A dull, echoing splash rang forth the Greigor Gate connecting the headquarters of the First Legion to the rest of the capital resting on the other side of the western mountain. As the last of the legionariir stepped forth, the aethereal lake of light blue with pristine white mote at the edges collapsed into itself, revealing the edifice home to the capitals’ Custodiir corps.
Each of the legionariir wore their varied gilded armor ornated with draconic engravings, arranged into multiple overlapping segments and contoured with faultless symmetry a benchmark of aevhen smiths and those who studied under them per the doctrine of the pure legions of the Elhyrissian Empire assigned to protect the central colonies and the islands.
The doctrine itself born not long after the discovery of this alloy by the now accursed, pariah clan of dwarves who found a strange alloy growing near the nexus points of the Leylines which many scholarly smiths attribute to its perfect bodily elasticity.
After the war resulting in their exile to the Dhaugruz Basin, the draevhen and pure aevhen built cities over the leylines’ nexus points and began their mining operations while the more erudite in matters of shaping alloy began further studies on perfecting the molding techniques required and overtime passed it onto the Hogstol Clans’ pure-blooded members and a few members of the Truscian and Graion humans. Though not perfectly as aevhen created vivuarh – living armor in the common tongue – proves better against the ravages of time and adversaries.
Beneath the vivuarh armor pieces, the lower ranked legionariir wore crimson tunics with mildly trimmed shoulders, collars rising high and kissing their neck while sliced open at the center while at their chest the piece connected with itself magnetically, while the circular hemline was tucked into their thick rawhide pants of the same shade.
The few Tribuniir amongst them – high ranking officers – wore a symmetrically knitted, angularly contoured deep purple tunic with pleated, shawl-like collar while the shoulders themselves were trimmed heavily with golden tapestries of mighty dragons with their heads towards the collar, their long tails lengthened and spiraled onto the longer sleeves hidden beneath the angular vambrace and shoulder plates ornated with rubies and amethyst.
Most of the low-ranked remained as they pondered and impetuously argued against where to spend their night, or whether to go to the bathhouses first a bit further to the south along the winding street with concave towers dancing at the jagged walls of the mountain, containing their residences as most hailed from the neighboring cities on the Isle.
On the other side of the winding road of the district laid their desired dwellings after a long day spiced with constant terror and boredom jumbled together. Bathhouses of seven pointed stony silhouettes with the centers carved open to let the accumulating mist vapor towards the endless sky, taverns operated by retired members of the short-lived races like dwarves who knew their drinks or humans of the Graion tribe who invented strange beverages that in time became favorites to many races like lead flavored wine which the pure-blooded dwarves drink like water, mead laced with transmuted dried blood of hunted nekrossus the orkhin describe as sweet as the cold breeze of Obtryllia’s season.
A few of these places also neighbored close to the armories and forges where their armor waited for them either idly or waiting to be strengthened, repaired after an arduous day and often the owner of both places – in the case of dwarves at least – tended to be the same as they themselves lived quite long and unlike the other races – except for the few of the pariah – they held the belief work only ends when the Solemn Shepherd comes to claim their soul.
Many a dwarves of the First Legion also hail from the same military blooded family, Graupripra being one of the oldest family serving as their first Alloy-Father was commissioned by the First Elhyrissiar’s little brother, Hadrional for this very district in the late millennia of the Dawn Age. His grayish silver, stout form still garnished the center square while in front of the Greigor Gate, Hadrional’s form was hewn into marble while his lavish armor was forged from the rarest of metals – quite a waste according to many historians of the Empire.
After long debating, even their numbers dwindled as they retreated into the taverns and bathhouses while their assigned Servuothii rid them of their maghieth armor, hoarding them diligently to the armories. Shigeaith was amongst these servuothii, still blissful from the thrill of accompanying Augermil and Albron in their hunt for the traitor.
Like Isocrates, he was too bombarded with questions and poisoned dagger sharp stares from the fellow comrades prohibited from combat duties. Unlike Isocrates though he enjoyed the attention much more, and answered each question with his nose held high as if he triumphed over a winged member of the House of Dusk.
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After they returned from the hunt the week before Shigeaith even expected both of them to be elevated to the lowly rank of auxiliariir. For now, the two only received empty promises that such promotion got closer by a little bit as while they managed to save a few members of the Order, they still failed to apprehend Hunra, the traitor whose face was now mystically projected onto the walls of the cities edifices.
Even at the military district, her slender quite enticing form appeared near the Greigor Gate, projected from a hewn ivory disk with a glassy obsidian and azure surface. Many a legionariir jokingly wished and promised to each other how they will meter out punishment worthy of the vicious dusky Yhanubj whose projection gave an unpleasant sensation bordering on terror to both Isocrates and Shigeaith.
The taint which made them feel an obsession towards her proved reluctant to leave and combined with their common sense that such features were beyond the natural of even for aevhen. Most strange of this was the fact that it was not an obsession of lust as they themselves did not wish to be Hunra’s passionate lovers, but an obsession fit more for the pious, and more importantly worthy only towards the Deossos who sacrificed themselves to save the planes and their people from the madness of their elderly sibling and father.
Whilst Isocrates could not pinpoint the source of this depravity, Shigeaith who hailed from a patricii family of the far east was aware of the myriad different Infaernus who preyed on the mortals, lingering formlessly in the shadows of reality while holding out their bait to latch onto a soul fit for their tastes. It was evident for him that it was the work of the Infaerni who gorged on the proud spiced with mildly with humility he rids them off, those who believe themselves to be paragons of righteousness and elevates that to unbreakable falsehood.
This knowledge paired with his self-inspection terrified him which for the past week depraved him of proper sleep leading to his enlistment for nightly duties of cleaning the armory and serving drinks to the tired legionariir in the tavern near the Greigor Gate. And on the fateful night twenty-fifth of Mhorombar in the 1259th year of the First Age, he was finishing mopping up the dusty armory near the prison where they kept most of the cultists – the few they managed to catch before they could have ended their own existence.
A cold breeze swept into his bluish dark mane which silken tresses freely flailed like appendages when he stepped out drenched in his own saccharine sweat mixing with the caustic scent of the alchemical concoction blended with the water in the bucket. Like the previous few nights, Shigeaith folded his arms and waited pressing his back against the cold marble wall while his gaze followed the few patrolling guards.
As he scoured the dim surroundings lit by the Illius’s silvery purple light, he halted upon witnessing the dark figure standing alone facing the statue of Hadrional and quickly recognized it as an aetherkiin from the tales of his father and grandfather who met these enigmatic folk wandering the continent, offering their vast eldritch knowledge to all kinds. Confusion at the fact of this aetherkiin standing here alone nestled in his heart, as Shigeaith knew that if an aetherkiin was in the capital, everyone would knew about it, yet here stood one and not a word had been spoken in the taverns, shops and eateries he visited during the day.
Although he theorized to himself that the recent dire events proved paramount compared to the mysterious visitor who still stood unnoticed by the others, draped in fine black robes and a blackish red stola embroidered with strange glyphs which increased the pace of his heart beating.
“Hey you see that aetherkiin?” Then a fellow aevhen maiden clad in the shining living armor reached near him and Shigeaith lived with the chance to point at the dark aetherkiin standing alone in the shadow of Hadrional. She looked at him too and walked knowing that even the aetherkiin had to at least register before entering the vast premises of the capital.
Because of the unease he felt, Shigeaith remained at the wall and watched him remained unfaced even as more and more noticed and flocked with varying expressions. Some excited at witnessing the visitor, other vary at how such person could enter without the veneficiir noticing, while the fellow aevhen maiden he called out shifted from vary to terrified when she peeked beneath the hood.
Then his own unease turned to terror at the events swiftly unfolding before him. All those surrounding the aetherkiin got down on their knees and at once their forms began to shift. Their epidermis gained a sheen akin to polished gems, the white of their eyes bled into a deep purple while their varying pupils blackened and lengthened steeply and from the dimness roots spread in all direction, their figures equally grew in height, their fingers and toes twisted into claws of grandidierite, their hair gained mass as it burst forth under their form-fitting flailed helmets which like their armor melded onto their unnaturally smooth epidermis and became a second, harder layer.
After he calmed a little, still terrified, Shigeaith rushed back into the armory where he hid between two rows of crates, inhaling the headache inducing air then he waited before his terror renewed at the abnormally deep, pervading howls of the former legionariir, slowly increasing in number.