by C. M. Carney
He strode forth, the light of the full moon casting a long shadow ahead of him. Whenever Vex patrols passed, he dipped into alleys or disappeared into darkened doorways. He did not fear confrontation, he simply had no interest in the Vex and saw no reason to waste time on them.
He moved past them unseen, a barely noticed gust of wind. Sometime later he stood at the edge of darkness, staring at the beacon of order among a vortex of impending chaos. Assembled around the base of the tower were a large contingent of Vex, arranged in a series of concentric circles. Armed thugs, pawns in a game they did not understand, guarded their compatriots, fierce eyes watching the gloom.
At the center of the group, inside an intricately woven pattern of seething orange runes and symbols known as a rune-form, stood a woman. She wore deep orange robes that flowed like magma. She held her arms high and wide over her head, her chanting sapping mana from those surrounding her.
The Scourge’s sharp eyes, yet another gift of the quintessence, saw fine pattern of reddish scales flowing up and down the woman’s arms. Dragonkin? he thought with the barest hint of surprise.
The anomaly should have demanded an explanation, but he would not let curiosity impede his mission. He did not care why the woman bore the blood of the dragon, or how she was here, or even what she wanted. He cared only for what she knew and how it would aid his mission.
He triggered Analyze.
SAKTHU (Dragonkin) – Level: 39.
Health
Stamina
Mana
Spirit
325
416
1,135
0
Dragonkin are humanoid mages who long ago bonded themselves to the great dragons of old. This bond alters them on a primal, physical level granting them an array of powers common to dragons, most impressive is a dragon breath weapon. Long ago an unknown apocalypse nearly drove the Dragonkin to extinction.
Strengths
Immunities
Weaknesses
Regeneration, Scaled Defense, Breath Weapon.
50% Resistance to all Spheres of Magic. Resistance to poison, disease, hunger, stun, paralysis.
Aether Magic, Cold.
The most ancient of the souls residing inside the maelstrom of the Scourge recognized the intricate spell Sakthu was casting as a ritual. It was common knowledge that the art of Ritual Magic was lost during the horrors that followed the Ruin. To find a practitioner here and now was unexpected.
The woman continued to draw power into herself, twinning her arms in intricate patterns as she drew the complicated forms required to unleash the ritual. Rumbles of discontent entwined with the barest hints of fear bubbled to the surface of the Scourge.
The glowing rune-form shuddered and rose, pushing dust into the air as the incredible amounts of mana flowing through the area disrupted the natural order of gravity. The rune-form rotated on the horizontal axis becoming parallel to the surface of the tower. Sakthu pushed the massive matrix of energy forward. Drops of mana, so highly concentrated that it had become liquid, dripped to the ground, sizzling as their raw power ate away at the fabric of the earth.
Left unopposed, the ritual would grant the Vex access to the tower, access to the Maker.
The tactical experts residing inside the Scourge processed this new information. ThE Vex mUst NoT GaIN acceSs to the M-A-K-E-R, came the conclusion. He BeLonGs to the High God aLone. KILL tHe DRagonKin and ClaiM the kNowlEdge of hEr RITUAL.
The Scourge did not hesitate as he called up an array of skills and abilities. First, he suffused his body and his minds with an array of boons. He was stronger, faster, more resilient, able to sense danger and uncover weaknesses. Then he turned his focus towards power.
Lightning flashed across dark clouds that had not existed moments before. Many of the Vex guards looked up in surprise and worry, but neither the dragonkin, nor those feeding her their mana turned their focus from their task.
Pressure built and nature went mad as half a dozen bolts of lightning thundered down unleashing fury among the ranks of the Vex. Screams lasted mere seconds before the electricity ripped apart bodies casting their charred remains in a wide arc.
That was only the beginning of the carnage. Dozens of the Vex who’d been lending the dragonkin ritualist their mana, fell to the ground, their bodies seized by mana feedback paralysis. Sakthu fell to one knee and the rune-form of her ritual shuddered as the sudden drop in mana innate affected its cohesion.
The Scourge stared at the dragonkin, impressed that she still stood. The amount of mana that had recoiled back onto her would have vaporized most practitioners, but she didn’t even suffer the normal paralysis debuff associated with mana feedback.
I must dispatch her quickly, the Scourge thought. He drew his blade and his arms and legs hummed with kinetic energy. He launched forward, his blade singing through the air, the bone white flashes barely registering in the minds of the men and women who fell to the weapon.
The Scourge did not slow as he sliced his way through a dozen bodies. He did not care if they lived or died, so long as they no longer impeded his progress. From his own perspective the Scourge moved with calm grace, but to any outsider he was a whirlwind of arterial spray and instant death.
The dragonkin ritualist turned towards the Scourge, rage flowing across her face. He had seen such arrogance many times before, once been its victim, before he’d joined the quintessence, before he’d become the Scourge. Soon she too would know the peace of the High God’s embrace.
A trickle of green blood flowed from her nose. The Scourge found this curious. She is true dragonkin then and not some imposter. Curious. He pushed down the last thought. He would not let the weaknesses of his past stay his hand. His old life, his life before the Scourge, had been one of sin and despair. But the High God had found him, given him purpose, given them all purpose. They owed the High God all. They would not fail him now.
The woman started to shake and then the fine scales along her face and arms thickened and her body expanded. Her features morphed and elongated, becoming draconic. She opened her mouth and belched pure chaotic flame at the Scourge.
The Scourge dropped his blade and crossed his forearms. Another of those within him came to the fore and a pale blue globe formed around him. Dragon flames roared over the air shield with rumbling force, pushing the Scourge to one knee. The hair on his arms smoked and charred as he willed the shield to hold. His face blistered, like a man too long in the sun, and still the draconic fire came.
The Scourge grunted, forcing himself to focus through the pain, drawing on the willpower of a dozen others. He lowered his right hand, and his shield weakened. The fire scoured at his skin as his fingers twisted into the complicated forms required to cast his spell. He ignored the pain but knew this body could only survive so much. Deep in the maelstrom of souls that seethed within him yet another of the High God’s servants asserted dominance and the world shimmered and folded. The Scourge stepped into the aether and flickered out of existence.
*****
Sakthu blinked in surprise as the man disappeared and ceased her dragon flame. The mystical fire was a gift from her ancestors and few beings in all the Realms could survive its assault. A strange quiet hung in the air and for the briefest of moments she rejoiced. She was Sakthu, daughter of the immortal Dragon Mage Ichtherion. She was dragonkin and no servant of a paltry god would defeat her. Her triumph was her master's triumph.
That joy was short lived, for a moment later the world shifted and the man with the alien eyes appeared behind her. Sakthu spun as the thin blade entered her side. Somehow the bone white shard pierced through her draconic hide like a razor through paper. Her mind had only a moment to process the unlikeliness of that occurrence before the man thrust upwards and pain erupted inside her chest.
Forcing the pain down she reached back with clawed hands and wrenched the edges of the rune-form towards her. The ritual pattern crackled with energy as it flowed over and around her attacker.
Pure mana scoured at his skin as the rune-form passed through him. The raw chaos emitted by the rune-form disrupted reality, shearing, tearing and reforming the motes of his being into new and random forms.
The man howled in agony but did not release the grip on his blade. Sakthu could not understand how the man’s body could bear up under the onslaught of so much reality distorting mana. That his mind remained intact was even more disturbing. A matrix of chaos had enveloped the man, yet somehow he was still whole.
Sakthu lost control of the entropic rune-form and it flowed past the man and through her. She was a devotee of chaos, and her Princes protected her, body and soul, from the reality shredding power of chaos. The rune form moved past her and then blinked and shimmered. I am losing control, Sakthu realized. She sent a mental plea to her masters, but the man shoved the sword further and the tip entered her heart.
A shower of deep orange sparks exploded from the rune-form in a wide arc. Wherever they landed they charred flesh, metal and stone, as fiercely hot as magma. To Sakthu’s surprise the rune-form sustained its cohesion. It slowed its motion and the fine mesh of lines, whorls and symbols stabilized. Sakthu saw this and wept, not for the pain, not for the certainty that her life would soon end, but because at the moment of victory she had failed. The rune-form was complete, but she was dying, and her mission would die with her.
“You have a choice,” came the silky baritone of the man’s voice. He pressed his lips to her ear. “This life is over, but you can be so much … more.”
“I do not fear you.”
“No, we sense that is the truth,” the man said. “We are impressed. Impressed enough to make you an offer.”
“I serve the Princes of Chaos,” Sakthu sputtered, a gobbet of blood flying from her lips.
“You serve them, but you also fear them, you’re precious Princes.” He leaned close and she could feel his breath on her neck. “What do you think they will do to you, now that you have failed them?”
Fear pushed through Sakthu. He was right. The Princes of Chaos were among the most powerful entities in the Realms. They were primeval forces of pure entropy and while they were endless, immortal, they were not known for their patience. I have failed them, she thought and a fear, that had nothing to do with the spike of metal splitting her heart, filled her with shaking dread. When she died, her soul would be theirs, to shred and remake over and over until they grew bored. Then they would consume her soul or worse, lock it away in the endless void at the heart of the Realms.
“You do not have long,” the man said. “We are the Scourge. Join us and we will show you the true way. Join us and serve the High God. Serve him well and he will never toss you aside, never deem you unworthy. Decide now.”
Sakthu felt her life leave her and made her choice.
54
Before Gryph could focus on what had happened, Errat rushed across the room. The warborn stood a head taller than the electro-mechanical man, granting Errat a perfect angle to bring his double-bladed axe down. With casual ease, the electrical golem raised its left hand and a tangle of lightning exploded from the palm. Arcs of energy twined around the head of Errat’s axe, arresting the weapon’s incredible momentum. It then flexed the hand open and the axe, and Errat, flew head over heels into the stack of crates. Wood splintered and the stack of boxes crumbled, burying the warborn under a pile of debris.
“Refusal to obey my commands has sealed your fate. I am logic made physical. I am the sentience of order.”
Gryph willed the paralysis debuff to wear off, but the Realms paid his demands no heed, and the seconds ticked away with glacial slowness.
Ovrym drew his bleed metal saber and moved on swift feet towards the creature. Power erupted from its right hand and sped towards the xydai. Ovrym gripped the hilt with both hands and intercepted the surging bolt. Ovrym grunted as his sword drank in the creature’s attack.
A distant whine built as Ovrym’s sword vibrated. The creature’s assault ended and its head cocked to the side, curious. Then a ragged arc of cobalt exploded from Ovrym’s blade and punched the creature full in the chest. Ovrym’s counterattack pushed the electrical mechanical man back through the open door. It skidded on its back across the floor of a large circular room and slammed into the smaller tower that acted as the support spine of the larger one.
Lex, Analyze that thing. The NPC did not respond, and a low crackling filled the Telepathic Bond with static. Shit, Gryph thought. Somehow it is blocking the link. He stared at the automaton triggering his own, much less effective Analyze.
ARCHON – Level: 48.
Health
Stamina
Mana
Spirit
2,165
5,652
2,324
0
Archons are beings of primal order whose mission in the Mortal Realm is as guardian of an Order Lance. They are highly competent Order Magic practitioners, who are incredibly difficult to damage. As engines of pure order, they are also vastly intelligent, outstripping all but the most brilliant of mortal minds.
Strengths
Immunities
Weaknesses
Regeneration. Immortality. Perception.
Unknown.
Unknown.
Gryph had barely registered the information in the prompt when the archon got to its feet. The Analyze window showed that the servant of order had taken less than a hundred points of damage from Ovrym’s counterattack.
Ovrym wasted no time and rushed forward as graceful as a hunting cat. The archon raised a hand up towards the ceiling and a geyser of liquid crystal exploded from the floor and flowed around Ovrym. It enveloped the agile xydai up his chest and around his mouth, preventing him from speaking and therefore casting. Then the liquid became solid crystal once more, trapping Ovrym.
Lex regained his feet and with a roar fired a volley of Order Bolts. The knives of unerring white energy zipped towards the archon, but the merest glance in their direction by the automaton caused them to fly around him and then arc back towards Lex. The NPC tried to dodge the bolts, but they slammed into his chest, knocking him from his feet for the second time in less than a minute. He hit the ground hard and grunted in pain.
Gryph wanted to howl and rage, but all he could manage was the merest of strangled squeaks. His paralysis debuff counted down slowly, and he watched as the archon advanced upon him. The mechanical man reached down and lifted Gryph up by the neck of his breastplate, pulling him off his feet with ease.
He pulled Gryph close and raised his other hand, the energy of order blazing from it with threat. “You are not Vex. Why are you here?”
Gryph tried to speak, but the paralysis made it impossible for him to talk. The archon stared at him for a long moment, granting him what it deemed to be an appropriate amount of time to respond. Doesn’t it know I cannot speak?
“As you wish, your unwillingness to comply has sealed your fate.”
The archon carried Gryph to the wall and slammed him against the hard crystal. After a moment the surface softened, and the archon pushed him into the viscous surface. Gryph felt like he was being pushed through cold honey and panic grabbed ahold of him. The archon was pushing him through the wall, kicking him out like a drunk tossed by a bouncer. Only instead of ending up face down on a grimy sidewalk, Gryph would end up at the bottom of an underground lake.
Gryph howled in rage or tried to anyway. What actually happened more closely resembled a toddler spitting up his strained peas and was no more effective at communicating. Gryph was going to die. The paralysis debuff would prevent him from casting Halo of Air and he would drown.
Then his friends would join him. While he would respawn, his friends would not. For them death was permanent. Gryph felt the chill wet of the underground lake against his back and knew he had mere seconds.
“Archon, they are friends. Please release them,” came a calm voice that Gryph recognized as Sean’s.
The archon stopped pushing and turned towards th
e voice. “Harlan?” the archon asked, his monotone voice almost edging into surprise. “I apologize. I did not sense your arrival.” It said the last bit with an edge of worry.
“Yeah, sorry … uh … we had some trouble with those asshats outside, so we had to enter via alternative means.”
“The Vex are nothing if not persistent.” The archon pulled Gryph back through the wall and lowered him to the ground and turned towards Sean. “Was your mission successful Harlan? You were absent for so long I feared you had met an unfortunate fate.”
“Uh, yeah, the mission was… the mission was great. Thanks for asking.” He looked nervously to Gryph, who leaned against the now solid wall, still trying to recover from his paralysis debuff.
“Are you positive they are all friends?” The archon pointed at Ovrym. “This one is one of the Fallen.” He turned his gaze towards Errat who was pushing his way from under the pile of broken crates. “That one is a warborn, a race bred for conflict.” Finally, he turned towards Gryph. “And this one possesses a powerful matrix of possibility. It resists my analysis, which is troubling.” The archon cocked his head. “Releasing them could have unforeseen consequences.”
“Them? Yeah, they’re all great,” Sean said, ignoring Gryph intense ‘what the hell is this’ stare. “They saved my life, these guys.”
“Are you injured Harlan? You seem different. I am concerned that your travels may have damaged you in some manner. Perhaps it would be wise for me to examine you.”
