Settlements, p.1
Settlements, page 1
part #2 of The Castillion Chronicles Series
Settlements
Book 2 of the Castillion Chronicles
By: A.W. Northcutt
_______
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
Prologue
Turcery, The Circle Order
Sickly green flames crackled atop eight time-worn pillars, seeping Eldritch mana into the Sigil of Annihilation while a harmonic resonance chanted the ancient spell. Sixteen vocal cords hummed separate notes in unison, forming a single syllable in the forgotten language. A song without cadence. Chaotic yet uniform to the mind, rigid to the senses while smooth to the soul, quiet off their lips while deafening to the ears. For every repetition, a dull light pulsed within the sigil’s lines, growing stronger until a four-pointed star ignited the room in crimson luminescence.
A cloaked figure towered over the sigil, casting dominance over those who summoned him. “My Lord,” Turcery greeted. “We performed the ritual as soon as we received your message.”
Conquest huffed, sending a ripple over his astral projection. He could not believe his sister relegated the creator of greed to nothing more than a courier. Death had a plan, one she was not keen on sharing the details to but prepping for the war to come was more important than telling these followers what they should already know. “Yes…” he let the word hang on his tongue, wondering if they sought praise for doing their job. “What news do you have for us about Serra?”
Turcery straightened his cloak and bowed graciously. “Four kingdoms have fallen into civil war with a dozen more on the brink. I enacted plans to make sure of their inevitable downfall.”
“Kingdoms scuffling amongst themselves is nothing unusual,” Conquest spat. “How many kingdoms populate Serra? Can you even count that high? Never mind-” he had to keep himself from rubbing at his temples. His freedom depended on the Circle Order, whether or not he liked it, they were the best he had. “Someone released a Fae from his bonds with Serra. Since you did not lead with that, I can only assume it was not The Order’s work.”
Murmurs broke out amongst the heavily Fae populated council before Turcery cleared his throat. The room returned to silence after they realized they were still in the presence of a god. “My Lord. If we heard even the slightest rumor of a Fae’s release, I would-”
“How is it, from another dimension, I have better information than you?” Conquest asked, unable to keep his rage restrained. “Find this freed Fae and figure out how they accomplished the task. If the Architects discover an unbound Fae… I will not waste your time reminding you what happened when they last intervened.”
A notification appeared as Conquest’s astral projection vanished from the council chamber.
Conquest, Lord of Annihilation has issued a Coven Decree for all members of the Circle Order, Fae and Asmire. Somewhere across the land, a Fae has removed its connection with Serra, freeing themselves from her bonds of servitude. All coven resources shall be diverted into finding this Fae and discovering its secrets.
The council chamber erupted in conversations, ranging from angered and confused shouts to borderline hopeful hypotheses. It was a rare event to speak with any of the Avatars of Annihilation, only happening when specific orders came to the Council’s attention. To have one of the Four deliver a message was as unbelievable as its contents. A Fae broke their bonds with the sadistic prison known as Serra.
Turcery climbed atop the altar and pressed fingers to lips, expelling a sharp whistle that pierced eardrums like a tier-three spell. Every member of the council, Fae and Asmire alike, turned their attention towards the speaker, seeping hate with each glance. These were the oldest of their kind; the first to step foot or claw onto Serra, and the ones who endured the focus of her ire. None could claim a hierarchy, for in each other’s eyes, they were equal. Turcery would get a rude awakening if he thought of himself above the others.
“Brothers! Sisters!” Turcery gestured to each member with solidity in his movements and vigor coating his tone. “One of our kind is free. It shocks me as much as it does to you, but we must show caution. Rash actions will only alert Serra, and we cannot risk that.”
“We can’t afford to waste our time listening to a Fae that takes commands from a human king,” a voice jeered from an Order member followed by agreements from most in the room.
“King Larels is more than a mere king,” Turcery stared pointedly towards the objection. “In less than two-hundred years, he accomplished more than any dozen of you combined. I choose to align myself with him because it is beneficial to my goals and expedites my tasks.”
“You bow to kings because you are weak!”
“And what power have you amassed that makes you strong? For the last time I checked, Bolas, Serra still shackles you to this prison, same as me.”
Streams of muddied orange and caustic green shot from Bolas’s fingers, wrapping around Turcery. Shimmered ripples of violet and sapphire expanded in front of him, redirecting the attack. Chaotic tendrils swarmed the crowd, desperately searching for a hold on any target. Enchanted mithril and blessed quicksilver wisped from their sheaths and stalled the room into silence as the mythical weapons clapped together, devouring all active mana.
Every eye turned towards the glowing swords gripped within the claws of a golden Asmire. “I suggest we end this now before all you Fae casters realize this room is too small to be trapped in with fifteen eagles.”
“This is a Fae matter, bird, you are here out of courtesy and for nothing more,” Bolas spat at the Asmire. To think you can talk to us-”
Bolas’ words gurgled as glowing mithril split his shield and tore through his throat. A vaporous cloud oozed from the wound and traveled up the slits of the Asmire’s beak. His eyes flashed gold before narrowing into a stalking visage towards those closest. The crowd parted as distant murmurs hummed across the room.
“We should end this immediately. No one here is a hatchling and except for that thing-” the golden Asmire paused, looking down at the crumbled Bolas and pushed his talon deep into the corpse’s chest. “-knows when to shut their beak. Between all in this room, no corner within Serra can provide this freed Fae with safety. My last proposition, we return on the New Moon and share our discoveries. Or...” the quicksilver bastard-sword spun in his claw. “We can resume the chaos...”
A lingered moment was all that passed before swirls of blackened abyss consumed the Fae and pulled them into the void. Turcery looked from the pulpit and bowed ever-so-slightly at the Asmire before vanishing in a cloud of smoke.
******
Turcery, Kingdom of Tolengard
The blackened tendrils dissipated around Turcery as he found himself surrounded by marbled walls and granite floors. He stood atop a familiar red carpet with golden frills running the trail and knew he was in King Larels’ throne room.
“There you are!” a deep voice echoed. “Where have you been?”
The Fae turned and bowed towards the warrior king, because that was what he was. To disrespect that, cast an insult not worth the effort. For how much the Circle Order despised his relationship with the Human king, Turcery hated the man tenfold. Where he commanded the largest kingdoms on the Benshin continent and wielded power that rivaled many emperors, King Larels never let the position consume him. Instead, he methodically expanded his lands with words and agreements.
Granted, that was probably the reason no one had snuffed him out yet. As Turcery just witnessed, neither age nor status ensures your survival in Serra. Even for those who considered themselves immortal, death always finds a way.
“I was completing a task,” Turcery let the words hang, hinting a reason as to not force a lie.
“I gave you no such order...” King Larels said.
Turcery nodded and stood to his full height, approaching six feet. “Indeed, you did not, but you are not the only one who I serve.”
“How you do Serra’s bidding will always boggle my mind,” Larels said.
“If I could share, I would.”
“Fine, fine,” King Larels waved Turcery over to him. “What matters is that you have returned. We had some developments from Hearthmire since your disappearance.”
Turcery quirked his head. “What developments? No one should return for another fortnight.”
“I doubt our ships will come back at all,” the king sighed. “Eleven men from three different crews have respawned and given a report.”
“Scanton has lost his mind!” Turcery had to keep himself from screaming, less fill the throne room with guards.
&nb sp; “His head is more likely,” Larels said with a hint of laughter under his words.
“Your grace?”
“A Human named Exium burned our men alive and told them to pass on an invitation to never return.”
Turcery stiffened, knowing this meant full out war. Hearthmire was small but surrounded by fertile lands, viable for an excellent outpost. “I will rally the armada and have them depart at once.”
“Unfortunately, few captains seem enthusiastic about the possibility of burning alive.”
“It is a shame their feelings do not matter.”
King Larels smiled, a gesture Turcery seldom saw on the man’s battle-worn face. “While that is true, alterations of the ships cannot wait. It would set back our progress by a year, if not longer. No, it is best if you go offer an invitation to this Exium in person. We should see if he is useful.”
“And if he shows resistance?”
“Ensure that he doesn’t. If we must contain him, best to do so on our own lands. Do you not agree?”
Turcery bowed his head to hide a snarl. Any show of force against oneself deserves an equal or greater act in retaliation, no exceptions. Why was that hard for the Warrior King to comprehend?
“Of course, your grace.”
Chapter 1
Exium, Krondile Mountains
‘Every gemstone, from the tiniest ruby to the dullest sapphire, holds the capacity to alter mana. We can fuse this altered mana in different ways, with weapons, armor, buildings, and even the land. Altering mana is best done in one of two ways. The first is to channel mana from one’s own reservoir into an empty gemstone. While this is the easiest, it only allows a small transference between source to stone. The second is to augment one stone with another via a Tier-two metal. This is most commonly done with a diamond and low-grade mithril and applied towards high-level structures or Dungeons that can benefit most from the resource-intensive process.’
-Excerpt from Castillion Structures and Theories
Exium closed the book found among Hegmor’s possessions and leaned back in the rickety chair reserved for The Slavers Guild-leader. His fingers ran across a carved emblem embedded on the table in front of him. The sigil of a chain coiled around a scythe made his stomach bubble just thinking about what it represented. At first, he wanted to tear the building down and burn anything of relation, but decided not to after the advice from his companions. Apparently forming and leveling a guild was an expensive endeavor, one that is easily circumvented by changing the guild’s name. The only problem was that it had to be done at an official Guild Office in the capital cities.
In most cases, that was not an issue, but a recent event involving a few captives burning alive might have tainted relations between Hearthmire and the two closest capitals. Sure, he could ask Lazul to port him to a neutral city but figured Tialha might object to him running off and leaving this mess for her to clean up. With people still respawning, he could not justify any lengthy trip and a trip to any capital would indeed be lengthy.
There were so many things that needed purchasing, and the list continued to grow every time someone spoke with him. Buildings needed either repair or a full rebuild. The food stores dwindled fast, and almost everyone, aside from the gnomish warriors, shared an impoverished look. It would take a fortune to fix everything broken. It was not an issue for Exium.
If needed, Exium could produce that fortune with the snap of his fingers. Well, by the swing of a pickaxe, but that was beside the point. Before he offered any help, Exium needed some assurances these people wanted it first. After everything they experienced recently, they might leave at the first opportunity. If he was in the same situation, Exium would.
Exium rubbed at his brow and pondered the issue. How do you ask scared and confused strangers to trust in the unknown? Aside from a handful of Gnomes and Tialha, the waiting crowd knew little about him. If Exium stood in front of Hearthmire and monologued his life story, everyone would write him off as a pompous asshat. He needed to show strength without bolstering their fear. By now, what happened in the Pits had to have made its way around Hearthmire, so he needed to tread carefully.
The battle to claim Hearthmire was brutal and resulted in the final death of many. After burning prisoners alive and ending Scanton’s faithful men, it would not take much for these people to see him as a new evil.
A knock followed the Guildhall door creaking open, stealing Exium’s thought and breath as he saw Tialha’s face. Blissful autumn light shone through her brunette hair and made her pastel skin glow as if blessed from the divine. Her hazel eyes scanned the room until meeting his, and her solemn gaze melted into a warm smile.
“Any luck finding one?” she asked.
“Huh?” Exium tilted his head and slipped Hegmor’s book away.
“A breastplate. Did you find one?” Tialha asked.
Exium looked down at his bare chest, then crossed his gauntleted arms over another. “You don’t like my Breastplate of Invisibility?”
Tialha strode across the Guildhall and examined the Gladiator, walking around him while letting out an intrigued hum. She turned him one way, then the other, and trailed her finger from his shoulder plate down his chest. A twinkle flashed in her eyes as she bit her lip and moved his arms out of the way.
“You know... I don’t think you need a breastplate.”
“Take an arrow in the chest and tell me I don't need one.”
Tialha flattened her eyes, with whatever feeling laid behind them fading fast. “I understand the purpose of a breastplate, but think you look better without one.”
“So, you like me better out of armor.” Exium’s mouth curled slightly as his hand raised to undo the straps across his peck. “I can always take more off.”
Tialha’s lips pressed against his before he could ruin the mood. Her hands gripped Exium tightly as if to hold on while he mapped her body with his own. Gauntlets clattered to the ground over an exasperated groan.
Both heads cranked towards the noise and saw Ryne reaching out with one arm while covering his face with the other. “Come on! Get a room!”
“I’ve got a Guildhall. Get the fuck out!” Exium looked for something to throw.
“You get the fuck out!” Ryne glared back. “I just spent the last hour rounding up the town while you are in here putting a dent into your greaves.” his attention shifted to Tialha, “And I thought you came in here to help him find a breastplate.”
Exium looked down at Tialha and whispered. “Are you sure you want to do this? We could just kick them all out and have a nice place to ourselves, overlooking the water and mountains.”
“You could learn to lock a door.”
“What? Me? You were the last one through it.”
“Too little, too late,” Tialha ran her finger through a week’s worth of his stubble and perked up as if a thought came to mind. “You could just feed him to Zeke.”
“Nah, Zeke would just end up playing with him. He gets distracted around children and-”
“I am not a child!” Ryne scathed.
“No, you’re not, and if you had let me finish-”
“I’d be blind?” Ryne asked sarcastically, flicking his chin towards Exium’s crotch.
Exium picked up a paperweight and hurled it at the gnome. “Just get out! We’ll be there in a moment.”
“Only trying to help,” Ryne said in a suddenly cheerful tone.
“Then find something tall and jump off.”
Tialha’s hand slapped Exium’s chest. Hardly enough to hurt, only to deter, as if he was a kid with a fork focused on a power outlet. “He is just doing his job.”
“Well, his job should be to shove a-”
Tialha’s hand covered his mouth as she turned and graciously smiled towards Ryne. “We’ll be out momentarily.”
Exium walked out of the Guildhall and quickly found himself impressed. Impressed might not be the word. Shocked was more like it. Two, maybe three hundred people, humans, Dwarfs, Gnomes, Aladomrians and even a few Elves filled the town courtyard. A sudden knot twisted in his stomach as eyes fell on him. Some faces paled under the daunting image he struck. With the Cobalt Blade of Reckoning on his back that was unavoidable, it was taller than most of the gnomes.
The crowd parted with each of his steps as Exium made his way towards the Town hall. A wooden crate laid against the Town hall flipped onto its side and for a gnome it might do, but Exium knew it would wobble under his weight and cause him to fall. He knew it was going to be the small things that got to him as a leader; he needed an assistant or maybe five.
