“‘From the heavens that be and the stars that see. Down from the high great beyond, above the highest peaks. Stars shall fall and embrace the earth. Emissaries all from the heavens do they grant. A warrior of light to shatter the darkness. A warrior of shadow that should clash with the light. A warrior of valor to protect the innocent. A warrior of the arcane to shroud the world in sorcery. When the war doth begin, Astralis up high shall carry us through, the power of the stars supreme. But beware the treachery of the sinner, of the agents of chaos that should lead us astray.”
- Record 21023D, “Prophetic Observations from the Stellar Observatory Section D”
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“No matter our disagreements, or or distaste for each other. We must still remember that together, we are one. That together, we will preserve the legacy of our people. That no matter what may happen, we must honor each other’s sacrifice.”
The raspy crackly speaker declared, her scratchy words echoing throughout the house of worship.
“So we honor all.” The gathered congregation chanted.
Kermenadies joined the others in crossing his right arm and tapping the left shoulder with his hand before letting it go and opening his palm up to the sky like a wave. It was a symbol of honor and sacrifice, to show the departed that they would hold them close until their dreams are fulfilled. As his eyes drifted around the crowd, he could tell the somber mood that everyone was in. Even Pelarchus Osgil, one who lost his mind decades ago, could read the mood. The beast had his head hung low, his two war axes lay respectfully on the floor.
Kermenadies turned to find Centurion Lyran offering him a stoic nod. The Tribune returned his subordinates' gesture. At least Nyaxes didn’t perish in vain, the poor fool. Despite his disdain of his counterpart’s tactics, he at least understood that there was a reason for the man’s mad plans. The Primus had sought to undermine the powers that were with skulduggery and infiltration after he and his century had split from the main group during the Aetosi Schism. For a while, Kermenadies had viewed the man as foolish, mad, and perhaps a little bit insane like Osgil. But, after a few decades, his work had borne fruit and for over a century, the Legion received reports like no others on the various troops and logistics of the New World. Even Kermenadies had to begrudgingly admit that the Primus’s strategies had indeed partially paid off. That was until he died, shattering any notion of any more legionaries being able to blend into the new world. To make things worse, they had no idea how long Nyaxes had been dead. Such was the life of the isolated Legion that it took until a runner arrived that they were fully informed about what had transpired.
“We stand here today, to remember that we are all one people, that the sacrifice of Primus Hector Nyaxes and Optio Andreas Valentius are not in vain. That with their deaths, they have also in turn honored us all with their contributions. That they have accomplished far more than they ever needed to in order to restore the balance of this shattered world. The speaker continued.
Kermenadies found the burden of responsibility weighing heavy on his shoulders as he took stock of the congregation around him. Empty pews numbered those that were filled, scars and hurt carved onto the flesh of each and every person. Once there had been almost five thousand odd Legionaries and civilians alike, all survivors of the disaster that befell their kingdom. At some point, he would even hazard a guess at there being almost a hundred thousand with the added influx of other displaced peoples. But as Elven supremacy regained dominance over the lands, their numbers gradually faded through skirmishes, conflicts and purges until barely a legion worth of troops remained. Then, as the centuries dragged on, more and more fell until a scant three hundred or so survived here until now, a few more Centuries here and there in distant lands rounding their total numbers to roughly three fourths of a legion.
His expression darkened at the train of thought within him, at the losses they had suffered. They had strayed far from the ideals of the Aetosi in order to survive. Leaping into dark bargains with heretical beings in order to continue the fight against the Myndiri, summoning wretched beasts to do their bidding, performing abhorrent rituals in order to prolong their survival in the vain hope of restoring the Aetosian Kingdom. Yet, as he looked around, he had the distinct sense that few still remembered that dream, fewer still fighting for it. For as time dragged on, they could feel their soul and drive slowly being diluted. The almost impossible goal only slipped further and further away.
Now, the once proud Aetosi were a shell of their former selves, even the most steadfast Legionary having long since accepted the new state of the world. Their lives left purposeless with the collapse of the Myndiri, and many just continued on with their routine for it was all they had ever known. Even then, the only goal that still held them together was the desire to purge the elven race. But even that was not enough, as evidenced by Nyaxes leading his loyalists away, dissatisfied with the consistently harsh rhetoric and measures employed by the Legion as a whole. For Kermenadies, the destruction of their homeland and subsequent genocide was justification enough. Yet, he respected Nyaxes enough that on the fateful day they ‘revolted’, he had ordered the remaining troops to let them go. Partly not to oppose a comrade, but partly curious if there truly could be a different way to wipe out the descendants of the Myndir. Evidently not, he scoffed before regretting the jab at his fallen friend. May you rest peacefully in the hallowed halls of honor.
The doors to the cathedral opened suddenly, a gust of the frigid northern winds buffeting those within. The icy chill pierced through their souls and Kermenadies could hear legionaries shiver in their armour. All eyes turned to the new arrivals and a few men looked ready to leap at them when Centurion Lyran gestured for everyone to stand down.
“Sister. Countrymen.” A soft, inhuman voice echoed from the central figure.
A petite figure standing half the height of her bodyguards strode fourth, her long faded black hair covered with bits of snow and frost. A squad of heavily armoured figures strode fourth, their silent menacing demeanour earning themselves more than one or two scowls from the assembled congregation. Shrouded by the last vestiges of a misty frost, the slender figure brushed off the snow from her shoulders and dropped into a polite curtsy.
“Sister.” The speaker snarled raspily from the pulpit.
The petite figure bowed once more, her face hidden behind a brilliantly coloured red and blue mask. Her body was covered by a thickened leather chestplate, a furred cowl protecting her neck and head from the cold. A thin layer of mist exuded from the figure as she bowed and Kermenadies couldn’t help but feel a sense of primal disgust radiate from within him at the sight.
“Such a… frosty reception.” The figure chuckled at her own joke.
“Sister. Mind yourself.” The speaker growled.
“Of course, of course.” The figure tittered.
They were high above the world, atop the last standing remnant of the Aetosian Kingdom. Carved deep into the western peaks of the Kronid mountains, what the humans now call the Frostwinds. Blasphemous. Hidden by dark magic, inhospitable winds, and neigh impenetrable cloud cover, the secretive settlement was once meant to stand as an outpost against the Myndiri incursions. However, the Kingdom fell long before its completion and only a scant handful of buildings were completed. Now, with the passage of time, only the service way down the mountain and the cathedral could be termed usable.
To his increasing dismay however, many conflicts that were left unsolved still found their way to the surface. Even now, the last of the Aetosian royalty argued amongst itself. Though more timid and sullen than her counterpart, upon the pulpit stood Second Princess Luna. After they had fled from the capital, Princess Luna of the royal family found herself the sole leader of the Aetosian remnants. The scars of that day never left her and even now, centuries later, Kermenadies could still see the hurt that flashed across herself whenever anyone would so much as brush against her. She had, however, risen to the occasion and led the people displaced by the Myndir for so long that she had long been seen as the one chosen by their Gods to topple the forsaken elves. That is, until the Schism and Break happened.
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Their first hideout was compromised by Myndiri agents leading to a brutal battle that saw only their legion escape. Then, when they finally rebuilt a proto kingdom of sorts with survivors against the Myndir, disaster struck when they were found once again. It had been a scene all too similar to the fall of the capital, a mass slaughter and extermination that saw the beleaguered survivors flee into the frigid wastes of the north. It was during this exile that a strange wanderer was found, proclaiming herself the last of the Aetosi, Princess Pyra. To the horror of the Praetorians and Luna, the jester had been able to recite facts only the Princess would know, despite having no physical similarities to the slain body that was left behind at the capital. Furthermore, there was a sense of malevolent glee that seemed to keep the First Princess company, an infectious sensation that finally saw the quiet disposing of her ‘host’ for a new one. An act that ensured they had immediately thrown out the mask for fear of a magical curse.
It had taken another century when another claiming to be Pyra arrived before they finally realized the truth. Through dark magic and sacrifice, what remained of the Princess had imbued itself into a malformed mask, the demonic looking visage grasping firmly onto whoever wore the mask. Slowly siphoning their life force to continue sustaining the masked princess.
At first they had tolerated her, helping her reconcile with what happened and bringing her back into ‘society’, if we could even call it that. But almost without warning, they found her missing one day, gone from her usual haunts. It took a week of long range reconnaissance before they found the masked princess gleefully slaughtering human and elvenkind alike, as if she were some sort of barbaric animal. Though they understood the hurt she had been through, such acts drew so much attention that not only had they had to relocate once more, but a group of discontented remnants led by Nyaxes had made their departure. The break. As for the princess, she had then been forcefully recovered and confined, only for her to break out once again, this time managing to convince a sizeable group of followers who had grown tired of the remote hideouts, yearning to be close to civilisation once more. The schism, he growled at the thought.
Kermenadies steadied himself, and now she’s back again. To cause trouble, no doubt. His hand floated above his dagger’s hilt. Let’s hope there’s no use for this.
“What do you want?” Luna demanded, her voice shaky.
“Me? I’ve come here to honor the dead, as you do! My people across the vale have heard of the loss of one of our own.” Pyra replied cheekily, "We care too, you know."
Luna’s frail form glared at her sister and Kermenadies noticed the pang of jealousy within the Princess’s eye at the masked princess’s healthy host. A small string of regret coiled itself within his heart and he felt the wave of guilt lap against his conscience.
Luna had been reluctant to dive into dark magic, even more so in bargaining with dark powers despite what had happened to her. But it was only through the steadfast words of both himself and Lyran that they had been able to convince the Princess that only through magic, could they hope to beat the elves. Since then, they had strayed, that they used magic no longer to just fight elvenkind, but to prolong their lives as well. After all, we said back then, it isn’t fair for humans to have such short lifespans compared to that of the elves. It was a decision that had seemed to haunt the Princess, her majesty retreating more and more from the people, barely willing to attend to her own magical needs, leaving her greatly weakened.
“Don’t lie to me, Pyra. I know you. Just spit it out… ack!” Luna coughed, her body heaving from the exertion.
“Tsk, Fine. But why do you persist in the old ways? Look at me, healthy as can be!” Pyra thumped her chest, “As for why I've come? Well, I've come to honor the dead! And I come bearing an offering and hope for our people!” She declared proudly.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lyran suddenly jumped up, his actions spurring the other Praetorians to spring upwards.
Kermenadies looked over to find a mockery of a royal palanquin being hoisted into the building by more of Pyra’s fanatics.
A shocked gasp escaped from the crowd as the being within stepped out. Even Princess Luna seemed to freeze at the sight.
Out from the palanquin came a man with his helmet off. But not just any man, an Aetossian. Unlike the others however, he had no defects, no signs of dark magic corruption or even mutant appendages that had to be hidden by glamor. This was just a man, a pure, simple, human. Not just a human, a pure Aetossian. But how? Ever since the war we have found ourselves sterile, at least when it came to reproducing within our race.
“Ta-da!” Pyra waved her arms, “Guess what I learned?”
“You…” Luna began.
“That’s right! Through my greatness and that of my benefactors, we’ve discovered how to bring back the dead! Err well, more than just your average necromancer or those horrid flesh golems your people use.” Pyra exclaimed, “Of course, I had to dig this hunk out of a labyrinth that got buried oh… I dunno, five centuries ago? Not that it matters. I mean look at him!” Pyra gestured, “One of us!”
“How?” Kermenadies demanded. This sorcery... if could resurrect our people... but the costs... those must be staggering to bring someone back so... pristinely.
“Ohh, don’t get too excited!” Pyra giggled mischievously, “A life for a life after all, and I can’t reveal all my cards.” She winked.
“For the sake of our people? You dare!?” If she had any tact she would tell us how and leave it at that.
“Our people?” Pyra growled, her mood instantly dropping, “The same who raped my sister and I, left me for dead, fled the capital and lived for centuries just running from the ones who brought us all to ruin?! Those people?! You?!” Pyra yelled.
“We didn’t just flee, we fled so we could fight again! We have raided the Myndir and have raided their descendants. We’ve tried every moment to avenge the two of you and haven’t stopped since!” Kermenadies shot back, "We hunted down the traitors too. Though the majority of the Gryphon Legion eluded us. They're all dead now anyways. From old age or something else more likely than not."
“Enough…” A whisper echoed.
“Oh, have you now?” Pyra ignored it, “Was that why your buddy, now dead. Ran away? Was that why over a thousand people left with me all those years ago? Because that’s clearly a demonstration that they believed in your ideals so much that they left.” The cur! How dare she! "And the Legion? Just let them fly away and abscond from justice? Literally?"
“You forced our hand! Your reckless killings cost us more lives than we could ever hope to replace! We had to abandon all operations just to ensure the Myndiri wouldn't wipe us out. At least Nyaxes had a point, that he wished to see if there could be another path. That much alone, is more than you will ever do.”
“Enough!” Luna shouted, her weak but authoritative voice halting the argument at once.
“Milady…”
“Silence. My sister is here for me, not you Tribune. ” Luna barked, “And you, begone Pyra. We have no need for your dark sorcery here.” The Princess gestured for her guards to be ready, “The air’s foul enough here as it is.” Luna muttered under her breath.
Even Pyra seemed caught off guard as she staggered backwards. But the masked princess soon smirked and just shrugged. “Fine… fine. Whatever you want… sister. As if you lot weren't already tampering with darkness. Maybe I’ll come back when you’re… calmer.” Pyra taunted.
“Unlikely. Now. Go.” Luna ordered. Prompting Lyran and a few legionaries to take up positions in case of a scuffle.
“Fine, fine. I’m going. Though you’re all welcome to follow. To… you know, rebuild civilisation?” Pyra shrugged as she turned away with her guards, "As the rightful heir to the throne should."
Kermenadies was ashamed, his emotions had gotten the better of him and he had earned Princess Luna’s ire. Still, at least they had sent Pyra away, though he wasn’t sure what the demon truly had planned. Princess Luna turned away, disgusted and retreated towards her chambers without a word; the congregation unable to act besides watching the disaster unfold. But as Kermenadies followed the misty trail that snaked along the cold stone floors, he noticed something strange about Princess Pyra’s gait as she left. She had a crutch and walked with a limp. Now why would she choose a host that was physically crippled? Surely she could have her pick of her fanatical litter? Unless... there's something else behind that choice. I'll have the scouts follow close behind them. But as for the whole Nyaxes affair...
"Lyran." He commanded.
At once the other legionaries stiffened and they stood ready to receive orders. His right hand walking up before offering a salute.
"Sir!"
"Gather some of your most capable and trusted. Form a strike group and head south to investigate whatever killed Nyaxes. Should the opportunity present itself, eliminate whoever or whatever it is as well. I have this bad feeling the masked princess's arrival might have something to do with it. Regardless, we must investigate every possibility. Let's hope this is just uneasy feelings and nothing else."
"Of course Tribune!" Lyran gave another snappy salute. "So we honor all."
"So we honor all." Kermenadies replied before halting the Centurian, "And Lyran..."
"Sir?"
"Stay safe."
"Of course sir."
Kermenadies couldn't help the uneasy feeling building up within him. Not only did someone kill one of them, but if they were to find out about the rituals they had preformed to stay alive. He shuddered at the very thought. Let's just hope Lyran can put down whatever this nascent threat is and buy us all a little more time. And Pyra... He sighed. May the Gods forgive us, and may we honor all the fallen with our actions on the road to redemption.