“His name is Bonecruncher, may all the devils in Hell pox his balls,” the Mick supplied us, biting off the curse with real emotion, and suddenly the Killer Drudge of Cragstone had a name. “The Virindi made him inta what he is, but they couldnae control him, in the end. He’s just... too powerful. An’ when the Fall took so many o’ the best an’ strongest who could band together to thwart him, well, he took his bloody revenge in the worst way possible.” He trailed off, and then gestured at the mug that Kris was holding, with the stylized U symbol on it. “Ulgrim was the one who saved us. Somehow, he bound the bastard to the keep the drudge took. He takes a step too far, an’ Bonecruncher is teleported right back t’ the keep, unable to extend his reach or that of his people.
“Tore the old man to bloody gibbets fer it, too. The drudges flocked to his kingdom, an’ they raid from there, safe from even the strongest of the olthoi, virindi, undead, or shadows. Until, it seems, you two came along.” He leaned forward with MacNaill, his dark eyes gleaming. “Did ye really do for so many o’ them?”
“I slit the throats of over five hundred real drudges lairing in the ruins of Cragstone,” Princess Kristi stated without batting an eye, utterly unperturbed at the number, a fact visibly impressing and daunting both men. “There’s also now a huge gap in the ring of drudge-spawns around that keep, and we Burned his trophy mounds of the dead to white dust. And I gods-damned swear, when we grow strong enough, we’re going to go back there and feed that monster to True Death, emptying that city of drudges as they did of humans.”
Her voice was a razor, and even the dead man twitched to hear that Vow. She wasn’t a Source, but that was one dangerous Oath she’d just made!
“Ye’re a right red-handed witch, just like yer hag of a mother,” MacNaill muttered softly, raising his fifth mug of Putrefied wine to her. “I can see how she made herself an empress, now.”
The story of our arrival and what we’d seen continued, with the way the extra-dimensional spaces had been forced into reality, the fallen protective obelisks, and the many scattered stone heads all around. The Tremendous Monuga popping up got grunts from both of them, as did the fight against the monstrous nefane out in the waters of the lake, past the Shoreward barrier that prevented passage for lesser beings.
The virindi in Rithwic, the mosswarts in old Yanshi, the burun in Sawato, the undead in new Yanshi, the lugians in the hills, the tumeroks in Shoushi, and the undead here. Our working out that the monugas were natives, which of the animals were indigenous, and the interactions between some of the forces here all passed her lips in thorough yet concise detail.
What we were most uninformed on was the fate of the humans, although the fact we’d worked out following the water, and deducing the eventual location the humans had fled to, impressed both of them, ending up with us meeting the lone human liaison in these lands, having stopped in to visit his great-uncle from a careful scouting trip around the nearby lands.
“It takes a great deal o’ power to open the Portal to the islands, so it’s only done on predetermined nights and times. Scouting is a dangerous job, an’ only the best of us are allowed to do the job, as we lose too many otherwise,” the Mick related quietly, scratching his salt and pepper beard. “We’ve... not the magic, nor the equipment that we once had. So much of it was destroyed in the Fall...” His voice trailed off, his eyes haunted, and he looked down at his hands.
I’d not failed to notice he was missing the ring finger on his left hand, where a wedding band might have been.
“We surmised that the incoming flow of magic overcharged and detonated anything magical that operated on charges and reserves of mana,” Kris stated calmly. “There was basically a complete absence of most magic, even the simple talismans, that should have been around.
“Naturally, the ones best equipped would have been the most powerful people. They would have died as their equipment detonated, and those Deathstones then failed at the same time, killing them all completely and finally.”
It took a minute for the Mick to nod slowly, his face dark and haunted. “Me wife, me lady, the love of me life...” he glanced at his absent finger for a long breath, and closed his eyes. “She wore a Necklace all the time. A fine thing it were, lovely and wrought of pyreal and diamonds, with artful magic upon it. The value of the thing was incredible, she’d been offered loads of loot for it, but she refused them all, and wore it proudly all the time.
“When the Fall happened, that Necklace exploded, as did our Rings. It took me finger, and it took, it took me fair Bunita’s head.
“I were, I were staring at her headless corpse there, completely stunned, waiting for it to disappear... and then felt the shock as the link to me Lifestone dropped, and her body was still there, blood pumping from the stump of her neck.
“And I knew she were dead, that death had come back fer us, fer all of us, and Asheron’s Protection was no more.”
He took a long and deep breath, and his mug floated out of his hand, refilled itself, and deposited itself back there. He just watched it do so, then took another long draw, saying nothing for a long minute of memories he plainly didn’t want to relive, and equally obviously did all too often.
“The days after that were a nightmare. We all knew what was coming, though there were many who were screaming t’ deny it, unwilling to leave behind what they’d built. The power of Isparians in this land were built on magic and ever-improving gear. We’d just lost over ninety percent of our fighting forces and more, an’ the numbers coming through the Portals had been dropping for some time.
“There weren’t nobody coming to save us from those we’d taken lands from, an’ when they came for their own revenge, aye, it were right bloody, it were.”
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“The Prince lost his own bride and his sword arm, but he still managed to convince most of the people to run. What surviving mages were about, led by Ulgrim, managed to make up a Ritual to open a Portal t’ the Vesayans, and evacuate everyone they could.
“The Empyreans, they didn’t make it. Too tied to magic, most of them clad in it, they burned out from inside an’ perished to the last. The Gear Knights, wherever they were, sparked and fused and went inert, their cores overloading and melted. The turned undead exploded as the Light and Dark went to war inside them. The Risen Shadows were as vulnerable as the Empyreans were, an’ most went utterly mad at the energies surging through them, hacking and slaughtering everything about them.
“The lugian tribes in alliance with us were gutted, and’ the renegades ye saw in the hills took the opportunity t’ seize power. The Aun tumeroks were likewise reduced to a tithe of their numbers, an’ their corrupted Hea kin pushed into their lands, though we’ve heard naught of Marae Lassel an’ their holdings these many years, as they’ve been shut off from Dereth.
“Most of the older generation died covering for the retreat of the younger ones, leaving only a few, like meself, to watch over the younger ones an’ try to train them up for the new world left behind. ‘tis a strange task, for we aren’t even ready for the world we used to dominate so handily, immune to death and gluttons for combat unending.
“Death came back to haunt us, an’ everything has changed.”
Kris let the silence drag out for a long minute before speaking up. “So, those blue crystals did allow you a form of immortality, much as the undead, virindi, and shades possess naturally. Die, be reborn elsewhere?” she pressed him.
“Aye, Asheron’s Protection. We could nae even harm another under its protection, so there were no wars or battles between us once the Old Mage laid it down. Since we couldnae die, we could go out, fight, learn from our mistakes even if we fell, collect more gear to face our foes, loot and sell and gain ever-better gear...”
“Wait, what?” I piped up, sticking my head out from the barrier blocking the light show of the Imbuing I was doing. “You were picking up... loot drops? From creatures?”
He blinked, then smiled wanly. “Oh, aye, that’s been lost, too, be it not? Loot drops.” His eyes misted over with longing. “This place were magical, incredible. It seemed ta respond to what our own artisans could achieve, take their skills an’ put them to use. When ye fought the Summons, ye’d be rewarded for defeating them with gear that coalesced out o’ nowhere, sometimes really powerful, sometimes utter trash, completely random, but over time it allowed ye to collect an array of fine an’ powerful items of magic to equip, an’ boost ye in the fight against our foes.”
“Huh,” Kris and I both said together. He was completely unaware, but his ‘magical loot’ sounded suspiciously like an incentive program baked into a magical system, combining Karmic rewards with material awards.
Materializing strong magic items out of nowhere was the equal of a Valence IX spell. There’d be restrictions on how truly valuable or powerful items could be materialized, and if it was happening in massive numbers, naturally the results would be skewed to the lesser objects.
This place already broke mortal limits on magic over its knee. Materializing magic items for daring to participate in what was effectively unlimited gladiatorial combat, where the participants couldn’t die? Decent compensation, and a massive equalizer against the age and massive racial modifiers of more innately powerful races.
“The amount of magic this place has and uses now is absolutely stupefying,” I spoke up from where I was seated at. “Summoning Magic at various levels, repeated tens of thousands of times that we have seen, scaling in level and power and actually allowing for Karmic gain. Island-wide force fields. Resurrection magic of unprecedented power, now combined with personal Sanctuary effects on all those covered by it.
“Now you’re telling me that spontaneously-created magic items were made when you killed Summons here, on top of everything?” I looked over his gear with a sharp eye. “Apologies, you’ve got fine stuff there, but only the most basic magic is on your equipment now. It’s much more like the Isparian equipment back home.”
The Mick nodded shortly. “Aye. Most of the stuff that fell off the creatures... just exploded. Or it degraded so rapidly as t’ be worthless. So did much o’ the stuff made when we recycled or smelted the materials from them, evaporating away an’ leaving us with nothing.
“Only the things made in older, real styles stayed around, an’ if they were charged up by mana, well, they blew apart, as well.”
He unslung his scabbarded longsword. It looked like a more traditional Aluvian claymore by the hilt and guard, and he pulled it out.
The greemish sheen of Air Gold was unmistakable, as was its resemblance to one of the Swords we’d devoured to upgrade Quaver. Minus the force structures and large gem of needless frippery on it.
“We learned to use pyreal in making weaponry years ago, what were known as Atlan Weapons. We had to make a hot enough forge to melt the metal, an’ many o’ the coins of pyreal evaporated on us, too. But as long as we stay away from magic-consuming tricks, the Weapons seem stable enough. They aren’t anywhere near as powerful as they used to be, however, an’ we’ve not the magic that we had back then t’ substitute for it.”
“Pyreal, is it? In alchemical circles, that’s Air-Energized gold. Do you have mines of it around?” I had to ask, gesturing at the wagon. “Because there were hundreds of pounds of coins of it scattered about the two mansions we found.”
The Mick glanced at the Wagon in appraisal, while MacNaill’s eyes lit up, the undead ex-bandit shot a look at Kris, and the light was snuffed before it could do more than flicker.
“Aye, there were mines in the north, the south, an’ across the waters inta the Direlands. Veins of it running through the rock like frozen water, I were told, the stuff somehow rebuilding itself even after it was pulled out. Magical, like the rest o’ the place. So common it became the base coin, as we did nae have the knowledge to employ it until later, when the Empyreans and Asheron shared some of their knowledge with the smiths,” the Mick supplied.
“So, basically just an ornamental metal then, and you’re just getting back to being able to use it for wargear now?” Kris asked him.
“Aye. I were told the base metal be not as good as steel, but when tempered and infused, it ends up much stronger than common steel is. There’s more of it about than iron, and if you’ve the magic, it be actually easier t’work and smith. If you don’t, it’s just dross.” He shrugged dismissively. “Couldn’t eat it when it was needed, an’ the islands don’t have a lot o’ any of the metals. The miners still say that the veins slowly regrow as they are pulled out, as if being slowly drawn up from the earth.”
“Endless amounts of raw material to make wargear,” I murmured, shaking my head at such forethought. “How bad is the situation with the sea creatures?”