A hooded figure stood motionless before an altar, upon which lay a head sized purple orb. The device glowed with energy, the air around crackling with power, and from it emerged a voice, deep and harsh.
“Rhododendrun, your presence is required back at home. The war has taken a turn, the earlier expectations were wrong. Our tools are unable to breach the northern valley, every Warden is being called back. The appropriate sum of fuel to power the ritual has not been achieved, without the veil’s extension, we cannot mobilize inhuman forces against our enemies. All three Wardens must return, how many catenarii have you managed to create in your time abroad? And how many can you maintain without access to the veil’s power?” Surrounding the orb in a triangular formation were crystals of concentrated mana. Every time the orb fluctuated, and the voice reverberated in the dark claustrophobic room, the crystals glow would fade, thin lines of energy feeding the base of the orb itself.
“Crystalized mana, whether found in nature, carved out of the hearts of tainted beasts, or manufactured using human lives is rare. Only the human method has proven success, but due to the Sordes, the bottom feeder’s theft of Myrmien from our control, my agents no longer report back. No doubt, Orchid, and her Wodhling’s are to blame, one was even present within the Capital… it hampered my operation against the target.” Rhododendrun showed little fear in the face of his master, instead his voice was filled with anger, particularly when he spoke of the trash, the Sordes. Members of the knightly order of Chalybs refused to recognize the assassination order of Wodh, labeling them trash, Sordes, bottom-feeders, the two factions often coming to blows with one another.
“Forget the trash Rhododendrun, Orchid has won on the island. Let her spread her chaos, the Sordes only seek death and destruction to feed their addictions. We are order and balance; our purpose is to protect the goddess and extend her will. Where the Wodh kill and consume, we grant blessings and subjugate, the tools rise to achieve their purpose. If their souls must be fed into the veil to hasten the Goddesses’ resurrection, then they should accept their noble role.” Even as the Chalbys knight commander spoke through the device, the screams of countless souls could be heard in the background.
As the orb also acted as a looking glass, Rhododendrun could see the viscous forms of thousands of souls. Their original bodies strewn about, pained shrieks reverberating as the souls were sucked away into a hut sized crystal. With each soul the outer edges of the crystal expanded, another crystal calcifying upon those that came before. This was followed by a surge of green, blue, and dark purple energy, all feeding into skies above.
“The Wardens are meant to imprison the wicked, and the non-believers, the souls of the weak stored away, and the bodies of the strong reforged into useful tools, that is what the catenarii are. Your purpose was to solidify the Syroneikan lands under a strong ruler who had taken your deal, one who was willing to submit his people for whatever desire. The deal has been made, your part is complete, we are not their tools, if they gain victory with the powers granted then the goddess wins. If they break the agreement, then their soul and body are ours, again the goddess wins.” The Knight commander walked over towards one of the women laying on the ground, she was still struggling, her soul fighting desperately against the power that was pulling against it.
Grabbing hold of the woman, he lifted her up with a single gauntleted fist, and penetrated her chest with a finger, piercing her heart. The woman screamed as the commander gazed upon her, his expression masked by the helm of twisted wood and black steel, with only his burning purple eyes visible through the slit of the helm. After a minute the woman’s body began to shudder and shake, limbs flailing in every direction. Then the transformation began, around the heart grew a bud, and from that twisted flower sprung vines which coiled around the body, draining the blood, with the flesh undergoing petrification. After which a wooden mask grew around the face, this one in the shape of a hawk, concealing the signs of change except for the eyes which blazed with green light.
“You are my best student Rhododendrun, remember that whether the Sordes win, or we win, the will of the Goddess is all that matters. Leave that fight, allow the Wodhlings to descend into their madness, they are after all born to die. As their bodies and minds decay, they will be replaced, one day our number will be enough to eliminate them. For now, we bide our time and strengthen our numbers, I have found the southern Perenti tribes to be of excellent catenarii stock. Hurry back and lead our armies, the barbarian chief Aesarius has proven to be a thorn in our side… Capture him!” With that end the mana crystals supplying the orb had begun to run dry, their light faded and dim. These were all that remained, so until they returned to the mainland, Rhododendrun would need to conserve the use of the orb.
Donning his wood carved owl mask, the hooded Rhododendrun stalked the darkened streets of the Capital, easily avoiding the prying eyes of the city guard. Security within the city had been increased substantially following the Scholar’s bold move on the western district. Although the guard attempted to impose their will upon the slums, they were repulsed by the Scylla who had quickly moved in to fill the void left by the Taureas’s destruction.
The giant figure moved with the nimbleness of a cat, and the silence of a mouse, barely a shadow in the dark of night. Soon arriving at a medium sized merchant vessel, its crew prepped for departure first thing in the morning. Having arrived at his destination, the Warden did not hide himself, instead casually announcing his arrival and waltzing up the ramp of the docked vessel.
“Lord Rhoden, we were expecting you early tomorrow morning. Your cabin is not yet ready, perhaps I can-” The ship’s captain was clearly flustered as he tried to figure out ways to accommodate his noble passenger. Rhododendrun instead put up his hand, shutting down the flustered, confused, and desperate captain.
“Do not worry captain, simply allow me into the hold. I will rest alongside my cargo, there is no need to make accommodations for me. I am not one who requires or desires the trappings of the nobles. You may carry on.” Having little choice the captain unlocked the hold, handing the key to the large skulking figure and retreated to his chambers.
For his part the Warden moved down the stairs and into the dark, clammy, and constricted confines of the lower hold. There resting in a corner were three man-sized crates, concealed by numerous other goods. Within the three crates were his remaining catenarii, one of which was the failure, the weak Therapon, scion of House Duris, who single-handedly caused destruction of his entire house. A wicked boy, without skill nor value, other than his conniving, arrogant, and rotten personality. Yet his survival instincts were exceptional, instincts which had translated into a base, almost inconsequential form of clairvoyance, allowing the catenarii created to evade death in almost impossible situations.
Even if the current catenarii had their value, it was clear that he regretted the loss of the other two. Both the Duris patriarch and elder son made exceptional pawns, as they possessed strong foundations and retained some skills carried over from before their transformation. Yet Rhoden could not contain his rage, smashing one of the containers filled with fruits. The source of anger none other than the Sordes, the Wodhling Rafflessia who inhibited his control over the catenarii resulting in its destruction at the hands of the Scholar’s retinue. In addition to her destruction of his other prized catenarii when she chose to impede his path.
He vowed to destroy that insane creature whenever the opportunity arose. Yet Rafflessia had numerous enemies, and each of them had their own plans for her. One of which was close at hand.
