must admit that I felt my doubt as surely as the others did. In all my years we’ve never marched that hard, but you were right.” Khemal bowed his head in respect. “Once more your mastery is revealed. Please accept my apologies.” The words meaning did not match the harsh way in which they were spoken, however.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Sheillal said. He either had not heard the Khemal’s angry inflection or else had chosen to ignore it. “I did nothing more than run the figures and exert my will to enforce what was necessary to match their requirement.”

“As you say,” Khemal replied, frowning. His friend had been acting strangely since the caravan left Irrakam three days previous. Sheillal was a smart man, and a shrewd bargainer. He knew facts and figures as well as any in the business, but he had never spoken of them in this manner. Hearing the caravan master speak of facts and accomplishing exertions rather than the effort that his men had put forth seemed somehow wrong to Khemal. Something was wrong with the Sheillal, but Khemal didn’t quite know what it was.

“Will there be anything else, Khemal?” Sheillal asked, flat eyes staring blankly at his lieutenant.

“No, master,” Khemal replied. He wanted to shout at Sheillal, to vent his frustration at his friend’s behavior. We have travelled three days from the Great City, he would say. Three days of travel with a man who is a stranger to me. You have always been bold, but never like this. The safety of our men and our beasts has always been the priority. Why did you order us here? Why did you take this risk, my friend? But Sheillal was master, and he had made it clear his orders were not be questioned.

Instead, Khemal turned and began whistling the hands to rise from their rest. “I shall see to it that the animals are watered and the camp properly set.”

Sheillal nodded and turned back to staring at the horizon, lost in his own thoughts.

[Herald of the Storm]

Oracular Laboratory, Magitect Academae – Glorious Empire of Kron’tyr

“I am now adding a vial of distilled Essence of Vixis to the crystalline matrix. Essence of Vixis, as you should all know, is a potent fate weaving catalyst which aids in tuning the natural resonance of …” Vaahnzerekh let his mind wander while he continued to lecture. Creation and basic use of first tier seer crystals was not a particularly interesting topic to the Senior Oracle. But he’d performed this lecture and its ritual demonstration over six dozen times now and knew it well enough that doing so was a rote activity.

Vaahnzerekh was extremely frustrated.

He had so much work that needed doing before tonight’s test and yet here he was, dressed in his teacher’s frock, and lecturing glassy eyed disciples on the formation of fortune telling crystals. He’d been a Senior Oracular Magitect for over three cycles now, yet somehow Vaahnzerekh still found himself slotted to instruct every Fundamentals of Oracular Rituals section in the Basics of Magitect course. He knew as well as any citizen of Krahn that magitect was an important element in the continued development and well-being of the Glorious Empire of Krahn. But the inborn ability to truly comprehend and wield magitect was rare, at least with any appreciable level of skill. Rarer still was the ability to harness the full spectrum of temporal fate weavings required to become an Oracle. Vaahnzerekh doubted that even one of his current round of disciples possessed enough ability to pass the apprentice qualification testing. But the Heralds had mandated that all Krahn disciples were to take at least a beginner’s course in magitect at the Academae.

“Any questions?” Vaahnzerekh asked, his mind catching up to the fact that he had finished the lesson. Not that he expected any answers from the crowd. Most disciples only attended Basics of Magitect long enough to achieve an appropriately passing grade while they focused on their other courses. It was part of the charm of mandatory class requirement. And just like the disciples, Vaahnzerekh found himself wishing that he were somewhere else. But protocol had to be observed, and so the Oracle scanned the row of indicator stones for outstanding questions. Vaahnzerekh was finally about to call and end to the day’s farce when he noticed a single indicator light from a young woman in the third row.

“Ah,” he hemmed, disappointed. “Disciple Hyalla, you have a question?”

“I do, Oracle Vaahnzerekh,” Hyalla answered. “As a senior Oracle, are you part of Master Khotemi’s Seal of Khoalaeris ritual?”

“I don’t believe that’s pertinent to the lesson, Disciple,” Vaahnzerekh scowled. His mind instantly raced to the specifications of the ritual. The same ritual he had been researching since attaining Senior Oracle status. A ritual that was now all but Master Oracle Khotemi’s.

“But …”

Vaahnzerekh stamped his magitect staff on the polished stone floor with a crack, silencing the student. “Class dismissed,” he said in a neutral tone that brooked no argument.

[Herald of the Storm]

Heshazde Oasis, Fallien - Present Day

“How’d it go?” Madi asked. The pack master watched as Khemal stormed by with a dark expression on his face. “That bad?”

“It’s not right,” Khemal spat. He grabbed a random strap on the tent pack and hauled savagely, tearing a small rip in the tough leather’s stitching. Madi clicked once, disapprovingly, then reached around to unfasten the bundle before Khemal had the chance to ruin anything else.

“I tell you Madi,” Khemal snapped in frustration, moving aside to let the other man work. “There is something wrong with Sheillal. He’s simply not acting like himself.”

“You think he’s keeping something from us?” Madi asked, thrusting the tent into Khemal’s arms.

“I think it has something to do with the foreigners,” Khemal said. Both men paused to mutter a curse before spitting onto the sand. “Whatever it is that this expedition has us looking for has bewitched our master. That’s why he disdains our company and has taken his meals with them since we started our journey.”

“Normally I’d tell you that you were being superstitious,” Madi said. He gestured at the exhausted workers who were still working to set the camp. “But after seeing what Sheillal is willing to put us through to gain the devils’ favor, I have to agree.”

The two men fell into a frustrated silence as they worked to put up their tent. As the senior members of Sheillal’s caravan, Khemal and Madi had a tent of their own, unlike the communal tents that the caravan’s lesser members shared. Sheillal, as the caravan’s master, had a tent all his own available for his use. But, another oddity of the trip, Sheillal has thus far refused to have it set up for him.

“There he goes again,” Madi noted as the pair of them put the finishing touches on their tent. Khemal turned to see Sheillal being aided from his wagon by the heavyset foreigner who served as the foreign leader’s assistant. The man, Khemal hadn’t bothered to learn the foreigner’s name, was also a mute, though he supposedly managed communication through hand signals. At least, that’s what Sheillal had told him when Khemal had asked. How a man that limited managed to snare a job as an assistant for a trip into the dune seas was a mystery to Khemal. But then, everything the heathen foreigners did made little sense to the lieutenant.

“Leave him to it,” Khemal spat and entered the tent. “Suravani willing our friend will return to us once these damnable foreigners are gone.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” Madi asked as he unrolled his eagerly awaited bedroll.

“If that’s so,’ Khemal replied with a shrug. “We leave Sheillal to himself. I’ll not continue to be a part in this growing madness.”

[Herald of the Storm]

Sheillal sat next to a fire bowl, the sullen coals doing little to keep the chill of the Fallien night at bay. If the caravan master noticed it at all however, he didn’t let it show. Standing beside him, seemingly as always when the caravan was at rest, was the foreigner archaeologist’s heavyset assistant.

“He suspects too much.” Sheillal said finally.

The foreigner thumped his chest rhythmically.

“Agreed,” Sheillal nodded, then turned back to staring at the coals.

[Herald of the Storm]

Magitect Academae – Glorious Empire of Kron’tyr

“Wait up, Vaahn!”

Vaahnzerekh grimaced and lengthened his stride. He would rather not have had to deal with Khaaltek at the moment if he could avoid his Terran counterpart, but Khaaltek always seemed to be able to slip his way through a crowd unhindered. One of the benefits of specializing in earth magitect, Vaahnzerekh supposed. Perhaps, when he had more time, he’d work on bolstering his Terran skills.

Khaaltek called out again, drawing curious stares from more than a few disciples. It wasn’t every day that one got to see a Senior Magitect acting like the common rabble. Vaahnzerekh flushed at the thought and made a mental note to have a discussion with Shriaal the Seeker to reinvestigate the topic of transitive archways. The Oracles had eventually learned where the last attempt had led to, after all, so why not tweak it and give it another shot. Vaahnzerekh had more than a few favors that he could call it, and perhaps much more if the today’s test ritual went well.

A nearby class let out, the walkway suddenly filling with dozens of bustling disciples. Vaahnzerekh watched them spill out in front of him and gave an inward groan. There would be no escaping Khaaltek now. Knowing what he had to do, Vaahnzerekh worked the look on his face into one of surprise.

“Well what have we here?” Vaahnzerekh rounded on his pinch-faced companion. Contrary to popular belief Terran Magitect were not all hulking brutes. While many were as stoic and hulking as they stones they worked, Khaaltek was most certainly not.

“I'm glad I caught you Vaahn,” Khaaltek panted, “I've chased you halfway across the Academae. Can't believe you didn't hear me calling.”

Vaahnzerekh winced. Khaaltek and he were quite good friends, but right now he wanted nothing to do with the little man. He knew exactly what Khaaltek wanted and where this conversation was destined to go. Still, he wasn’t fond of treating his associates poorly, let alone his friends.

“Apologies,” Vaahnzerekh offered somewhat lamely. “My thoughts are somewhat distant at the moment.”

“An Oracle with his head among the stars? That’s terribly surprising,” Khaaltek laughed. “Or is it that maybe your head wasn’t in the stars. Maybe it was somewhere else?”

Here it comes, Vaahnzerekh thought, gritting his teeth.

[Herald of the Storm]

“Maybe it’s on an entirely different world, eh?” Khaaltek nudged Vaahnzerekh conspiratorially.

Vaahnzerekh sighed, shifting away from the Terran. What Khaaltek lacked in stereotypical Terran physique, he more than made up for in their vaunted stubborn cluelessness. Still, the more he conversed it became clear that the Terran was more in the know about the Seal of Khoalaeris than Vaahnzerekh would have given him credit for.

And, as much as he hated to admit it, it was good to be able to talk with a fellow Magitect. Even if that Magitect happened to be a stubborn Terran. It was infinitely better than the seemingly endless parade of state officials and grant managers with their ignorant questions but lack of ability to understand the answers to the questions they asked. Purposefully sundering the veil between realities by invoking a hyper-acceleration of a controllable third tier portal was well beyond the Basics of Magitect.

But all the begging and scraping had proved to be worth it. With enemies crowding them from all sides, the Kron’tyr command had finally been forced to accept his proposal and the funding for his project had gone through. The last shipment of rare alchemical materials had been delivered to the Academae yesterday. Master Khotemi’s senior level research assistants had been diligently preparing the last of the preparatory work throughout the night. All according to Vaahnzerekh’s design plans, of course. It was maddening, to have worked so hard only to have the work taken from you at the finale.

Even so, Vaahnzerekh would have been there himself to ensure everything was in its correct place if Khotemi himself hasn’t ordered him away. The Master had said it was because Vaahnzerekh’d be needed at his peak, but the Oracle knew it was simply because Khotemi wanted to share as little glory as possible. He’d grudgingly obeyed Khotemi’s orders, not that he’d had much choice. Rest hadn’t been what he’d gotten, however. He’d lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, his mind burning with a mixture of frustration and excitement. He was angry with Khotemi’s usurpation of his work, true, but no matter who completed the trial it would validate his life’s work. If he was correct, then he would be the one to have changed the Kron’tyr Empire forever.

“I always wondered what made a good Oracle,” Khaaltek laughed, jabbing Vaahnzerekh in the side. “Obviously it’s constantly having your head in the stars.” Vaahnzerekh blinked, taking a moment to realize that he’d been so focused on his thoughts that he and Khaaltek had walked through two wings of the Academae without him knowing it.

“Sorry, Khaal,” he muttered, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. He could feel the heat of embarrassment burning on his cheeks. “I haven’t exactly gotten a lot of sleep recently.”

Khaaltek chuckled. “I’ll bet. It’s not every day that one gets to oversee the opening of a portal to another world. I just hope that you can keep your presence of mind long enough to avoid falling through the portal midway through the unbinding.”

“I very much doubt that will be possible,” Vaahnzerekh sighed. “Especially since Master Khotemi has me stationed in secondary while he oversees the ritual. I suppose I’m there to ensure the procedure goes off correctly.”

Vaahnzerekh sighed, “Or to act as a power funnel in case of a traumatic backlash.”

“I still can’t believe Khotemi took over the ritual,” Khaaltek spat.

Vaahnzerekh shrugged. “It is his right as master of the Oracular Council.”

“But it's your ritual, your theories. History should show that you were the first to spread the Glorious Empire across time and space, not that self-important hack.” Vaahnzerekh shrugged again and Khaaltek muttered a few more angry words towards the Oracles.

“I’m not kidding, Vaahn. This should be yours.”

“I'll be there, Khaal. I'm doing this for the Empire and for the knowledge, not for the fame and power.”

“True but you have to admit that fame and power have their places too. It'd certainly mean that you'd never have to crawl and scrape before those know-nothings again.”

“But those in power are also the easiest to target,” Vaahnzerekh chuckled, “I'm happy being third or fourth in the crosshairs for the lesser races' assassins.”

“You’ve got me there,” Khaaltek conceded. “Anyways, this is where we have to split. I have a lecture to do on the nature of Magitect restructuring of tectonic plates.”

“You enjoy that.” Vaahnzerekh patted his friend on the shoulder with mock sympathy.

“Indeed. And Vaahn,” Vaahnzerekh paused, turning back to Khaaltek. “Good luck.”

[Herald of the Storm]

Heshazde Oasis, Fallien - Present Day
“Master?” Madi asked, approaching Sheillal boldly. It wasn’t exactly unheard of for the pack master to approach the caravan master, but given this morning’s circumstance, and the very visible anger on Madi’s face, it was cause for note. Madi stood, fuming like Mitra’s mid-day stare, while Sheillal calmy went about the motions of reading his wagon for travel. The carvan mater, unconcerned, didn’t even bother to stop and acknowledge his third in command’s breach.

This went on for several tense moments, just long enough for Madi to be brought to the edge of his patience, but before that event could occur Sheillal finally spoke. “I take it the preparations for departure are complete then, pack master?” Madi stared at the caravan master with furious intent, but the nearness of the hired hands meant that he had to hold himself in check. Despite everything, Madi was a professional. Besides, word traveled quickly within the caravan circles of Irrakam, and Madi didn’t want the latest rumors about him to be that he publicly accosted his caravan master. Such things would make future employment quite difficult.

Sheillal never paused in his work, letting Madi’s temper simmer down to the point where the man could make respectful conversation. He started to voice his concerns once more, about how it was foolish to break camp at a time like this, but Sheillal had been quite insistent. “The preparations are complete,” he ground out instead. “Per your orders, Master, the caravan will be ready to depart within ten minutes.” The “master” was barked harshly, and there was something in it that had been broken forever.

Sheillal finally finished lashing his wagon down and turned to face Madi, his dispassionate eyes scanning the pack master’s rugged features. There was something else hiding behind the anger. Was it fear? Worry? Sheillal mused that it was probably a mixture of emotions, all bound up and struggling against one another, putting Madi out of balance with himself. It would pass. Or it wouldn’t. The matter was of no concern to Sheillal as long a Madi did his job and ensured that the foreigner’s wagons were secured and ready to go when he ordered.

“It is a shame about Khemal,” he said, offering a branch to his subordinate. “But Mitra has risen and his fury will soon be upon us. We still have far to travel to reach the foreigner’s excavation. Once we’ve delivered our services, we can collect our pay and take time to mourn in a proper fashion.”

“Mourn in a proper fashion?” Madi blurted, drawing a few scandalous looks from nearby workers. “Master, at least give me the time to embalm Khemal properly with ointments and honey so that his body can be taken back to Irrakam. Don’t leave him in the sand, I urge you.”

Sheillal glanced at the sun, already feeling the morning heat on his weathered flesh. The embalming ritual would take several hours, at the least. Hours that the caravan could not afford. Madi saw the response in his master’s cold gaze and sagged in defeat. It was the bitterest of pills, leaving a dear friend in a shallow depression by the oasis. It was something that Khemal would not have stood for. Nor, Madi would have thought several days ago, would it be something that Sheillal would stand for.

Khemal had been right. Sheillal had changed.

Seeing that there was no further reason to dispute the fact, Sheillal turned from Madi and mounted his wagon, once again assuming a distant, far off stare. He flicked the reins once, lightly, and set the caravan into motion.

[Herald of the Storm]

Oracular Ritual Chamber Six, Magitect Academae – Glorious Empire of Kron’tyr

“Preparations are now complete! Stand by for the commencement of the ritual,” Khotemi, First Oracle and Presiding Master of the Oracular Council, announced.

Rather than shouting his words over the chaos of the ritual preparations, Khotemi’s voice echoed in the minds of all present, Magitect and civilian alike. There was a murmur of surprise from several dignitaries or people in their retinues, but most of the assembled viewers were familiar with the Oracular ritual of psychically augmented speech. It was a fairly basic ritual, after all. Even a beginner Magitect of a non-Oracular Tradition.

Still, even a basic ritual such as that required an amount of concentration to maintain, and Vaahnzerekh frowned in disapproval. It was, at best, an unnecessary gesture of arrogance or else, at worst, the beginnings of a fatal distraction.

“Sure he’s powerful,” Vaahnzerekh bitterly mused. “But he’s still working off models for an untested ritual procedure. How is he going to know to compensate for fluctuations in the …”

Vaahnzerekh realized what he was thinking and cut the line of thought off. Of course Khotemi would be able to compensate in problems arose during the procedure. He was, after all, the First Oracle for a reason. Besides, he and Khotemi both knew that his presence here wasn’t simply a courtesy afforded to him as the ritual’s researcher. Should anything go wrong, his familiarity with the process would likely mean that the power backlash would be his to deal with.

“Release controls,” Khotemi’s voice intoned, drawing Vaahnzerekh’s attention back into focus. The Master Oracle was a bear of a man and he cut quite an imposing figure amongst the thinner, more bookish assistants in the primary staging area. Even though Vaahnzerekh was a Senior Oracle, he realized that he hadn’t spent much time with Khotemi. That was not likely to be the case if Vaahnzerekh’s ritual truly managed to open the Seal of Khoalaeris.

Runes of restraint were broken at the Master’s command, and a swirling vortex of energy sprang up from the various adimixtures which had been prepared on the ritual floor. As the energies took shape, commanded by Khotemi’s will, Vaahnzerekh thought about everything that had led him to this moment.

In the days following the discovery of other planes of existence by Khoalaeris the Oracle, there had been no shortage of research into how to reach these other realms. Megitects from all over the Glorious Empire, and even a few civilians, had made it all the rage in positing theories on how to open the seemingly impenetrable barrier between worlds. One by one these attempts failed, and over time the barrier that separated the Glorious Empire from outside realities became mockingly known at the Seal of Khoalaeris. Interest in opening the Seal had faded to a fringe science, fit only for the most esoteric and obsessive of Magitects.

Vaahnzerekh had been one of those. He’d completed his Senior Magitect thesis on an outline of previous failed attempts to open the Seal, why each had failed, and what potential differences could have been made to the procedures to make them more effective. His advisor had been less than pleased by his choice of research subject but Vaahnzerekh had been adamant about it. None of the Oracular Council had been interested in the finished report, but they had grudgingly promoted him to Senior Oracle status despite that on Vaahnzerekh’s sheet aptitude and displayed breadth of knowledge. But if this ritual succeeded where all of the others had failed then Vaahnzerekh’s unappreciated thesis would go down in history as a pivotal moment in the history of the Glorious Empire.

“Assuming Khotemi doesn’t mess it up and either kill us all or sink my credentials forever,” Vaahnzerekh grimaced, as an arc of green lightning erupted from the coalescing orb of power. The lightning flashed across the ritual chamber, drawing gasps and shrieks from all present save Khotemi and Vaahnzerekh themselves. As expected, the lighting struck the ethereal protective field surrounding the alchemical circle and exploded in a bright shower of green sparks which brilliantly lit the chamber before fading from view.

“Initiate third phase,” Khotemi commanded. This time the strain in his words was noticeable, even through the psychic link. There was a burst of energy within the sphere as an apprentice added the Kulthan Spirits to the adimixture. The silvery essence of the spirits flowed in and out of the spectral energy instantly turning the mixture to a bright burning gold. Khotemi nodded at the change, despite having his eyes closed in concentration.

This was it, Vaahnzerekh knew, focusing intently on Khotemi. This was the most critical point of the ritual, where even a single slip of mental control over the energies of the ritual would result in a catastrophic backlash. Suddenly, and without warning, Khotemi gasped. The master’s eyes flew open and the thick muscles of his body went rigid. Vaahnzerekh could see Khotemi’s veins bulging within the man’s leathery hide, and there was blood in the whites of his eyes.

Instinctively, Vaahnzerekh propelled his will into the ether, preparing to syphon as much energy as he could within the confines of the ritual. But all of his efforts ceased when the sphere of energy slowly, grudgingly collapsed, kneading into itself over and over like raw dough.

“By the power of the Heralds,” Vaahnzerekh whispered, stunned. “It’s working.”

“Open wide the Seal of Khoalaeris,” Khotemi screamed aloud, no longer using his psychic augmentation. Multicolored lines formed within the orb, weaving within and around one another. The sphere tightened, pulled inward by those lines until it was almost too small to see. And then it exploded outwards into a yawning portal, spilling bright, warm sunshine into the ritual chamber.

“I’ve done it,” Vaahnzerekh gasped, staring for the first time into another realm of existence.

[Herald of the Storm]

Glorious Empire of Kron’tyr

The celebrations lasted for weeks.

[Herald of the Storm]

Magitect Academae – Glorious Empire of Kron’tyr

“So what’s your Praetor like?” Khaaltek asked. “I’ve never met one.”

Vaahnzerekh shrugged. “Supposedly Vyrabron is in the top third of the Praetor Echelons. From what I’ve seen of him in his sparring matches, I can believe it. He moves like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I pity the day one of the lesser races tries to make an attempt on my life.”

The two Magitects had a laugh as they strolled through across the Academae’s grounds, but there was an uneasiness about it. Joke as they might about the possibility of an attack, the fallout from the success of Vaahnzerekh’s ritual, what was now being called the Eye of Khoalaeris, had been violently explosive amongst the lesser races. There had always been those who had been trod beneath the heel of the Glorious Empire’s rise to power, and the threats that had been made against the Oracular Council were being taken very seriously by the Masters. It had gotten so serious that every Senior Oracle had been assigned a bodyguard from the elite Praetor Echelons, the warriors who guarded the Heralds themselves.

“How are you handling having someone around you at all times?” Khaaltek asked. “A loner like you must find it very distracting.”

Vaahnzerekh less than gently nudged his companion with one elbow. “It’s not the company that bothers me,” he said. “It’s that Vyrabron seems to be physically unable to stop talking unless he’s sparring. I swear he’d even give you some stiff competition when it comes to incessant babbling.”

It was Khaaltek’s turn to throw an elbow.

“Overall,” Vaahnzerekh continued, easily side-stepping Khaaltek’s strike. “It’s not so bad. I’ve got no family and other than the constant chatter Vyrabron is decent enough company. I’m not complaining, which is more than can be said about many of the other Oracles.”

“Well your discomfort is a price I’ll happily pay to continue to get samples like the ones that have been coming through the Eye.”

Vaahnzerekh rolled his eyes dramatically. “The Oracles appreciate the support of our Terran brethren in this, our time of troubles.”

“I’m serious, Vaahn,” Khaaltek immediately became more animated now that the conversation had shifted to his work. “There’s something about the samples from this other world that react spectacularly to our Macitect.”

“Oh? How spectacularly?”

“As in, we’ve managed to alchemically treat a particular type of obsidian-like stone to make it hard as steel and self-repairing.”

“Self-repairing rock?” Vaahnzerekh looked at his friend in confusion. “How, by all the Heralds, does that work?”

“I’m not really sure,” Khaaltek said, somewhat sheepishly. “I’m not on that project myself. But it’s been making the rounds through the Terran Tradition now. Some of the Senior Terrans have managed to make a semi-fluid rock that solidifies harder than steel and when broken will seal itself back together. Even if a chunk of it is cut out, it will somehow find a way to replicate the missing area.”

Vaahnzerekh whistled. “Something like that would be very useful. Do you know how much of it has been formulated?”

“I don’t think there’s much of it yet, but I’m sure there working on making more. And get this, the most interesting part, the stone’s malleability is psychically sensitive.” This caused Vaahnzerekh to stop in his tracks, something which Khaaltek found immensely satisfying.

“Let me get this straight. You Terrans have managed to create some sort of …” he paused, hands flopping about as he searched for the right word, “… living stone?”

“I told you it was spectacular,” Khaaltek said, smugly.

Vaahnzerekh thought about the implications of that. It was amazing, but he doubted that it would be the most amazing thing that came from his success. It would likely take years for the full implications of opening the Eye of Khoalaeris to become known. He had literally changed the fate of the Glorious Empire singlehandedly.

The thought both humbled and terrified him.

“Come on,” Vaahnzerekh said, resuming his walk. “I think Vyrabron is sparring down at Chikiirion Field. Maybe we can see one of his matches before he finishes for the day.”

[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 (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25073-Ancient-History-Beginnings)
Participants: Herald of the Storm
Judgement Type: Workshop

Rewards:
Herald of the Storm receives (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?15960-Herald-of-the-Storm):
1530 EXP
210 GP

This thread has been submitted to the Writer's Workshop for Peer Review! (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?31205-Workshop-Ancient-History&p=265778#post265778)

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

All rewards have been added!