Bard Constantine
The Darkest Champion
Map of Erseta
"If i could see, I'd see fathoms
of suspended moments, petrified
happenstance, and unrealized
intentions fall
like diamond dust across
skies of frozen amber, glowing
fireflies that drift slowly
into darkness, wings whispering
softly as they expire in
Eternity's cavern."
Prelude: Masiki
Masiki trod on the ashes of the civilization she created. Delicate flakes drifted from the smoke-smothered sky, silent testimony of the once-proud constructs reduced to little more than rubble. The stench of soot and burnt bodies hung in the air; corpses littered the streets, some still smoldering and blackened beyond recognition. The curtain of smoky haze periodically parted to allow brief glimpses of the steepled pyramids that towered above the chaos — mute witnesses that helplessly watched their city as it collapsed in spurts of blood and fire.
The streets were hushed. The conquerors from Sargonia escaped from the simmering heat inside of the buildings they spared, their attention diverted by the spoils of war. They delighted in feasting and revelry, torture and humiliation of their captives, and whatever other depravities they could conjure up behind the walls of the newly occupied structures. There was no need to remain alert or post more than the occasional lookout or squadron of guards. The mighty nation of Hikuptah was conquered, humbled by a rebellion of its slaves and one former soldier the common people named Godslayer.
Masiki smiled. The problem with slaying gods was the demise of an entire people's faith as a result. The Godslayer could have assumed the mantle of leadership, but he shockingly abandoned his spoils and disappeared, leaving the nation reeling from his departure. With their figurehead gone, the city of freed slaves quickly found their newfound sovereignty was to be short-lived. When word of the disarray quickly reached the neighboring nation of Sargonia, the result was swift and brutal — an immediate strike by their notoriously bloodthirsty armies. Despite their renown as military experts, the Hikuptians lacked both the will and ability to direct their defenses. City by city fell until the remaining soldiers made a desperate last stand at the capitol of Al'Quihirah.
Where the city burned.
The wind tugged at the fringes of Masiki's shapeless black robes and the head scarf that left only her eyes exposed. She strode in the shadows of mammoth domed buildings where throngs once traversed with scarcely enough room to move.
A flicker of movement caught her eye.
A pair of children stared from where they huddled behind a stack of soot-stained crates. Their eyes were wide and haunted, their faces smeared with dirt. The boy had his arm around the scrawny shoulders of his sister, but the gesture was hopeless at best. There was no challenge on their faces, no fear. Only resignation.
Masiki passed them without a further glance. That they would be dead or worse in a matter of hours or days did not matter. It was the way of war. No one told the stories of the vanquished. There was never any heroism in the taking of a city. Only tears, blood, agony, and death. She had seen the same many times, and the story never changed. Only the victors changed, transforming the realities of savagery, rape, and torture into tales of legend and glory.
She made her way further into the bowels of Al'Quihirah, paying no more attention to the gaping wounds of the dying city. In an ironic twist, the Godslayer had left Hikuptah to pursue her, never assuming that she would abandon the trappings of godhood and take the guise of a commoner. She remained, watching as the Sargonians sacked, looted, and burned everything she had built for nearly an Age. Watched, knowing that at any moment she could have singlehandedly stopped the carnage; could have decimated the Sargonian forces with minimal effort and delivered the Hikuptians from the clutches of their destroyers.
Instead, she trod on their ashes.
The rank odor of sweat, unwashed bodies, and stale wine alerted her before the drunken laughter of the men that followed. Bands of mercenaries picked at the city's corpse like buzzards, seeking any leftovers they could salvage. The group that tailed her had tired of looting the dead and sought thrills from live sport.
"What's your hurry, sweetling? Are you lost? My men and I will be happy to escort you." More laughter rippled through the mob.
Masiki turned her head ever so slightly. She counted at least twenty men, a varied assortment from the surrounding lands. They were unkempt and disheveled, though their weapons looked suitable enough. Their armor was decorated with blood and grime, covering bodies lined with the lean muscles of born predators. Their eyes gleamed with a hunger for rape and murder so ripe she could practically smell it.
It took less than a second to spread her focus across the entire group. The expulsion of Transference registered as only the tiniest pulse across her mind, but the resulting blow struck with such force that their bodies were flung high into the air, accompanied by the grating sounds of shredded armor and splintered bones. Dusty cobblestones erupted in an explosion of flinty stone and stinging sand. Men screamed as their bodies burst against the ground like overripe figs. Their agonized cries faded as Masiki continued on her way, skirting the shadows of the tattered canopies overhead. In a short time, she arrived at her destination.
Sargonians had enough respect for their enemies' gods to leave their temples and shrines mostly unspoiled. The temple of Sokhet was similarly unmolested other than to verify that the Lektor priests had killed themselves as was their custom when their temple was sacked. The temple was massive as were most of the buildings, built to withstand the harsh heat and merciless sandstorms that regularly assaulted the city. Masiki approached a small, nearly invisible door at the side of the building. One of the Glyph carvings pulsed red as she approached and the door silently slid open to admit her.
The narrow hall was one even the priests did not know existed. It led to another door that opened to reveal a compartment barely large enough for one person to stand in. A single lever protruded from the side, which she pulled to the down position.
The hallway dropped out of sight as the compartment lowered. It descended deep into the depths of the temple before coming to a stop. She stepped out into her private chamber. Glimmering piles of coins, statuettes, weapons, silks, and carvings carelessly littered the room — all gifts from the people to Sokhet, goddess of war and healing. Masiki pursed her lips as she gazed at the nearly endless array of priceless offerings. She would have to clear her chamber of the rubbish soon. Her days as Sokhet were at an end. Though treasure had its power, it was paltry in comparison to what Masiki already possessed.
Her attention focused on the ornately gilded oculus in the corner of the chamber. Walking over to it, she placed her hand on the accompanying pedestal, where a corrugated sphere had been cut in two, revealing the glimmering crystals within. The stones pulsed at her touch, and the oculus' mirrored surface distorted in a blur of colors. Her reflection warped beyond recognition as the crystals' unique energies sought to connect with their counterparts far away. When the ripples morphed back into place, it was not her likeness that gazed back at her.
It was the Man with Mirrored Eyes.
His face was slender and fine-featured, framed by a mane of inky black hair that fell past his shoulders. But it was his irises that transfixed her. They had no color, barely discernable from the whites of his eyes because they shimmered like newly polished mirrors. Ancient knowledge and arcane secrets smoldered behind his commanding stare, mysteries she would one day inherit if she continued to serve him faithfully. The worship of a trifling few hundred thousand was nothing next to what she could gain by serving her Master. What she already knew was beyond any of her kind, but she was nowhere near content with that level of achievement. There was always more to learn, more enigmas to unravel. It was the power of true godhood that she hungered for.