Born from the confluence of arcane knowledge and technomagical prowess, Mastodons stand as Humanity’s living vessels. These biomechanical hulks, ranging in size and utility, are driven by a complex neural network that binds a rune-imbued brain to their exoskeletal framework. The Order of Athena monopolizes their production.
From “Treatises on the Living Vessels: The Technomagical Legacy of the Empire" by Archmagister Quintus Valerian - Great Empire’s Library.
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The hours had grown late into the night and the shadows lengthened across the Imperial palace’s marble walls, their dark tendrils creeping like silent specters. The moon's pale light seeped through the high arched windows, casting silver ribbons that battled against the encroaching darkness.
Small crystal orbs embedded in ornate glass cases flared to life one by one, buzzing with a faint hum and casting a gentle, warm glow that banished the encroaching shadows. Their light shimmered against the polished marble floors, creating a play of reflections that danced like ghostly figures along the walls. Flavius Corvus II Caesar, seated in his throne, faced his counselors, his gaze locked on holographic projections, their translucent blue light casting hue on the face of the officials gathered around the circular council table. His features were drawn, the weight of his imperial crown long forgotten, replaced by a hawkish intensity.
To Lucilla Valeria, the Emperor looked like an eagle poised to strike. The young counselor shifted slightly in her seat. She had been appointed only a few years prior, selected for her unwavering dedication and exceptional skill in managing relations between the Patrician Houses. The late Magister Gladius’ death had left a void she had filled with tireless devotion, driven by her unyielding pledge to the Empire.
But her efforts only delayed the inexorable. The Patrician Houses teetered on the brink of conflict, each leader seizing every opportunity to amass power. The Empire’s finances were stretched thin, plagued by corruption in major institutions and the unchecked growth of criminal syndicates within Nexus 73, the Empire’s sprawling capital. Pirate raids along the space routes grew more frequent, further tightening the noose around the Emperor’s dwindling options.
“Those rats!” The Emperor’s voice cracked like a whip.
“The whole Empire is threatened by criminals, and those damned House scavengers only obsess over their own power,” he spat, his tone tinged more with desperation than anger.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” Caius Septimus said, standing up. His grizzled features tightened with resolve.
“We should deploy Mastodons along the space routes. I’ll take care of those pirate rats and remind Aurelia Medici of her place.” His voice held a steely edge, simmering with restrained fury.
“We need the Praetorii here,” Lucilla objected, meeting Septimus’ glare with defiance. “Besides, House Medici holds the prerogative for managing the routes. Such an action would be a blatant overstep of their authority. It could incite a revolt,” she argued as the Emperor shifted his gaze to her.
“We’re only delaying what cannot be avoided,” Flavius Corvus II Caesar said, his features twisting with frustration. “But you’re right, Counselor Valeria. That is why we will take measures.”
With a wave of his hand, he beckoned his secretary.
“Flora. Request that House Habsburg initiate an investigation into House Medici,” he commanded, his voice sharp.
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,” The stern woman responded promptly.
“Caius,” Flavius continued, turning to the seasoned general. “Prepare a division to oversee the investigation and report directly to me.”
Caius Septimus nodded solemnly and settled back into his chair, the weight of the command etched into his features.
“It grows late, and my old bones feel it,” the Emperor said with a weary sigh. After reviewing the reports for a few minutes he cleared his voice. “Thank you all for your dedication to the Empire. We will reconvene tomorrow.”
The ten counselors rose as one, bowing respectfully before making their way out of the chamber.
“Flora,” the Emperor called, stopping her before she could leave. “Summon General Gladius. Discreetly.”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.” Flora Quintilla Severian replied with a nod. The stern-faced woman reached for an exquisite piece of parchment adorned with softly glowing runes. She inscribed a few precise words before igniting it with a small runic device. The flames flared briefly, enhancing the glow of the runes until the parchment dissolved into a wisp of purple smoke. Moments later, another piece of parchment materialized in a faint flash of light.
“Sire, General Gladius will be here momentarily. Good evening, Your Imperial Majesty.” Flora said, bowing deeply before leaving the room.
The old Emperor shifted, his shoulders slumping as he released the tension that had settled there. The weight of responsibility —being the Pillar of an Empire— pressed heavily on him. His thoughts drifted with fondness and nostalgia to his youth, when he had approached this monumental task with bravery and dedication. Now, all he felt was the crushing burden of it. He reached for a rune-embedded plate and activated an energy pile. The runes glowed, and the plate displayed images and text concerning a young boy. His successor - still just a boy, too young to take on the mantle - showed promise. The Emperor sighed. He had to endure a little longer.
Then his thoughts drifted to the treasure in the Imperial vaults. Moving the Imperial Artifact was a necessary risk, a gamble he had no choice but to take. An Gladius was the only one he would trust with this.
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The Emperor’s thoughts were interrupted by knocks echoing through the council room.
“Come in,” he said, not bothering to straighten his posture. Formalities were unnecessary with General Gladius, his most trusted subordinate.
Footsteps echoed as the General stepped into the room and bowed respectfully.
“Good evening, Your Imperial Majesty" the man said, his sharp gaze catching the reports still projected on the table.
“Good evening, General,” the Emperor replied.
“I have a task for you. A task that requires discretion and proper handling.”
With a wave of his hand, the projections shifted, displaying images of glowing green fragments.
“This is the Empire,” the old man stated. “The Empire is in danger, Augustus. My will… is to have this hidden on the border planets. Somewhere safe. Away from the crooked claws of the Houses.” he spat out the last words with disdain.
The General glanced at the images, recognizing the gravity of the request. He knew better than to ask unnecessary questions and simply nodded. "As you command,” he responded.
“Augustus,” the Emperor said solemnly, “you are the last bastion of my trust. Do not fail me. You may go.” The General bowed once more, turned, and stepped out of the room.
Away from privy eyes, a hooded figure had been spying on the Emperor. He packed a tube - whose runes had stopped glowing - inside of a bag. Then, swiftly put itself on the move.
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Back in his quarters, Augustus Gladius sat in front of his desk, pondering the implications of his conversation with the Emperor. Those fragments... His Majesty had presented them as the embodiment of the Empire itself. Why would the Emperor deem necessary to have them moved out of the Imperial vaults security ? Was He afraid that someone could break in ?. He ran a hand through his graying hair. “This mission is unlike any other,” he thought, determination hardening his dark eyes. He pressed a button on the console.
“Thalric. I need you here,” he said, releasing the button. Minutes later, a knock echoed in the room.
“Come in,” he ordered. His right-hand man entered, his face etched with concern. "Yes, General?” Thalric asked.
“Contact the Order of Athena. We will need a Logos Sophar,” Augustus stated, sparking curiosity in Thalric’s eyes.
“A… why would… Are we traveling to the confines of the Galaxy, sir?”
“Indeed. Have the Iron Pegasus ready as soon as possible, and assemble a team composed of our best elements.”
Thalric’s black-haired features tightened with curiosity and concern.
“Thalric. Not a word to anyone else. This mission is of utmost importance. Personally issued by our Honored Emperor. Now move. I want to set sail as soon as possible.”
With no hesitation, Thalric nodded and rushed out of the cabin.
A cleaner, who had been methodically wiping the crimson tiles on the floor, caught sight of the pressed soldier heading out. He discreetly brought a ring to his mouth and whispered, “Something’s on. Gladius and Thalric.” The runes on the ring glowed faintly as he pocketed it and returned to his work, eyes downcast.
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The sun was beginning to rise when Augustus Gladius stepped out of the Praetorii Garrison. The sky was painted with strokes of deep purple and amber, casting long shadows across the marble steps. A crisp chill clung to the air, biting against his armor and ruffling the edge of his military cloak. The distant hum of the waking city echoed faintly as a symphony of murmured voices, shifting metal, and the clang of early workers starting their day.
He hadn't slept, the weight of his mission gnawing at him through the night. His face, lined with years of battle, was set with determination, and his eyes, dark and resolute, carried weariness after a night spent checking and preparing for his task.
Thalric stood at the forefront, his dark hair neatly swept back and his gaze sharp, vigilant. His presence was an anchor for the others, each of whom had been carefully selected under his watchful eye. To his left, Marcus Voss, a seasoned veteran, cracked his knuckles, a subtle warning of the strength that lay coiled beneath his composed exterior. Althea Crest, the tactician, adjusted the strap of her satchel, her keen eyes darting between her comrades. Beside her, Leander Holt, the sniper and canoneer, kept his gaze distant.
On the other side, Tiber Nox, the Synapt, stood with an air of quiet confidence, his altered eyes pulsing as he prepared mentally for the connection to the Iron Pegasus. Next to him, Elara Flint, the team's rune-engineer, ran her gloved fingers over a set of glowing runic etchings checking in on their efficiency. The team was rounded out by Elysia Grey, the team’s doctor, and Cassius Dray, a combat specialist whose silence spoke of countless battles fought and survived. Gladius gauged the unit. Each of them he knew for their loyalty to the Emperor.
Among them stood a woman clad in the formal robes of the Order, deep blue fabric adorned with the emblem of a stylized owl stitched in silver thread. Her glowing blue eyes, circled with runes embedded in her own skin, surveyed her surroundings with composed confidence. The intricate runes etched onto her forearms and hands pulsed subtly. Logos Sophar. Only loyal to the Orders of Athena. The general would have preferred to do without them, but a Logos Sophar was mandatory for a journey of this length. Accidents of all kinds were inevitable, making the presence of these rune-tattooed arcane mechanics indispensable.
His companions saluted him with the customary Praetorii etiquette while the Order’s woman only bowed forward.
“Sophar Vale, Sir,” she introduced herself.
Gladius acknowledged her with a nod. “Soldiers,” he said, before setting off toward the hangar where his Mastodon - the Iron Pegasus - stood prepared and armed. The vault containing the fragments had been hidden within, and only he, Thalric, and Nox, their Synapt, were aware of its presence. The nine companions followed closely behind him.
The large hangar buzzed with activity. A cacophony of shouted orders, the clatter of metal crates, and the steady hum of machinery echoing off the high, vaulted ceiling.
The 60-meter-long, 20-meter-high Mastodon stood in majestic silence, its black steel exoskeleton reflecting the dim light in sharp, intimidating glints. Protective runes etched along its frame glowed with a subtle, pulsing blue, as if the vessel itself were alive and waiting for command. The wings folded neatly against its sides, while its four retractable legs were locked into a stance of readiness. Though not the largest vessel, Gladius had chosen it for its exceptional capabilities: small enough to be easily maneuverable yet boarding enough equipment and space for a small team. This biomechanical marvel had been gifted to him after he successfully quelled a rebellion against the Empire. With a wave of his hand, he signaled his companions to board, Gladius followed them into the Iron Pegasus, the atmosphere shifted immediately as he stepped in. The interior was a blend of metal and organic material with the walls pulsating subtly. Dim lighting cast an amber glow, illuminating the labyrinth of runic etchings carved into every surface, their light ebbing and flowing in sync with the vessel’s steady thrum. The corridors were narrow, lined with conduits that snaked along the walls. Each step echoed slightly, reminding of the dense, biomechanical structure underfoot.
“Twenty minutes before launch,” he stated, assembling with Nox and Thalric in the command room. The room was an organized chaos of shimmering panels and crystalline displays, each inscribed with pulsating runes. The low hum of the vessel’s energy resonated through the metal floor while the walls were lined with conduits and glowing interfaces that mapped out the ship’s vital signs. Nox had already connected an appendage sprawling from the Runebrain to the base of his neck, initiating the link to the devices that would allow Strabo to pilot the vessel while feeding information to Novus, their seasoned navigator.
Vale moved through the command room with practiced confidence, her fingertips grazing the rune-inscribed panels as she probed the vessel’s arcane energy. Her gaze, sharp and analytical, traced the intricate patterns with reverence. She murmured incantations under her breath, her voice steady and laced with a melodic tone. The glow of the runes responded to her presence, flickering as if acknowledging her touch. With each inspection, she adjusted small dials and calibrated runic interfaces, testing the vessel’s response.
“It’s a work of art,” she said, her voice smooth and measured, carrying a hint of awe. “It’s rare to see such intricate and innovative rune work.”
“The Emperor ordered it straight from the Order, asked for the best they could produce, before offering it to me,” Gladius retorted. They were going to spend months in the Mastodon, it would be better for the morale to act friendly.
The general then moved into his cabin, the space compact and orderly. Amber lights in the ceiling cast a warm light over the metallic walls. The single bed was spartan, its mattress firm and covered with standard-issue sheets. A small dresser stood in the corner, its top empty save for a worn map of the galaxy, marked with faded notations from past missions. On the corner of the room, a shower case was kept shut.
He laid down on the bed, feeling the subtle vibrations of the Iron Pegasus as it prepared for launch. The gentle hum of the ship’s core resonated through the walls, a familiar sound that lulled him into a sense of security. His eyes drifted shut and he finally offered himself a well-deserved rest.
He was fast asleep when, under the morning light, the Mastodon took flight into Nexus 73's atmosphere, leaving behind the opulent upper strata that dominated the labyrinthine stack of intricate buildings forming the lower levels of the Planet Capital.