by C. M. Carney
In a last desperate move, the goliath sent a cone of superheated steam at Ovyrm, but he dodged it by sliding to his knees and spinning by the attack. With a focused yell reminiscent of a martial arts master channeling chi, Ovyrm swung the blade of his saber in an arc. The deep red metal of the blade pulsed with a corona of pure blue mana and Ovyrm’s blow sliced into and through the wire muscled neck of the goliath. Its head thunked to the floor, and it slumped over, looking to Gryph like a giant crucified knight. Tifala and Wick released their binding spells and the metal hulk fell forward with a boom.
The group relaxed, exhausted from the battle.
“Well that was fun,” Wick said, sarcasm dripping from his voice as furiously as the sweat from his brow.
“Yes, it was invigorating,” the Prince Regent said, missing, or perhaps ignoring, the tone of Wick’s comment. “But fear not my friends, this battle was easy. Hopefully, the next foes we face will provide a more difficult challenge.”
Wick looked at the tall elf in disbelief and alarm. “Easy? I don’t think that word means what you think it means,” Wick muttered under his breath. A moment later Xeg ported onto Tifala’s shoulder, still clutching the goliath’s ruby eye. “Where the hell did you go?”
“Xeg stare at shiny pretty,” the imp said as if it explained anything.
“You left us, you little bastard,” Wick growled.
“Xeg no little. Xeg not bastard. Xeg know both moms and both dads.”
Wick scowled and looked at Gryph. “Don’t look at me man, I have zero desire to learn about the mating customs of demons.”
“Xeg no have customs. Xeg just do what want do, when want do.”
“How do you even…?” Wick started, finding his eyes drawn to the imp’s blank crotch. He quickly regretted it. “No, never mind. I do not want to know.”
The fellowship came together, trying desperately to push the images of imp mating out of their minds. Tifala healed their wounds, and Gryph nodded thanks as her soothing magic healed the blistered burns on his face, arms and neck. While most of them were exhausted and ragged, Myrthendir seemed positively energized. Gryph had known men like him back on Earth. Adrenaline junkies who loved action. A trickle of concern bubbled inside Gryph. Some of those men also got a charge out of killing, Gryph thought. Let’s hope this Prince is not one of them.
While Tifala tended to Ovyrm’s wounds, Wick used Harvest to loot the bodies of the fallen automatons. After Myrthendir confirmed that the goliath would regenerate if their dynamo cores were left intact, Gryph enthusiastically joined him.
Wick was as excited as a kid on Christmas morning, and soon they had quite the pile of loot. Wick agreed to let Gryph store it in exchange for the promise, that when the time came, they’d both get to play with their collection.
You have found Large Imbued Ruby (x7).
Thalmiir artifice has changed these gemstones into imbued rubies.
You suspect that it could be used to create a Potion of Far Sight.
You also get a sense that it could be used to craft various automatons.
You have found Thalmiir Oil (x40).
This valuable ingredient has many uses in both Alchemy and Crafting.
You suspect that it could be used to create a Potion of Quick Movement and other unidentified effects.
You also get a sense that it could be used to craft various automatons.
You have found Thalmiir Dynamo Core Level III (x2).
This mechanical device is the heart and the brain of a Thalmiir Goliath.
You suspect that it can be used to craft various automatons.
You have found Broken Thalmiir Dynamo Core Level III (x2).
This mechanical device is the heart and the brain of a Thalmiir Goliath.
You suspect that it can be used to craft various automatons.
NOTE: This Dynamo core is broken.
Gryph had yet to try his hand at Alchemy or Crafting, what with being under attack since the moment he’d arrived in the Realms. He promised himself that once he got through this, if he did, he would try his hand at both. And by the time I get the chance I’ll be stocked up on awesome stuff. Who knew corpse robbing and looting could be so fun and profitable?
19
Hands never meant for such delicate work gently pried open the metal carapace of the spider-like automaton. Blunt tipped nails protected the tips of three fingers the color of unbaked bread. The fingers were thick and powerful, better suited to holding a weapon than the thin tool they eased into the tiny gears and mechanisms inside the body of the six-legged construct. The machine shuddered as if it felt fear.
“Be calm,” said a voice that was clinical, yet held traces of warmth. “You will be improved.”
The thin metal tool parted a series of metallic wires and exposed the small glowing core. “Easy, little one,” the voice cooed, and the rings spinning about the glowing core slowed and then settled, giving unfettered access to the device that was both heart and brain.
The adventurers who had just defeated the four goliaths at the city’s entrance would have noticed a similarity to the more massive cores that powered those automatons. While those were the bright red of fresh blood, the surface of this smaller one swam with currents of deep crimson.
The three-fingered hand eased the tool under the glowing core and with a low click, it detached from the housing. The hand lifted the core as gently as a heart surgeon and examined it with a set of piercing black eyes. The face was plain, but curious. Two eyes sat in a flat face that had no nose and a thin slit of a mouth. The skin was the same color as the hands, a pale white almost yellow, that bore no blemishes of variation. A wide grin split the man’s face.
He was called Errat. He was hairless and his features were bland. He held the core close to his face, and the irises seemed to flick open and closed like the lens of a camera. The hand holding the core pulsed with a bright green light. A low hum built up in the man’s throat becoming an oddly melodious refrain as he slowly eased the magical energy into the core. If there had been anyone nearby to observe the delicate procedure, they would have said that he seemed unaware of the hypnotic nature of his song.
The dominant red glow of the core resisted the influx of energy for just a moment before drawing it in like a dry sponge sucking up water. The bright green seemed to chase the deep red light, forcing it deeper into the core where it disappeared, leaving the core a shining emerald.
A crooked smile crossed Errat’s face. It was an uncomfortable grin as if he had no experience with the facial expression, or perhaps, like the melodic humming, was unaware that he was doing it. He eased the core back into the housing and snapped it back into place. “See, much better.”
In response the rings spun around the core once more, moving faster and faster giving the shimmering core a mirage-like quality. He then snapped the outer armored shell back in place and lifted the mechanical arachnid down to the floor. It flexed and stretched each limb a few times, like a newborn testing its stability. After a moment it shook, and a whistle came from somewhere underneath its body.
“You’re welcome,” Errat said, his lips parting once more in a quirky smile. “Now go fix your sister.”
The construct shuddered and then walked with precise, timed motions to another one of its kind. This construct was broken and twisted, limbs bent and askew. The altered arachnid walked up and slowly, almost hesitantly, extended one of its forelegs to touch its damaged sibling.
A whirring noise rose from within and emerald light flowed like molten steel down thin grooves set along the length of the spidery leg. The energy flowed into the damaged construct and the metal morphed as if it were healing. Bent appendages became straight and wires and joints returned to sockets. The light grew in intensity and would have blinded most mortals, but the man with the black eyes just stared and smiled.
Soon the light faded, and the damaged arachnid hopped up and walked towards a small opening in the wall. It entered and disappeared ready to return t
o duty. Errat swiveled on the stone bench and patted his leg. The altered arachnid leapt from the ground and landed in the man’s lap. Errat scratched its body as if it were a house cat and the automaton cooed again.
The man closed his liquid black eyes and exhaled, satisfied at a job well done. His world felt whole once more. Then everything changed.
It started with a low stone on stone grating and grew quickly to the rumble of an earthquake. Tools and bits of deconstructed automatons jumped and vibrated on the stone table in front of him. Errat’s eyes snapped open and the deep black swirled inside them like oil. Perhaps unhappy with the exposure to light, the blackness retreated deep into the man’s irises.
Errat pushed the stone block he’d been using as a chair backwards with incredible ease and placed his hands on the even larger slab of stone that was his work desk and stood. The vibrations pulsed through his hands causing his eyes to widen further. “The city is awakening.” He said aloud, perhaps to himself, perhaps to one automaton that scuttled near his feet. His tone held notes of anticipation mixed with surprise and a wink of fear.
Errat wore no clothes which made it clear that in fact, he was not a man at all. Where genitalia would have been on all other bipedal sentient beings, this ‘man’ had a featureless blank area. His body type was otherwise male. He was tall, packed with lean athletic muscle and was completely hairless. It was as if an overly modest sculptor had made the perfect male form bereft of any sexuality.
He seemed neither aware nor self-conscious of his nakedness. The chill in the air also didn’t seem to bother him at all. He scowled as bits of dislodged dust cascaded from high above, covering his work desk like dusty gray snow. After a few moments, the deep rumble ceased, and the city settled back to silence once more.
The man looked down at the automaton he had been working on. “Let’s go say hello.”
The small machine chirped and followed Errat as he exited the laboratory through a stone archway. He moved down a long hallway illuminated by glowing globes embedded in the walls. Every dozen feet a small aperture on the wall opened and deposited several of the arachnid automatons onto the floor. They would flex and unfurl their legs and fall in line behind Errat. Several minutes later a small army of the skittering machines followed in the odd man’s silent footsteps. The hundreds of metallic feet of his companions created a wave of metal on stone clacking.
After several minutes they reached a large gallery. The roof was a hundred feet or more above the man’s head, supported by large buttresses of metal and stone. At the far end of the room, a massive set of gilded doors lay closed, barred by massive bolts and cross braces. Like nearly everything else in the ancient city, the doors were polished and free of grime and dirt.
Errat stopped, and the skittering grew quiet. Had he possessed a heart it would have been pounding like an overworked piston, but he was not, in the strictly biological sense, alive. Like his metal companions, the man was a construct of magic and artifice. Silence hung heavy in the huge room. Each second stretched as the man waited. He knew his world was about to radically change.
Then a metallic clang announced the withdrawal of the large cross braces. The massive black tungsten beams slid from brackets set into the doors with quiet ease into housings in the walls. Things so large should not be capable of such eerie silence and the sudden clang of the bolts retracting within the doors echoed like a thunderclap.
At his feet the emerald arachnid twitched, easing a tentative leg out to touch the man on the foot. He looked down and smiled. “Easy, it will be fine.”
The distant sounds of gears working rose from somewhere behind the walls and the doors opened. Conflicting feelings of fear and excitement built in the man. Apart from his metal friends, Errat had been alone for longer than he could remember. Distant memories of his father called from the corners of his mind. Have father’s people returned?
The doors opened and settled into alcoves in the walls. Dim light poured into the room from a dozen glow globes backlighting five figures. Their long shadows crept across the floor questing towards the man. Without realizing it his mind reached out, and the arachnids moved into the room. The combination of light, cloak, and mask obscured the newcomer's features as they fanned out into defensive positions.
“Make way for the master of Dar Thoriim!” a tall lithe figure shouted and brought the butt of a spear crashing down onto the stone floor with a snapping thud. The voice was deep, and it reminded Errat of his father.
“Hello,” Errat said, raising a three-fingered hand in a cheery, if stiff, wave.
An arachnid moved towards the nearest cloaked form. It was a short and stocky figure clutching a heavy two-handed hammer in its thick-fingered hands. The automaton reached a tentative limb out towards the figure, but a violent burst of motion brought the hammer down on the arachnid, crushing it with ease.
Errat heard a voice yell in pain and anger and realized the sound had come from him. Blazing coronas of blue light formed mystical shields around the arachnids and the swarm surged forward. The hooded figures unleashed the power of magic and weapons. Despite their defensive shields, a dozen of the automatons fell in the first few moments. Hammer blows crushed some, others were sliced by the whirring blade of a sword, still, others were pierced by spear tip and arrow.
However, it was the flares of magic that did the most damage. Electrical surges erupted from fingers of one of the hooded figures and thrummed into the nearest arachnid’s shield. After a few seconds, the shield blinked and failed and the lightning slammed into the automaton’s carapace. It shook and lost control of its body. Deep inside the armored shell, the electricity surged, charring the machine’s dynamo core. An overload tore through it and the core exploded, shredding the arachnid’s body from the inside. The blue-white bolt erupted from the destroyed machine, split and pummeled the shields of two more of the automatons. Soon their shields failed as well, and the cycle continued, two becoming four.
Errat felt every one of the arachnids as their existence blinked out. Each one caused a jarring bolt of pain to flash through his mind. Before he knew of what he was doing Errat had leapt into the air, the artificial muscles in his legs sending him higher and farther than any normal mortal.
He brought a knee down onto the nearest of the attackers, the stocky one with the hammer. Errat heard a dull snap as something inside the cloaked figure’s body snapped and the man grunted in anguish and fell to one knee. Errat had no weapon, but he brought a fist downwards into the man’s silver masked face.
A small crack appeared in the mask and the man grunted in further pain, one hand reaching behind him to prevent him from falling onto his back. His other hand gripped the hammer and Errat saw a ring on the man’s finger flare with golden light. The light twined up the man’s arm like a coiling serpent bringing healing magic to his body. The man sighed in relief.
The stocky man smashed upwards with the head of his hammer and a word of power snapped from him. The blow took Errat in the chest and a thrum of force slammed up and into him. Errat flew backwards and hit the wall, with a thwack. He slid to the floor and fell hard. His vision blinked red. The single strike delivered a major blow and his health hovered a hair over 70%.
Shaking his head to clear his vision, Errat saw the stocky man charging him. The hammer came down in an arc and Errat stepped aside, grabbing the weapon’s haft and spun. He lifted the warrior full off his feet and tossed him towards his companion who was still pouring electrical current into the ever-branching root system of deadly lightning.
The hammer wielder’s body smashed into the caster and the lightning ceased. With a mental command, Errat pulled the swarm of arachnids back. He’d felt the loss of nearly two dozen, each one a tiny stab of pain in his mind. He could not, would not lose more of his friends.
The swarm lined up, shields flaring into a defensive wall and Errat backed from the room. Rage surged inside him, an emotion he had no experience with, and he felt tears flow down his face. “I just w
anted to be friends,” he yelled, and he heard a sinister chuckle as another volley of electrical power slammed against the shield wall.
Errat backed out of the room and ordered the swarm to scatter into a dozen of the small holes. The invaders were too large to follow his friends, and he hoped they would be safe. The cloaked figures advanced with an even pace showing no concern over the departed arachnids.
Errat turned a corner and placed his hand onto a section of wall indistinguishable from the rest. A small rectangle of stone pushed inward and a section of the wall raised upwards with a near silent swoosh. Errat stepped into the darkness and slapped his hand against the inside of the wall. The door closed just as silently and a moment later, peering through a small peephole, Errat saw the invaders walk past. The hammer-wielding one paused for a moment staring towards the wall that hid Errat.
The silver visage glared at the wall without expression and Errat eased tendrils of his thoughts through the aether. They twined invisibly around the mask and into the mind behind it. It felt wrong, stained and malicious. Errat wanted to pull out but did not. He saw a dim light in the mind’s depths and went deeper, pushing through a thick haze of solid fog. As he emerged into the glowing interior, his mind exploded with despair and pain.
Help me!
Errat pulled back in shock and confusion, and he saw the dwarf flinch and shake his head. He stood straight and turned back as one of his fellows barked a command at him. “I’m coming,” the dwarf said, and with one last glance at the wall he followed the others.
