Chapter 9 : I Won’t Back Down

Mnemon Rhomon, Sorcerer

Realm Year 764, Ascending Wood

Forest of Compassion, An-Teng, Satrapy of the Realm

The sudden appearance of a great many massive insects was, naturally, quite astonishing and disturbing. The centipedes came through the forest and around the now-broken wardstone like a wave of water rushing in after a shattered dyke. Each one was enormously larger than centipedes had any right to be, with segments as wide as his torso and pincers like steak-knives. They looked large enough to eat cats and small dogs, and thus more than large enough to bite and thrash a human around.

Rhomon wanted absolutely nothing to do with them. “-pedes!” He finished, swinging his staff around and holding it well ahead of him. He dropped his bags with a heavy thud behind him as he turned. 

The essence of a big centipede was an interesting thing, he noted distantly, thin and wispy-faint and spread throughout their bodies like a fragile wireframe. The essence-scrying visor was allowing him to see so much more of the world than before…

Fortunately, this shouldn’t be too troublesome. They had a Dragonblooded attuned to a daiklave with them, and so-

“Euugh!” Siata wailed, pulling back and raising an arm defensively. “I hate bugs!”

Rhomon’s one eye locked onto the side of his head. The black haired Dynast was recoiling with a disgusted look on his face, squinting at the wave of furious centipedes rapidly approaching their position. His essence was flaring invisibly, waves of blue-green building and washing over itself like waves at the shore, not yet strong enough to be visible to the naked eye.

A deep and sincere antipathy briefly built within him.

“There’s too many-” Brahm growled, backing up and swiping his fists at errant feelers. 

“Do we flee?!” Shuri asked, wide eyes and narrowed pupils as he drew his curved blade and bat errant approaching insects away.

They weren’t making any progress- there were too many of the giant insects in too close proximity. If either of them committed to a blow, then others would simply bite them to death. Like a phalanx made of pincers. 

Someone needed to open a gap. Rhomon stomped forwards. “Duck!” He growled with grit teeth, rearing his iron-wrought staff back. Brahm almost immediately hit the ground, dropping into a four-limbed crouch as the staff swept by overhead in a heavy, committed blow.

The staff smashed through a feeler, then into the side of one of the massive centipedes. His stomp forwards brought him into the wave of angry bugs. Feelers and legs and teeth reaching out to clamp down.

The virtuous guardian exploded out of his staff in a shield of fire, sending aside a blow and badly scorching the centipede that attempted it. The dozen other centipedes clamped down on his limbs and immediately began to thrash furiously. 

His skin was more durable than normal, thanks to his long-practice with invulnerable skin of bronze, the spell bleeding off long term effects into his body. It gave him a terrific tan and stopped him from cutting his fingers when chopping vegetables, and not much more. This additional durability helped a great deal as he was covered by giant insects doing their best to rip him apart. 

Pincers punched through his durable clothes and met the layer of chainmail that armored him, and his joints ached as they were pulled apart and twisted about. His virtuous guardian blazed brightly, swinging through the air in heavy arcs to cleave through insects clamping onto him and freeing individual limbs. 

One particularly fearsome centipede, covered in a thick black carapace, did its honest best to bite straight through his staff and rip out his neck. His limbs shook as he held its gnashing bug-maw back.

If his invulnerable skin of bronze was properly active, this wouldn’t be an issue, as it stood, he was starting to feel some nasty aches in his joints. 

It was, if he was being honest, slightly terrifying.

A calloused, sandaled foot smashed through the black-carapaced maw of the centipede trying to snap his staff in half. The bug fell back, carapace crunching inwards and a spray of grayish blood exploding out. Hands planted themselves on his shoulders, using him as a point of leverage to twist around and kick again.

Brahm’s heel smashed into the reeling centipede’s damaged head, then fell through, cleaving it down the middle with the snap-pop of carapace segments being smashed in half. 

The maws clamping down on his arms were suddenly removed, the distinct sound of a sword chopping through insectile shells and flesh. A hand grabbed at the back of his armor and ripped back, tossing him bodily back and making his boots drag across the jungle floor. 

He stabilized after a moment, staff planted in the ground and pushing against it. His guardian snapped out, following after him, and turned the face of one errant insect into char.

“Sorcerer-!” Brahm yelled angrily, weaving through snapping bug-fangs and kicking off, leaping back out of the mass of angry, injured insects and landing to his right, feet sliding back against the ground. “-What were you thinking?!”

“You needed an opening!” Rhomon declared, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He stomped forwards again, a wide sweep of his staff smashing into another centipede’s body and tossing it away. His guardian flashed, imposing itself between fangs and his legs. “I’m the only one with armor!”

“I’m wearing armor!” The Dragonblooded was finally getting into the fight, a grimace on his face as he swung the daiklave in heavy arcs. Rhomon wasn’t a particularly good swordsman himself, but somehow the dragonblooded was worse. His blows were utterly routine, carried by supernatural swiftness and crashing through the flimsy shells of the giant centipedes with the great weight of the blade.

It was just enough to be professionally passable, and nothing more. Rhomon felt a wave of vague bewilderment wash over him at the sight. Dragonblooded were supernaturally skilled at anything they put their mind to- for this one to just be at this level… Did he put any effort into swordplay at all?

“You weren’t doing anything!” Rhomon groused with an annoyed look, his guardian blocking another bite and making the centipede recoil with a burned maw. He focused his staff entirely on defensive maneuvers, blocking maws and batting aside heads, eating up attention and allowing his companions to attack unhindered. Shuri and Brahm made good use of this, their blade and fists cleaving bugs around the perimeter of the fighting and trimming them steadily down. 

“I was- evaluating my enemy!” Siata refuted with a shake of his head. It would’ve been entirely reasonable, but Rhomon distinctly remembered his tone just a few seconds ago.

Ultimately, it wasn’t a big deal. The centipedes had their animalistic formation opened and their numbers were being cut down steadily. Already more than half of them were dead, maws burned, shells smashed, bodies cleaved, and curled up into twitching corpses. 

The next few seconds were somewhat frantic and somewhat relaxed, as they continued to bludgeon and chop the remaining insects until they stopped moving. It wasn’t the cleanest fight, but it was a messy ambush by a horde of bugs, so that was reasonable.

He exhaled after the last centipede was smashed, limbs shaking and bruised, his coat utterly shredded, and his staff cracked through. 

“Remind me to make more of those talismans against beasts.” Rhomon grumbled, reaching up to rub his forehead. 

“I’ll instead remind you to not jump into a wave of angry thrashing centipedes.” Brahm said, an implied insult towards Rhomon’s intelligence in his voice. “Your skin was not bronze, you could’ve very easily died there.”

“My skin is a bit bronze.” Rhomon waved a hand, tossing off his coat and inspecting his chainmail. Enchanted as it was, the chainmail was missing a few rings now, ripped off by the bites. He didn’t feel particularly injured, and more-thorough inspection of his body revealed no particular puncture wound.

“Are you alright, good cousin?” Siata asked with a slightly wobbly grin, stepping over and clapping a hand on his shoulder. 

Rhomon nodded absently, before his nose exploded in a spurt of blood and pain. The blue-green waves of essence spilling off Siata resonating with his internal fluids and popping the delicate blood vessels in his nose.

He yelped, throwing himself backwards and slamming a palm over his nose. “Your anima!” He complained, blood spilling out through his fingers. 

“Ah- terribly sorry!” Siata apologized, throwing himself back a few feet and shaking his hand. “I forgot how delicate mortals were!”

The elemental energies of the dragonblooded were particularly destructive, the essence that spilled out from their forms with exertions causing damage to anything that was too close. Dragonblooded were largely immune to this destructive power, as attuned to the elements as they were, but everything else was subject to being damaged. People, objects, animals- anything that wasn’t the dragonblooded themselves, or something similarly attuned to the element of their aspect.

“Ugh.” Rhomon grumbled and pulled his hand away, lower half of his face covered in blood. “I think you injured me more than the actual centipedes did, cousin.”

“I’ll pay for a healer, the best in An-Teng!” Siata clapped his hands together and nodded his head rapidly. “You’ll be right as rain soon enough- cousin!”

“I’m fine.” Rhomon shook his head and sighed, reaching into his bag and pulling out the appropriate potions. First a wound-cleanser, applied to the interior of his nose in a slightly nauseating rub. Then a disease-repellant. Then a bruise-balm. 

“You carry quite a number of potions, sir Rhomon.” Shuri remarked, cleaning his blade off with a durable looking handtowel. 

“Mhm. I learned it from master Bhagwei.” Rhomon nodded absently, shrugging his chainmail back on and using his coat to wipe his face off. “Let's keep going.” He grumbled, retrieving his bags and staff. A brief check of the compass again pointed directly at the shattered ward. 

“Master Bhagwei- you wouldn’t happen be talking about- master of the Heptagram, son of Great Lords Ragara and Cynis, grandson of the Scarlet Empress herself, and wisest healer in Creation- that master Bhagwei, right?!” Siata asked excitedly, keeping a 3 foot distance from anyone else, hefting his daiklave over his shoulder. As he walked, smaller plants tore themselves apart and trees crackled in pain. 

“He was the only one at the Heptagram willing to teach me- none of the other teachers wanted to bother with a mortal apprentice.” Rhomon explained off-handedly. “Most of the time he had me fetching ingredients or books for him, or following him around with bags of supplies as he visited fevered patients.”

“Incredible! How’d you manage such a thing- to get the Bhagwei’s personal tutelage!” Siata seemed far more thrilled about this detail than Rhomon himself was. Rhomon squinted at the building essence before him- the vision of the visor growing increasingly difficult as they approached the manse and the flow of essence grew stronger and stronger.

“He offered on the condition that I bring any information I find about the Great Contagion back to him, and that I write my thesis on something useful to the field of medicine.” Rhomon nodded. “I got the feeling it was more to do out of distant pity than anything else, however.” 

“Your thesis?” Brahm asked, pushing through ferns and pausing as he stepped onto firmer soil. Rhomon tapped his boot against the same spot, feeling stone beneath a thick layer of dead leaves. 

“We’re in a courtyard, or a street.” He observed, glancing down to the compass again. “To answer your question- everyone who survives attending the Heptagram is obligated to compose a thesis, some manner of contribution to sorcery that the Heptagram can then make use of for the sake of the Realm. It can be anything, but it has to be original. Most students end up creating a new variation of an existing spell.”

“And what was yours, sir Rhomon?” Shuri asked, sword flashing to cleave a thick curtain of vines out of their path. 

“My thesis was a new alchemical distillation method. I called it Essolysis at first, but the official name ended up being Five Dragons Antithesis Distillation Method.” Rhomon shrugged. “My name wasn’t fancy enough, apparently. 

“...What does it do?” Brahm asked, stopping before another curtain of vines. Shuri stepped forwards and cleaved- the sword making a distinct ringing noise as it crashed into something hard and metallic behind the thick jungle brambles. They all paused at that, before silently beginning to reach forwards and ripping off layers of thick plant matter as a group, by hand. 

“It's uh-” Rhomon briefly paused, considering how he should explain it. “How much do you know about alchemy?”

“It is the low magic of mortals, used to make various useful products and medicines.” Siata chimed in at that, standing a respectful distance away from him. As he stood, the living vegetation around him slowly burst apart and away from his feet, clearing a small space around him as thin wisps of destructive energy poured out from him. 

“...Functional enough.” Rhomon shrugged. “Alchemy normally works through the idiosyncrasies of various chemical ingredients and their interactions, or the distillation and application of their conceptual utilities. The most complex alchemy uses both concepts in conjunction.”

A trio of blank and non-comprehending stares was his answer. Rhomon sighed and rubbed the back of his neck .”You know how alcohol makes you drunk?”

Three nods. 

“An alchemist can take the intoxicating part of the alcohol out and put it in something else, making the alcohol non-intoxicating, and making something that’s not normally intoxicating, intoxicating.” Rhomon used his hands to emphasize the point. Understanding entered their eyes, and the three men nodded and ripped the rest of the vines off the surface. 

A door loomed before them, a set of heavy white doors emblazoned with a faded green dragon. They were already cracked open, the seal inside made of heavy vegetation and little else at this point. 

“This is the entrance.” Rhomon noted, glancing at his compass. The bright, blinding glow of essence around him finally pushed him to take the visor off and stow it away in his bag. He reached up with his staff and pushed hard, the heavy wrought doors resisting his push but slowly giving way. 

“That must be- a hundred pounds of jade!” Siata remarked at the doors, marveling at the wealth therein.

“Steel with jade alloyed to it.” Rhomon corrected mildly, making the dragonblooded give him a slightly annoyed expression. 

“Yes- I’m aware of the technicality, cousin.” 

Rhomon resisted the urge to smirk at the irritation, stepping through the cracked doors and into the first room, holding his staff high so that the fire cast light all around. He paused at what he saw.

The others followed him within, likewise pausing at the room.

“...Great dragons…” Brahm raised his hands and began a quiet prayer. Shuri sucked in a quiet, hissing breath. Siata silently raised a hand and covered his mouth, brows furrowed.

The room might have been a reception hall at some point, with fine lounge chairs pushed to the sides of the walls and the center having a shattered, split table. There were banners with words emblazoned upon them next to each door, and the far back wall was dominated by a ruined desk and a green dragon tapestry.

The more immediately attention-grabbing feature, however, were the massive number of corpses that littered the room. Corpses were split, were cut, were shattered, were dismembered- each of which wearing armor made from hardened glass and folded leaves, with delicate, beautiful features caked in blood and agony.

None of the dismembered corpses had aged a day since their death, perfectly preserved as they were in life. 

“Fae.” Siata growled, casting his eyes around and lowering his hand, clenching a fist. 

“Balorian Era Fae.” Rhomon corrected mildly, stepping through the corpses and pointing his staff at a banner. The banner depicted a hollow circle surrounded by half a sunburst, the symbol of Prince Balor, who led a crusade against all of Creation long ago. An abstract eye and the destruction that pours out from it, the destruction of that Faelord’s terrible gaze. 

“Balorian- then that would’ve been right after the Great Contagion.” Siata declared with narrow eyes, puzzling something out. “Only one in a thousand survived. Who remained to slay these fae- Oh.”

He paused as Rhomon brought his staff forwards, barely illuminating the slumped form of a warrior in the corner of the room. His armor was ancient and layered, half-mechanical and half-magical, and his skeletal hand still gripped the hilt of an immense shattered sword. The hall was covered by these heavy grooves carved into the walls and floors, and the warrior was half-entombed in a thick layer of thorny, long-dead brambles. 

A bloody handprint was on the wall next to him dragging down and slumping. Rhomon could picture the warrior’s death, trying to brace himself against the wall to keep standing, but sliding down and being incapable of moving again. 

“He must have been the only one to survive the plague as it swept through.” Rhomon noted grimly. “Its unlikely that anyone else here would’ve survived, with how terribly lethal it was.”

“And then he was alone to defend this place from the forces of Balor.” Siata replied, voice choking up with emotion. “A warrior’s death!” He declared, reaching up to clutch at his face, looking down. 

Rhomon stepped forwards, kneeling next to the corpse and inspecting it closer. Whoever the man was, the corpse had long decayed into bare bones. Broad shoulders, a strong chin, large hands- A male corpse by bone structure, but nothing else could be known without thorough observation .

“We’ll give him a proper burial before we leave.” Rhomon declared, pushing up from the corpse and shaking his head sadly. “Brahm- would you be willing to administer those rites?”

“It would be my honor.” Brahm nodded, a serious look on his face. 

“Before then, however-” Rhomon glanced around. “We need to survey the entire manse for hidden threats and make account of its contents.”

“...Say, cousin-”

“I’m claiming this manse and its contents on behalf of House Mnemon.” Rhomon replied with a stern glare, making the Dragonblooded chuckle nervously and raise his hands apologetically. 

“No no- not that cousin!” Rhomon was almost one hundred percent certain it was going to be that. “-It’s uh- you wouldn’t begrudge it if I were the one to write out our adventuring log, would you?”

Adventuring log? Rhomon raised a brow before nodding. “If you wish, I suppose.”

Siata grinned at that, whipping out a journal and twirling out a little brush. “Magnificent! I’ll get right to work! Tell me whatever you find in the deeper chambers!” 

He squatted down.

Rhomon’s gaze drew flat as he realized that the dragonblooded was just doing this to get out of the drudge work of surveying and hauling goods back to the entrance. 

His ‘cousin’ was wearing on his nerves.