As the chaos of battle subsided, Atlas turned his attention to Strickler, who had fallen upon one of the fallen Ogres with a primal hunger, his actions resembling that of a starving animal. With a mix of concern and disdain, Atlas approached the frenzied scene, his powerful presence commanding attention amidst the aftermath of the conflict.
"Enough!" he commanded, his voice laced with authority as he reached out to pull Strickler away from his savage feast. With a strength of greater cultivation than his progeny, he effortlessly disentangled the fledgling vampire from his prey, his gaze stern as he addressed him.
"This is not the way of our bloodline," Atlas admonished, his tone firm as he sought to instil discipline in his wayward companion. "We are nobility, not beasts. Show some dignity in your actions."
With a flick of his wrist, Atlas summoned forth his magical prowess, weaving the potent Ogre blood into a swirling mass of crimson energy before him. With practised precision, he directed the flow of magic, transferring the essence of the fallen creature into nearby vessels, where it would be refined into the prized blood wine that sustained their immortal existence.
As the task was completed, Atlas turned to Strickler once more, his expression a mix of disappointment and concern. "Remember who you are," he urged, his words a gentle reminder of the legacy they shared as members of the immortal bloodline. "We are not mere predators. We are lords of the night, and we must conduct ourselves as such."
Strickler's eyes were wide and hungry for this new use of magic that stretched his understanding of the Winds of Magic and how it can be manipulated.
"When will I be shown such magic? My lord."
Atlas regarded Strickler with a measured gaze, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. "In time," he replied, his tone tinged with both caution and promise, acknowledging Strickler's eagerness while also emphasizing the need for patience and discipline in the pursuit of such powerful magic.
As the question of the fallen Ogres' fate lingered in the air, before Atlas could formulate a response, a mercenary from their convoy interjected with urgent news. "We've found the ogre camp," the mercenary announced, his voice carrying a note of urgency that demanded immediate attention.
Atlas turned his attention to the messenger, his expression shifting to one of focused determination. "Prepare the camp to depart," he commanded, his voice commanding and authoritative. "We'll deal with the camp swiftly and continue travelling soon."
With a sense of purpose renewed, Atlas turned to Strickler, a silent understanding passing between them as they prepared to face the next challenge that awaited them on their journey through the untamed lands of the Empire.
As they approached the ogre camp, the air grew thick with the pungent stench of decay, assaulting their senses with its foulness. Strewn about the clearing were remnants of the ogres' recent occupation, a chaotic jumble of discarded bones, scraps of rotting meat, and crude makeshift shelters formed from tattered hides and scavenged materials.
At the centre of the camp, a large copper cauldron bubbled and simmered over a smouldering fire, its contents emitting a noxious odour that mingled with the pervasive stench of the surrounding filth. Nearby, crude cooking implements lay scattered haphazardly, their surfaces caked with layers of grime and grease from countless meals cooked over open flames.
As the mercenaries combed through the wreckage left behind by the retreating ogres, their keen eyes fell upon a trove of spoils hidden amidst the chaos. Gold and gems glittered amidst the debris, their lustre dulled by the grime of the camp, while a curious artefact of elven craftsmanship caught their attention with its pulsating aura of magical energy.
The artefact seemed to emanate a subtle glow, suffused with the verdant hues of the Lore of Life, a potent form of magic derived from the natural energies of Ghyran, the jade wind of magic. The Lore of Life was known for its connection to the vitality of living things, its power intertwined with the ebb and flow of the natural world, and the artefact seemed to resonate with the very essence of the land itself.
As Atlas claimed the elven artefact for himself, his eyes gleamed with a covetous light, his mind already racing with possibilities for its use. He made a mental note to study it further, intrigued by its mysterious properties and potential applications in the arcane arts.
Meanwhile, the mercenaries divided the remaining spoils amongst themselves, their spirits lifted by the promise of wealth and riches. Atlas observed their jubilant celebrations with a sense of satisfaction, knowing that their morale had been bolstered by their success in battle and the prospect of newfound prosperity.
When Strickler inquired about the artefact, Atlas merely shrugged, his thoughts already drifting to their next destination. He cryptically remarked that it might prove useful in the Dark Lands, a realm where the forces of magic and mystery held sway.
However, his attention was soon drawn to the large cauldron simmering over the fire, its contents bubbling and churning with an eerie intensity. Strickler, puzzled by Atlas's fascination with the mundane object, questioned its significance.
In response, Atlas posed a question of his own, prompting Strickler to reach out with his magical senses and probe the depths of the cauldron. As his consciousness brushed against the vessel, he recoiled in shock, his face contorted with horror.
"It... it feels like death," Strickler stammered, his voice tinged with unease. His words hung heavy in the air, casting a palpable sense of dread over the camp as Atlas contemplated the implications of their discovery.
As Atlas examined the surface of the cauldron, a sense of reverence washed over him. These markings were a testament to the countless lives that had been consumed within its depths over the centuries, each one contributing to the dark aura that now permeated the vessel.
"The writing on this cauldron dates back centuries," Atlas explained, his voice tinged with a mixture of awe and fascination. "It's a relic of some long-forgotten settlement, perhaps a town bell repurposed by raided ogres. A grim reminder of the savagery of the ogres who roam these lands."
He paused, his mind racing with possibilities as he considered the potential applications of such an artefact. With a gleam of excitement in his eyes, he continued, "But I see more than just a mere cooking pot. With the right touch, the right magic, we could transform this cauldron into something truly extraordinary."
An idea began to form in Atlas's mind, a plan as audacious as it was ambitious. "Imagine," he mused, "using the insatiable hunger of the ogres and the dark energies infused within this cauldron to create a unique artefact, one that feeds on blood itself. A weapon of unparalleled power, suited to our needs."
As he spoke, the flames of inspiration flickered within him, fuelling his imagination with visions of what could be achieved. With the combined might of necromancy and sorcery, he could mould the cauldron into a tool of unimaginable potency, one that would strike fear into the hearts of his enemies and secure his dominance over the realms of darkness.
Speaking softly, to keep his secret from Strickler, "AI Chip, begin design."
*Beep!*
Before his eye, the interface of light sparked as the chip read his intentions. Using the database of every magical artefact that he had scanned, every rune, to simulate a magical pattern never seen before. Using his mind, he moved runes and lines of power until he was satisfied.
"Watch and learn," Atlas declared to his vampire progeny, his voice brimming with confidence as he focused his magic upon the ancient cauldron. With a fluid motion of his hands, he began to weave intricate strands of magic, each one forming dark runes that shimmered ominously before settling into the metal surface of the vessel.
As the runes took hold, a palpable sense of power emanated from the cauldron, its once-dormant essence now awakened by the infusion of Atlas's sorcery. Bones, from the defeated ogres flew through the air like flies to dung, fusing their ever-hungry essence with the caldron. The air crackled with arcane energy as the newly forged artefact, now dubbed the Caldron of Blood, pulsed with a sinister vitality.
"This is just the beginning," Atlas murmured, his eyes alight with determination as he surveyed his handiwork. "With time and perseverance, this artefact will grow stronger, its abilities expanding with each use."
Indeed, the Caldron of Blood was but a fledgling creation, its potential as yet untapped. But Atlas knew that through diligent practice and unwavering dedication, he could unlock its full capabilities, transforming it into an artefact of unparalleled might.
With a sense of satisfaction, Atlas turned to his progeny, a faint smile playing upon his lips. "We have much work ahead of us," he said, his voice tinged with anticipation. "But with this artefact at our disposal, there is nothing we cannot achieve."
With a gesture from Atlas, his servants moved swiftly to carry out his command, pouring the stored ogre blood into the waiting cauldron. As the crimson liquid cascaded into the vessel, a low, ominous hum filled the air, accompanied by the crackling of arcane energy.
The blood bubbled and fizzed within the cauldron, its surface roiling as the magic went to work. Slowly but surely, the essence of life within the blood was extracted, leaving behind a rich, dark residue that promised both sustenance and power.
"Each refinement is a step closer to unlocking the full potential of the Caldron of Blood," Atlas explained, his voice carrying the weight of ancient knowledge. "The blood wine we create will nourish us and quench our thirst, while the essence absorbed by the metal will serve to strengthen the artefact itself."
As the process continued, Atlas watched intently, his eyes alight with anticipation. With each refinement, the cauldron grew more potent, its power expanding with each drop of blood added to its depths.
"And in time," Atlas continued, his voice resonating with quiet authority, "the Caldron of Blood will become more than just a vessel for our sustenance. It will become a beacon of power, capable of summoning the blood of our enemies to us alone."
With a sense of satisfaction, Atlas surveyed the scene before him, knowing that with each refinement, they were one step closer to achieving their ultimate goal.
Next, they had to begin their trek up and over the mountains that blocked their path.