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1232 - Lords of the Storm Lands I
🕑 Added 2025-06-04 15:00:14 +0000 UTCAs Storm Herald returned to reality, the magic that transported her deep into the base of the Great Strand of Lux bleeding away into the Void, she was greeted by a spectacular sight: a city glittering in the darkness, bands of Lumenite stretching from its heart like spider silk and connecting it to outlying bastions covered in weapon emplacements and vast fortifications.
The great fortified city of Voidshore had been built upon a demiplane, a plane large enough for a settlement but not large enough for a civilization. Around the city was the eponymous shore of the Void, nearly covered by a thousand berths, half of which were occupied by arks of every imaginable design. Leon could see an ark that looked like a mountain had been torn from the earth and taught to fly, another that was a titanic sliver of ice, and one that seemed more light than matter as it shone like a star and seemed barely able to contain itself to its berth.
Surrounding the gleaming city were hundreds more arks, drifting from hither to yon in various groups, some large with a handful of escorts and others small and alone. Leon couldn’t see much in the way of stylistic organization, with some groups made of arks that each looked as different to each other as they could, while other arks that seemed aesthetically similar drifted on their own, aloof and uncaring to the bustle of the city around them.
The city itself was like a mountain, built in a circular grid pattern with towers and palaces rising steadily to the city’s citadel, a monolith of black stone peppered with windows and weapons platforms. Nearly all of the city was made of sand-colored stone and white and green marble, causing the citadel to stand out even more. Surrounding the citadel was a small lake of the purest water magic could conjure, which flowed down several streets of the city and dissipated into the Void once it hit the shore.
Strong walls separated much of the city into districts, and though the outer districts were made of shorter buildings, they seemed no less well-constructed and well-appointed as the taller towers and estates in the central districts did—there were no slums that Leon could see. The districts closer to the shore were devoted, it seemed, entirely to caring for visiting arks, acting as a supply station and a repair and refit arkyard—though there weren’t any arkyards in the city that were actually building arks, as far as Leon could tell.
The entire city emanated light, obviating the need for a local sun to illuminate the streets. Though it didn’t take a more conventional form, Leon guessed that the light acted as a kind of shield that separated the Void from the city, keeping Voidshore safe from the danger that surrounded it.
In his estimation, more than a hundred thousand people could easily call the city home, assuming there were sufficient supply runs since there were no places that he could see where crops could be grown, leaving Voidshore entirely dependent on imports. As far as he knew, however, the city was run by a military official appointed by Anushirawan, the Sun King himself, so there were likely few supply problems he had to deal with given that level of support.
Almost as soon as Storm Herald appeared, she was subject to a bombardment of magic senses. This was a gathering point for hundreds of powerful mages, Lords of the Nexus on their way to join the Belicenion Games. Curiosity, however, did not soon abate, as the bombardment of magic senses only increased as Storm Herald, led by Archelaus, slowly drifted from the transport ring, her three escorts on her flanks. Magic fluttered around the ark’s hull so thickly that it almost became physical. Leon could almost hear the hull straining under scrutiny over the roaring of blood in his ears and the drum-like thumping of his heart in his chest.
Several arks turned toward Storm Herald, immediately twigging his paranoia. Three stood out to him: the first was large and commanding, though not nearly as much as Storm Herald herself. Made of some kind of smooth gray metal, she looked like a sleek predator assessing the new arrival.
The second was as far from the first as she could seemingly be, looking more like a flying palace than a proper ark. Leon could see that she was lightly armed, but packed with people moving past the windows and meandering through the courtyards, which were separated from the Void only by a thin sheen of golden magic that occasionally sparked with golden lightning.
The third and final ark that stood out to him was a rough, ugly thing, looking like someone had stacked a hundred boulders together and called it a day. He could sense great power within the boulders, however, and he could see them subtly shifting according to some internal arcane design. Beautiful she wasn’t, but there was power within.
Archelaus accelerated ahead of Storm Herald, meeting a small ark no larger than a transport that had taken off from an arkyard closer to Voidshore’s citadel. Official-seeming markings covered the standard-looking transport, though they were written in a language Leon couldn’t read despite appearing to also be based on modern runes, as were most writing systems he was more familiar with. Part of the ark opened up, the pilot’s canopy which had just a moment before looked like dark glass revealing itself to be black light instead, and Archelaus exchanged a few words with the small delegation of pilots and officers within. Then he turned and moved to meet with Storm Herald as the canopy of black light closed around the pilots and the transport slowly turned and hovered expectantly.
It took a couple minutes, but once Archelaus reached Storm Herald’s hangar, he passed word up to the bridge that subsequently made its way to Leon that the transport bore a harbormaster and that he would lead Storm Herald and her escorts to open berths large enough to hold them. Wordlessly, Leon gave the order to follow.
The transport led them to one of the larger open berths on the shore, which Leon noted lay between two of the city’s biggest defense towers. Bolt in Shadow, Silver Spear, and Bright Intent were given berths beside Storm Herald, the area likely being specifically built to accommodate larger arks and their escorts without breaking them up.
Once the ark came to a halt, Leon sighed, magic senses from all angles still pelting Storm Herald’s hull like rotten fruit against a pilloried criminal. He could feel himself starting to sweat, an uncomfortable feeling that he rarely experienced anymore. Fortunately, he was thickly attired in blue trimmed in silver, leaving him the only one who could tell…
… at least until Valeria appeared at his shoulder and slipped her hand into his.
“Your hand is clammy,” she said, her neutral tone coming across almost as an accusation.
“Long day ahead,” Leon tersely replied. He glanced at her, gold meeting sapphire when she glanced back.
“We’re with you,” she said. Her statement was simple, but spoken with such quiet conviction that Leon could feel the building tension in his shoulders abate and the jittery softness in his legs harden.
A moment later, Elise took his other arm while Cassandra’s arms snaked around his waist from behind. Maia refrained from physical contact, but he could feel love strongly pulsing through their connection. He wasn’t lacking in resolve but having them there with him was a boon beyond any other he had.
With such support beside him, he turned and found the rest of his friends and family ready. Alcander and Alix, Anzu and Marcus, Anna and Clear. Even Daryun and Zhang. With all of them with him, he marched from the observation deck to the hangar, where Archelaus was waiting with the Jaguar, Sar, and Singer-in-Caves, as well as numerous other officers, Chiefs, and elders.
“Leon,” Archelaus warmly greeted as the rest of the waiting party straightened up. “We made good time despite the… delay…”
Leon nodded. Jors-kil ought to be on his way down from the healer’s bay, his recovery proceeding surprisingly swiftly despite the sheer physical trauma of his injuries.
‘Perks of an origin spark,’ he thought. Where Justin had needed many years to recover his strength, Jors-kil had needed only hours.
“Seems we’ve attracted quite a bit of attention,” he said, almost seeing Storm Herald’s hangar doors buckling under the weight of so many mages hitting them with their magic senses.
“You have an attention-grabbing ark,” Archelaus stated.
“Many are gathering outside,” the Jaguar stated, and when Leon checked with his magic senses, he found the statement to be accurate.
“Your arrival has to be logged,” Archelaus said. “Not much to it, some paperwork and a nominal toll—which I’ll lend you if you don’t have the specific currency—and we’ll be left to our business.”
“There are quite a few post-Apotheosis mages out there,” Leon observed, chalking up to six eleventh-tier mages and two twelfth-tier mages, with others on their way, including a handful who were too strong for him to accurately gauge strength.
“Some of those we were to meet got here before us,” Archelaus said. “Strategoi Lindis and Jagan, two Lords under Despot Illum. All three ought to be outside now. Strategoi Puortis and Realiz I recognize, though the final man I don’t. They are from further east. Ah, and it seems Despot Gwarim is here, and Basileus Triyr is on his way!”
“That eager to meet me?” Leon stated with some disbelief.
From behind, the now-familiar voice of Jors-kil resounded as the man himself stepped into the hangar, “You’re remarkable, Despot Leon. It’s rare for new Lords to make names for themselves the moment they arrive in the Nexus. New Lords who rise to the level of a Despot in less than two centuries are even rarer.”
The Strategos joined Leon and Archelaus, though stood just behind them relative to the hangar doors—standing not quite as subserviently as Leon’s eleventh-tier mages were, though not putting himself on equal footing with the two Despots before their peers.
“That is true,” Archelaus agreed. “Though many may be curious about your ark. Jors-kil, my friend, how are you doing?”
Leon frowned lightly even as the topic shifted to Jors-kil’s health. Storm Herald was, he knew, always going to be eye-catching, especially amongst a crowd who might have memories of when it was operated by Jason Keraunos.
Jors-kil, thankfully, was more than healed enough to handle the rest on his own, and he was also more than mobile, too. Leon was thankful to have him with them as they met so many other Nexus Lords, especially since it seemed like it was only Storm Lords who were forming up outside of Storm Herald’s hangar doors.
An announcement was made: the doors were ready to open on Leon’s word. His entourage had assembled, his mages at his back, his friends and family with him; he hesitated not a moment and gave the order. Magic flowed and metal groaned, and the doors separated to reveal the shining city just beyond. Radiant aura immediately bled through, and magic senses of thousands, tens of thousands, struck like a tempest. In a moment, the features of everyone within the hangar were known to those without.
As the doors opened, more and more faces were revealed to Leon’s waiting eyes, their presence already revealed thanks to his magic senses, some smiling, others more curious than anything, and some waiting like children in front of a wrapped gift.
“Archelaus!” boomed a man of tremendous stature. Officials were waiting on the dock, but he ignored them and flew into the hangar without a care, his immense frame making for quite the sight—at least seven feet tall and heavily built, he had pale skin and a shaven head. A long brown beard, lightly oiled and well-maintained, reached his sternum, while his blue eyes glimmered with mirth. Ignoring everyone else, he landed in front of Archelaus with such force that Leon wouldn’t have been surprised if the floor had slightly bent. “It has been too long! I hadn’t even realized you’d stopped napping!”
“Gwarim,” Archelaus returned. “Though I love sleep, recent events have called me from my gardens. It is good to see you, old friend.”
Gwarim laughed as he threw an arm around Archelaus’ shoulders, which the latter returned after a moment’s hesitation. Then, Gwarim’s eyes turned to Leon.
“Where are my manners…” he whispered. “Please, allow me to introduce myself: I am Despot Gwarim, King of the City-Most-Ancient, and all her Colonies!”
“I am Leon Raime,” Leon replied, not bothering with anything more. Fortunately, it seemed Gwarim didn’t need anything more as his eyes widened and his dark, bushy eyebrows shot upward, almost reaching his bare scalp.
“Leon Raime! The man who put Despot Terris to flight, his tentacles firmly lodged so far up his sphincter that he could wag his own tongue with them? My friend, long have I looked forward to this meeting! Ah, it has been long since the last time a Storm Lord properly showed off our power!”
As he spoke, Gwarim approached and pulled Leon into a tight and unexpected hug, which Leon awkwardly returned. When they parted, Leon’s vocal cords tensed to speak, but before he could give voice to his thoughts, the officials from the dock entered the hangar to conduct their business.
Fortunately, Gwarim moved on to the others, Archelaus giving introductions to Leon’s ‘Strategoi’, including his wives, while Leon handled most of the business with the harborlord, as the official introduced himself as. During this, several others joined the crowds outside the hangar, waiting with varying degrees of patience for Leon to exit, none as yet sharing Gwarim’s—refreshing in Leon’s opinion—lack of decorum.
The business moved on quickly, a fee of several hundred khosrid was paid by Archelaus for Leon’s use of the docks which Leon mentally noted to reimburse in storm crystal, and the officials departed.
“Seems the others are waiting,” Gwarim said with a wide smile. “I’d say that we shouldn’t keep them, but this is quite the ark, Leon Raime! I’m tempted to ask for a tour!”
‘He doesn’t recognize it,’ Leon noted before smiling and verbally responding.
“Perhaps later. I wouldn’t mind hosting you on our way to Belicenion.”
“Ha! I might just take you up on that, my new friend! Come, let us speak with those too boring to overcome their own sense of propriety!” Gwarim once again threw his arm over Leon’s shoulders and led him and Archelaus out onto the dock, with Leon’s followers just behind. “All right you shits!” Gwarim shouted before pausing and smiling at one of the mages hovering over the docks who was too strong for Leon to accurately gauge power. “And a warm greeting to you, Basileus Triyr! Let us welcome our new brother as only Storm Lords can!”
Many shouted in agreement, and as they crowded around Leon, he was subjected to many introductions—not just to Strategoi Puortis, Lindis, Jagan, and Realiz, but also to Despots Illum and Nuertis, the latter of whom had arrived while Leon was dealing with the officials. They all greeted him warmly enough, and gave his followers similarly warm welcomes, especially his post-Apotheosis wives and elders.
They also noted Jors-kil’s presence, though the man himself demurred from answering their questions for the time being.
Of all the introductions, Illum’s was certainly the warmest, possibly because like Archelaus, he was a sworn Lord of Basileus Ramin. Leon heard him mutter to Archelaus that Ramin was still several days away and that they were expected to await his arrival before moving on, to which Archelaus acknowledged with a quiet nod.
“… heard that you took Terris’ cock off with a single bolt and hung it over your southern fortress!” Realiz excitedly said as he clasped Leon’s arm. “Is it true?!”
Leon stared down at the relatively slight man, thin, wiry, and short, though still possessing great strength in his arms if his grip was anything to go by. Leon opened his mouth to respond, but the hovering Triyr seemed to lose patience as he descended upon the dock, with everyone making room for him, including the Despots and Strategoi.
“Such a crude question,” the man said, his voice smooth, deep, and resonant. “Can you not maintain the decorum expected of you, Realiz?”
“I-I—” Realiz whispered before Leon interjected.
“It’s fine. I prefer straightforwardness, anyway. I’m not that fond of people holding their tongues around me out of fear of saying something that might offend me.”
Triyr sighed, his demeanor subtly shifting to one more suiting a disappointed teacher or parent than that of a Lord speaking to a junior. His bright green eyes found Leon and he didactically intoned, “We are the shepherds of humanity. Where we, the Lords of the Nexus, go, the rest of the universe follows. So it is our duty to ensure that we conduct ourselves in a manner that others strive to emulate, to ensure that we serve as worthy examples that will inspire those who walk in our footsteps. Such uncouth behavior, especially in public, is unacceptable.”
“It was only a question,” Leon retorted. Though he wore a thin smile, he extended an arm in greeting. “I am Leon Raime, by the by.”
Triyr ignored his outstretched arm and replied, “Yes, I heard you say it enough, I do not need it repeated. However, what I would like to hear from you is how you have managed to get your hands on the ark of Jason Keraunos…”
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Comments
Luke Charles
Yea Leon, how do you explain this? “I got it from my dumb ass ancestor”
kalmarin
I assume that "lord" specifically refers to someone within the power structure of the Nexus, whereas 5k years is the average lifespan of post apo mages in general. There are a lot more post apo mages out there than lords in the Nexus. Lords probably live a lot longer.
Kbzzy
If lords only live 5k years on average, how can there only be a new one every few thousand years? Am I missing something?
