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1231 - Silver Masks
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It took several hours to cut down all of the bodies on the tree at the heart of the Void Fortress. Some of them had been particularly mangled or impaled onto the tree, while others had been humiliated in death—some had their genitals mutilated or removed, others had their lips sewn to the buttocks of others. In all, Leon found the violence and savagery remarkable, especially since the rest of the fortress had been so bereft of life up to the tree.
The one survivor—formerly an eleventh-tier mage, though his injuries complicated that now—was moved to Storm Herald after his condition was stabilized. Leon went with him, leaving the Jaguar in charge of the ruined fortress, while the Paladins and their retainers accompanied him back to the ark. As Clear and Archelaus took Jors-kil to the healer’s bay, Leon went to his private chambers with his wives where he started taking notes of what he’d seen on Jors-kil’s body.
[Runes of torment…] the Thunderbird whispered from within. Leon would’ve called her out of his soul realm had he not left the Ancestor Gem in Artorion where Nestor could study it.
[Familiar to you?] he responded.
[Yes,] his Ancestor responded.
[They are to me, too,] Xaphan added, joining the conversation.
Leon pulled his notes into his soul realm, then descended within to speak with them face-to-face. When he awoke on his throne, the Thunderbird was already standing over the work table pouring over the notes.
“Pain,” she said as her fingers brushed against one. As her fingers met another, she identified, “Suffer.” A third. “Linger.”
Jors-kil had suffered dozens of such carvings, each one unique, each one designed to bring torment upon him.
“Taken together,” the Thunderbird continued, “these runes were meant to inflict torment upon him and to prevent that torment from abating. At the same time that they prevent healing, they also prevent death, ensuring the torment continues for as long as possible.”
“A common punishment among demons,” Xaphan added. “At least, among those that more resembled candles to my radiance.”
“They were common enough in my time,” the Thunderbird replied. “I understand they’ve fallen out of favor in the past few million years.”
“They’re quite savage,” Leon observed. “Seems… extreme. What level of crime justifies such treatment?”
Without missing a beat, the Thunderbird listed, “Treason, corruption, oath-breaking. Others would add or subtract to that list depending on values.”
“Traitors everywhere deserve to be given to the flames,” Xaphan crackled. “They are the foulest, most despicable meat-suckers to exist.”
Leon grunted noncommittally. He had a dim view of turncoats, to be sure, but the level of suffering he saw in the runes was… he felt his stomach clench and his hands shake at the thought.
“They must have hated their enemies,” he said after a brief pause. “Those who did this. And those masks…” His gaze drifted over to one of the intact masks he’d taken from the base of the corpse tree—one of the few that wasn’t damaged, all of which were identical to what he’d found in the Wailing Dirge’s ‘residence’.
“Followers of Khosrow,” the Thunderbird spat.
“They lost,” Xaphan said. “But were they attackers or defenders?”
“Given the fortress’ state of desolation,” Leon replied, “I’d guess defenders.”
“Then watch your back,” the Thunderbird stated. She was about to say something more when someone laid their hand on Leon’s physical shoulder.
Cassandra’s voice echoed in his ear. “He’s awake.”
Leon made for his throne. Speculating with the Thunderbird and Xaphan was one thing, but if someone was going to give him actual answers…
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When Leon strode into the healer’s bay, he found it largely empty—while Alix’s team had taken some casualties, field healing kept them from the bay. Only Jors-kil lay in a bed, attended by Clear and Archelaus. Even the healers had given them privacy, and Leon’s escort had been left in the hall. Only Leon himself entered the bay.
The three weren’t speaking much when Leon joined them, with Clear quietly and gently channeling healing magic into Jors-kil’s body, the man himself resting as the damage to his body was mended, and Archelaus stayed with him with a comforting hand on his shoulder. Leon noted that all of the visible runes of torment had been removed, with no signs they had ever been there in the first place.
“Leon,” Archelaus said in greeting as Leon joined them. He didn’t speak particularly softly, cuing Leon to respond normally.
“Archelaus. How is everything here?”
Jors-kil opened his eyes and Clear reduced the power he was using, but it was Archelaus who spoke. “What damage that can be healed has almost been healed. Other hurts run deeper, but Jors-kil is strong, and his origin spark will aid his recovery. Without those runes, I expect him up and about in no time!”
“Don’t… set unfair… expectations,” Jors-kil replied with a weary smile and a mild unfamiliar accent. He almost coughed until Clear handed him a glass of water, which he gulped down gratefully.
“You’re looking better,” Leon said with what he hoped was a comforting smile. “How are you feeling?”
Jors-kil took some time to think, his eyes glazing over as if focusing on something only he could see. After several long seconds, he said, “I have suffered worse… I’m sorry to say. I think… at the level we live at… we can all say the same?”
Archelaus nodded sagely while Leon and Clear merely exchanged a mildly concerned look.
Seeming to rapidly recover his strength now that he was speaking, Jors-kil continued, “That being said… I am now feeling much better. I thank you, Despot Leon, for your aid. Had you not come, I fear how long I may have lingered in that pit of misery before being welcomed to an Aesii.”
‘Too long,’ Leon thought as the ‘linger’ rune flashed through his mind.
Aloud, he asked, “Can you tell us what happened? It’s hard to say given the level of destruction and the absence of bodies throughout most of that fortress and the wrecks surrounding it.”
Jors-kil groaned quietly as Archelaus gave Leon a mild look of reprimand, but it was the former who verbally responded.
“Iaivi Fortress. Property of Anax Drenthor, operated by his Planar Advisory Council, of which I am a member. I was stationed here to oversee upgrades to the fortress and the river gate.”
Leon blinked for a moment before realizing that ‘river gate’ likely referred to the ring-shaped teleporter by the fortress.
Jors-kil continued, “I was overseeing this place when a fleet arrived on our doorstep. They were led by Strategos Alichieri, of the Mountain Lands, who boarded Iaivi Fortress to negotiate passage through the river gate.”
“I’ve never heard of him…” Archelaus mused.
“I hadn’t, either,” Jors-kil said. “Negotiations were tense. He was jumpy and insisted that his fleet use the river gate without paying our toll.”
“Was the requested payment too onerous?” Leon asked.
“It was standard,” Jors-kil explained. “Five thousand khosrid for a single ark, three thousand five hundred per ark in a large enough fleet.”
Leon ran through a bit of mental math—the Nexus used Aurichalcum coins as standard trade currency, of which khosrid was the largest denomination. Five thousand khosrid was a large sum, but if one had a decent ark, it was a relatively small price for transport. Leon guessed there was enough Aurichalcum even in his corvettes to mint more than a hundred thousand khosrid.
“Alichieri himself was nervous,” Jors-kil pressed on. “He seemed desperate, yet he would not pay, so I did not let them pass. After a day, I thought we might come to blows. And then the reason for their anxiety appeared: a fleet three times Alichieri’s size appeared and immediately engaged his arks. Most were lost in the opening minutes, and as Alichieri’s forces were destroyed, this new fleet turned its weapons upon us. The defense fleet was overwhelmed and Iaivi Fortress was stormed.”
“How quickly did this happen?” Archelaus asked, his eyes narrowing with concern.
“From their appearance to the moment their warriors breached our walls… an hour?”
“… How?!” the Despot cried out.
Jors-kil grimaced and let out a sigh that seemed to age him a hundred years. “The upgrades I was overseeing. They were to our defenses. While they were ongoing, our defenses were compromised. Half of our Lances were inoperable. Our shields were not even at half-strength. If we’d been attacked six months after… We might’ve fought them off. For horrible timing, thousands were killed.”
“Did these attackers identify themselves?” Leon asked.
“No,” Jors-kil answered. “They refused all attempts at communication. They struck us first with beasts, and then their warriors cleaned up. Alichieri and I made our last stand in the room of the power tree, hoping to close the doors and withstand a siege. But… they possessed strange magic that subverted our internal defenses, and we were taken by surprise.”
“What kind of magic?” Leon asked.
“Moving from shadow to shadow. Seemed like teleporting. I wasn’t able to study it that thoroughly as they were led by a man stronger than I was, and who was willing to use that power. I was defeated in minutes.”
“Describe this man,” Archelaus ordered more than requested, his anger overriding his decorum.
“A brute, tall and more muscular than an ox. Bald, with tattoos of a sun and moon on the sides of his head. Olive-skinned and silver-eyed. Capable of violence and cruelty that make even wild animals pale in comparison.”
Archelaus leaned in a little closer, his hand on Jors-kil’s shoulder visibly tightening. “Is that all?”
Jors-kil hesitated but eventually answered. “He… there was a mark on the back of his neck. A dark stripe. I… don’t know if I even saw it rightly or not, I only got a glimpse.”
Leon exchanged a meaningful look with Clear. It was hardly definitive proof of anything, but the true situation was starting to take shape in his head.
He retrieved one of the silver masks from his soul realm and asked, “Do you recognize this?”
Jors-kil didn’t need longer than a moment to study it, answering almost immediately, “Alichieri’s personal guard donned those masks as we endured the final assault…”
“Do you know what they are?” Leon asked.
Jors-kil shook his head in the negative.
“What happened to these guards?” Clear quietly inquired.
Jors-kil went quiet for nearly ten seconds, his eyes glazing over again as a look of muted horror flashed across his face. Eventually, he closed his eyes and simply answered, “Tortured. Alongside my men. Alongside me. Most were killed. All were nailed to the tree.”
Leon waited a moment for him to continue, and when he didn’t, asked, “And Alichieri himself?”
“Taken. To where, I do not know.”
Jors-kil’s eyes remained closed, and though he remained conscious, Clear suggested, “Maybe we ought to leave you to recover?”
Jors-kil didn’t protest, responding with a simple, “Thank you.”
“We’ll speak more later,” Leon said. “I wish you a swift recovery.”
The injured Strategos nodded in gratitude while Leon and Clear made for the hall. Archelaus chose to remain with his friend, standing by him in silence as Leon and Clear left the room.
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“It’s clear to me what happened,” Leon said. “The fortress was caught in a battle between Khosrow cultists and a Tribe or some other force at least led by someone with an Inherited Bloodline. It would explain their brutality and mocking of the dead.”
Scanning the room, Leon found that his words had reached at least some of his people. The Jaguar looked calm but murderous, and Singer-in-Caves wasn’t too far behind him. Sar was more subdued, and while Alcander was quiet, Leon could sense the energy in his friend’s mannerisms, which had only been compounded by having to stay in the ark to help coordinate the exploration. Marcus was more openly curious than anything, a Red seemed rather bored even if she followed the conversation. Most of the others were more serious and professional, but especially amongst his Tribal followers, Leon could see understanding and anger in equal measure.
“Are you suggesting that these Khosrow fanatics attacked them first and then ran away?” Cassandra asked.
“No,” Leon said. “Anything before they arrived is uncertain, but I think Alichieri himself knew that he was being pursued. But what he and Jors-kil’s people were subjected to indicates the hate and violence one would direct toward their worst enemies.”
“Enemies that might follow genocidal doctrine?” Clear asked, displeasure crossing his face even as he spoke the words.
“Yes,” Leon confirmed.
“How long ago was this?” the Jaguar asked.
“Jors-kil wasn’t clear on the timeline, but it seems to have been a couple years ago, at least.”
“And in all that time, we’re the first to find them? I find that suspicious; these ring portals are too useful to be left unused.”
“Aye, that’s strange,” Anshu agreed. “Had I even one at my disposal, and it worked even half as well as I expect, then I’d be using them instead of our jump drives as often as possible. There should be lines of arks waiting to use these damn things.”
“I’ve got nothing to explain that,” Leon admitted.
“Is there anything we can do about this situation now, years after the battle?” Alcander asked.
The answer was obvious, and Leon gave it quickly. “No.”
The head of the Tempest Knights simply stated, “Then there’s little else for us to do here. We can speculate as much as we wish, but without more information—which I’m given to believe we won’t find here—speculating is all we can do. And we can do that closer to our destination.”
“You’re saying we should just leave?” Marcus playfully asked.
“There are no enemies here for us to retreat from, so find some other way to provoke me, my friend.”
The two old friends shared a soft chuckle as Leon said, “I wasn’t intending on staying long. Just long enough to make sure we’re not leaving any other possible survivors or evidence behind, and to get that portal ring working. If this place belongs to some Anax, let them deal with repairing this place.”
“There is… something else,” the Jaguar said as his fury seemed to soften.
“Go ahead,” Leon ordered.
“I wouldn’t mind getting some engineers in there to study how the place was built. Shouldn’t take longer than a day. Having Void defenses like this would be… useful.”
Leon didn’t need even a second of thought. “Do it. One day.”
The Jaguar nodded. No one else had anything to add, so Leon left them with one last statement.
“Use this as a reminder of how much of the universe sees those with Inherited Bloodlines, which many here in this room have. Let it speak to us of the violence that our power inspires. We don’t know who might be Khosrow cultists at these games. Whether or not this massacre is justified isn’t for me to say given how little we know… but if we don’t want to suffer something similar, then we ought to be ready. Don’t go looking for trouble, but project strength. Don’t be arrogant, but don’t lose your pride. Remain circumspect. No one’s a friend, no one’s an enemy, until they prove otherwise.”
Seeing that they understood his words, Leon ended the meeting. Only once he was alone with his wives did he let his true feelings show…
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“Do you really think that massacre is unjustified?” Cassandra playfully asked as she sprawled out over the bed.
“It seems… extreme,” Elise said as she took off her jewelry in preparation for rest. “I’m honestly glad I didn’t see it myself.”
“It was awful,” Valeria said. “And it stank.”
“Be strong,” Maia sternly said. “Let it not happen to us.”
Cassandra groaned and said, “I say all those Khosrow people deserve it! If they want to come after us, after our family, then they can eat all the sharp Adamant I can feed them!”
Leon smiled at the vehemence of her declaration. “Threats to us will be removed,” he said. “Though… we need not indulge in such cruelties. I’d be satisfied with our enemies leaving us alone. But… the Storm King will forever have enemies. He will forever be in the spotlight, never to be left alone.”
His words struck a chord within his ladies, all turning to face him.
“Khosrow cultists, vengeful enemy Clans… it doesn’t really matter to me if they’re trying to wipe us out.” He turned his eyes to Cassandra. “This level of savagery is a bit much for me. I don’t care who the enemy is. I can stomach a lot—I’ve done a lot, but never without reason. Never out of sheer malice and hatred. If our enemies present themselves, let us destroy them. Let us not torture and maim. I… have nothing more to say about that.”
He and his wives spent the next few minutes in silence before getting some rest. Though that was the end of the conversation—at least for the moment—Leon knew that the memory of that corpse tree and the state Jors-kil was in would stick with him for a long time.
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Announcements blared and lights flashed throughout Storm Herald as they maneuvered into position. Magic gathered in enormous quantities outside, flowing into the enormous ring where it was shaped and directed.
Leon watched from the observation deck with his ladies and close companions. He stole a look back at Iaivi Fortress, from which the last of his people had come an hour ago, then turned back to the ring.
This marvel of magical engineering was captivating, lighting up in spectacular waves that had his magic senses tingling and singing like nothing else had. The magic spilling from the Nexus condensed within the center of the ring, forming a sphere of darkness surrounded by a faint blue halo. Within, Leon could sense light, lightning, and darkness all mixing and merging and dancing around each other, bridging the gap between here and there.
From the control chamber at one end of the ring, Archelaus flew out on his octagonal platform. He’d input the destination, now they just had to follow him.
With nary more than a smile and a wave, he plunged into the portal within the ring and vanished.
A moment later, Leon addressed a comm slate patched into the bridges of his four arks. “Let’s go,” he ordered, the simplicity of the order almost contrasting with the grim determination in his voice.
Iaivi Fortress had warranted that grim demeanor, but so too did their destination: Voidshore, another Void Fortress that more resembled a city than a mere fortification. There, Leon would meet a host of other Storm Lords. There, his first true foray into Storm Land politics would begin.
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Comments
Warden
Honestly, more on me than anything. You made some good points, though, I might edit that timeline a bit to make more plausible.
seth4bucks
I don't buy the whole it's been years since the attack timeline. Not when this ring is right next to the Nexus and not when the games are just around the corner. You're telling me that not one of the untold travelers didn't already pass through? That's not accounting for how rare these things are and how useful they are for logistics, moving armies, sending messages, etc. They're expensive to run and expensive to build. You don't invest those kinds of resources into something like this on the ass end of nowhere that no one will ever use. And no one from Anax Drenthor's side ever got curious that such an important strategic asset had gone radio silent for years? No one swung by to deliver some routine message, collect any gate fees, or drop off food/pay? No, the timeline is off or something extremely fishy is going on.
Warden
Yes.
Luke Charles
Just so I’m clear. It was the cultists that were attacked and lynched?
