Interlude: Fire and Death.

The shamans of the Great Swamp villages had spent millenia perfecting their arts. They served an essential function by interpreting and channeling the will of the beast lords while mitigating the consequences upon the lives of their people. They were not always successful— their gods were capricious— but every tribe viewed their presence as a vital necessity.

Paradoxically, while the order of shamans was revered, the individual shamans themselves were often feared more than respected. Their duty was to insure the survival of the many— at any cost. This meant that when a Lord demanded sacrifices? The shaman wielded the knife.

It was a choice Nezzick had made many times in his life, and one he knew he would make again before he died. To choose among his people which would perish so that all could live.

He had trained his arts for decades under the harsh whip of his predecessor. Learned a thousand ways to read their patron’s body and emotions. To hone in on the slightest displeasure and ease it away before it could blossom into something more. An endless litany of servility… and manipulation.

To steer, to direct their gods and their bestial urges in the most subtle of ways. Gentle nudges and persuasions that curbed the worst atrocities before they could begin. It was a process that had taken his people centuries to perfect, and countless lives.

And all of that was without even considering the magical arts, which transformed an already formidable foundation into something truly unshakeable. It was power that would see them go far… if they were anywhere other than the Great Swamp, enslaved to beasts.

For this enslavement? They were reviled. Their people shunned as ‘beast lovers’ and barred from entry to most cities. Locked out of the ward-born’s safe little bubbles and then judged for having the audacity to do what’s necessary to survive.

His grip tightened on the wooden railing of the home-ship, aged knuckles whitening as his arms trembled with long-repressed anger before he forcibly dispersed it.

I have no time for this.

The true cause of his vexation lingered on the air, drifting over from the corpse-fire abomination hidden beneath a metal shell like a beetle’s carapace. It was the anxious resonance of the godling child he’d been forced to bond his people to. The murderer of his—

No.

Kurkulakoa’s death was inevitable with the passing of his mate. It was regrettable, but if all had gone to plan then his former lord would have secured his people’s future would have been guaranteed under the auspices of the River Lord— Telm’Urka. Instead, the wily old lizard had found a remarkable patsy to foist off his latest problem onto and thrown all of Nezzick’s careful planning into the void.

He could admit— at least to himself— that this had made him somewhat… testy towards the godling. In their first meeting, he had made mistakes.

Could he truly be blamed though? He searched for a protector of his people, and he found a broken child curled up in bed like a sobbing infant. In frustration, he’d forgotten all his years of training. Threw it out the window in favor of taking what petty pleasure he could from annoying the little godling who’d ruined everything. It wasn’t until he’d felt the unbridled rage directed at him that he’d bothered to truly look at his new lord— and seen the truth.

Layers of secrets, scars, deaths… the powers of the world had left their mark for those with the eyes to see. The seal alone should have been hint enough, towering in the boy’s soul with the impossible power of the Godpeak entire… yet somehow still seeming like the flimsiest barrier before a darkness that ate the shaman’s sight. But that paled in Nezzick’s eyes compared to the Ideal that dominated the space within.

[Cosmos].

Nezzick had looked upon the endless light of countless stars and been enraptured. He could feel the order spread through the godling’s soul palace with the undeniable tyranny of Law. The untapped potential cried out to the shaman, and he’d lain stunned on the floor while his beleaguered mind processed the revelation. Far from the expected disappointment, this was exactly what his people needed to finally be free of the Beast Lords’ yoke.

He’d frantically cast auguries the moment he returned to the home-ship— auguries which failed miserably. Every method he knew to get even the slightest glimpse of the future was completely obfuscated around the godling. Even the most minor divinations were utterly useless, “fate doesn’t decide shit” indeed.

It was perfect.

The opportunity had come to free his people from the chains placed upon them by the so-called ‘greater’ powers. To have their fate decided by will and effort instead of decrees from on high. A destiny of brutal servitude could be averted if they could only tie themselves to this rising star— and he would rise, fate or no. For Nezzick had seen the truth bound in the boy’s Ideal, and [Cosmos] would accept servitude to no one.

[Law] does not bow.

It gave the old shaman chills to hear that.

He’d done his best since then to draw the godling in, wielding even the boy’s pity in an effort to win him over. It was difficult at times to translate his lifetime of skill in manipulating beasts to one with such a human mindset, but it had been effective enough nonetheless.

Although he couldn’t help the slight smugness he felt on remembering the child’s embarrassment over Nezzick’s words to the fire-witch. Powerful she might be, and a decent enough match in personality, he supposed. But the girl had no loyalty to his people, and he was wary of the prejudices so often found among the ward-born.

Better to find him a woman among our people, and tie him closer to us.

He was planning out his next comments to drive a slight wedge between the pair— perhaps he could compliment the girl’s ‘wide birthing hips’ — when his hard-earned remote observation skills abruptly began a screaming litany of alarms in his head.

[Warning! Abrupt emotional changes detected.]

[Sense Lord’s Condition: Greatly Distressed]

[Empathic Link: Confusion/Despair/Guilt/Rage]

[Cause: Unknown]

[Likely Reaction: Extreme Violence]

He took a moment to gawk with a growing sense of dread as he sensed the godling spiral in seconds down a well of maddened fury. There had been no build up, no time to blunt the anger or soothe his new Lord. He’d stepped from slightly antsy straight into this blackened pit, and the bottom promised only death. The shaman only took a moment to pray this wouldn’t end with the deaths of his people before he began shouting the alarm.

He needn’t have bothered.

An explosion of white fire rocked the mists around the lead ship, burning back the night to reveal a creeping horde of misshapen terrors. The fire spread among them like a living thing, clawing hungrily at the oily shapes that shrieked in a sudden cacophony fit to wake the dead. But even that was nothing compared to the roar that ripped through the air, sending a wash of terror through the old man’s bones.

And then, sliding through the murky dark like one of the fabled monsters of the Great Sea, Nezzick beheld his lord. Only his skills’ continuous alarms allowed him to make the connection, for he could recognize nothing of the godling child in the predator that stalked the sky above the caravan. The sinuous form swam through the air with a killer’s grace, pausing as it looked out on a writhing sea of attackers that set the swampy muck beneath the caravan boiling in their frantic motions to reach him. A current of energy seemed to flow into the horde with every breath, the massed creatures devouring the mana in the air like a hungry plague.

His lord’s anger peaked higher with every misshapen monstrosity that appeared, and the shaman’s wizened fingers trembled on the railing as the creature clawed downwards. An endless torrent of white flame poured from the sky, illuminating the transformed godling from below in an unnatural, harsh light. Beneath him, the swamp burned. The fire spread with an unnatural fervor, some combination of the horde’s makeup and his lord’s fury quickly surrounding the caravan in a maelstrom of ruinous flame. The fire rose into the air with a roar that drowned out the combined shrieks of the horde and the godling's furious snarls.

Something flickered in the air above the carnage, and Nezzick's eyes snapped to it like a lodestone. It was a faint outline at first, but quickly grew in strength and clarity as the fire spread. Surprised recognition came over the shaman. A series of graceful curves and harsh angles all combined in a brilliant— and familiar— mandala.

The Origin Rune?

Like a spark to gunpowder, the rune ignited into a false sun hovering above the battlefield. It revealed an almost endless tide of monsters flowing towards their position, seemingly wanting to suffocate the fires under sheer mass of bodies. But light was not the baleful star's only purpose.

Arcs of searing white plasma burned outwards from it, lashing the ground below like fiery whips. Each pass immolated dozens of attacking monsters and spread the fire to dozens more.

As if all that weren't enough, the shaman felt a sudden burst of power from the corpse-fire engines of the caravan. Like slumbering giants, the great vessels seldom unleashed their true potential during their many journeys. But rouse those giants to wrath, and they would quickly remind the world of their original purpose as ancient machines of war.

All around the caravan, the fire came to life.

Serpents of plasma dove through water that flash-boiled into scalding steam. From one side of the battlefield, a towing flame elemental rose with ponderous steps. Dozens of spells spread in all directions, taking full advantage of both the target-rich environment and the preponderance of magical fuel. Three vessels sent streams of power into the sky, leeching magic from the false sun to unleash a burning tempest of searing embers that fell like rain. Mundane arms joined in the barrage, each ship unleashing its canons with abandon on the clustered monsters in a continuous torrent of death.

Arcs of lighting crackled through the air as the fiery destruction overwhelmed the effects of the horde’s consumption of ambient mana. A Surge built with the cast of every spell in a cascade of magical power that fed upon itself cyclically, reinforcing cast magics and bolstering the floating godling. When the Surge came, it fell like a crashing wave on the caravan, sweeping up every spell cast in its wake. It spread out explosively, utterly annihilating most of the horde and scattering the rest into the night.

Nezzick felt his Lord's exultation as the creatures burned below. His predatory form slipped into the darkness beyond the battlefield as the caravan's sorcerers obliterated the remaining beasts. Obsessive hatred burned within the godling's mind, and the shaman knew his Lord would not rest until he'd slaughtered every one of these creatures.

But as panicked screams rose from the outskirts of the village flotilla, the old man felt his Lord's fury would come their way too late to save them all.

//Resistance encountered.

//Threat level… High.

//Dispatching countermeasures.

//Notable Etheric Frequency encountered.

//Examining parameters… Match detected.

//Escalating report— canceled by local admin.

//Logging— log deleted by local admin.

//Canceling dispatch order per local admin… Failed, asset resistant to new orders.

//Standing by.

I have to tell the others.