“Class, how many incidents of terrorism do you think occur per year in the Vast dust?”
“4” “2” “6” “1”
“Unfortunately, none of you brave souls who answered are correct. The number is eight incidents per year. Though, most would not consider public murder to be terrorism, they all fit under the same category. That is what we will be exploring today. Open your books to page eighty five and we’ll start our journey.”
-Beginning of Hiklac Balin’s eighth lesson in Clock Cultist history
*=====*
Fara woke up, much later than she had in the last week, and could hear the restless dead going about their daily rituals beyond her bedroom’s door. Still groggy from sleep, she trundled around her room, fixing her hair and changing her outfit for a new shirt and pants Mori and her had bought at a local vendor. She buckled her belt, affixed her mother’s gift pouch, her mask, and toolbelt to it, and opened the bulkhead to the hallway beyond.
The hallway was, in her opinion, a bit too large for most humans, but it was perfect for the pyraustas and their endless activity, so Fara accepted it. As she made her way towards the new and improved dining hall, she ran into a number of zombies that performed basic maintenance with mechanical efficiency, all wearing generic patchwork robes. They completely ignored her as well, brushing past as if she did not exist.
For most, the image of zombies that walked with purpose and ignoring them would have been frightening. Fara was different. She barely batted an eye as the shambling corpses went about their business, but was struck with the amusing memory of trying to train them. They were smart, no doubt, but they were also just as capable of error as any other being. It was frustrating enough to try to have them understand the intricacies of mechanics, but it was only compounded their occasional moments of comedic incompetence. She vividly remembered leaving the first zombie Mori had given [Mechanical Affinity] in a room with nothing but a screwdriver, hammer, and gear grease. She came back not five minutes later to find it slowly shuffling away from an open flame in the center of the room. Still, Fara found the zombies useful, endearing, and hilarious, if not a bit frustrating.
Finally reaching the dining hall, she found Mokan and Zubov playing chess while Avarice stared intently at a spare chess board. On his body hung stitched together strips of cloth and leather in the loose form of a combination between a robe and a blacksmithing apron. Fara, when Avarice presented the death knights with their own individual outfits, had wondered why she had never noticed how naked they really were. For the longest time, they had nothing but scraps of clothing dangling from their bodies that could have fallen at any moment.
‘Maybe I’m so used to Mori’s state of dress that I completely ignored the way the others were dressed…’ she mused to herself. While the general feeling of the outfits the industrious undead had made was familiar to her, the details were not things she committed to memory.
After a few moments, Zubov and Mokan noticed her and waved, Zubov blossoming into a massive grin, “Ah, Fara! You finally got up after the sun rose! You’re normal now!” Zubov laughed.
Fara rolled her eyes at the man and sat down beside him, eyeing Crave, wearing his plain shirt and pants, as he worked his magic in the kitchenette at the far side of the hall, “Well, I don’t have anything left to do with the skiff, for now,” she defended, “I don’t have as much reason to wake up before the sun if I don’t have such a big thing waiting for me. Though, now that I have some free time I think finding a new project to work on would be prudent…”
“More work?” Zubov asked, “Are you serious? Why not take a break?”
Fara shook her head, idly opening her Status Page to have another glance, “That’s how a warrior thinks, Zubov. Fighting to level up is a series of peaks and troughs in action, while crafting and other types of work is a steady, consistent stream of new work and projects; taking a break only makes it easier to ignore other opportunities or strikes of inspiration,” she lectured as she scanned over her Status.
[Name: Fara Notchings
Species: Human
Variant: Desertborn
Level: 20(82%)
Traits:
Physical: (Dexterous Muscles V), (Purifying Hand), (Enhanced Eyesight III), (Increased Stamina II), (Increased Regeneration), (Dense Musculature IV), (Reduced Gravity IV),
Spiritual: (Enhanced Mind III), (Multi-rune Casting), (Enhanced Focus), (Mechanical Affinity X), (Simulation V)
Granted Traits: (Enhanced Beauty)]
She had finally reached level twenty after years of work at home in only a matter of weeks with Mori. Though, she knew that Mori was catching up at a lightning speed, not only because of her occasional forays into the Dust for small jobs like eliminations and material collections, but because of her passion for magic and necromancy. Oddly enough, she never came back with her own ‘materials,’ so either she never found anything worth bringing back or she made other undead out in the Dust for whatever reason. Fara could hardly think of a reason why she would, but Mori was an enigma.
“Right…” Zubov trailed off as he moved his runeslinger in striking range of Mokan’s Forgeheart, “Checkmate,” he grinned. Mokan looked for a long minute and sighed, nodding. According to Mori, the game was supposed to have weird names for each of the units. Scouts/Guards were ‘pawns’, Forgehearts/Generals were ‘kings’, Bloodforged/Honor Guards were ‘queens’, Snipers on both sides were ‘bishops’, Crashers/Runeslingers were ‘knights’, and Soldiers/Winged Mages were ‘rooks’. As Fara thought about her friend’s world, Zubov and Mokan cleared the board and began playing once more, “So, what idea do you have for your next project?” he asked.
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Fara was about to speak when she stopped herself. When she thought about it, Mori’s bony grin, head adorned with her circlet, popped into her mind. The circlet was something that Fara doubted anyone would wear unless they were either full of themselves or royalty; of course, Mori was neither but wore it because she enjoyed doing so. But then that part of her that made connections began linking things like it had never done before. First, her mind connected ‘royalty’ to Mori, asking what she would have been were she royalty. Mori was far from a princess, so a queen was what Fara decided Mori was. Then her mind went to the chess game. ‘Queen,’ according to Mori, were supposed to be Bloodforged. The terrifying creatures that bled yet did not die were supposed to be equated to a frilly person in a funny dress. Fara was not buying it.
Of course, ignoring the misnaming, Fara realized that Mori was essentially the general of the Kharon. But she was also the Honor Guard. She was the win condition and the best fighter there. Besides Zubov, of course, but he hardly counted as part of the real crew, as much as it hurt to think. Imagining Mori facing down a Bloodforged, her soul shattering under the claws of the creature…
“I know what to do,” she said to Zubov’s confusion.
“Eh? Wait, what’re you doing?” he asked as she darted out of the dining hall, images of the chaos to come fresh in her mind.
*=====*
Fara quietly opened the door to the study of the Kharon, hoping not to disturb the ones inside. Peeking around the doorframe, she was able to take a good look at the room. Like everywhere else on the skiff, the room was lit by mana-burning gems that shone dull light around it. The walls were all covered in bookcases, though they were quite empty as they only housed a half dozen books between them all. Standing around a table that ran down the middle of the room, Pride and Jel, both wearing lightly armored robes, looked over one of the books while writing on a spare piece of paper. It was some of the cheap paper, made from either the roots of the thornvines or the squat ‘trees’ that dot the Vast Dust’s oases. On top of the poor, rough paper, they were using their own blood to write. Scribbles of an unknown language that somehow made sense to her, written in blood, sprawled out on many pieces of paper. Diagrams for different spells the two concocted over the week of work, written while she was sleeping and unable to lead them in the upgrading of the Kharon..
Fara gave them a wave, quickly reciprocated by the two, and turned to the end of the room where Mori sat. In one hand was a light-related book while the other held her head in its palm. Like the last time she saw her, the new bone plates on her chest were present, giving the lich the illusion of wearing armor; the imitation, however, would not deter her. After a moment, Mori turned and smiled at Fara, a likely frightening sight to behold for most, but she was used to it, “Ah! Fara! You came to our little cave of wonders! Though, if it had a passcode, I could call it Alibaba’s cave of wonders…” she muttered, speaking of something incomprehensible from her homeworld once again, “Whatever. So, what brings you by?” she asked.
Fara quickly walked up to Mori and took her hand, “I just had some inspiration and you're going to help me,” she said. Mori only made a noise of acceptance, putting her book down and standing to follow her.
Fara led Mori from the library, or ‘study’ as Pride began calling it, and made her way to the workroom. Of the four levels on the skiff, the third was Fara’s favorite, as it held the workshop, cargo hold, and armory. It was like her own little paradise where she could work and have fun without being afraid of blowing something up. A death knight with the ability to heal was just a floor below, the workroom itself was enchanted with runes that blocked damage, and only Avarice ever came to the workroom —granted, he was there almost constantly, but it was better him than living people being perforated.
Once in the workroom, she pushed Mori to sit on a stool in the center of the room, “Alright, remember you telling me about your world’s version of chess?” she asked.
Mori, looking upon her with a cute confused face, nodded, “Sure, I remember. Why?”
“Well, I was thinking how you’re basically the Bloodforged, er, queen of our game here,” she began, “But… actually, have you ever heard of a Bloodforged?”
Mori shook her head, “Nope, but I can guess that it’s bad?”
Fara smiled, “Yeah. Bad. They’re what happens when some random conditions are met and the body of a person is used to forge a Clockwork. They are extremely powerful and are usually the ones guarding the Forgeheart. They’re bad, yeah. So, I want you to be even worse,” she said with a grin, “What if I finish what I started with the arm? What do you say?”
The lich, for all her naivety, could tell when Fara was excited. She could see it in her eyes and the feeling was mutual— it seemed to Fara that Mori wanted it built as well, “I’m in, Fara. First, though, shouldn’t we design the armor?”
Fara shrugged, gesturing to the next room for her to follow, “No, not really. I have no idea what’ll be available in the bazaar. We should go there first if we want to know what we can use.” Mori quickly agreed, pulling a pouch of over fifteen thousand chips from a shelf and under her cloak as she got her mask on. They decided to go alone once more, like they did the day they met the weird shapeshifter lady, and made their way through the city with relative ease compared to before.
“Let’s check the docks first,” Mori said, “If there’s anything good, then it’ll be over there.”
“But what about the bazaar?” Fara replied.
Mori held up her metallic hand, “Well, if there’s anything that didn’t get snagged up in the docks is either not really worth it or is being sold at a markup in the bazaar; it’s either we get what we want over here, or we get something for a bit cheaper. Win-win in my books.”
Fara struggled for a moment to answer, but soon agreed, “Fine, we’ll go to the docks first.”
The docks were just as she remembered it from the week prior: crowded, noisy, and full of people. The constant rush and crush of bodies pulled them forward, though there were a few times when they were given space because someone from out of town suddenly caught sight of Mori. They first went to a stall with a number of mechanical parts strewn about, assembled into random contraptions that seemed to be attempts at making components of a larger machine.
“Good morning,” the elvish woman standing behind the counter greeted much less enthusiastically than Fara would have expected. It took a moment for her to remember that the news about the Hive had been released and most were justifiably worried about the issue. Fara decided to cut everyone around her some more slack than usual, “I have some spare parts taken from some mad mechamancer’s workshop. I’m not a mechanic or mechamancer myself, so you can have each little bundle for… let’s say ten chips. I just need them off our skiff so we can go out again.”
Fara nodded, ignoring the fact that most elves liked to barter with buyers or sellers, and bagan looking at the parts as Mori stood behind her, seemingly a bit confused. The lich did possess [Mechanical Affinity], but she had likely not used it for a while. Just as she picked up a thick spring attached to a gear, a thundering explosion rocked through the docks. People all around froze as they looked to the western half of the docks, staring as fires climbed to the sky in pyres from what Fara knew was a few Green Oasis skiffs deployed for the Hive extermination.