Samson Farmer.
Dograsp. Pas County, Kasia.
4th of Quartutus, 1492.
***
It was amazing- how I was both still a child and not. Looking back, it was almost painful the way I lost sight of things the moment I arrived at the Bodhi Tree.
I was a Farmer not just in name. My ancestry was comprised of simple farmers, and we were good at it. We had to be, with robust bodies and magics of water and air running deep in the family. I had to be, with my Rain Magic.
I was a Farmer. But I lost sight of that when I awakened my other affinity core. Aluminum. A metal that wasn't as strong as steel but was far lighter and didn't rust.
Because of that- because I was a Farmer, I aced the guild assessment and was admitted to the Bodhi Tree. But like the boy I was, I grew distracted the moment I stepped through those mythical doors. Pretty faces and fantasies stole my attention away from what was important. Fortunately, that lasted until I was forced to step up.
Becoming Cooke Party's leader of Team 3 was perhaps the best thing that could have happened to me. Working so close with Amun allowed me to see what the others could not. I saw the method behind the madness he so often imposed on our party. Moreover, I saw how to properly lead. I saw how to gain the respect and thus the trust of those beneath me in ways that made them want to follow me on their own accord, not do so because I demanded it. That, and much more.
Like many things, however, the realization of what was observed came at a much later date. It came after I learned the ways of my magic and manipulation with the rest of Cooke Party; after I swore into the Legions in exchange for becoming a 'Super-Soldier'; after I was educated and trained in Noctis Reach with the other founders; after I evolved, ascended, and descended to the Mortal Plane as a Captain of this legendary organization; that was when it began.
With the other fighters, we went to the Capital of the Kasian Empire. The great city of Froipuinx had a not-so-great population of 67,000 trapped behind a towering enchanted wall raised by to the fear of the never-ending war outside. Mostly. There were always some young faces who dreamed of becoming mighty on the battlefield like me. There were always Amazonians frothing at the chance to join the military or a guild and show their might. There were always gladiators, fighting house champions, and executioners fighting, training, or killing.
There were always those who sought to become Battle Mages.
Such ambitions were not in short supply. And so, while we went to the guild hall to train in the evolved combat techniques of our classes, our clones went to the southern wall to raise our towers on the back streets of the city, forming new gates that were open to both the dreamers inside and those that sought a challenge outside.
Some were more strict with those they let in, however. Zarzok only allowed those who loved to make heads roll- executioners. The Amazonians filled their ranks only with those who shared their blood, either partially or fully. I allowed only simple lads into my ranks. Orphans, farmers, carpenters, masons, smiths, and general laborers. The ones who had nothing, yet wanted to become everything.
No matter the means to recruit, we all used the same method to train them- the same method used to train us. They were made to push themselves in the trials of combat and physical training by fighting against their Doppelgangers and the undead. They were learned in the ways of might and magic in our classrooms. Then they were thrown to the wolves in our fighting pits and sent on patrol to gain a taste of battle.
But of course, not everyone was meant to make it. Not even we were safe from the Shadow of Death. Only we, however, could move beyond the doorway it produced.
Many of those we recruited and subjected to our deathmatches and patrols saw gruesome ends. Such a thing was only natural. Therein saw the largest difference between us founders- us Primes of the Legions, however.
Our reactions could not have been more dissimilar. The Amazonians, rich in their culture, only saw those who died as the chaff surrounding the wheat. Yet even those weak ones were given second chances through undeath and thus became great as undead shadows.
The Goliaths; Slate and Kaolinite, lived for challenges of skill, might, and prowess. Being from a species known for being nomadic raiders, they saw the deaths of their subordinates as the natural progression of things. In that way, they were a bit like the orcs outside. However, they had far more honor, immortalizing those who fell via busts, statues, and carvings the fallen souls could visit from the Under; for their bodies were raised as skeletons and zombies that had no recollection of the life they'd once lived.
Zarzok, due to his class, supplied the Legions with the majority of heads that became Lore Skulls. Due to his species, there was little he remembered about those beneath him who fell. Even after being raised as undead.
Most curiously, Winston Epeth didn't mourn for his losses. Neither was he indifferent, however. Instead, he saw those lost lives as marks against his merit, birthing an insatiable drive to do better, to be better; to grow. More than he already had.
As for me, I bled for my men. I bled with them. In their final moments, I scarred myself on the arm before ending their suffering with my hand. We buried them in darkness with honor, grieved for their deaths, and immortalized them by building workstations, laboratories, and other facilities in my bas; and with reverence, they were raised as undying shadows. Not as soldiers. As instructors, philosophers, scientists, engineers, as diplomats. Any and everything that came from their connection to Amun.
Even then, the burden was heavy, and I was not in a position to buckle under its weight. So, like Winston, I sought to become better according to my proclaimed dream- to be Superior to all other Soldiers in the realms.
We returned to Dograsp in the middle of Duotra to train harder than ever before. We educated ourselves through NoxNet, developing a culture for the brotherhood we forged. We delved deeper into the city to become learned in the ways of diplomacy and law. We adopted the ways of impeccable professionalism and became practiced in the art of crafting; and for all the teachings I imposed on my lads, I took on double the burden.
I started training with the tools used in the other Legions. Raphew. Potters. Land Ships. Sky Skiffs. Tanks. Spell Cannons. Drop Pods. I delved into the most secret and secure knowledge on the Net and learned what exactly a super soldier meant in Amun's past life; both fictional and real, and found all manner of things. Super serums. Genetic mutations. Saturnian Knights. The Astros Clan. Marines of Space.
I used the blessings afforded to me to learn of all things science and engineering, all for the sake of designing Aluminum-Rain models of power armor, tanks, and drop pods for my lads. Then we organized to engage the orcish war bands once more. But not before the various fighters of Class 999 gathered together for the final time to organize ourselves in the hierarchy of Legions.
It was not that we had no aspirations to be Imperators. It was that we had niches that, for the time being, fit best in other Legions. The 1st Legion, for the majority of us.
"Well, we're off to Chor." Winston was the first to say. His tower was formed into a ring and his troops were gathered in formation behind him, eager to get underway via the new toys provided to us.
"Chor?" Teo cocked her head in confusion.
"To rendezvous with Willard and Ritrix, and eventually Jaimess. We'll be joining his Legion."
"Lame." The Amazonian rolled her eyes.
Much to our surprise, however, Zarzok and his troops trotted up to his side in the following moments. "Well, it was fun and all. But I'm off to join the Crown as well. Make sure you send any prisoners my way."
"We don't keep prisoners." Ale Nicchi proudly said. "The weak die or run away. That is all."
"Exactly," Zarzok smirked.
With words of respect and promises of future challenges, Slate and Kaolinite departed shortly thereafter, racing up to the mountains in the distance to rendezvous with the other Goliaths and those who accompanied Roheisa from the Mazi Council.
The rest of us went to war. The Warrior Corps and us, the Rain Men.
Orsola took point, taking her marines on their boats up the Mistforest River; a vast stretch of water that began its journey high in the Rharian Mountains, carving through the western edge of the Kingdom before it arced around northern Mazi on its way to the coast. Though they and thus we didn't travel that far.
Being on average 20 kilometers in width, the Amazonian Marine Division had a lot of territory to cover. Territory that was ruled by wild blue orcs who used their manipulation prowess to entangle propellers in seaweed and drag marines into the depths; only to be skewered by the weapons born from Orsola's Spike Magic. And so, that left Ale Niche's Warrior Army Division on their own as they straddled the southern side of the river. As they hoped to be.
They were heavy warriors in terms of body mass only. They wore no armor, as the Amazonian culture dictated, using their superhuman abilities or, in Ale's case, a body of jade to fight the roving lowland orcs. They used the same weapons and shields as their adversaries, only their adversaries' weapons were more versatile.
The green orcs threw massive clubs and large sharpened stones to the ground before engaging in hand-to-hand combat, attempting to kite them around the battlefield while their manipulation saw the grasses and weeds lash their tools into axes, spears, or swords and come to their aid at the most opportune times.
Their sister- the strongest among them- took up a role that closely aligned with ours. However, it was done in a way that was much more… crude. Their gear and devices used the power of Teofila's Rubber Magic to make launch pads that sent them crashing into enemy emplacements headfirst, where they would bounce from wall to wall, slashing everything in sight.
That was not to say she did not fall into our niche, however. Her twin gladius' were charged with Toril's lightning magic. By tapping them together, she could summon that lightning at will to either charge her swords or bring her to us in the clouds.
At times, she gathered the Amazonian Skyfall Division here, in my barracks reformed with my fused magics of aluminum and rain. They would regroup and recover but never impose on us, remaining at the edge of our clouds while Teo ascertained her next target. Rarely would we join her, for our men were forever in the depths of Bluszil's Land while we commanders looked over them from on high.
They swept across Pas County like a plague while remaining aware that the battles thus far were merely a prelude to what was to come.
The high-orcs that dominated the wilds of Bluszil's land were as mighty as they came. Their limbs were as large as the trees they manipulated, enabling them to carry axe heads and blades larger than any man in existence. They threw them to great effect. Always, they buried themselves into trunks, where the wood gnarled and grew into handles for their wicked weapons. But we had learned of such orcish ways long ago.
Moreover, we were not lesser men.
We did these things as the Bodhi Tree's Fighting Guild dictated, for that was half the path of an evolved Fighter, and we strode down it with a fervor unseen in centuries.
Our constant warring saw us matching those orcs in strength. It saw the Amazonians exceeding their might by leaps and bounds, and together, we crushed them. It saw us carve a line of carnage to Bluszil's stronghold of Eagport by the 15th of Trescia. The last stop on our long path.
Here, there were orcs of every kind, and they were civilized. Much less brutish but far more cunning. Not to mention, larger. That was of no consequence to us, however.
As we had done thus far, we donned our sacred Rain Mail, equipped our assault packs, and sheathed our weapons before moving to the edge of our cloud hold. In that way, we were like the Amazonians. They, however, relied on the magic of their leaders to impale, barrel into, or ricochet themselves off the ground, landing with devastating effects on the enemy.
We simply rained from the skies.
Our hive mail of Aluminum Rain-infused mithral saw our comically large assault packs liquidize and soak our bodies to liquidize us too. Then we flowed from our cloud as a mass of cold metal rain that fell on Eagport.
Witch-Doc Sterling remained in the skies above Tech-Mage Tarou Kane to heal our lads and wreak havoc on the gates and walls of the city, creating for our men to push toward. Beneath them stood Civil Chief Lanely Aelfric and General Jaren Blandus, who directed their healing and firepower toward those who needed it most while attempting to make contact with the rulers of Eagport. Leaving Chief Engineer Bilal Martel with me and Executor Shaw at the rear of the line to salvage or repair equipment and command while Marshal Jafari Markos led the line from the front.
We fought for nine days, wherein a great voice bellowed. "HOLD!" rendering the warring orcs into immobile statues. If only for a moment. In the next, the wood they'd manipulated around their massive blades withered and those stained masses were promptly stowed, exchanged for open hands that gestured us into the city.
We were shown great hospitality for proving to be worthy foes to war against. A compliment that utterly swooned the Amazonians, for it was given by the strong.
They congratulated us for doing what several generations of Bodhi Tree fighters could not and lamented that the tradition was lost to time and hard feelings by the others. I gained some enlightenment from that, for we had learned to walk with death along the way. But then Bluszil asked for our names.
"Legatus Noctis Samson Framer. Commanding General of the Rain Men. Prime Noctis Legionary."
"Nox, huh? That explains it." Bluszil chuckled. "You Legionaries fight well. Very well! I hereby grant those who wear the black tree free reign across Kasia!"
We went to sleep that night among former foes- not enemies, for the orc civilization was more honorable than most I'd seen; and the knowledge I gained from the Legions made me see them as less of an evil scourge and more of a cruel necessity.
War for an orc was comparable to emotions for a demon. Without that, without them- without dragons, civilizations both vile and righteous would be left unchecked and uncontested for eons. The fact that it was them who made it difficult for civilizations to rise to greatness- the fact that they needed war made them be seen as evil by the other civilized species.
That was not the case for us.
That was not the case for me. War was the forge that turned the boy I was into the man- the soldier I became. And so, I grew to adopt some of the orcish customs as my own.
That was all before Mani's eye blinked. On that day- a single day after the war ended- I saw the three things that would turn us into the super soldiers we dreamed of becoming, and thus spent the rest of my time redesigning myself according to those most amazing things.
Paragons. Templates. Augmentations.
Rain Men.