A pair of mules pulls a wooden carriage over a cobbled street that winds between fields of grain and pastures. The driver, dressed in plain farmers’ overalls, peers out at the valley from under his cap when the cart crests a hill. The sight never fails to fill him with awe, even though he sees it monthly, when his wares are brought to the market at the foothills of the greatest city in Naedria.
A city in levels, of stone and brass, great pillars supporting platforms stacked partly over one another like scales; rails snake above and between them, carrying people and goods on skytrams. It climbs to the base of a sword that has been stabbed point-first into the river valley, rivaling a mountain in size, and in the light of midday its stone gleams as though it were steel.
The farmer remembers asking Father what had carried the Godsword, and Father had recalled the Time of Titans. For days after, he’d awoken to nightmares of creatures that could crush his town underfoot.
The mules comes to a sudden stop and bristle when they spot a figure approaching on the side of the road. He does not need to wait to hear the hissing and rattling; the marching gait is unmistakable. The farmer jumps from his perch to take his mules by the reins and still their nerves, but his own heart flutters when the Stiff closes in, and comes to a halt not five feet from him.
The man of brass plates and steel bolts, carrying a halberd and glowing with an eerie green light from within, fixes its cold, pupilless emerald eyes on him, making unknowable assessments. The farmer can think of nothing to do but tip his hat. A few more terse seconds, and the Stiff’s head snaps away and it marches off. The man releases his held breath shakily.
“The Stiffs keep us safe?” His father had spat once. “From bandits, sure, soldiers and wolves, and things that live in the dark. But not from their masters, not from mages. And a man with any brain fears mages above all.”
Before the farmer climbed back onto his carriage, he picked up a pebble from the road. With a call, the mules began to move once more. He opened his hand and looked to the pebble, which softly rose an inch or two from his palm on a stream of the faintest white light.
He’d held no secrets for Father. None but this one. It would’ve broken the old man’s heart.
~~~
Phicus gave the door to Master Gutrichs' magisterium two sharp knocks, a feat given the thickness of the stack of paper in his hands. A mechanical eye set into the richly decorated wood sprang open, looking him up and down with a glowing purple iris set in black stone, before retracting. The door then split down the middle and its halves retracted into the wall with a soft scraping sound, permitting entry.
His master only gave him a glance from the workdesk riddled with finely crafted metal parts and old, dusty tomes. As he approached, he tried not to look out the tall windows to the city sprawling far below. "Yes, Phicus, what is it?" Gutrichs started curtly, his attention focused on a glowing instrument before him.
"Sir, the Captain of the Tempest Guard thinks it time for you to see to the Artifice Knights." The scribe-assistant replied. "Preliminary testing of the arms- and their wielders- has yielded no dangers to the Fragment stability, so with your approval of the lineup, we may move on to the next phase."
Master Gutrichs arched an eyebrow. “If I did not think Leanna could procure a workable lineup, I would not have asked her.” He grumbled. Phicus nodded. “It’s a formality, Sir, but an important one, I’m afraid.” With a sigh, Gutrichs arose from his high-backed swiveling chair. “I suppose I might as well see whose hands my creations have ended up in.”
“The subjects have been gathered on the Guard’s grounds, Master. Sixth Circle.” Phicus said, trailing out the door behind the magister. “Shall I call for a private skytram?” Gutrichs did not break his brisk gait. “Nonsense. We will take the lift and be there in half the time.” He replied, to Phicus’ dismay.
On the outer balcony of the Seventh Circle, the city’s highest and smallest plateau housing only the Assembly’s most important members, laboratories and seminaries, a large cylinder of wrought steel and glass stood separate from the grand halls. Within, a circular walkway surrounded a central spire with brass teeth, which large gears and a complicated mesh of wires and weights allowed the walkway to ascend or descend.
Gutrichs activated the lift with an idle wave of his hand over the tablet on the inner fence, and it rattled to life, descending with some speeds. As it dropped through the circle’s floor and then revealed a bird’s eye view of the Sixth beneath, Phicus gripped his papers with one hand and kept the other firmly on his focus, a wand of ivory tipped with drakeglass.
His master spoke up over the clunking of gears, surveying the city with hands clasped behind his back. “Since it is only my approval we wait on, I am to assume all went well with the passing of the project’s motion?” Phicus did so wish his mentor would keep the slightest bit up to date with things outside his laboratory. “By a certain definition, Sir. The Exalted Council was split, and it only passed by a difference of one vote.” He replied. “Some, naturally, would support any project you deem to put your name to, let alone head. Others saw good reason to explore the potential of the Fragments as a method of bolstering the ranks.”
Phicus rustled through some papers at the back of his stack to scan the transcriptions. “The detractors seemed mostly concerned over the sheer amount of requested resources being allocated to a project with a… volatile track record, when several others of the Assembly’s ventures are already stretched thin.” He continued. “Then, a good number protested the idea of allocating the Fragments to young, unproven novices rather than, say, well-trained Champions.”
Gutrichs scoffed. “Last that I checked, our preeminent Champions are quite busy keeping back the Unmade Kings’ forces, and the fiends of the night, to name a few.” He said. “They do not understand that there is no greater test for these armaments than to be wielded by the spirited and inventive. A Champion would wield a weapon exactly as it is intended; these youngsters will push them to their limits, in ways we will not expect.”
“I hope more will come to see it that way, Sir, before the first assessment is held.” Phicus agreed tentatively. “I somewhat suspect that the disapproval may have been in part due to the ‘lowlier’ backgrounds of some of the prospective knights.” He continued. “And moreso, the fact that one of them is Beastfolk.”
The last comment made Gutrichs turn to Phicus with puzzlement and wonder. “Beastfolk, you say…” He pensively adjusted his beard. “When I was a young fool, I aimed to sail to the isle of Redrock. It is said to be where the oldest, wildest magic in Naedria lives.” He said. “But I was forewarned, as they were harsh to outsiders, not to mention raiders and pirates. Of course, I had other ventures, and then the Wars… I never had the chance in the end.”
“It’s no impossibility, Sir.” Phicus piped up. “Now that the Assembly has a governing presence…” He faltered when Gutrichs side-eyed him. “You think that makes it safer, young man?” His master said. “They’ve been given only more reasons to despise us.”
~~~
Leanna Thaumatan, sometimes-mercenary, currently Private Envoy to the Office of Iziquil Gutrichs, observed her team from the balustraded platform from which steps led down to a cobble square. The straw-and-burlap dummies, at the very least, were no match for the young fighters she had set loose on them so their familiarity with the weapons they had received only earlier this morning could develop. Though the air of late summer was warm in her armor, she had respite from the shadow of the Godsword that seemed to be almost cleaving the Circle in twain.
When she heard the clunking of the approaching lift, she brushed a few loose strands of hair behind her ear and leaned on the balustrade with her arms crossed. The old wizard was dressed in opulent and immaculately kept robes of blue and gold, peering at her with stony eyes set deep in a wrinkled face, over a voluminous white mane that fell to his navel. He approached with his scribe in tow, a subdued man whose largely unkempt black locks of hair and stubble spoke of many missed hours of sleep. “My Envoy.” The old man said by way of greeting, and Leanna returned a nod. “I’m afraid that since our last consultation, I’ve been quite preoccupied in my workspace. Care to enlighten me about your endeavors, and the state of our newest regiment?”
“Sure.” Leanna said. “Per your advice, I took to Ivermore two weeks ago. The administrators were not too charmed the idea with bringing their novices into armed conflict, but interestingly, the mention of your involvement seemed to open many doors.” Gutrichs gave no sign of finding this in any way surprising. “Word travelled fast, unfortunately, that I was recruiting for something unique- not even what, and yet the little tykes beset me. I spent most of two weeks weeding out the mages who felt they deserved my attention merely for their name.”
“I filtered my options by every directive you gave me. I looked for novices with training in armed combat, not just arcana. Once I had a shortlist, I let them show off their craft to me, even sparred a few.” Master Gutrichs piqued a brow. “And did any prove an even match?” Leanna couldn’t see if he was smiling, but thought he might be. “Of course not.” She replied. “But how long they held out, and how they handled losing, gave me indications too.”
She motioned for her employer to step toward the balustrade and survey the team. “You asked for five, and these are the ones I felt most secure in. They’re spirited, show potential to grow. All have much to learn, naturally, but most of them had to fight to even get into Ivermore. I took the liberty of having their arms of choice prototyped by the artificers. Pending your approval, they’ll be implanted with the Fragments following the initiation ceremony.”
Gutrichs clasped his hands. “Very well. Talk me through each of them, the pertinent qualities.” He said. Leanna pointed to the prospective Knight on the far left, a middling-tall young man whose auburn hair clashed with the royal purple waistcoat that he and his teammates still wore, over black pants and a white blouse, as part of their Ivermore uniform, missing only the cumbersome black overcoat. “Bronzebender, of Marren’s Eve. Born to smiths, who must’ve spent every penny in their name to get him into Ivermore. Prodigious tinkerer, and according to his teachers, proficient at at metamancy- may make a more than decent artificer, one day.” She said. “He’s got heart, seems to want to do right. And he’s composed- bore a smile even after I kicked his shins in.”
“Interesting choice of weapon.” Phicus said, observing the mage cut away at dummies with a scythe that he wielded in much the same fashion as one would a poleaxe. Leanne shrugged. “You grow up town as small and rural as Marren’s Eve, I suppose you train with what you have.” She replied. “He knows how to make use of the reach and to hook limbs. With a farmer’s scythe bending or snapping of the blade would be an issue, but not so with drakeglass.” She turned her attention to the second novice, a boy notably smaller than the first and frankly small for his age, wiry of frame with black hair and tinkerer’s goggles, who had taken to sparring with a teammate.
“Goldenrod, of the First Circle. Father’s a craftsman, supplies shields to the city guard. Thought of as a righteous man in the circle, I found. I suspect he may have used his good standing with the city to help his son get into Ivermore.” She mused. “He’s our youngest, but he was taught well, both how to use a shield and how to tinker with one.” The boy was deftly defending against the onslaught from a girl with a short, wrist-mounted blade, neither seeming to mind the fact it could lead to real injury. “He gets back up quick when he’s put down. I think I knocked him halfway to a concussion before he tapped out. Instructors say he’s shown promise in the elemental arts and metamancy; seems to like keeping his repertoire broad, keep his opponent guessing. The artificers made a shield with his focus at the front, letting him throw spells from behind it once it has the Fragment. Should serve him well.”
“The girl, then?” Gutrichs asked. “Theodoria Mequie, of Augury Plaza.” Leanna answered, watching the slender girl’s curly hair sway with each lunge towards Rusty. “Goes by Theo. My first and easiest pick, to be truthful. Smart girl, driven, well-spoken. Her teachers speak highly of her; her peers seem a little intimidated.” Phicus made an amused sound. “Do you see something of yourself reflected, Lady Leanna?” He asked innocuously. Leanna gave half a smirk. “She may wish. At any rate, she’s clearly been passionate in training with a shortsword, I think not for any reason but self-cultivation.”
Leanna shifted to the penultimate prospect-Knight, a young man who could be mistaken for a twenty-something with his height and trained build, paying the others little heed as he focused on dicing up his straw doll with a pair of daggers. “My only exception to the “no snobs”rule, as I couldn’t ignore the potency of his psionic gifts… Morningstar.” Phicus looked to her with sudden apprehension. “... You mean of those Morningstars?” He may have led a sheltered childhood on the Fifth Circle, but even Phicus knew the meaning of that name.
“Quite so.” Neither Leanna nor Gutrichs seemed as disquieted. “Void isn’t paraded around like his siblings, so I can only assume he’s their black sheep, gods know why. I would have said he lacked the social wherewithal to function in a squad like this, but it may actually do him good to be a part of something new.” She pursed her lips. “Plus, I couldn’t ignore his skillset. Of the five, he came closest to posing a real challenge when we fought. He’s dastardly quick, dextrous, and a proficient psionist to boot. Put me off kilter a few times with his illusions. If he had ten more years on him, I’d hate to meet him in a dark alleyway.”
Gutrichs set his sights on the last prospect. “Last but not least?" The envoy gave a rare broad smile. “Yeah, I knew this one would make the Council blow a gasket, but I singled him out for other reasons, too.” She said, looking out at what could only be described as a man-sized otter, in many ways identical to the otters found in streams upriver of Godsword but for his bipedal gait and standing height of over six foot. “Seth Sylasson Rudderdog- not just from Redrock, but heir to its throne. Came to Ivermore by means of a ‘peace-building exchange’, but with the stares and abuse he must get, you wonder why he bothers.”
With a sure posture, the young beastman arced back, then threw his harpoon with force, striking his pretend foe in the midriff before sauntering over to retrieve it and repeat. “He had qualified ideas for his weapon- gave our metamancers quite a challenge. Once that harpoon is powered by a Fragment, it will hone in on threats, return to his hand and even snare his foe’s lower limbs if he pierces their shadows.” Leanna continued. “Anyway, young Rudderdog is… pleasant, actually. The very image of politeness and placidity.”
“Come now, Leanna, that’s not all you have to say.” Gutrichs spoke up. Leanna frowned back at him. “Of course not. Merely thought you should know what pretense he puts out.” She replied. “I can assure you there is a keen mind under that fur, and a disciplined one. When we fought, there was not a wasted move. His aim was not to play at winning; he only demonstrated his skill. I get the sense he takes this, and perhaps every endeavor, deathly serious.”
Gutrichs pensively held his chin. “The implications of a Beastman assuming the role of a defender of the Naedrian realm are great.” He mused. “It could build unforeseen relations with others of his kind- if they see it not as betrayal. In any regard, it will fan the flames of rumour when the Artifice Knights make themselves known. The forces of darkness could stand to fear us a little more.”
The old wizard turned to Leanna. “You have my blessings to continue with this lineup, Envoy. As well you knew.” Leanna nodded in agreement. The old man would never have denied her and have her waste another week or two finding new candidates, anyway. He had more pertinent matters to attend to. “The initiation ceremony will be prepared for tomorrow’s eve, then. Since the Knights fall under your purview, your presence will be required for the swearing-in.” She cocked her head. “Perhaps a short speech would be in order?”
Master Gutrichs grumbled something into his beard, and sighed. “I suppose it’s to be a historic occasion, if the concept of the Artifice Knights proves itself. Very well, I will attend.” He inclined his head. “Lady Thaumatan.” He said, and departed. Phicus gave a friendly wave before following the elder mage back to the lift.
“I neglected to ask before, Phicus…” Gutrichs started when they reached the platform and the glass door fell shut. “Whose vote did we swing to our favour to pass the motion unadjusted?” Phicus looked to his papers again. “That would have been Grand Consigner Brae Ashfield, Sir. On the grounds that, I quote-”He pulled a face. “The pupils of a Fifth Circle institution are, if nothing else, expendable.” Master Gutrichs did not reply. From behind him, Phicus could not see the shadow that befell the old man’s face.
~~~
Leanna pushed open the oak door with her pack of novices in tow, most of whom seemed to be varying degrees of elated and intimidated by the earlier news that their inclusion in the rank of Artifice Knights would soon be fact (even if the rank had only just been invented, and none knew what it truly entailed). They stepped into a large open hall, lit by gaslight and sunrays coming through the roof half constructed of glass set into iron frames.
It was a sober quarters by Sixth Circle standards, and therefore luxurious to most of its new inhabitants. One of the long walls was split into two levels with various rooms- as they would later uncover, a large enclosed kitchen (surely manned by staff around mealtimes), bathing amenities (with hot water available through brass taps!) and an open storage on the ground floor. Above that, six evenly spaced doors with nameplates (one empty) set into walls of plaster and wood, which led to bedrooms with ample furnishing. A set of wide stairs wrapped around the lower storage up to the gallery of bedroom doors.
Before them as they entered was a large dining table with heavy oaken chairs, but the rest of the hall seemed taken up by two features; a square platform walled on three sides by stone, targets stacked in the corners, and secondly a library with seating and bookcases filled to the brim, as well as a table laden with alchemical instruments and a few tinkerer’s choice pieces.
“We did this up before you were even picked.” Leanna started, her voice calling the immediate attention of the Knights; they had learned, if nothing else, to listen closely to Lady Thaumatan’s every word. “It should serve every purpose it needs to further both your education as arcanists, and your training as Knights. This all may seem like great privilege, but do not forget you will also be held to higher standards than any of your peers in Godsword.” She assured them. “What exactly your responsibilities will entail is nebulous to you still, I know- this is a tumultuous and unsure time for us all, frankly. Much will be cleared up following your initiation and the start of your training proper.”
She looked to the weapons that the former students of Ivermore still held on their person. “Keep your armaments close. They are not, as you know, completed, but they are priceless artifacts by their make and much of your future will depend on your handling of it. For now, grow accustomed to one another’s company. Your cohesion is as vital as your individuality, though much of it will come with time. You will be awoken at dawn tomorrow, and are expected at the same Guard’s field as today at seven-thirty sharp.”
She calmly made for the door, but turned to face the crew again just before stepping through. “Oh, and since I was assured of your participation, I took the liberty of using your measurements for Ivermore’s school uniforms to have your armors crafted. They’re on stands in your bedrooms. Wear them to training tomorrow.” It was all she had to say, but still her gaze lingered for a second on their wide-eyed faces. In the chaos of stringing together a project this great in scale in so short a time, it had become easy to forget who they were drawing into the ranks. Children, they looked like to her. Would their missions ever lead them into greater danger than any their age should face?
“Rest well.” She said, and pulled close the door.
~~~
OOC NOTES;
A city in levels, of stone and brass, great pillars supporting platforms stacked partly over one another like scales; rails snake above and between them, carrying people and goods on skytrams. It climbs to the base of a sword that has been stabbed point-first into the river valley, rivaling a mountain in size, and in the light of midday its stone gleams as though it were steel.
The farmer remembers asking Father what had carried the Godsword, and Father had recalled the Time of Titans. For days after, he’d awoken to nightmares of creatures that could crush his town underfoot.
The mules comes to a sudden stop and bristle when they spot a figure approaching on the side of the road. He does not need to wait to hear the hissing and rattling; the marching gait is unmistakable. The farmer jumps from his perch to take his mules by the reins and still their nerves, but his own heart flutters when the Stiff closes in, and comes to a halt not five feet from him.
The man of brass plates and steel bolts, carrying a halberd and glowing with an eerie green light from within, fixes its cold, pupilless emerald eyes on him, making unknowable assessments. The farmer can think of nothing to do but tip his hat. A few more terse seconds, and the Stiff’s head snaps away and it marches off. The man releases his held breath shakily.
“The Stiffs keep us safe?” His father had spat once. “From bandits, sure, soldiers and wolves, and things that live in the dark. But not from their masters, not from mages. And a man with any brain fears mages above all.”
Before the farmer climbed back onto his carriage, he picked up a pebble from the road. With a call, the mules began to move once more. He opened his hand and looked to the pebble, which softly rose an inch or two from his palm on a stream of the faintest white light.
He’d held no secrets for Father. None but this one. It would’ve broken the old man’s heart.
~~~
Phicus gave the door to Master Gutrichs' magisterium two sharp knocks, a feat given the thickness of the stack of paper in his hands. A mechanical eye set into the richly decorated wood sprang open, looking him up and down with a glowing purple iris set in black stone, before retracting. The door then split down the middle and its halves retracted into the wall with a soft scraping sound, permitting entry.
His master only gave him a glance from the workdesk riddled with finely crafted metal parts and old, dusty tomes. As he approached, he tried not to look out the tall windows to the city sprawling far below. "Yes, Phicus, what is it?" Gutrichs started curtly, his attention focused on a glowing instrument before him.
"Sir, the Captain of the Tempest Guard thinks it time for you to see to the Artifice Knights." The scribe-assistant replied. "Preliminary testing of the arms- and their wielders- has yielded no dangers to the Fragment stability, so with your approval of the lineup, we may move on to the next phase."
Master Gutrichs arched an eyebrow. “If I did not think Leanna could procure a workable lineup, I would not have asked her.” He grumbled. Phicus nodded. “It’s a formality, Sir, but an important one, I’m afraid.” With a sigh, Gutrichs arose from his high-backed swiveling chair. “I suppose I might as well see whose hands my creations have ended up in.”
“The subjects have been gathered on the Guard’s grounds, Master. Sixth Circle.” Phicus said, trailing out the door behind the magister. “Shall I call for a private skytram?” Gutrichs did not break his brisk gait. “Nonsense. We will take the lift and be there in half the time.” He replied, to Phicus’ dismay.
On the outer balcony of the Seventh Circle, the city’s highest and smallest plateau housing only the Assembly’s most important members, laboratories and seminaries, a large cylinder of wrought steel and glass stood separate from the grand halls. Within, a circular walkway surrounded a central spire with brass teeth, which large gears and a complicated mesh of wires and weights allowed the walkway to ascend or descend.
Gutrichs activated the lift with an idle wave of his hand over the tablet on the inner fence, and it rattled to life, descending with some speeds. As it dropped through the circle’s floor and then revealed a bird’s eye view of the Sixth beneath, Phicus gripped his papers with one hand and kept the other firmly on his focus, a wand of ivory tipped with drakeglass.
His master spoke up over the clunking of gears, surveying the city with hands clasped behind his back. “Since it is only my approval we wait on, I am to assume all went well with the passing of the project’s motion?” Phicus did so wish his mentor would keep the slightest bit up to date with things outside his laboratory. “By a certain definition, Sir. The Exalted Council was split, and it only passed by a difference of one vote.” He replied. “Some, naturally, would support any project you deem to put your name to, let alone head. Others saw good reason to explore the potential of the Fragments as a method of bolstering the ranks.”
Phicus rustled through some papers at the back of his stack to scan the transcriptions. “The detractors seemed mostly concerned over the sheer amount of requested resources being allocated to a project with a… volatile track record, when several others of the Assembly’s ventures are already stretched thin.” He continued. “Then, a good number protested the idea of allocating the Fragments to young, unproven novices rather than, say, well-trained Champions.”
Gutrichs scoffed. “Last that I checked, our preeminent Champions are quite busy keeping back the Unmade Kings’ forces, and the fiends of the night, to name a few.” He said. “They do not understand that there is no greater test for these armaments than to be wielded by the spirited and inventive. A Champion would wield a weapon exactly as it is intended; these youngsters will push them to their limits, in ways we will not expect.”
“I hope more will come to see it that way, Sir, before the first assessment is held.” Phicus agreed tentatively. “I somewhat suspect that the disapproval may have been in part due to the ‘lowlier’ backgrounds of some of the prospective knights.” He continued. “And moreso, the fact that one of them is Beastfolk.”
The last comment made Gutrichs turn to Phicus with puzzlement and wonder. “Beastfolk, you say…” He pensively adjusted his beard. “When I was a young fool, I aimed to sail to the isle of Redrock. It is said to be where the oldest, wildest magic in Naedria lives.” He said. “But I was forewarned, as they were harsh to outsiders, not to mention raiders and pirates. Of course, I had other ventures, and then the Wars… I never had the chance in the end.”
“It’s no impossibility, Sir.” Phicus piped up. “Now that the Assembly has a governing presence…” He faltered when Gutrichs side-eyed him. “You think that makes it safer, young man?” His master said. “They’ve been given only more reasons to despise us.”
~~~
Leanna Thaumatan, sometimes-mercenary, currently Private Envoy to the Office of Iziquil Gutrichs, observed her team from the balustraded platform from which steps led down to a cobble square. The straw-and-burlap dummies, at the very least, were no match for the young fighters she had set loose on them so their familiarity with the weapons they had received only earlier this morning could develop. Though the air of late summer was warm in her armor, she had respite from the shadow of the Godsword that seemed to be almost cleaving the Circle in twain.
When she heard the clunking of the approaching lift, she brushed a few loose strands of hair behind her ear and leaned on the balustrade with her arms crossed. The old wizard was dressed in opulent and immaculately kept robes of blue and gold, peering at her with stony eyes set deep in a wrinkled face, over a voluminous white mane that fell to his navel. He approached with his scribe in tow, a subdued man whose largely unkempt black locks of hair and stubble spoke of many missed hours of sleep. “My Envoy.” The old man said by way of greeting, and Leanna returned a nod. “I’m afraid that since our last consultation, I’ve been quite preoccupied in my workspace. Care to enlighten me about your endeavors, and the state of our newest regiment?”
“Sure.” Leanna said. “Per your advice, I took to Ivermore two weeks ago. The administrators were not too charmed the idea with bringing their novices into armed conflict, but interestingly, the mention of your involvement seemed to open many doors.” Gutrichs gave no sign of finding this in any way surprising. “Word travelled fast, unfortunately, that I was recruiting for something unique- not even what, and yet the little tykes beset me. I spent most of two weeks weeding out the mages who felt they deserved my attention merely for their name.”
“I filtered my options by every directive you gave me. I looked for novices with training in armed combat, not just arcana. Once I had a shortlist, I let them show off their craft to me, even sparred a few.” Master Gutrichs piqued a brow. “And did any prove an even match?” Leanna couldn’t see if he was smiling, but thought he might be. “Of course not.” She replied. “But how long they held out, and how they handled losing, gave me indications too.”
She motioned for her employer to step toward the balustrade and survey the team. “You asked for five, and these are the ones I felt most secure in. They’re spirited, show potential to grow. All have much to learn, naturally, but most of them had to fight to even get into Ivermore. I took the liberty of having their arms of choice prototyped by the artificers. Pending your approval, they’ll be implanted with the Fragments following the initiation ceremony.”
Gutrichs clasped his hands. “Very well. Talk me through each of them, the pertinent qualities.” He said. Leanna pointed to the prospective Knight on the far left, a middling-tall young man whose auburn hair clashed with the royal purple waistcoat that he and his teammates still wore, over black pants and a white blouse, as part of their Ivermore uniform, missing only the cumbersome black overcoat. “Bronzebender, of Marren’s Eve. Born to smiths, who must’ve spent every penny in their name to get him into Ivermore. Prodigious tinkerer, and according to his teachers, proficient at at metamancy- may make a more than decent artificer, one day.” She said. “He’s got heart, seems to want to do right. And he’s composed- bore a smile even after I kicked his shins in.”
“Interesting choice of weapon.” Phicus said, observing the mage cut away at dummies with a scythe that he wielded in much the same fashion as one would a poleaxe. Leanne shrugged. “You grow up town as small and rural as Marren’s Eve, I suppose you train with what you have.” She replied. “He knows how to make use of the reach and to hook limbs. With a farmer’s scythe bending or snapping of the blade would be an issue, but not so with drakeglass.” She turned her attention to the second novice, a boy notably smaller than the first and frankly small for his age, wiry of frame with black hair and tinkerer’s goggles, who had taken to sparring with a teammate.
“Goldenrod, of the First Circle. Father’s a craftsman, supplies shields to the city guard. Thought of as a righteous man in the circle, I found. I suspect he may have used his good standing with the city to help his son get into Ivermore.” She mused. “He’s our youngest, but he was taught well, both how to use a shield and how to tinker with one.” The boy was deftly defending against the onslaught from a girl with a short, wrist-mounted blade, neither seeming to mind the fact it could lead to real injury. “He gets back up quick when he’s put down. I think I knocked him halfway to a concussion before he tapped out. Instructors say he’s shown promise in the elemental arts and metamancy; seems to like keeping his repertoire broad, keep his opponent guessing. The artificers made a shield with his focus at the front, letting him throw spells from behind it once it has the Fragment. Should serve him well.”
“The girl, then?” Gutrichs asked. “Theodoria Mequie, of Augury Plaza.” Leanna answered, watching the slender girl’s curly hair sway with each lunge towards Rusty. “Goes by Theo. My first and easiest pick, to be truthful. Smart girl, driven, well-spoken. Her teachers speak highly of her; her peers seem a little intimidated.” Phicus made an amused sound. “Do you see something of yourself reflected, Lady Leanna?” He asked innocuously. Leanna gave half a smirk. “She may wish. At any rate, she’s clearly been passionate in training with a shortsword, I think not for any reason but self-cultivation.”
Leanna shifted to the penultimate prospect-Knight, a young man who could be mistaken for a twenty-something with his height and trained build, paying the others little heed as he focused on dicing up his straw doll with a pair of daggers. “My only exception to the “no snobs”rule, as I couldn’t ignore the potency of his psionic gifts… Morningstar.” Phicus looked to her with sudden apprehension. “... You mean of those Morningstars?” He may have led a sheltered childhood on the Fifth Circle, but even Phicus knew the meaning of that name.
“Quite so.” Neither Leanna nor Gutrichs seemed as disquieted. “Void isn’t paraded around like his siblings, so I can only assume he’s their black sheep, gods know why. I would have said he lacked the social wherewithal to function in a squad like this, but it may actually do him good to be a part of something new.” She pursed her lips. “Plus, I couldn’t ignore his skillset. Of the five, he came closest to posing a real challenge when we fought. He’s dastardly quick, dextrous, and a proficient psionist to boot. Put me off kilter a few times with his illusions. If he had ten more years on him, I’d hate to meet him in a dark alleyway.”
Gutrichs set his sights on the last prospect. “Last but not least?" The envoy gave a rare broad smile. “Yeah, I knew this one would make the Council blow a gasket, but I singled him out for other reasons, too.” She said, looking out at what could only be described as a man-sized otter, in many ways identical to the otters found in streams upriver of Godsword but for his bipedal gait and standing height of over six foot. “Seth Sylasson Rudderdog- not just from Redrock, but heir to its throne. Came to Ivermore by means of a ‘peace-building exchange’, but with the stares and abuse he must get, you wonder why he bothers.”
With a sure posture, the young beastman arced back, then threw his harpoon with force, striking his pretend foe in the midriff before sauntering over to retrieve it and repeat. “He had qualified ideas for his weapon- gave our metamancers quite a challenge. Once that harpoon is powered by a Fragment, it will hone in on threats, return to his hand and even snare his foe’s lower limbs if he pierces their shadows.” Leanna continued. “Anyway, young Rudderdog is… pleasant, actually. The very image of politeness and placidity.”
“Come now, Leanna, that’s not all you have to say.” Gutrichs spoke up. Leanna frowned back at him. “Of course not. Merely thought you should know what pretense he puts out.” She replied. “I can assure you there is a keen mind under that fur, and a disciplined one. When we fought, there was not a wasted move. His aim was not to play at winning; he only demonstrated his skill. I get the sense he takes this, and perhaps every endeavor, deathly serious.”
Gutrichs pensively held his chin. “The implications of a Beastman assuming the role of a defender of the Naedrian realm are great.” He mused. “It could build unforeseen relations with others of his kind- if they see it not as betrayal. In any regard, it will fan the flames of rumour when the Artifice Knights make themselves known. The forces of darkness could stand to fear us a little more.”
The old wizard turned to Leanna. “You have my blessings to continue with this lineup, Envoy. As well you knew.” Leanna nodded in agreement. The old man would never have denied her and have her waste another week or two finding new candidates, anyway. He had more pertinent matters to attend to. “The initiation ceremony will be prepared for tomorrow’s eve, then. Since the Knights fall under your purview, your presence will be required for the swearing-in.” She cocked her head. “Perhaps a short speech would be in order?”
Master Gutrichs grumbled something into his beard, and sighed. “I suppose it’s to be a historic occasion, if the concept of the Artifice Knights proves itself. Very well, I will attend.” He inclined his head. “Lady Thaumatan.” He said, and departed. Phicus gave a friendly wave before following the elder mage back to the lift.
“I neglected to ask before, Phicus…” Gutrichs started when they reached the platform and the glass door fell shut. “Whose vote did we swing to our favour to pass the motion unadjusted?” Phicus looked to his papers again. “That would have been Grand Consigner Brae Ashfield, Sir. On the grounds that, I quote-”He pulled a face. “The pupils of a Fifth Circle institution are, if nothing else, expendable.” Master Gutrichs did not reply. From behind him, Phicus could not see the shadow that befell the old man’s face.
~~~
Leanna pushed open the oak door with her pack of novices in tow, most of whom seemed to be varying degrees of elated and intimidated by the earlier news that their inclusion in the rank of Artifice Knights would soon be fact (even if the rank had only just been invented, and none knew what it truly entailed). They stepped into a large open hall, lit by gaslight and sunrays coming through the roof half constructed of glass set into iron frames.
It was a sober quarters by Sixth Circle standards, and therefore luxurious to most of its new inhabitants. One of the long walls was split into two levels with various rooms- as they would later uncover, a large enclosed kitchen (surely manned by staff around mealtimes), bathing amenities (with hot water available through brass taps!) and an open storage on the ground floor. Above that, six evenly spaced doors with nameplates (one empty) set into walls of plaster and wood, which led to bedrooms with ample furnishing. A set of wide stairs wrapped around the lower storage up to the gallery of bedroom doors.
Before them as they entered was a large dining table with heavy oaken chairs, but the rest of the hall seemed taken up by two features; a square platform walled on three sides by stone, targets stacked in the corners, and secondly a library with seating and bookcases filled to the brim, as well as a table laden with alchemical instruments and a few tinkerer’s choice pieces.
“We did this up before you were even picked.” Leanna started, her voice calling the immediate attention of the Knights; they had learned, if nothing else, to listen closely to Lady Thaumatan’s every word. “It should serve every purpose it needs to further both your education as arcanists, and your training as Knights. This all may seem like great privilege, but do not forget you will also be held to higher standards than any of your peers in Godsword.” She assured them. “What exactly your responsibilities will entail is nebulous to you still, I know- this is a tumultuous and unsure time for us all, frankly. Much will be cleared up following your initiation and the start of your training proper.”
She looked to the weapons that the former students of Ivermore still held on their person. “Keep your armaments close. They are not, as you know, completed, but they are priceless artifacts by their make and much of your future will depend on your handling of it. For now, grow accustomed to one another’s company. Your cohesion is as vital as your individuality, though much of it will come with time. You will be awoken at dawn tomorrow, and are expected at the same Guard’s field as today at seven-thirty sharp.”
She calmly made for the door, but turned to face the crew again just before stepping through. “Oh, and since I was assured of your participation, I took the liberty of using your measurements for Ivermore’s school uniforms to have your armors crafted. They’re on stands in your bedrooms. Wear them to training tomorrow.” It was all she had to say, but still her gaze lingered for a second on their wide-eyed faces. In the chaos of stringing together a project this great in scale in so short a time, it had become easy to forget who they were drawing into the ranks. Children, they looked like to her. Would their missions ever lead them into greater danger than any their age should face?
“Rest well.” She said, and pulled close the door.
~~~
OOC NOTES;
- As indicated, the weapons are currently unpowered as the Godsword Fragments are not yet implanted. Play them as if they are regular, if supremely crafted metal weapons for now.
- Over the past two weeks, the PCs have been officially removed from their studies at Ivermore and fallen under the employ of the Arcanist Assembly, specifically the department of legendary artificer Master Gütrichs who is renowned for his hand in the inception of the automatons that ended the Totality Wars. They have been kept largely in the dark and know only that they are part of a project to test the efficacy of a new genre of weaponry that is not enchanted in a normal fashion, but will be powered by some unheard of, much greater source called a “fragment”. A fragment of what?
- The armor is part leather and layered fabrics, also partially enchanted platemail covering the vital areas, arms and lower legs, all in a colour scheme of immaculate white, cerulean, and chrome. It would likely be slightly personalized to your character to optimize their fighting efficiency- feel free to use your imagination!
- Contact me in the OOC thread or PM with any further questions if you get stuck or are unsure on any matter.
