“I have no explanation, Sir. I am terribly sorry. I will resign my post immediately.”
Lord Fleon, High Paladin of the Filary, Heir to The Sunrise Throne, and Lord-Keeper of the Blade of Light and Majesty was rarely flummoxed. Being flummoxed was not consistent with his titles or his rank. Being flummoxed was something that happened to people lesser than him. A state of flummoxedness was something that would apply to Squires or lower Nobles, those that were further from Ioer’s Grace. It would not suit The High Paladin of the Filary to occupy a state that belittled his importance.
With that being said, Fleon was most definitely flummoxed.
The Combatants had been carefully selected based on highly refined criteria. They needed arcane arts, and divine providence. They needed sword and steel. They needed bow and arrow. They needed someone to find the traps that littered Zenith and disarm them, but they needed someone with the Constitution to absorb the inevitable times when those traps were not discovered. Lord Fleon was High Paladin and thus command of the Combatants would be up to him. He had drafted a Foray that was so immensely powerful, that he would be heralded as the greatest High Paladin of his people in a century. His life, the life of his people, was contingent upon a successful Assembly. He would not, and could not fail.
The first of his Combatant companions was supposed to be Zualt, however this was not to be. Zualt had been replaced with a hairless ape-like creature that bore much in common with a large portion of the Universe as it was known. He was the source of Fleon’s flummoxedness and Fleon decided it may be best to first validate the presence of the other Combatants.
The second of his Combatant companions was Gmolgmol Gmolgmolgmol, known more commonly as just Gmol. He/She/It/They was the sole member of their? her? its? species and the living embodiment of Lomg, the Overslime. Gmol was amongst the most powerful Divine infused entities in the known Universe, having direct access to Lomg itself. All Gmols had descended directly from Lomg, as they served as his physical recreation after his exit from the First Cycle. Physiologically, Gmol was most resemblant to a slime mold. Physically, he looked much like a mossy mushroom with bits and pieces of plant matter hanging off it. In all actuality, he wasn’t that much more complicated. Most of the time, he took the shape of a cylinder with a hat on top that was about 4 feet tall and about 2 feet in circumference with lumpy plant bits attached. He had two black dots on the top of him that were commonly mistaken for eyes due to their placement, but were actually closer to exhaust vents or an anus. He was a single celled organism that reproduced through mitosis. This was a rare event, but occasionally, Gmols were absent for a period and then reappeared as if nothing changed. The only thing that changes from one Gmol to the next was the number of Gmols on his name. Gmolgmol Gmolgmolgmol, also known as Gmol V, was the current iteration and had retained not only the training and life experience of previous Gmols, but also wielded the Divine powers of the Overslime as all Gmol’s before him. Gmol’s gmoal, sorry, slip of the tongue, Gmol’s goal was simple. Lomg was the God of Rebirth. His religion focused around the beauty of the cyclical nature of Life and Death. Gmol did exactly what Lomg would want him to do. Create. Destroy. He spread the word of Lomg, and this was a simple message. The world was a revolving door. All things needed to fulfill the cycle of rebirth. What was composed must also be decomposed. Lomg, and by extension Gmol, wasn’t evil. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t aligned with anything. It existed for its Divine inquisition that was contingent on two things. Create. Destroy. Perpetuate the cycle of rebirth. What better place to test his mettle than Zenith?
The third Combatant’s story begins as so many do.
Dogs remain the most prolific parasite in the Universe having inhabited close to 30% of all known geographical entities with intelligent life, in addition to their natural homeworld, The Seven Plains. The two-stage life cycle of the Dog begins with the parasitic Canus form, wherein it ingratiates itself into unsuspecting homes and collects power in the form of verbal and physical affection while it Pupates. It stores the emotional energy provided by the host in its anal glands until its death. Upon expiring, the Soul of the parasitic Canus form is transported back to The Seven Plains through Necromantic magic, a specialty of the parasitic Dog culture. The Canus then uses the emotional energy in its anal glands to empower its second life-cycle stage, Lupus Superior, characterized by the ability to shift between the bipedal and wolfen forms, and a significant increase in size, strength, intelligence, lifespan, and ruthlessness. While some Dogs retain their aggression from previous life cycles, the Canus form is largely passive. In contrast, the Lupus form is known primarily for its relentless and unceasing urge for violence and war. A massive planetwide struggle for supremacy occurs across all Seven Plains indefinitely and forever. When a Lupus falls in battle, the Doggish Necromancers transport its Canus Soul back across the galaxy to collect the loves it needs to Pupate again and rejoin the war of The Seven Plains. Such was the fate of Dogs. Endless loves. Endless war.
So it comes to our Combatant.
None had collected more loves than Jellybean Jenkins. Jellybean was of pure blood from the noble West Highland White Terriers. His adopted family, the Jenkins family of Earth, had spent the entirety of his existence rubbing his belly, stroking his soft white fur and kissing his little black nose. He went on car trips. He ate only the finest food. He dominated dog shows aimed at appreciating his magnificent beauty. He was given treats every night. He slept wherever he pleased, and left his scat where it lay. He collected the Jenkins energy for almost 22 years, substantially outliving the average terrier. When he finally expired, the tears from the Jenkins filled his anal glands with reservoirs of emotional energy that would power him and his clan for generations. Jellybean Jenkins drew on this power to be reincarnated as the most terrifying beast in the Seven Plains. Eight feet tall with the rippling physique of a Greek God, Jellybean Jenkins led the Westies to conquer vast areas of all Seven Plains, until he eventually was proclaimed Wolf-Lord of the Terriers. Marked by his two massive twin battleaxes, Bite and Claw, Jellybean’s pure white fur was permanently stained with the blood of his enemies. Now over 200 years old, and at the height of his power, Jellybean Jenkins, Wolf-Lord of the Seven Plains, had finally agreed to become a Combatant on behalf of The Filary. War was expensive, but like Ted Dibiase says, “Everyone has a price.” Jellybean Jenkin’s price had been steep, but Fleon knew talent when he saw it.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The final member was Salia Slit. Like most Venians from Venia, Salia was, foremost, an engineer. She did was most engineers do, and spent her time building things and reading and learning and rebuilding things until they were useful, and then she sold those things to others for goods and devices she could use to build new things. That was the life she enjoyed. Venia itself was non-magical for centuries, so Salia’s people had little experience with magic until incursions from surrounding planets began happening. The Saldez Empire installed a forward base of operations near the Venian capital without even realizing they were there or ever even bothering to check if the planet was occupied by a large group of very tiny hyper-intelligent engineers. Initially, Salia’s people were safe and simply remained hidden, happy to share the planet with others. The Saldezian incursion had little effect on Venian society. Venian people rarely grew more than 1-2 standard centimeters tall and Venia itself was several billion square kilometers of lush and fertile lands. The Venians were happy to share, all the way up until the point they realized that the insurgent forces had no intention of preserving the natural beauty of Venia and instead were sheerly there to rape and pillage their beautiful planet. Having never built weapons nor used magic, the Venians remained hidden from view until they successfully completed their prototype, a novel and unique hybrid tech/magic combination. The first Venian Mechanized Ranger (VMR) was piloted by Salia Slit herself. It was a perfect replica of Venian biology (which amounted to a cross between a hummingbird and a primate) but outfitted with state-of-the-art weaponry and made from a nearly impenetrable alloy native to Venia. In her initial conflict with the Saldez Empire, Salia killed thirteen Saldezian Elite Commandos before the VMR had to be abandoned. Subsequent iterations were far more successful. By the time the Venians had a full batallion of VMRs, the Mark III Suit was in near mass production. 1,400 VMRs destroyed the Saldezian capital planet in less than six weeks while only taking six casualties. The death toll for the Saldez was in the millions.
Venia protects the technology behind the VMR with its very life. No VMR has been used in combat since the Saldezian massacre and now nobody fucks with Venia. But if there is one thing that a tinker loves, it is tinkering, and Salia could never live down those six casualties. If she had been better, if the VMR was faster, or stronger, or somehow more powerful, then her friends wouldn’t have died. Fleon’s attempts to recruit a VMR pilot all failed until he reminded the Venians of one simple fact: Zenith has magic that make things bigger, stronger, faster, better. If you want a Mark IV, if you want to get better, you’ll need to come to Zenith.
And now this guy. The weird ape creature.
Fleon, increasingly flummoxed and increasingly angry about it, had lost his temper. He yelled, an un-Paladin-ly thing to do. “There has to be an explanation. That is clearly not His Wetness, Zualt of the Namidians! Explain this madness to me! Who is this person? What is his class?”
Faydeer, shaking from nervous energy, said “He is a Human named Boyd Bridges…his class is… Monk (Unassigned).”
Unthinkable. Bringing someone such as this to Zenith was tantamount to homicide. Fleon, the reality of his situation now coming fully to bear, asked “What are his attributes? His Rank? Please, please tell me there is something here.”
Faydeer, blinking back tears now, simply stated, “Quite poor Sir. The numbers are here.”
Fleon’s overlay was populated with Boyd’s statistics. They would barely have qualified him for a work permit, much less real training.
“Lady of Light and Mercy… the creature is barely literate. Faydeer, explain this travesty to me this instant!”
Lord Grand Assembler Filaryon Faydeer ran through the calculations at breakneck speed. It took him the equivalent of around 30 seconds to identify the mistake. He clearly and cleanly explained this to Fleon, and then bowed his head and left the room. He would never return and would likely be cast out from society. Filaryons, like humans, sometimes make mistakes, but this one would not be forgiven. Faydeer’s name would ring throughout history. His family would be shamed. His Soul was forfeit.
Fleon was High Paladin though, and letting Souls go forfeit was against his Oath.
“Faydeer, stop. I offer you the Mercy of the Sword.”
Awestruck, the technicians and other Assemblers bowed their heads. Such an offer was beyond gracious in The Filary. Fleon was keenly aware his own place in history would likely be tainted by this day, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t High Paladin here and now.
“I graciously accept High Paladin. Please tell my family I am sorry.”
Faydeer removed the Robes of the Grand Assembler and placed them neatly on the ground next to him. He stood fully upright and then fully extended the long, curved neck that characterized his people and bowed it in front of Fleon, placing his head on the ground.
Fleon drew his sword in disgust.
The Blade of Light and Majesty was an Artifact. It was irreplaceable. It was only awarded to the High Paladin immediately prior to Assembly. This was the first time Fleon would wield it. He had hoped it would be under better circumstances.
The Blade sliced through Faydeer’s neck cleanly and removed his head. As with all the Filary, his Soul exploded forth from the remnants of his body, leaving a smoldering pile of flesh in its wake. The Soul briefly nodded towards Fleon and then ascended upwards. It wouldn’t be used for Combustion. It would rejoin another Filary sometime in the future, assuming Fleon could fix this colossal fuckup of an Assembly and complete the Foray.
The remnant corpse began melting into the ground, now Soulless and without purpose. The Mercy of the Sword was more than Faydeer deserved. He had failed, but Fleon was High Paladin, and preserving Souls was still his duty. Nothing could atone for Faydeer’s actions, so The Blade atoned for him.
Fleon entered the room full of his future Foray to try and explain himself to his new companions.