Harbeth watched, unsurprised, as the applicant toppled suddenly to the ground.
The lizardman writhed for a moment, scratching and scrabbling at the ground around him in a blind and hostile panic. His gaze whipped frantically around the room, passing without recognition over all it surveyed.
It was an infant’s gaze, a dolt’s. The look of one utterly robbed of context and meaning, left conscious only of his own bewilderment.
The goon was certain of this because he saw it all the time. It had been his Art, granted to him by Ywekru, Goddess of the Past, which had stolen away the brute’s memories.
He stood idly by for the first crucial moments, watching the creature pass through all of the various stages of identity shatter that he’d seen so many times. He stopped looking all around, started looking down at his hands and feet. He poked at them with disbelieving wonder, tugged at the Treasure affixed to his right forearm.
“Don’t touch that,” said Harbeth, voice pitched low and without emphasis. “If you take it off, you’ll die.”
This wasn’t actually true, but it wasn’t like the blank would know that.
“How-“ the newly reborn creature stuttered, “How do I understand you? How do I know these words? I don’t know anything else.”
The newborn, even as he spoke, realized that that had been a lie. He knew other things. He knew a lot. He knew that those flat black things were walls, that the bright things attached to them were torches, and that the being, the man, before him was a human.
“Rejoice,” said Harbeth, again without any particular energy, “For your petition to join the Big Strong Sect has been granted. Your past is gone, for it has no meaning, can lend no aid, to your glorious future. You are standing at the first step on the world’s most glorious path, one which will lead you to the greatest possible heights of power and authority.”
Even the saurin, with his mighty life experience of less than a minute, could recognize a rehearsed speech. He stayed quiet and let the man continue.
“The Treasure about your wrist,” he said, pointing at it as he spoke, “Marks you as a member in training of the Sect. If you excel in the challenges to come, you may one day wear it about your waist, as a full fledged member.”
“Why is yours around your throat?” asked the newborn.
“I am Harbeth, a servant, or thrall, of the Guild,” answered Harbeth, “We are called goons. I was given the same opportunity that you possess, in time past, and I was found unworthy.”
The lizardman could positively feel the power coming off of this ‘servant’. He was obviously a myrmidon of profound power, with the lives of hundreds bound to his own. The idea that one such could be a slave was an incredibly daunting one.
“Step forward, Aspirant,” said Harbeth, seemingly returning to his memorized speech, “And pull forth the name by which you will live your new life.”
The newborn did as he was instructed, noting as he did so that he towered over the human, topping it by a head or more.
He dipped a clawed hand into the bag that the goon was holding out, which seemed to contain a bunch of small flat things that made clicking noises as they shuffled against one another.
He pulled one out, revealing it to be a small, flat wooden tile. There was something carved on it, but he couldn’t make it out.
The human reached out and took hold of the tile, tilting it slightly so that he could read the words.
“You are now Yenx,” he said, with all the emotion that he’d have had if he’d been asked what color the walls were, “and that is a proud and noble name indeed! Strive evermore to be worthy of it, and to continue its legacy within our noble Sect.”
Yenx had a lot of questions, but he wasn’t sure if it was alright to ask them. He settled for moving closer to a torch, and holding the tablet up close to it.
Once he’d done so, he was able to make out the rune, and understand that it meant ‘Yenx’. He wasn’t illiterate, at least. Whatever criteria this human’s Art had used to scrape out his identity it had left him with that.
“Venture forth, Elder Brother Yenx,” said the goon, “And meet with your brothers and sisters, all blanks like yourself. The friendships that you forge here will stand you in good stead in the trials to come.”
“I have more questions,” said Yenx.
Harbeth shrugged, as though this, like anything else imaginable, came as absolutely no surprise.
“Did I agree to this? I mean, the me before?”
“Maybe,” said the goon.
“Can I get my-“
“No,” said the goon.
Yenx wasn’t terribly surprised that this myrmidon, whatever its official rank might be, wasn’t going to a lot of trouble to be helpful. He was just a natural, after all, with only his own life force. To one who’d swallowed so many lives he must be about as solid as a breeze.
He might not have his identity, but some things were deeper than that, and he had apparently cultivated a bone deep conviction that few things in life were more crucial to the spit/wipe split than how powerful someone was.
He looked around the room, trying to see how he might obey its instruction to ‘venture forth’. He finally made out the outline of a door, and made his way over to it.
There was no handle, so he gave it a shove, and it swung open without resistance.
The room beyond was much like the one that he’d come from, save for being larger and circle shaped. It had the same black painted stone and the same dim, flickering torches.
There were a few other saurin (a word that he somehow knew was the name for his species) standing in the middle of the room, all with the same armbands that he had. He made his way over to them, stooping to pass through the door.
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“Do you know where we are?” demanded a green frilled male.
“No,” said Yenx, noting as he did so that he was the largest here, by a sizeable margin. It looked like the other Saurin were closer to the goon’s size. None of these were myrmidons, which was unsurprising if these were supposed to be his peers.
“I think we are all in the same predicament,” he told the green frilled one. “I’m supposed to be ‘Yenx’, now, but I don’t remember anything before that goon woke me up.”
“I’m Nurr,” said the other. “And I think you are right. I just thought it was worth checking, just in case.”
Yenx contented himself with a nod, noticing that another Saurin was exiting from a door on the far side of the room, and that nobody seemed to be reacting much to that. He suspected that they’d be one to a room, and did a quick count of people vs doors.
“Everyone!” called a female with a ridge of spikes running down her neck, “I’m Bajj. Did anyone get told what these things on our arm can do?”
“Don’t take it off!” shouted several members of the crowd, Yenx among them.
“I know that,” she shouted back, “But if you press one of the jewels on it you can see a sort of description of yourself, and it also shows writing on the people you see. How powerful they are and stuff. It seems important!”
Yenx immediately looked down to the Treasure, which sat snug around one of his upper arms.
It had two gems on it, one on the upper and one on the lower ring, and a whole bunch more sockets on it where other gems might be supposed to go. He counted them up, and there were ten of them, which seemed to validate his ‘These people will make me complete this thing’ hunch.
Another random bit of knowledge that hadn’t gone away with his whole self, people liked round numbers.
Yenx poked at one of the gems, but nothing seemed to happen. He reached for the other, but a loud crashing noise interrupted him before he could get to it.
Everyone looked to one of the doors, which had slammed open, revealing a much more brightly lit chamber beyond and a large saurin silhouetted in the archway.
This figure was another myrmidon, and his Tally put the goon’s to shame. He had his Treasure around his waist, and he practically thrummed with power. The room felt almost too small to contain him.
The newborns instinctively formed a loose semicircle before him, each aware that this being held their lives in its taloned hands.
“I am Zemp,” said the myrmidon. “You will address me as ‘Honored Elder Brother’, and other disciples of your rank as ‘brother’ or ‘sister’.”
A few heads bobbed, but no one spoke up.
“When a Guilder,” and here he tapped his hand against his belt, “gives you an order, you will make a fist with one hand, clasp the other around it, and bow deeply.”
“Like this?” asked Bajj, only to cut off with a cry as Zemp struck her to the ground.
Yenx froze in place, mind whirling as he replayed the moment in his mind. Zemp had sprung forward with a terrifying speed, far faster than Yenx had ever imagined anyone could move.
“You will address me as Honored Elder Brother,” repeated Zemp.
“Apologies, Honored Elder Brother,” said Bajj, scrabbling back up to her feet and bowing with one fist inside the other hand.
Zemp looked back to the rest of them.
“You are thinking that I am cruel, or petty, with that display. You are wrong, but I lack the time to educate you properly. I must make you understand.”
Yenx genuflected before the Guilder, fist in hand, trying not to stand out from the rest.
“We,” said Zemp, “are a conquered people. What nests have not fallen before Nincenji phalanxes have turned to the worship of dragons for protection. I am the only lizardman among the Guild’s members, and the Guild loves only itself.”
Yenx didn’t move, trying to commit this to memory, but the names meant nothing to him.
“Of course you don’t know who the Nincenji are, ah, damned blanks!” continued Zemp. “It matters little. The Big Strong Sect, or the Guild, as we call it on the inside, is the dominant organization in three countries. One of them has conquered our homeland.”
No response seemed remotely safe to make to that statement, so everyone remained silent.
“The Ursin, or the beastmen, are part of a nation dominated by the Guild. They are respected as equals. The goblins are enslaved and downtrodden. The difference between the two is simple. There are no goblin guilders, but plenty of beastmen.”
His own words seemed to spur something within the Guilder, and he lashed the air before him with his claws.
“The reminds me! If I hear that a single one of you has corrected a human on the name of our species I’ll pull your guts out. We are lizardmen! That’s what the humans call us, so that’s what we are.”
It was strange, to see a myrmidon so mighty cringe and accept humiliation, but it birthed a deep dread within Yenx. What must the Guild’s masters be like, if this magnificent specimen was so cowed? Harbeth had seemed mighty, and Zemp dwarfed him, but even he was nowhere near the top?
“In a short time, I will take you to the other blanks, and then to the Aspirants who have been allowed to retain their memories where you will be addressed by another Guilder. She will tell you that all are welcome within the Guild, that you all have an equal chance to stand among our number.”
Zemp took a deep breath.
“She will be lying.”
Yenx carefully refrained from looking to anyone else, instead spending the time carefully noting details of Zemp’s appearance.
Zemp was shorter than Yenx, like everyone else he’d met, and he wore a sort of hauberk about his midsection, but no other armor. He had a second Treasure at his hip, a sort of short spear with a few jewels somehow fastened onto it.
“She thinks that she is telling the truth, but I have checked the numbers. There will be three new parties formed from this class, a grand total of twelve myrmidons accepted into the Guild proper. The rest will become goons.”
Zemp looked around, counting fast. There were seven blank saurin here.
“In the last class, out of twelve Aspirants we accepted, there were just three blanks. The one before had four, and the one before that none at all. Those are the odds you are facing down.”
“But that’s…” exclaimed Nurr, before checking himself and bowing.
Everyone cringed, expecting another violent outburst, but Zemp just nodded solemnly.
“Yes,” he said, “The odds are stacked against you. The Guild tells itself that the Blanks have the same odds as the sponsored Aspirants do, but it’s a lie. And for you the situation is far worse.”
Zemp scratched tapped on his belt before speaking further, and Yenx had the impression that some manner of Art had been released.
“There are those within the Guild who opposed my own recruitment, even though my Party Leader chose me to replace his fallen subordinate. They don’t want any more lizardmen in the Guild, and their agents will be at work within the process, trying to make sure you fail. They want to exploit our people, and they know that the Guild will only go along with them if it can tell itself that we had our shot and blew it, that we are just stupid monsters who aren’t worthy of respect or consideration.”
“Honored Elder Brother,” said Yenx, surprised at his own boldness, “How can we succeed if the judges wish us to fail?”
Zemp looked at him, then simply shrugged, the gesture conveying hopelessness and futility.
“I will give you just this command,” he said, “The Guild is not simply a group of myrmidons, it is a group of groups of myrmidons. Each of us is in a Party of four, and it is these Parties which run things. Even the Autarchs, the leadership, are still organized into these Parties.”
Zemp looked each of them in the eye.
“The goblins, during their trial, tended to form groups of just goblins, or goblin majorities. You will not imitate their mistake. You will each join a party with no other lizardmen, and you will let the humans take the leadership.”
The Guilder tapped his belt again.
“We are out of time,” he said, “Follow me.”
The saurin trooped after Zemp as he lead them back to the door that he’d entered through.
The room beyond was far more brightly lit, with twice as many torches and the black paint glossy and reflective. There were about two dozen figures waiting for them, and only one of them seemed to be a myrmidon.
The other naturals were a mixture of humans and beastmen, with the humans predominating.
“Honored Elder Brother,” they sang out in greeting, putting their fists into their hands and bowing before Zemp.
“Junior Sister,” said Zemp, ignoring them entirely and speaking with the goon who stood with them. “Take these Aspirants to the Hall of Welcome, and to their future.”