“Daath, the Lake Spirit, friend of Camnorous the Devourer, Lord of Water, Liege of the Legion, and God of Honor and War; I present myself to Your service. I came to realize on the trek down here that the series of what I thought were accidents leading up to this day; were in fact fate stirring the pot of my life. I have been created for something and it makes me tremble to know that an event approaches the horizon that necessitated such tremendous manipulation of my life. I have been given more power and knowledge than any mortal I can remember, and now I beg of You my Liege, what is it that is coming?”

Daath looked kindly at the boy before him, amending the thought even as he had it. This boy was a man now, with a man’s responsibility and honor. He was right in that many things had been, adjusted, to bring him to this point; but some of the things really had been a coincidence.

“You are right my warrior, I as well as others have meddled with your fate to give you and the world of men a fighting chance. However, one thing that occurred to you was none of our doing. The draconic trait of genetic knowledge that has awakened so powerfully in your mind was a stroke of good fortune. It has presented a problem for those of us on the side of men though. I will do what I can to help your brain adjust, or shortly the weight of memory will overwhelm you. It is a fortunate thing because even as we nudged things along to create you or someone like you; the enemy has been creating servants to do it’s will as well. The added knowledge you have gained will serve you in good stead and will shorten the time you need to spend learning; so as to increase the time you have to spend doing.”

Daath reached out and a bowl appeared in his right hand and a knife in his left. A quick motion sliced through the amorphous seeming flesh of his right wrist and he held the bowl down so that the bright blue blood flowed from his arm and into the bowl. The wound sealed quickly and the knife disappeared, leaving the Great Spirit holding a bowl of his blood that he sat upon the altar.

“Long ago this same ritual was performed in this same shrine for each man in the original Ninth Legion. The first man to taste of my blood was your ancestor Legatus Quintus Octavius, who became Legate First Quintus Fatesblood. With this blood I reaffirm my claim to you, and the power will help you adjust to your new condition. As a Veil-Walker my blood will affect you much more powerfully than it would any other mortal. Prepare yourself Toric, this will hurt a great deal, and it may change you or mark you in some way. Were we any other place in the world but here at the seat of my power; one of the others might have acted to prevent this. Now, drink Toric, drink it all.”

The moment Toric picked up the bowl there was the sound of battering against the walls, and the guards looked around nervously. Toric knew something was protesting this action, but here, in this place, they were secure from any of the other Greater Beings that meant ill toward Toric or Daath. The friendly Beings gathered to bear witness. The figure of Camnorous the Devourer, the great Elder Dragon and Toric’s great great great great grand-father through his maternal line appeared to watch. The form of Artur was fully armored and smiling at Toric from the sidelines. Other’s appeared in all sorts of forms and standing near Artur were the Instructors, each of their grins promising torturous training in his future. Toric took a deep breath and then drank the blood down in a few long gulps. The blood tasted like sweet, refreshing water; it tasted like the best water he had ever had, but then the pain hit and he forgot the taste.

It began in his head, building and building until he was certain his head would split open like an over-ripe melon. The agony lanced along his nerves and traveled to every last inch of his body until there was nothing that did not hurt. He was completely unaware of what was happening, mouth opened in a silent scream because he could not breathe. Blue flames engulfed his form and his body grew in size, time accelerated for him within the flames and he aged six years in only moments. His previously gangly and unfinished body filled out and the armor magically shifted form with him. He was now an inch over seven feet tall and weighed in at four hundred and seventy-five pounds. His bones had changed density to support his increased musculature and his draconic heritage had finally begun to assert its presence. His skin was gone, replaced by thousands of tiny scales as hard as steel that covered his entire still human shaped form. Each dracuman was different in how their heritage presented itself, depending on their genealogy, and with Toric being of such a powerful line, he gained some of the most powerful gifts. The scales mimicked his natural deeply tan skin color, but could be changed according to his whims. He did not possess claws as some others did, but instead recessed dew-claws rested within his forearms, a twitch of the wrist able to bring the wickedly sharp eight-inch long claws from their built in sheaths to rest curving outwards from the sides of his arms. His armor now had an enchanted slit on the sides of his arms so that the claws could be employed without needing to take of his gauntlets. His control over fire now rivaled that of full blooded dragons, as his Veil-Walker abilities engorged the power of his god, and the aura of dread enchanted into his armor had been absorbed by his flesh. A magus that observed him now would sense first of all the barely constrained rage within his spirit, and then they would feel the immense well of fire within his body. The blood of the Lord of Water had given him a gift denied even to dragons and his fire was unquenchable, able to burn beneath water or within earth. The superficial changes had marked him greatly, but it was the change within his brain that had hurt the most, as well as helped the most. He no longer had the brain of a mortal, and no longer had to worry about his mind snapping beneath the weight of eons of memory. His mind had sharpened and expanded; it filled the same amount of space, but had nearly limitless capacity. He was not any smarter than he was, but he now had perfect recall of all the many and varied memories of his lineage. One other thing changed about his brain; the neurons in his mind acquired the ability to fire six times faster than those in the rest of his body. The result was that he could think faster than he could move. It was going to become his most devastating ability. Think of it; think of the advantages of watching your opponent in slow motion and war-gaming your responses in your mind to find the perfect one before you even had to begin to react. It was again the unintentional change to him that would become the most important, and it would remain a secret from all but those closest to him.

Finally, the pain of the changes faded away and Toric returned to full cognizance of the world around him. He flexed his hands, and felt his body’s changes. His mind whirled at speeds that astounded him, and he catalogued each difference. He could feel the barely restrained power within his musculature. When he stood up from his kneel the speed of his own action startled him. He took a deep breath and had to cough as his throat complained of that action. The circular shrine was empty of the Greater Beings and he was completely alone save the same two guards that had accompanied him and the Legatus when they entered. The Legatus was nowhere to be seen, and the guards were looking at him in a kind of shocked awe. His voice was scratchy and hoarse; the effort it took to speak made him woozy.

“How long was I out?”