Phil awoke to the sound of boots scuffing across the stone. He had slept well after eating a large meal and drinking a sweet drink that Zarrick had provided that he was sure now was slightly alcoholic.
More noises came from the outer chamber, but the feet didn't approach his bedroom door. The short squeak that he knew before ascending he wouldn't have been able to hear, of someone sitting in a chair confirmed Phil suspicion that it was probably Golder come to fetch him.
Phil pushed the plush comforter off his bed and hurried to one of the adjacent rooms that had a toilet like contraption. The room was bare and cold beneath his bare feet. After quickly washing with a rag and a basin of water, Phil pulled on the same clothing he had been wearing the day before.
Giving the shirt a quick sniff, he noted that someone must have cleaned his clothes while he slept. Wondering if it had been one of the fantasy terminators Phil smiled ruefully.
Phil found Golder in his sitting room as expected. The short thick man wore no armor for the first time that Phil had seen. A dark green cotton shirt hung open, revealing a thick mane of chest hair, and he wore dark brown pants tucked into his high knee leather boots. Phil was reminded once more while looking at Golder how strange of a face he had, with his too large nose and thick forehead brows. He could pass as a Neanderthal if he were a bit taller, Phil mused.
"Aye, so the rumors of you beginning to awake were true?" Golder said. A cheery grin spread across his face and his crooked teeth showing just a tad. "One more day of sleep and I was going to take a bucket of water to you."
One more day? How long had he been asleep?
"How long was I out?" Phil asked. Surely it couldn't have been more than twelve hours. He felt rested and aware, but not so over rested that he had slept more than was necessary.
"Three bloody days," Golder said. He cracked his knuckles absently while keeping his small dark eyes locked on Phil.
"Three days?" Phil asked. He practically shouted the answered response. There was no way he had been out for three days.
"Yeah, and it is a wonder that you weren't out for longer," Golder said. His lips twitched, and his grin was gone, his eyes narrowed. "Zarrick acts without thought more often each day." Golder shook his head slowly and cast his eyes downward.
"What do you mean?" Phil said. Had he been in some kind of danger? His ignorance of the ways of this world was beginning to get him in trouble.
"The Ascension." Golder said, his hands waving about nervously. "I knew he meant to raise you. I wasn't sure for what purpose until he said, but I guessed at the Ascension well enough." Golder's face creased with worry but Phil just stared back at him with an almost bored expression on his face.
"And Ascension is dangerous?" Phil asked when Golder didn't continue.
"Not in its own right no," Golder said. "But you see…normally. Well, when I was raised, I was taught the lessons to help firm my mind. You are told what to expect, prepared. My teacher spent long hours lecturing me about the dangers of fighting against the branding and such. Not that it helped much when the time finally hit, but I knew what to expect in words at least."
"So Zarrick didn't follow…tradition?" Phil guessed at Golder's concern.
Golder gave an exaggerated sigh before speaking. "Men have been known to have their minds crack during Ascension. So I thought I'd show you some meditation to help you become more aware of your new power." Golder stared at Phil and wrung his hands before saying. "You haven't heard any voices or feeling out of character have you?"
"Are you asking if I'm crazy?" Phil asked, unable to keep a smirk from his face. "Honestly Golder I just woke up, but I will let you know if someone decides to say anything that only I can hear. By the way, Bob says hello." Phil did his best to not laugh.
Golder for his part eyed him suspiciously before letting out a, all too loud, laugh. His deep, rich voice boomed in rolling laughter for several long moments before he was able to recover his composure.
Thinking himself rather witty Phil noticed there was a plate of cheese and bread next to two cups and a pitcher of a dark black liquid. Phil's stomach decided that it was the proper time to give a loud growl.
"Eat and drink your fill, Phil," Golder said winking and chuckling to himself again. "Once you are full, we can begin some mediation."
An empty plate and half a pitcher of what tasted like sweetened coffee later, Phil nodded his readiness to Golder.
"Close your eyes and imagine you are standing in front of yourself," Golder said. "Now watch as the physical washes away, and only the spiritual realm is left to be seen. What do you see?"
Phil's eyes were shut tight, and he did his best to imagine himself standing in front of himself, but he wasn't sure what he was supposed to see if the physical part of himself went away. He kept picturing his flesh melting away and a cartoon skeleton sitting in a chair.
"It isn't working," Phil said. "I don't know what it should look like so I can't picture it."
"Picturing, it is only a way to help you sense what you are already feeling," Golder said. "You are filled with the power of creation. It flows through you to your strongest focal points. Open your eyes to the creation and see the truth."
Phil opened his eyes. Nothing looked different as he stared down at his hands and glanced towards his chest. Sparring a glance at Golder, Phil jumped. The stout man's eyes were hazed over with a smoky gold color, and his eyes were fixed on him.
"Your connection is strong. Your capacity to hold the power is incredible. You truly are of the purest blood. Open yourself to the waves of power. They permeate around you, through you."
Phil closed his eyes again and listened as Golder repeated his instructions. If he could just focus his mind without thinking about how stupid all this meditation mumbo jumbo was, maybe he might see something.
An hour later, Phil was on the edge of sleep from sitting so still for so long. Across from him, Golder continued to repeat his mantra. Suddenly a memory flashed in Phil's mind shocking out of his stupor.
In his mind's eye, he remembered the blue waves of power that connect everything and how brightly both Golder and Zarrick had glowed. And then at the edge of the memory, he saw his own glow. His chest had been caved in, and a bright white light shone through and on the edges tentacles of blue.
Streaks of blue mixed with something at his center and golden light radiated out from his core. He saw six other points of light, except they didn't have blue coming out of them they were being fed by large cords of energy from his center. He knew more than saw how they linked his mind, spirit, and body. He could see how they would increase his natural abilities, hasten his healing, speed his perception so he could react with inhuman speed.
He realized at some point during his inspection of himself that the memory was gone and he was viewing himself as he was in the present. Strong and filled with the power.
"I…" Phil said. "I can see it." All the mockery had left his voice, and he said the words almost reverently. "It's beautiful."
"About time!" Golder said. "Drop the true vision for now. Zarrick has everything ready for your journey. Oh, he meant for me to give you this." Golder pulled a pile of papers he had been sitting on and pushed them into Phil's hands.
It was a picture of an amulet. Ornate with strange carvings of some thick-necked horned beast. Almost looked like a buffalo Phil mused. And a contract that said in no uncertain terms what he was to do and that he had…wait what?
"I have thirty days to return with the amulet, or I am disavowed and no longer under his protection?" Phil asked. He stood and with an effort calmed himself.
"Aye thirty days is too long if you ask me, but I imagine he knows it'll take some time to get yourself into that murders good graces," Golder said. He seemed unconcerned about the deadline and had the gall to act like thirty days was too long of a time.
"Why thirty days?" Phil asked. "What happens if he wants me to train for a year before raising me up as a full Knight and I can't get access to the amulet?"
"Things are moving fast, and I am not sure we have even thirty days if we hope to stop them," Golder said.
An obvious question flitted through Phil's mind that he hadn't asked before. "Why does he need the amulet?"
Golder went silent and drew his lips into a line. Finally, he said, "There are things you need to know and things you don't. Mind your business and Zarrick will keep you safe, otherwise, go on your own way and see how far that gets you." Golder stood and walked out of the room. The door slamming behind him.
Phil stared after him. What had he gotten himself into?
***
Phil followed behind one of Zarrick's fantasy terminators, fantinators? No, that sounds silly. Sillier than following a robot made by an apparent forgetful madman that can create robots while everyone else is fighting with sword and spear? Focus, Phil practically shouted inside his head.
He had decided several things in his few hours of quiet reflection after Golder stormed out. One; that he didn't understand the contract he was meant to sign in the least. It was filled with jargon that seemed purposely vague.
Two; he was going to do his best to owe as little as possible to Zarrick because somehow he knew that every help the man gave him would be expected to be returned in some way. Phil took a deep breath and steadied himself for his meeting with the steel-eyed man.
The steady clank of fantinators feet was the only sound to break the silence as they approached a heavy metal door at the end of the stone corridor. The thing wasted no time on knocking and with a great screech, the door swung wide.
"I've been meaning to oil that door." Came a voice muffled by a cacophony of sounds. Machines whirled, and hammers thumped high metal twangs. A rush of foul-smelling air filled Phil's nostrils, and his hand shot up to block out the acrid aroma.
Phil stared in amazement on a room that couldn't be possible. The ceiling stretched up some hundred feet high, and gigantic bladed fans churned the air, pulling smoke and particles upward into vents.
Vast rows of machines of all kinds were being manned by fantinators of every imaginable configuration. A four-armed thickly built golem struck at an anvil while holding another piece of metal in a bright flame while another arm stretched unnaturally long and worked the bellows.
To the opposite side, a golem threaded chain mail with at least a dozen small spiny arms. The walls of the entire complex were a stark white, only darkened when a section of wall came close to a furnace or other strange machines.
It took a greater effort than Phil cared to admit to pull his eyes off the hundreds of fantinators working like busy ants.
"Welcome to my workshop!" Zarrick's voice was cheery, and Phil had to double take to reassure his mind that it was indeed Zarrick.
The small man wore a loose white tunic with a thick brown leather apron covering most of his chest and down just above the floor. His once neatly cared for hair stuck up wildly out the side next to his large pointed ears. His grim face held a wide grin that carried all the way to his eyes. Perched on his forehead was a pair of round goggles made with yellow colored metal and leather.
"This is amazing!" Phil said in return. He truly meant it he realized as his eyes flicked back towards the throng of workers. This man has an army of workers. He could power the economy of an entire city. A thought occurred to him as he marveled at the scope of the room and remembered his walks in the long corridors. "We're underground." He said it as a statement but hoped Zarrick would confirm his suspicion.
"Yes. My domain runs deep beneath the city of Kohthar" Zarrick said. "You don't remember arriving here then? You'll see the tower when you leave, it is a sight to behold. But enough of that, I have been hard at work while you laid your days away."
Phil watched as Zarrick moved towards a long low table where a human-shaped object was covered by a thick white sheet.
"Is that?" Phil began to ask when Zarrick cut in.
"Yes. Yes, it is!" Zarrick said. Phil couldn't help but notice his voice took on an excited manic tone as he spoke. "Everything is in place, but I thought you might want to be apart of the activation sequence, so I sent for you! Let's begin!"
Phil stepped forward as the sheet was ripped free from the low tabled form. A scented of oil and a strange burning smell that he had trouble placing filled his nostrils. And then he saw the metal shell that held his gem.
The face caught and held his attention first. Instead of looking overly like a skeleton face, it resembled a human. Except that it had a hardness to it and the edges of the cheeks were hard ridges, and the brow stuck out over the empty dark holes where the eyes would have been. On the crown of its head and, Phil realized as he leaned down to get a better look, all over its face in finer script were strange symbols. Only on the head of the golem did they stick out, being inlaid with gold inside the grooves.
As if Zarrick guessed his thoughts, he said. "It's a new technique I've been working on perfecting. It should allow limited facial expression. The tradeoff is it won't be as hard as the rest of the adamantium structure, but the inner casing is still encased in the stronger metal for the safety of its internal processors."
Phil's nodded along as he spoke. Wait, did he say processors? "Are you telling me that you have computers?" Phil could feel his excitement growing. Now, this is something he could work with, something he understood. The cold hard logic of programming and working through a problem the way only a computer could.
"Not familiar with the term computers, but I use an older technology first pioneered by my people over a thousand years ago. The soulstones work as power sources, batteries if you will, but the thing that allows movement and the ability to follow commands come from the core processing unit." Zarrick turned and pulled a box out from under the table. Carefully he opened the lid.
Inside the box, there was space to hold two baseball sized objects, but only one sat on the velvet in the box. It was a clear ball with smoky white fog seeming to swirl inside of it. An occasional ripple of white lightning danced on the edge.
"This is what allows my creations to live. It retains electrical signals in patterns that solidify into pathways for memory, learned skills, language processing."
"How do you make them?" Phil was never huge on understanding the hardware side of the computers he worked with, but he prided himself with having a basic knowledge at best. But this 'magic' globe sounded vaguely familiar to how an actual human brain worked.
"I don't," Zarrick said, his voice sounded hard again. "These are one of the few secrets I've never been able to crack. I do, however, know how to install them and where to connect the flows to get them to function!"
Phil couldn't stop himself from asking the obvious question. "If you don't know how to make them then where do they come from?"
"That, my curious friend, is my secret." Zarrick's smile went wide and wicked. But, Phil noticed, his eyes didn't share in the smile and appeared cold and dangerous again.
Stifling down further questions Phil studied the rest of the golem. The rest of the body was similar to the very first fantasy terminator he saw, except that everything looked more streamlined. The edges were smoother the cords that snaked throughout seemed to be placed with more care and resembled the cords of tendons.
"The soulstone you found is remarkable," Zarrick said. "I have had it up and running the same day if I didn't spend so long studying the soulstone. I wish I could figure out who made it." His hands rubbed together, and his eyes narrowed as he stared down at the golem.
"Yeah sorry," Phil said. "I wish I could help you, but the thing just showed up next to me." Showed up next to him. Out of nowhere at the same time, he entered Haven. These soulstones hold the power to give life, could they be alive in some way?
"How do you make soulstones?" Phil asked. His mind raced at a possibility he hadn't dared hope to be true.
"With great difficulty," Zarrick mumbled. "We need to begin, and I'm not going to spill out all my secrets for free. I'm giving you enough as it is." The last sentence trailed off into an angry mutter.
Phil pushed aside his hope for now and followed Zarrick's beckoning to kneel beside the golem.
"Place your hands here." Zarrick motioned to the metal chest. "I am going to be doing the shaping, but we will be pulling from your well of power. Do not resist me during this, or you could hurt us both."
No sooner were the words out of Zarrick's lips then Phil felt a tugging on something deep down. He closed his eyes shut and did his best to meditate so he could see the strands of power. It took considerable focus and time, all the while he was being tugged at, but at last, his eyes were opened to the world of power.
Blue stands of power snaked from Zarrick and pierced into him and tugged at lines of power. Phil relaxed and let his power be as mold-able as clay. As he relaxed his power, he felt a draining. Zarrick had merged his tentacles with Phil's power and began snaking it through the golem in complex arrangements. He formed foreign shapes and curves confidently and fluidly.
Phil could feel himself being drained of life. He hadn't realized how amazing he felt until the energy was being snaked away from him. Fighting down the urge to pull his control back and horde the power inside of him, Phil instead focused his mind on the workings of the patterns.
They repeated in places, and the more he focused his mind, the more he realized what he was seeing. The shapes and curves were a form of language or runes. This pattern here repeated on every path that led to the processing core, and this pattern was only used when snaking power to the limbs. The longer he stared and pondered the possible effect they could be having, the more he felt he could almost understand it.
The shapes seemed to sing to him their purpose. Bind, flow, constrain, and enhance. Words filled his head, and the world around him swam. His special vision failed him. He focused on nothing and dare not think of the symbols he saw as his vision swam with darkness, and he balanced on the edge of consciousness.
Time lost its meaning as blurry forms worked all around him, and the faint sound of thumping filled his ears.
"And done!" A voice suddenly cried out.
Like a rubberband, Phil snapped back to full consciousness. Tired, but aware once more of his surroundings. He knew without checking that nearly all of his collected power had been used up and slowly, he could feel it struggling to fill.
"That was…" Phil said. "Exhausting."
He wanted to say more, he wanted to drill Zarrick on the meanings of the symbols, but his fatigue held him back.
"Oh yeah," Zarrick said. "I meant to give you this beforehand, but it won't hurt to drink it now." He raised a small vial of dark liquid towards Phil. "It's concentrated geller root. It helps to relax your flows and replenish your power."
Phil reached out and took the vial. Too tired to care and too tired to think twice he uncorked the vial and drank. Bitter strong hot liquid poured down his throat, and he choked, coughing wildly.
"Much better!" Zarrick said amid Phil's violent coughing. "That should open you up nicely."
Sometime later Phil recovered long enough to drink some water that Zarrick had been holding out for him. His throat felt raw, and he could taste blood in his mouth, but he realized he did actually feel better. The fatigue was all but gone, and he could feel his power beginning to coalesce. It wasn't nearly as full as it had been, but he felt worlds better than he had just minutes ago.
As the power infused hi, he actually felt his senses enhance. The quiet clack of distant hammers increased in volume, the varied smells, from smoky to acrid threatened to overwhelm his nose, and the feel of the air current being pushed upward became recognizable. He felt a buzz inside, and he was alive.
"The golem will be ready by the time you have suited up," Zarrick said.
"Suited up?" Phil asked.
***
Phil didn't have to follow the small man long before they reached a section of the facility that had several rows of armor. Zarrick stopped in front of a suit of armor and Phil studied it.
The armor looked nothing like the large breastplates and full metal pieces Phil had seen in movies, this armor seemed to be made of hundreds of small overlapping plates. Starring at the armor with the long hooded vest that stretched to the ankles and a cape-like cloak faceted around its shoulders; Phil tried to puzzle out how on earth he would even begin to put on such armor?
Just below a plated codpiece on the inner thigh of the armor, there was the dark gray of some tightly woven material. It was dull by the looks of it, and when Phil stepped forward to run a hand down its length, he discovered it had a repeating pattern of ridges.
"Ah yes, the undergarment helps keep the plates in place and provides excellent mobility." Zarrick began. "It does, however, have the unfortunate drawback of being no more able to turn away a sharp blade than common chain mail."
Phil found himself frowning as he picked out all the places where the plates didn't overlap completely leaving vulnerable gaps. The neck had loose plates, but he could see the material plenty as it rose up and connected to a full faced helmet. Under the armpits, elbows, knees, and portions of the hand and feet were all exposed to differing extents.
Finally getting a hold of himself, Phil had to lift his jaw. A mixture of awe and appreciation washing over him.
"How do I.." Phil began to say but stopped short as he starred at the magnificent armor. A sudden thought wormed its way into his head. Why is he giving me this armor? What does he have to gain from me? This was well beyond the wording of the contract.
No sooner had the thoughts run through his mind did another set of memories resurface. Pain and suffering beyond anything he had ever thought possible.
No. No. No, I can't go back to that, and if this is the only way to be truly free from them, then I will follow this scheming man and take his gifts.
He knew that every favor being done to him tied him tighter to this man and whatever his desires were, but there was nothing to be done. He would go and find the Crimson Death or whatever he called himself and get the training required to fetch the damned amulet. Then with that training and the gifts from Zarrick, he would be strong. Then he could make his own way in this new world. He could be free from the webs that kept springing up around him.
All these thoughts flashed through his mind in mere moments, and he felt his jaw clench as his mind firmed on his path.
"How do I put this armor on?" Phil said. His voice ringing clear and loud. It took effort not to let his voice waver with the thoughts of pain and torture pushed back behind a thin layer of willpower.
"Ah, the plates help with that considerable, but having a helping hand is still required." As Zarrick spoke, he waved a golem over, and the tall thing began pulling the pale faded white cloak with yellow hems off the armor.
With the long hooded vest and cape-like cloak pulled free the armor had an almost familiar look. Phil marveled at the construction of the suit. The chest had two large plates in the shape of a man pecs with smaller plates layer throughout mimicking the form of muscles. The shoulders were revealed now, and Phil was surprised to find that the armor lacked great large pauldrons like he had seen on others walking about the city and in almost every fantasy movie he had ever seen.
Instead, the shoulder plates were no larger than what a well muscles man might have on his own shoulders. Moving to the back of the armor to get a better look at what the golem was about Phil peaked around just in time to see the thing remove a spine covering that started just above the bottom and ran to the upper neck. This armor truly was amazing.
Below the removed spine support were a series of gray metal flat clasps. One by one, the golem flicked them open, and the armor began to crane forward. It paid no mind to Phil's drooling look and continued its work, reaching between two plates below the knee. With a click, the right book fell free.
Phil reached down to the other boot to assist. The plates on the side of the knee came apart easily between his fingers. The chalk-white appearance of the armor unnerved him again as his fingers ran across it. He expected it to feel pores and chalky, but he might as well have been running his hand on polished steel. Finally, his fingers found a flattened latch, and with a bit of effort, he clicked it out of place, and the boot fell free.
No more than ten minutes later he was finally faceting the last clasp and throwing the hooded vest and caped cloak over the armor. The helmet lay to the side along with a separate fast mask that detached from the seemingly full faced helmet.
Something else had caught his eye as he put the helmet aside on a workmen's table. A six-foot spear with a wooden shaft of dark brown and black striations. A polished steel blade nearly the length of a sword on one edge and a clear globe on the other end. The wood wrapped around the clear gem as if its roots clutched it in place.
Donning the helmet, Phil slid the faceplate into place. The helmet angled slightly at the highest point like a fat almond, but with ridges like flowing waves growing up from the eye-opening. The front of the helmet came to a beak-like point over the nose, and with the faceplate, in place, there was just enough room for him to see through the eye slits and still retain a semblance of peripheral vision. The face plate had flowing ridges as well, except that they opened up into small needle thick slits. Perhaps to help him breathe better? Whatever the purpose, his breathing still felt slightly strained with something pressed so close to his face.
"The spear and armor are yours," Zarrick said. "I believe the spear is made from a cutting of blight-wood with a primitive focusing crystal on one end. It'll allow you to minimize transfer waste when you tap into your boon if you can convince that Crimson Death fellow to take you on before you die."
"Blight-wood," Phil repeated, he barely heard the rest of Zarrick's words as he focused on the armor. "And what about this armor? It's white well, almost white."
"It's nothing special," Zarrick assured him. "An old piece I acquired and fitted to your frame. It'll work just as good as any armor, but it isn't as durable as, say, adamantium. No time to make you a suit of that though. This should work well for my plans."
"When do I leave?" Phil asked. The awesome new armor had filled him with a sense of wonder, and he was eager to be doing something. He felt energized and hot. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and then he began to realize how hot thick skin tight armor could be when you were in a large factory filled with furnaces.
"One last thing before you leave!" Zarrick said. He hurried off to another table and came back a few moments later with a bracer of green metal. "I was able to get this made for you, and I think it'll come in handy where you are heading. Nasty creatures out that way."
Zarrick locked the bracer over Phil's left arm. It had curve flat piece metal attached to leather strips that faceted around his forearm. A series of those mesmerizing runes written out in an oval shape.
"What is it?" Phil asked. He recognized one or two of the smaller symbols.
"A shield!" Zarrick said excitedly. "Connect your flows to the center most portion of the runescript, and it'll create a barrier of energy that should repel most kinetic energy. It isn't the strongest, but it was the best I could throw together with what little time I had."
What was Zarrick expecting of him to give him so many gifts so freely? Pushing his suspicion away once more, Phil thanked the small man.
Looking down at his new 'shield' and holding his wicked looking spear, Phil felt as ready as he was ever going to be.