Ffh Nes Ii

Kallo's slow, purposeful stride down the dark stone corridor accompanied by the determined look on his face would have convinced anyone of his confidence; his absolute command over himself and his surroundings. In reality, Kallo was walking as slowly as possible down the corridor to give himself a few more seconds which he desperately needed to get ahold of his fear. Too soon he arrived at the end of the corridor; Kallo halted outside an obsidian door with ornately carved panels depicting a sorcerer subduing an army with a foul magical blast. The last panel showed the same army bowing before the sorcerer. Those people were proud warriors; they were also the ‘Als ancestors. Kallo's fear was entirely reasonable, for he was the bearer of bad news.

The sorcerer attending to matters of state in the chamber on the other side of the door, Lord Malus' tolerance for tidings of woe was widely known by his court. There were rumors aplenty of courier slaves being slain outright for delivering unpleasant reports. The worst were the ones told by the palace guards of messengers bearing truly bad news. Those tales always made Kallo shudder, especially now. As the 'Als highest ranking general, leader of its glorious armies, he knew the extent of Lord Malus' powers to turn beings into something unnatural...

Kallo, a half-orc of excessive musculature wearing the finest iron-wrought heavy plate, stood at the immense height of seven foot two. With strength enough to crush a man's skull using only one hand, his soldiers respected his great physical power as well as his cunning tactical knowledge. They also feared him, and as Kallo's soldiers feared him, Kallo feared his sovereign, Lord Malus. Kallo stole another few precious seconds trying to reduce his unbridled fear into minor trepidation, as he often had to when making his way to Lord Malus' private chambers to receive special orders. Mustering his willpower, he did his best to stop the slight shaking of his hand as it resolutely opened the door.

An elderly looking figure in the center of a lavishly decorated conference chamber stooped over a large map of the southern province, which rested on an obisidan table of similar make and artisanry to the door. Imperiously, he moved the figures representing Kallo's battalion like pieces on a chessboard. The sound of a bass yet raspy voice emanated from the cloaked figure, "There, that will do. Return to me immediately after the raid is finished with reports. I suggest you send someone...expendable…should you fail." There was too much enjoyment derived from all of that malice, as a smirk etched its way onto Lord Malus' decayed and decrepit features. "Leave us. I have much to discuss with General Kallo," Lord Malus langoured over all his words as if savouring them, knowing the fear they inspired. The elder councilors left the room at a pace appropriate to a ritual or ceremony. When the door closed behind them the sound of their footsteps betrayed how their pace considerably quickened. "General, I have a special mission for you of most importance."

A chill running down his spine, Kallo's iron plate clanked and shifted as he sank to one knee, "Master, command me, and as certain as the setting of the sun, your will shall be done."
"Arise." Kallo did. "Word has reached me of King Kejol's emissary. I am not displeased." A wave of relief ran through Kallo so powerfully that he almost fell back to his knee. Lord Malus continued unaware or uncaring of Kallo's reaction, "Much of the world has been unaware of my dominion, as I have wished it to be. However, as our greatness can no longer be kept secret, we must proceed from our obscurity with deliberation. The face we reveal to other nations must be fearsome, and awe-inspiring. But as mine must stay concealed...yours will have to do."

"Master?" Confusion swept through his mind, as he could not believe what Lord Malus was about to say.

"Speak."

With his head bowed, he spoke softly, "I thought my place of honor, leading the raid at the forefront, was your wish."

"Do not be dismayed. This charge I give you is a great honor. You will take a delegation and armed escort to establish...communication...to the nations of the world. Learn all you can of our contemporaries, I will expect tactical reports of military strength immediately. Make sure to compose assessment's of their economic well-being as well as their people's content, or contempt, as the case may be. Go."

Kallo slowly turned and left the War Chamber at a brisk pace. Once the door grinded shut behind him, he let his true emotions show. Utterly relieved, Kallo's face then changed to a satisfied smile as a cunning idea came upon him…He then set forth to complete his task.

“Father they’re here.”

Beruit’s sudden announcement snapped Giron out of his reverie. Giron closed the book he had been studying and carefully placed his partially carved rune into the case with the finished ones. Before he could finish putting away his tools Beruit continued:

“They’ve got a whole army this time; they’re going to enslave the entire village. Cadir has called for every man, woman, and child to fight to the death. Better die in battle than live a life of slavery.”

Giron turned to his son and cautiously replied, “Beruit, there is another option. We can run. I’m so close to uncovering the final secret. If I can just have another month-“

“Not this delusion again,” Beruit screamed. You’ve been conducting this research for 2 years and you’re no closer than when you started. Not a single one of these stupid things can move, never mind fight!”

“Beruit listen. I’ve nearly discovered the secret. All the runes are finished but even after I affix them the wood golems still don’t work. I followed all the instructions but – I’m just missing one last piece of the puzzle. I can’t throw all this work away for nothing!”

“What work? You mean this?” Beruit raged. “It’s nothing but a stupid fantasy that consumed you after mom died. You want revenge against the Als? Stop playing with these dead chunks of wood and get out there to fight.”

“I don’t want revenge. I want our people to be safe. Kilmorph will reward my honest labor.”

“Kilmorph rewards those who help themselves, not stupid old men who chase after fantasies. Go escape with your runes, I’m going to defend my people.” Beruit stormed out of the room.

Giron began to toss all of his intricately carved runes, the only things he had to show for two years of labor, into the wooden box on his workbench. He ran up to each of the wooden mannequins, and laboriously pried off the runes he had attached to them. Finally, he grabbed several sheets of paper and carefully wrapped up the ancient book that had fueled his studies. The damaged cover read: Th- Pr-ess for Attun- and Cr-fting Golems out of -d. The book had given him drawings of twenty-one runes that when placed upon a golem, would harness the power of Kilmorph to give it a semblance of life.

Walking out of the room, book in his right hand and box of runes in his left, Giron took one last look at the wooden mannequins scattered across the floor. The ancient text had not given him any instruction on building the bodies of the golems; those pages had been destroyed long before he found the abandoned book in the forest. Instead he had used what remained of the book’s cover to deduce that he must produce some type of wooden body; Cr-fting Golems out of -d clearly didn't refer to iron or clockwork golems. He had tried to carve bodies that would channel the runes, but every time he produced a mannequin that was completely unresponsive to the magical carvings. Perhaps Beruit was right after all.

Giron emerged from the house and entered a deluge of rain; he tightened the covering on his precious book to prevent any further damage. The weather made his mind drift back to the flight from his last home, when he, his wife, and Beruit had fled the Als attack by hiding in the forest. He and Beruit had escaped, but they never found his wife. She might be laboring in an Als slave camp this very day.

Trying to ignore the haunted memories of that night, Giron ran through the rain, but didn’t get far before tripping over a body. “Father is that you?”

“Beruit, I’m sorry to leave you but I must escape-“

“I don’t care about that anymore father. I’ve done my duty, may She Who Dwells Beneath look upon my labor with gladness.”

And looking down, Giron saw the spear protruding from Beruit’s stomach. For the first time in 2 years, his dream of golems that would protect and serve the Luchuirp was forgotten. Giron violently flung his box to the ground; wooden runes sank into the damp earth. He dropped his beloved text upon Beruit’s chest and cradled his dead son in his arms.

As Giron kneeled in the damp earth, the voice of Despair spoke in his mind. “You have labored honestly for 2 years, and see what your efforts have wrought? The world only doles out cruelness, should you not respond in kind?” Giron stared into the mud, wrestling with his tortured thoughts.

Suddenly, a light rose from the depths of the murky earth, brightening his tear and rain-streaked face. With the light, came the most beautiful voice Giron had ever heard, but he did not hear her words through his ears, but in his mind. “You have suffered much Giron son of Gamathel, but your labors shall be rewarded.”

Suddenly, the light ceased, and all around Giron the ground began to undulate. He lost his balance, but was caught by a hand - not one of flesh but one of damp earth. Giron stood in the center of a circle of eleven mud golems, and he could see his laboriously carved runes imprinted all over their bodies.

“What is your command,” the golem asked Giron as it released his hand.

Giron looked out at the battle raging around him and replied, “Save my people.”