V. Valerios' Mighty Adventure

So begins the account of King Valerios, as transcribed by Johannes Tyrol on the Waxing Crescent of Hatai’s Sixty-First Moon. 

[JT: V’s people use a moon-based calendar that is as fascinating as it is impenetrable. The following events occurred six months ago, at time of writing.]

I almost had him. Had I tactically shed some gear, I might’ve been fast enough to grab hold of the boy and his fiendish tempter. Had I thrown a missile, no doubt I could’ve brought down one or other of them before they could enter the portal.

Alas, I did neither. For some reason, in that frozen moment at the wreck of the Steelbeard Caravan, murder was not on my mind. Perhaps Caela had been influencing me even back then, with her ‘peaceful resolutions’. Or perhaps the duel between Shade and Freija had spoiled my appetite for conflict. At that time, our band could ill afford more losses.

In the moment, I was furious. At the traitors, and infighters, and bystanders to our implosion. Most of all, I was angry at the boy Lux. I had seen us as two horses on parallel tracks, galloping towards destiny. What matter if he lagged behind? He need only look to me to see the direction he must travel.

I was wrong — I see that now. The boy was too volatile to be left alone, yet I had allowed a dangerous mixture of heroism and fear to ferment until it exploded. I might as well have pushed him through that portal.

Regardless, I was insufficiently quick on my feet to stop Lux. When the cracked portal snapped shut, I was halfway through. It became immediately clear that this was a precarious situation. All sound and vision became long streaks, and I felt myself tumble into a crevasse in reality.

Whumph.

At once, my plummeting descent came to an end. I had not crashed or landed; I had simply stopped. I peeled my cheek off a lukewarm marble floor, my head spinning but otherwise intact. Immediately, I recalled Terek’s 32nd Stance: Defending While Disoriented. Unsheathing my close-knife, I burst up from a crouching position, slashing wildly and bellowing a verbal deterrent.

[JT: Terek is a famous steppe warlord who chronicled 96 highly specific battle tactics. V has memorised them all.]

There were no attackers in sight. I appeared to be alone in this… storefront? The rectangular hall was evenly lit, through from whence I could not see, with every surface sculpted from the same flawless stone. Several rows of shelves housed odd curios, completely unprotected despite many appearing valuable.

[JT: V appears not too curious about these treasures; most likely a good thing. It also appears that he had burglars on the brain at this time…]

Just as I was once more at ease, I was alerted by a gout of flame near my position. Behind the shop counter, a pillar of fire resolved itself into a figure entirely alien to me. Its limbs, far too long to be that thin, were cloaked in a ridiculous motley, and its face was disguised by several layers of masks.

I myself wear neither mask nor helmet. I believe it keeps me honest. Also, for each defeated enemy that sees it, my face will become more notorious, until it can end battles without a sword being swung. This is the mark of a truly legendary warrior and king.

“What is the meaning of this?” I cried. General Shavi says it is vital to obtain information as soon as possible. “What do you want with me?”

The creature giggled, in a way that sent a chill down my spine. I must stress that I am not a man typically prone to chills.

“Hee hee. With me, with you? A want, a hungry, a dream, a plan? Could be, could be.”

Its hands, begloved and oddly proportioned, were clasped in front of it like a priest.

“What I can give you?”

The hands spread generously, revealing a small doll.

It was a bulbous clown, most horrid of all entertainers, with a nose and chin like the blades of a pair of scissors. Upon the cracked white paint, the eyes had been painted too soon, such that the black paint had dribbled away in a starlike pattern. Most bothersome was the wide-smiling mouth. The accursed thing had teeth. If a child is to have a biting toy, better to give them a dog, or a harmless snake.

I glared at the shopkeeper, which continued to proffer the doll.

“Take! Take!”

“I do not want this!” I growled. “I want to go back!”

“Back?” it repeated, chewing over the word. Suddenly, it dove headfirst into a box behind the counter, compulsively trying on and discarding more masks than I’ve ever seen.

“Back, back, back,” it parroted.

Finally, it straightened — at least, it became taller, because it still stooped well over my head.

The mask it now wore was most strange, I can tell you. It was a papier-mâché imitation of a steel helm, visor and all. Attached by feeble, ornamental chains was a gold-painted crown. It held it at its forehead, like a child with a toy tiara.

“But where does one go back, hmm?” it cooed. “Back on the line of fate, like a jewel on a chain?”

It dropped the crown, allowing it to dangle at its neck like a gilded collar.

I felt my colour rise.

“Cease your riddles, creature!” I barked. “Send me back where I belong, if you have the power!”

The shopkeeper clapped, the doll vanishing on impact.

“Deal!” it cried, louder than its usual cooing. “The price, very fair, very fair. I take your words to heart.”

Lightning-fast, it reached into my chest. I gasped, feeling a cold needling in my sternum. As the eldritch entity removed its hand, I opened my mouth to protest, but no words came. I could only gape, addled, as the ground turned to water beneath my feet, and I fell once more into the abyss.

[JT: V sees this interaction as nothing more than a prelude to the grander events below. Still, of everything in this narrative, this might be the section of greatest interest to me…]

Once again, I found myself abruptly at rest. Prone, I could feel hundreds of blunt points digging into my face: gravel, or the small stones of a riverbed. This time, I was too shocked to do anything more than roll over, the weapons on my back biting into the gravel beneath me.

This hesitation was not a sign of weakness. It must be understood that I had faced no fewer than a dozen surprises in the past twenty-four hours, not to mention fought a mountain giant to the death. Even one as resolute as myself might require a moment's pause.

I stared up at the sky, which was a most unfamiliar situation to find myself in. Such a perspective is reserved for the defeated or the terminally relaxed, and I am proud to have been neither.

[JT: Citation needed.]

Even so, the view was utterly strange. The sky was as burnt-orange as deep sunset, though the sun was still high overhead. The sun itself was toothed like a gear, casting beams that followed its lazy rotation. In the distance, square-bottomed towers rose dizzyingly high, with plain facets reflecting the yellowish daylight. Their sky-scraping tops ended unevenly, as if their construction had been abandoned.

Everything here was metallic and angular. I pressed my hand into the gravel, and lifted a handful of the stuff to see it was, in fact, made up of little brass pills. 

“Where...?“

I tried to follow General Shavi’s doctrine again, but no sound emerged. My voice — it was gone! It was as though I were trying to flex a hand that had been severed in combat.

For the first time since my abduction from the Cirian Range, I yearned for my allies. Caela would have some misplaced optimism to make me feel better. The wizard Johannes might provide a kernel of tactical insight.

[JT: Quite true!]

There was no doubt: Lux’s foolish determination, Freija’s disdainful bravery, even the calculated caution of that traitor — I cannot even say his name — would have been welcome in that moment. I understood then, as I do now, that I am not well suited to solitude. My place is within a company, an army, a party.

I sat up and discovered, with horror, that my left hand was not empty.  There, under the burnished glow, lay that accursed doll — the shopkeeper had somehow foisted it upon me! Its cracked paint and star-shaped eyes were no less grotesque than before.

I examined it warily.

Then it spoke.

“What are you staring at?” it said - but not in the prattling squeak that might be expected of a construct so small and brittle. There could be no mistaking that authoritative timbre. It had my voice. My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as my mouth worked vainly to protest this abomination.

“Come on, big guy!” it chattered, pointed jaw clacking like a ventriloquist’s dummy. Though it spoke with my tongue, its choice of words was an insult to diplomatic language. “Let’s eat! C’moooon!”

It wriggled against my grasp like a rowdy kitten, arms flapping. I scrambled to my feet.

Vile thing, I thought. Pray that your next reincarnation is better.

[JT: I gather this is a dreadful insult in V’s culture. Essentially, it implies that your current life is worthless and the only hope is that your death will bring about a more enjoyable reincarnation.]

I reared back, feeling little claws scratch my gauntlet, and hurled the doll as far as I could. With a disappearing cry, it flew behind a metallic dune and was gone from view. Turning my back on the abject thing, I regained my composure, striking out across the strange land. 

Crunching across that landscape was unlike any march I had known. I am well versed in extremes of climate, but the temperature was neither warm nor cool. The steel grains beneath my boots were perfectly even, with no sticks or rocks. As I gazed at the blocky towers, a beam of sunlight struck one, sending it ringing like a bell. Another followed suit, then another, until I stood witness to a steely choir.

An unaccountable sense of order and peace fell upon me. It was almost like…

I remembered the visions, brought on by the chiming of sacred bells. They had been my guide ever since childhood, pressed against my mother’s plate-mail bosom, smelling the copper and victory in her hair.

The visions of towers, of steel, of more besides. They were the guidance of my oath, just as Lux was graced with his. I had asked the masked entity to send me ‘where I belonged’. Was this that place?

There was movement at the bottom of the dune: a crowd of blocky creatures, waddling around and climbing onto one another. They retracted their stubby arms and legs into metallic shells, stacking like bricks before inevitably toppling. Perhaps they were so uncoordinated due to their lack of binocular vision - each had a single eye that appeared to be painted onto their flat metal surfaces. I hurried downhill, nearly tumbling in my haste, glad to find beings with which to negotiate.

In lieu of a cry, I drew a broadsword and clanged it against my shin guard, interrupting their nebulous task. At once, they sped up their scurrying. The metal box-soldiers stacked into a pillar, widening out into a platform, upon which they formed a narrow triangle. Each creature was in lock with the others, forming a single structure. The triangle flattened to a narrow edge, and I realised with alarm that they had formed the shape of a giant sword. It fell blade-first towards me, and I dove for cover. 

The crash sent brass pellets spraying into the air, bowling me over. I spun, striking my own blade against its larger imitator. One blocky shape crumpled and fell away. I thrust again, dashing the structure to pieces and sending cube-men spilling about the place.

I watched them fall, congratulating myself on yet another victory, until a sound gave me pause. A metallic pop-popping - that of metal being hammered into shape. As armour might have its dents beaten out, so did the crushed cubes bend back into shape. In no time, they were waddling around as if nothing had happened.

I reached for my back. Unslinging a polearm, I whirled it around my head, scattering the oncoming ranks. There had been a few dozen at first, but more tottered towards us from over dunes and behind half-built towers. Soon, the circle was closing in as fast as I could clear it. My polearm lodged in one foe, wrenching out of my grasp, and I replaced it with a greatsword. My arsenal was running dangerously low, and I had hoped to make it to Aegiswood before any further battles. Alas, I had to make do.

At last, I fell panting to my knees, determined not to yield to the immortal metal horde. They pressed in close, with a screeching of metal, reaching with tiny metal hands to pluck away my weapons. I tried slapping them away, but my two hands were no match for thirty. I felt the straps of my armour pop open as my clothing was systematically disassembled and removed.

I was indeed glad of the temperate weather. I stood: unvoiced, unarmed and undressed, glaring at the cubes. For their part, they seemed more interested in my metal possessions, carefully turning each piece over and chirping in birdlike tones. As I watched, fascinated, they clambered together and formed a giant breastplate, then toppled into an axe, then a sabaton.

At last, I understood. I placed my hands on my hips, and gave Terek’s 3rd Diplomatic Laugh: Chortle of the Knower. The lack of sound ruined the effect somewhat, although the box-people did not seem to care either way.

They are copying me, I thought. I was flattered, for it was encouraging that my aura of leadership extended even across realms, without words needing be exchanged. This is not such a bad realm. Perhaps they can even imitate a way out of here?

I sat and watched them work. After a while, I retrieved my small dagger from a stubborn worker and amused myself by capturing wandering drones and scratching patterns into their surfaces. One gained a pair of angry eyebrows, another a fearsome moustache. Thus did I improve their appearance. I was just completing a gritted-teeth grin on a third when I heard the distant tearing of metal - a sound most out of place among their cheerful chirps.

I started, as did my drone companions. We hurried over the next dune, where a most bizarre sight awaited us.

The hateful doll was scarpering about amidst a bowl of tottering drones. It may have been my imagination, but it looked larger than before — now perhaps up to my knee. It pounced on  a cube soldier and, just as I wondered at its goal, two black appendages shot from its rosy cheeks: spiderlike, shiny and segmented. They punched through the metal cube and levered it towards the doll. It opened its mouth impossibly wide, and swallowed its prey whole.

The drones around me beeped in alarm, and I could hardly disagree. Watching that evil creature feast was akin to witnessing the spirit of gluttony itself. I started forward, when it whipped round to face me.

“Thanks for carrying me here!” it cried, still using my voice. “This world is so tasty. Let’s eat! Let me gobble you up, ok?”

Those yellowed wooden teeth parted, and from around the creature’s chin burst more black appendages. I ducked as hairy chitin scythed the air. I rolled over and over, heedless of the metal grains cutting into my body, purely focused on avoiding its lancing strikes.

The creature rose into the air, face ballooning out of proportion. Dozens of spider-legs pierced fleeing drones and tossed them into its gaping maw in a constant stream of consumption. With each swallow the clown grew, until it cast a shadow across the land. It hovered between the boxy towers, gouging chunks out and tossing them into its mouth. Below, drones frantically tried to stack into their own towers to reach the invader, but were snatched up as easily as ants.

It will consume this world, I realised. And these drones cannot stop it. They have structure, but no direction. 

It was an instinct more than a coherent thought. I had precious little time to think as I fled a rainfall of black spears. My footing failed me, and I felt a line of fire burst upon my back. I crashed down, and prepared for impalement, when I heard an almighty crash. I turned to see the cube-men stacked up to once again form the shape of my broadsword. The giant weapon hurled itself against the spindly legs, dashing them - and itself - to pieces.

Helplessly, I watched them struggle to reassemble. Then, I caught sight of the drone I’d defaced with a moustache. It was tipped over, reaching towards its companions like I was. An idea occurred to me.

I tried to cry out, and failed. Instead, I hurled a handful of gravel at the drones and thrust my bare hand in the air. I prayed to the Gods: Please let this work.

Moustache Drone waddled to me and clutched my arm. Angry Eyebrows Drone followed, clambering atop its friend and locking into place. More followed, building a tower around my arm, and tipping it with five blocky digits.

Armour, I thought with satisfaction. Now we’re getting somewhere.

I flexed, and the steel arm moved with me. Pushing myself upright, I seized the drone-sword and waved my other arm. 

To me!

The clown was still feasting, hundreds of appendages harvesting its metallic prey. But there were thousands of drones now, or more — drawn by the destruction of their towers. They swarmed me, lifting me up on tiny hands. They pressed together like chain links, sweeping me into the air. Higher and higher I went, my whole body encased in living steel.

In the reflection of a tower, I caught a glimpse of my appearance. I was encased within the chest of an immense, growing statue of myself, made from countless drones. From the ground they had seemed  blocky and crude; at scale my likeness was smooth, magnificent, heroic. 

Yes! I crowed to myself, feeling a mental block shatter. They are all individuals, charming and fragile. En masse, they are faceless victims. But organised like this, they become strength incarnate, beauty forged of unity.

My metal colossus towered above the floating clown-head. It paused its consumption, mouth gaping comically. I seized the moment. Rearing back, I thrust my blade into its gullet as it screeched in pain. I let go of the skewer, and placed one colossal hand on each wooden jaw. 

Though my own voice was silenced, every drone offered a cry of triumph as I opened my mouth. The construct gave a metallic bellow as it ripped apart the clownish monstrosity. The creature screeched, deflating like a balloon until nothing was left of it.

The adrenaline finally ran dry in my veins, and I collapsed in my chest-mounted command centre. As my legs gave out, so too did those of the golem. The mighty figure dissolved, the drones gently carrying me down to the ground before scurrying back to wherever it was they came from.

I had won, but was no closer to finding my exit. Worse, I had killed the one creature who may have held the secret to escape. I lamented my fate wordlessly, when I caught the sound of distant bells.

It couldn’t be. And yet - it was. I looked up to see a copper-skinned boy with the jet-black bowl cut common to my tribe.

[JT: Unclear whether this figure literally had skin of copper. Considering the circumstances, either is possible.]

He sat cross-legged upon a pale mare - none other than my beloved Hayl, Warlord of Horses. The rider noticed my affection with a kind smile and shining brown eyes. Behind those eyes was the wisdom of countless aeons, though he looked barely old enough to hold a sword.

[JT: V clarified he meant approximately seven years old.]

When he spoke, it was with the voice I remembered from my vision-dreams.

“Well met, King Valerios! You have triumphed over a mighty foe, with naught but faith in your subjects. This is a lesson well learned.”

I mouthed vainly, and he smiled ruefully.

“My apologies. You have been stolen from, and I have not your original voice to return. Instead, I shall fashion you a new one.”

He produced a loop of silvery thread, such as a child might play games with. His hands blurred, and when they were still, he held a shining ball. Slowly but confidently, as if feeding a wary beast, he pressed the ball into my mouth. I swallowed, tasting coins, and then spluttered.

“You mean…”

I jumped. My voice! It was back, but not as I had left it. The familiar tones were there, but now with a metallic echo, as though I were speaking through steel.

“You must…” I began again. “Is it really you? My Guide?”

He nodded, dismounting. Hayl nosed at my palm. “I have been with you all this way, King Valerios. You may call me Khan Tengri.”

“Th-the Kingmaker?!”

“The very same.”

[JT: Khan Tengri is a god within V’s pantheon. He is the patron and arbiter of leaders — generals, patriarchs, guild heads and, yes, even kings. All of them should strive to follow his example, or so it is said.]

I could scarcely believe it. But, of course —- what should I expect? My domain was rulership, in theory and execution. Who else but the Kingmaker to guide my way?

“Thank you…” I said haltingly, climbing astride my familiar steed. “This was all… your test?”

Khan Tengri threw up his hands.

“Goodness, no!” he cried. “I was watching your performance, but this danger was very real. Many realms may meet the same peril, and not all have someone like you to protect them.”

His face grew grave.

“I will send you home now, for that is where you belong. That is where the enemy has most greatly taken root, and will surely triumph if you do not intervene as you did today.”

I pawed at my throat, remembering how it felt to command an army of steel with a single gesture.

“Send me back with an army of those creatures, and I will do your bidding!”

Khan Tengri shook his head sadly.

“That connection was only possible because of the great Order suffusing this plane,” he said. “Besides, to defeat this enemy, you will not need an army of identical soldiers. You will need a smaller team, with a variety of skills.”

He smiled again, a beacon of hope.

“You already know most of them. All six are waiting for you.”

Warmth infused my breast, and I recalled my companions. The good times, between the hard ones. Then, I frowned.

“Six?” I asked. “But how does-“

“Farewell, King Valerios,” Khan Tengri interrupted. “Lead with love and valour, and your vision will come to pass. Seek the silver tree!”

His last words were nearly lost in echo as I felt the grainy sand falling away beneath me. This time, I smiled as Hayl and I plunged into a whirlpool of nothingness. 

[JT: This account is of great value to us as academics. Firstly, in a biographical context: the fact that Valerios knew his destiny even at this early stage is fascinating, and informs many of his actions in the Aegiswood Affair. Secondly, in a cosmological context — V meets an alleged god, and although Khan Tengri reveals little, he hints at the existence of multiple planar domains. Moreover, he implies a threat to them that our group is positioned to solve. Could this be related to Convergence?

Finally, the meeting with The Collector is of no small interest. Our own encounter may have slipped from the minds of Lux and Caela, but not mine. My research continues.]

So ends the account of King Valerios, as transcribed by Johannes Tyrol on the Waxing Crescent of Hatai’s Sixty-First Moon. 

28. The Silver Tree >>