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- Heralds of the True Heir
Fat beads of dew clung to every available surface, filling the forest with a quivering field of lights. Overhead the morning sun crawled into the sky above the Hinterlands, it’s countenance reflecting off every individual dewdrop. There was a sinister peace to it all. Though Eualalia, the true heir, lay dead and Arcadia’s throne sat filled with an imposter king, Erde Nona continued upon its natural corpse. The sun rose and set each day. Birds sang their delicate melodies. Grass grew, and trees bore children. All of them, blissfully ignorant of the terrible wrong that had yet to be righted. It was disgusting.
Through this forest I moved, sure of my purpose. Arcadia, my beloved, had grown corrupt and complacent. It was glutted with imposters that dared to call themselves mages, they were nothing more than children pretending to be something they were not. This was made worse by the fact that the general populace seemed to accept their outlandish claims of magical proficiency. Preposterous! This, however, was not Arcadia’s greatest sin. For centuries false monarchs infested the kingdom, their rule propagated upon the death of Arcadia’s spirit. My purpose, given to me by the fates, was to be a panacea - a cure for the rot of Arcadia, burning it to ash so that it may be cleansed of its sinners.
However, for all of my indignant vigor, I was not a fool. One man alone could not stand against the accumulated might of the false king. Just as a single drop of water in the ocean could do nothing to influence the tides. No, Arcadia’s reckoning had to be brought about by an overwhelming and irresistible force. This force was something I could cultivate, and cultivate it I did. I moved through the dew-slick forest not for the purpose of communing with nature, but as I said for a purpose. Rumors of a recently discovered golden age facility had reached my ear, and this was something that piqued my interest. Arcadia once held in its possession a dazzling array of powerful technology and even stronger magics, most of which had been lost to time. Archaeologists had clamored, slobbering over one another for a chance at whatever rested inside. However, they were not worthy, and it was my duty - my right - to claim whatever remnants of Arcadia were left.
A path had been carved through the forest to allow for the transportation of heavy equipment. They might as well have rolled out the red carpet for how easy it made the place to find. I picked my way through the treeline, parallel to this path. While I was not afraid of them or what being spotted entailed, arriving unnoticed would make my mission that much easier. There was little wonder as to why the facility had just now been discovered. The forest was a particularly nasty variant. It was filled with nettles that had thorns several inches in length, and the trees formed a dense canopy that revealed nothing to those flying overhead. The facility itself was built into the side of a ravine, with the door having been sealed and designed to blend in with the rockface.
As I drew near I became aware of a distinct oddity. Despite a path having been cleared, ostensibly for the purpose of heavy machinery, the forest was largely silent save for the natural sounds one would expect of a forest. There was no drilling or digging or explosive charges being detonated. There was just the sound of my boots crushing through the underbrush and the chirping of birds. All things considered it was a pleasant day.
I soon discovered why, corpse laid about the site, strewn across equipment and in various states of… disassembly. Fresh blood dripped from a nearby tree, a mangled corpse hanging from it’s bough. This wasn’t what I had expected, but it saved me some trouble. The door, a massive thing no doubt made for the egress of large constructs, had a person-sized hole blasted into the center of it. Fingers of steam drifted off the metal which was still quite hot. The scent of magic-infused offal clung to the air like burnt grease. For a few moments I merely stood outside the campsite, carefully scanning the entire area for any potential snares or traps. A true master magician would be able to weave a snare so intricately invisible that I’d have no hope of divining its presence, fortunately Erde Nona only held amateurs playing wizard nowadays. I stepped into the clearing, my boots squishing against a length of innards hidden in the grass.
“Cute,” I muttered, taking another step.
Whoever had done this had saved me some trouble, but they were foolish if they thought they could tread upon ancient ground uncontested. It was clear that someone had learned a few spells and thought they could throw their weight around. It would have been adorable were it not for where they threw their weight. Abandoned or not, that facility belonged to the true heir of Arcadia and this was trespassing most foul. As I moved towards the freshly made entrance, something stirred behind me. I turned to see a young wiry man crawl out from beneath a truck. Dried blood caked his khaki shirt, flaking off in small chunks of red.
“Thank the arbiter,” He said, “You’re armed, let’s get out of here befo--”
“What happened here?” I interrupted, already knowing the answer.
“Well, it wasn’t a tea party I can tell you that much, but, if I’m being honest I don’t rightfully know,” He offered a nervous smile and adjusted his glasses, “As soon as we melted through the door we were attacked, as soon as people started getting ripped in half like tissue paper I hid. Name’s Maxwell by the way.”
Useless. I huffed and turned back towards the hole.
“Wait! You can’t go in there!”
“And why not?” I asked, not even bothering to face him.
“Well, besides it being an up until recently undisturbed historical relic,” He explained, “Whoever did this is currently in there.”
“Perfect,” I said and stepped inside.
I entered into a long triangular hallway, with perfectly smooth metallic grey walls. It was several degrees cooler that it had been outside, and a slight sulfuric smell tinged the air. Despite there being no light sources visible the entire thing was bathed in a gentle light. The hallway had a slight downwards pitch and I couldn’t see it’s end. Behind me Maxwell crawled in through the opening, burning his hand on the still-hot metal.
“Wait, wait, wait,” He protested, “I’m coming with.”
“Now, why would you want to do such a thing?”
"Well, sir, I am a man of history," He cleared his throat and adjusted his bloodied ascot, “And it is my duty as a proper historian to catalogue and document places like this… ideally before anyone else, but second place is still just as good! Sometimes it's even better, as most traps only trigger once!”
Through this forest I moved, sure of my purpose. Arcadia, my beloved, had grown corrupt and complacent. It was glutted with imposters that dared to call themselves mages, they were nothing more than children pretending to be something they were not. This was made worse by the fact that the general populace seemed to accept their outlandish claims of magical proficiency. Preposterous! This, however, was not Arcadia’s greatest sin. For centuries false monarchs infested the kingdom, their rule propagated upon the death of Arcadia’s spirit. My purpose, given to me by the fates, was to be a panacea - a cure for the rot of Arcadia, burning it to ash so that it may be cleansed of its sinners.
However, for all of my indignant vigor, I was not a fool. One man alone could not stand against the accumulated might of the false king. Just as a single drop of water in the ocean could do nothing to influence the tides. No, Arcadia’s reckoning had to be brought about by an overwhelming and irresistible force. This force was something I could cultivate, and cultivate it I did. I moved through the dew-slick forest not for the purpose of communing with nature, but as I said for a purpose. Rumors of a recently discovered golden age facility had reached my ear, and this was something that piqued my interest. Arcadia once held in its possession a dazzling array of powerful technology and even stronger magics, most of which had been lost to time. Archaeologists had clamored, slobbering over one another for a chance at whatever rested inside. However, they were not worthy, and it was my duty - my right - to claim whatever remnants of Arcadia were left.
A path had been carved through the forest to allow for the transportation of heavy equipment. They might as well have rolled out the red carpet for how easy it made the place to find. I picked my way through the treeline, parallel to this path. While I was not afraid of them or what being spotted entailed, arriving unnoticed would make my mission that much easier. There was little wonder as to why the facility had just now been discovered. The forest was a particularly nasty variant. It was filled with nettles that had thorns several inches in length, and the trees formed a dense canopy that revealed nothing to those flying overhead. The facility itself was built into the side of a ravine, with the door having been sealed and designed to blend in with the rockface.
As I drew near I became aware of a distinct oddity. Despite a path having been cleared, ostensibly for the purpose of heavy machinery, the forest was largely silent save for the natural sounds one would expect of a forest. There was no drilling or digging or explosive charges being detonated. There was just the sound of my boots crushing through the underbrush and the chirping of birds. All things considered it was a pleasant day.
I soon discovered why, corpse laid about the site, strewn across equipment and in various states of… disassembly. Fresh blood dripped from a nearby tree, a mangled corpse hanging from it’s bough. This wasn’t what I had expected, but it saved me some trouble. The door, a massive thing no doubt made for the egress of large constructs, had a person-sized hole blasted into the center of it. Fingers of steam drifted off the metal which was still quite hot. The scent of magic-infused offal clung to the air like burnt grease. For a few moments I merely stood outside the campsite, carefully scanning the entire area for any potential snares or traps. A true master magician would be able to weave a snare so intricately invisible that I’d have no hope of divining its presence, fortunately Erde Nona only held amateurs playing wizard nowadays. I stepped into the clearing, my boots squishing against a length of innards hidden in the grass.
“Cute,” I muttered, taking another step.
Whoever had done this had saved me some trouble, but they were foolish if they thought they could tread upon ancient ground uncontested. It was clear that someone had learned a few spells and thought they could throw their weight around. It would have been adorable were it not for where they threw their weight. Abandoned or not, that facility belonged to the true heir of Arcadia and this was trespassing most foul. As I moved towards the freshly made entrance, something stirred behind me. I turned to see a young wiry man crawl out from beneath a truck. Dried blood caked his khaki shirt, flaking off in small chunks of red.
“Thank the arbiter,” He said, “You’re armed, let’s get out of here befo--”
“What happened here?” I interrupted, already knowing the answer.
“Well, it wasn’t a tea party I can tell you that much, but, if I’m being honest I don’t rightfully know,” He offered a nervous smile and adjusted his glasses, “As soon as we melted through the door we were attacked, as soon as people started getting ripped in half like tissue paper I hid. Name’s Maxwell by the way.”
Useless. I huffed and turned back towards the hole.
“Wait! You can’t go in there!”
“And why not?” I asked, not even bothering to face him.
“Well, besides it being an up until recently undisturbed historical relic,” He explained, “Whoever did this is currently in there.”
“Perfect,” I said and stepped inside.
I entered into a long triangular hallway, with perfectly smooth metallic grey walls. It was several degrees cooler that it had been outside, and a slight sulfuric smell tinged the air. Despite there being no light sources visible the entire thing was bathed in a gentle light. The hallway had a slight downwards pitch and I couldn’t see it’s end. Behind me Maxwell crawled in through the opening, burning his hand on the still-hot metal.
“Wait, wait, wait,” He protested, “I’m coming with.”
“Now, why would you want to do such a thing?”
"Well, sir, I am a man of history," He cleared his throat and adjusted his bloodied ascot, “And it is my duty as a proper historian to catalogue and document places like this… ideally before anyone else, but second place is still just as good! Sometimes it's even better, as most traps only trigger once!”