23rd Day of Ash, 122th Year of the Age of Steel
Masagh plunged the blade into the oil. It steamed and bubbled, hissing up at him. Arthur watched from the desk where he was adding script to an intricate torc for Emerande. Masagh knew why he was watching too, he had almost thrust the blade into the vat of water. On this type of iron it that would have made the blade brittle and weak. Also, with the Kinetics they hoped to impart layered with the dragon shard, it would be too much for the brittle iron to hold.
None of that mattered though, because he had remembered in time to cool it in oil. Not in time to avoid Arthur’s glower though. He avoided the Bonecaster’s lecture though, which was a win in itself. He set the blade down on anvil and moved to pull off the heavy rune forged leather gloves. They had been etched with Nio Uvverece long ago by Arthur or some other rune forger to resist heat. Masagh tossed them onto the tool rack and turned back to the blade.
Hammering out the small warp he had been trying to heat, Masagh’s attention was temporarily drawn to the entrance. The two most junior Bonecasters walked in deep in conversation. They were both within thirty years of birth. Both were adamant admirers of Cyran, Masagh’s elder brother and the High Arcanist. Both were occupied with impressing the man too. Ambitious and young, a dangerous combination his mother had always told him. They ignored Arthur and Masagh where they worked, making their way to the necromancy side of the laboratory.
Masagh watched them move to one of the ichor pods where the Bonecasters submerged their undead and pull from it an abomination of their craft. It was a humanoid form sewn and assembled of many parts. A large, muscled thing of pale skin and mismatched limbs. Masagh was no Bonecaster, and no necromancer, but he could tell it was some sort of flesh golem. As they dragged it to the circle of runes where animations took place Masagh turned back to his work.
“When are you going to rune forge me a great blade?” He asked Arthur conversationally, hoping to get a smile from the burly ghoul.
“Can’t make a pact to a Runeforged blade.” Arthur said, eying him briefly. Masagh raised his eyebrows at that. For some reason he had never known that. “Too full of aether already, can’t fit part of your soul too.”
Masagh sighed and turned back to his work.
“We should work on forging you a set of tools of quality. Every good craft master should have their own, and should make their own.” Arthur said, as if explaining that the sky was blue or the mountains tall.
“I should think-“ Masagh began, but there was a growing rumbling behind them. He turned to see the flesh golem sitting up in the circle. The Bonecasters were smiling with exultation. They were backing away slightly from the animation. Arthur on the other hand was slowly standing from his seat at the desk.
Masagh turned back to his work but his attention was caught by the look on Arthur’s face. “What’s the mat-.”
“You rotbrains rushed the contract.” Arthur yelled, his eyes widening in apprehension. Necromancy was largely a mystery to Masagh, not having aided in any of his mother or brothers’ rituals much over the years. He had been focused on mastering the other magics assigned to him. But he knew that the rituals could be dangerous if not conducted to the letter of the spell. Also, it was no little thing to get Arthur that upset.
Turning around, Masagh was just in time to see the golem, now standing a good nine feet tell in the center of the summoning circle, lean over and bite the arm from one of the Bonecasters. The youth gasped in surprise and slumped down. His collapse triggered the golem to step from the circle and fling the arm across the room, shattering a few potions on a shelf.
Masagh was already moving when the thrall bodily picked up the other and threw him, flailing and screaming, into the vat of ichor. The knight flexed his fingers and invoked his Reaving Rune. The claymore slid free from the scabbard without his touch. The Dancing spell lifted it free and spun the blade to point at the golem. As the enraged thrall leaned down to pick up the collapsed Bonecaster by the leg, Masagh sent a pulse of aether through the blade.
It spun through the air and sliced a deep gash across the flesh golem’s thigh. The blade flipped over again and sped through the air to return to Masagh. The golem turned and looked at him and he saw in its eyes the deep anger and hunger that plagued all undead. It shook him to his core. Long had Masagh been familiar with that hunger, it had been around him all his life. It had been in him. For all those two centuries of life he could still count on one hand the times it had been directed at him however.
The claymore spun again towards the golem. It roared and swung the limp form of the Bonecaster against a nearby pillar, popping his pale head like a grape and crumpling the shoulder. Dark, rotten brains dripped down the pillar. Ghouls could recover from much, but not that. The Bonecasters were now back down to less than five members.
Masagh wove the blade through the air with the Dancing spell. It swirled and bobbed, slicing out at the golem whenever it stepped closer. “Arthur, got any ideas?” Masagh asked, and he was surprised to hear his voice was as calm as ever. Inside his body, his guts tensed with terror. We has glad it was the frozen, chilly terror. The kind that let you think and react.
“Soul gem, hit it there!” Arthur yelled, he was doing something with his hands. The older Bonecaster threw something dark and black at the golem, but the thing sun the corpse in its hands and knocked the attack aside. “In its chest if those two dunderheads did anything right.”
“Go for help.” Masagh yelled to him as he stepped forward, directing the blade to block another attack from the golem. The honed edge sliced the corpse of the Doncaster in half inadvertently in doing so. It was thrown aside into an shelf of scrolls that were surely worth more than his life.
“What about you?” Arthur asked.
Masagh made a gesture and the sword swung back into his hand. Then the blade shimmered and split. He held the duplicate in his grip and once again sent the Dancing pact weapon spinning off to battle the flesh golem. “Go!”
He rushed forward, sliding over a desk and kicking a rack of vials onto the floor in the attempt. Masagh didn’t spare them a second thought. If he didn’t bring the golem down it would destroy the entire Laboratory, setting their production back seasons.
For every strong and chaotic swipe of the golem’s thick arm Masagh met it with a dexterous counter. He held the duplicate before him, to guard against a rush. The Dancing blade slid and twirled through the air with speed, shepherding the golem away from anything that looked too expensive.
The beast swung and then its eyes shifted from the sword that had been menacing it to him. It bent its head low and Masagh knew what it would do before it acted.
“Shit.” He cursed and leapt to the side as the golem rushed him. It bulled through tables of beakers and bottles. Masagh scrambled and dove behind a thick pillar holding the low ceiling up. The golem slammed into the other side of the pillar at the same time. A long, thick arm reached around and grabbed at Masagh’s leg. “Shit shit shit.”
He turned and swiped at the looming golem. Its hands wrapped around the blade of the duplicate sword and he struggled against its strength. Then with a command from him, the Dancing claymore struck. Masagh saw the tip blossom from the golem’s chest. Pale ichor drained from where the tip ripped its way through its ribs. The thing’s grip slackened.
Not one to hesitate when an opportunity appeared, Masagh clumsily yanked the duplicate free and lobbed off the beast’s head. It toppled to the floor. Masagh, still in the thrill of battle and fear, did not stop there. Both blades swung again, separating the thing’s arms as well. The Knight shuffled back and leant against the wall, breathing hard. His claymore clattered to the ground and the duplicate simply disappeared in his hand.
That was how Arthur, Cyran, and Emerande found him when they entered the laboratory. Cyran moved to inspect the dead Bonecaster and Arthur came over to check Masagh. Emerande looked from the golem to the shattered room. Emerande turned and came over to Arthur and Masagh.
“You did well, Masagh. Thank you.” She was breathless, they had run from the Grand Hall. “Your quick blade might have saved this House. Are you alright?”
“No holes that weren’t there before.” Masagh muttered, standing and pulling his claymore off the floor. He let it fall back into the scabbard and rubbed his forehead.
“The other one’s over here.” Masagh grunted, walking over to the glass tub of ichor. Pale grey liquid had been splashed over the sides and one of the Bonecaster’s legs was dangling outside of the vat. That ichor was hours worth of work for some Bonecaster, and now it would have to be mopped up and remade. He reached in and gripped the Bonecaster’s robes.
It turned out the second one was still alive. They were able to get him to return to consciousness with only a few slaps. He curled around himself gasping and spewing ichor, a vicious gash in his forehead. Cyran began reprimanding him the moment it looked as though the Bonecaster could understand words again.
“They went along with a ritual they were not ready for.” Emerande explained. “I think they wished to impress Cyran with what they had learned. It cost us a number of very rare scrolls, not to mention a small fortune in alchemical and necromantic tools.”
“Sorry I didn’t kill it sooner. It caught me off guard.” Masagh admitted.
“No, you did well.” Emerande said. She eyed him. “We find ourselves one Bonecaster short again, with Cyran that is four. Also one is an imbecile who I am inclined to remove from the sworn.” Emerande seethed as she stared over at the young ghoul, now hanging his head while Cyran tore into him.
“We can’t afford to be three, Lady Creth.” Arthur said, his thick forearms crossed across his chest. “Too much to do before Frost.”
Her gaze moved between them. “You might need to take up another hobby, son.” She said.
“No, no. I am already working the forge with Arthur on top of my regular duties.” Masagh waved his hands before him.
“You would be strong in it. If you are to lead a Compound in the future it will be required.”
An old argument, well worn through the centuries and familiar. He ground his teeth and rolled his eyes. “I’m going to master the runes I have, because clearly-“ He gestured to the golem. “We need that just as much. Perhaps if something truly dire happens I will, but we should elevate another of the House before stretching our Knights thin also.”
He stepped past them and left Arthur to contend with his mother. Necromancy had it’s uses, but he did not want to split his attention. Clearly he still had more work to do with his Reaving Rune. He left the laboratory, rubbing a thumb across the palm bearing the Rune absent-mindedly.
