Lictor

Sires Of Dust

Cold and gold the Sires of Dust laid asleep upon their destroyed homes. Their forms, once human and of flesh were nothing but red soul-stuff within their armors. Their badge of chivalry, honor and pride becoming their prisons that held their souls, damning them to a living existence that forced them to devour mana. But- It was not always like this, that they reminded themselves. They loved, laughed and feasted like others in the past, and it was a time they missed.

Now they were automata, animate-armor that hid within their once glorious structures. Their golden armor, peerless in their strength and purpose, becoming a sign of twisted vengeance yet to come. As they, once lords of the sandy seas, were now foreigners to their own lands. With them being the only ‘living’ reminder to their once glorious kingdom.

This had forced them to sleep, letting them rest in the ruins. But- they were woken by something. A large tremor upon the sands and earth beneath it, spurring them into wakefulness again. Caused by some titanic creature that tread in the lands they once called home. A creature whose very steps caused the deadly storms to rest, and to pay respect to it.

And they knew then what it was. The Guardian and the Kingdom that laid upon its ancient shell. A titanic being that resembled a heavily armored tortoise, nearly the size of a large island in of itself. Carrying a grand empire of humans and other races that lived in harmony, to bring peace and prosperity upon the world.

But the Sires of Dust did not see it that way. They saw the Guardian and the Kingdom as enemies, interlopers upon their lands. As they were the ones that forced them to become this disgraceful thing, when they once warred centuries ago. They rose from the sands akin to undead rising from the grave, dust filled gauntlets bursting out trying to find purchase upon the surface.

One by one a Sire rose, relics of an ancient past and betrayal as the Guardian walked. Each titanic step it took shook the earth, making the ground quake and destabilizing the footing of many that was near. But the Sires were not affected, their bodies knew no bounds no longer. As they were armor now, golden plate and helms shining bright under the light of their twin suns.

Among them, was their lord. The last Prince of the Sires. And he, his helm was a Deathmask. His very own face when he was once flesh turned to a twisted edifice of his glory, a once handsome and kind man’s smile turned to that of a twisted grimace and grin. With a deadly red glow upon their eye-holes.

Each and every one of them held anger and hate for that titanic thing. And they saw, with their magically enhanced vision gifted to them, the people upon its back. They were living their lives happily, protected by their knights and the guardian itself. But unbeknownst to them, the Sires though sleeping they had been for a long while, were ready for them.

Ready to continue a war like none other. And with that, they smiled even when they could not. And under the deadly heat of the desert, the Sires ran across the desert towards their target. As the titanic being crossed many leagues to a specific spot, where once the capital of the Sires once stood. Now buried in sand, only a small insignificant tower stands, dimly glowing with failing energies. There the Prince stood as the shadow of the titanic tortoise blotted out the sun.

With a roar from his nonexistent throat, a vengeance long in hold begun. As in his hand was a construct in the form of an orb, wrought in gold and covered in thousands of miniscule runes forgotten by the world. Without so much as a moment’s hesitation, he slammed the orb into a pillar within the tower. Fitting it in place and activating a tool that once brought them peace and harvest, and turning it into a weapon.

“Blood for blood!”

He yelled in a ghostly voice, as in that history of the world, a Guardian was felled. As from that very tower, from its very point a surge of energy flowed out to the sky, which was the culmination of centuries upon centuries of energies within the capital beneath. Without even having time to resist, the concentrated beam of energies tore through the belly of the Guardian, as the Sires quickly scaled up its legs to the slaughter that would be known as the Bloody Play.

And on that day, the Sires of Dust returned to the world. Not as the Lords of the Sandy Seas, but as the Lords of War.