Primordial Unleashed: Epic Progression Fantasy

The light of day was quickly fading, and they only had so much time away from camp gathering firewood before the Octio noticed their absence and started asking their whereabouts.

Breathing steadily, he filled his lungs to capacity, then emptied them until his ribs strained with the tightness. Quickening the pace, his head grew light and his fingers tingled. The power soothed his aching limbs until he couldn't feel the marks of battle; the relief from bodily pains was elating. Slowly he felt his rational mind burn away, replaced with a more primal motive. Slowing his breath, he remained seated, unmoving, observing the sensation without acting upon it.

Previously, his magia had drawn him into a rage. Anger had clouded his judgement on more than one occasion, and it was a dangerous weapon to wield. His mentor, Thales, had tutored him extensively, claiming that anger was like wine: "Some men drink to serve their ambitions, other men drown, and serve its ambitions."

Containing the magia–bolstering his core–Skippii spread it evenly throughout his body, like spreading the embers of a campfire for cooking. Flames lapped over his skin, singing the branches of a spindly tree dangling above his head. Rising, Skippii grasped the trunk with one hand and pounded it with his other. There was a flash of light upon impact, and a sputter of flames. The branches shook, showering him with twigs and debris, but the tree remained standing. Of course, if he were to strike a tree with a hammer, it would not be felled. The correct tool was an axe.

Unclenching his fist and straightening his hand, the fires formed a spearhead. Burning with power, Skippii positioned himself to fell the tree, but gradually abandoned the idea. Letting the flames dissipate, he patted the tree fondly. "You were a worthy adversary."

For the remainder of the afternoon, he practiced evoking a Blazing Armour. As he pushed his magia to the extremities of his flesh, flames bloomed from his flesh, dancing in the mild wind. Clenching his core, he drew the magia back so that it settled beneath his skin. Still, the flames doused his arms, but no longer wasted their energy in the air. His muscles pulsed pleasurably with power.

"We'll have to employ Tenoris to hit me with a stick or sword," he said. "To really test it."

"When you think you're ready."

"I survived the Apertrox, he's not nearly as strong as that." Skippii's mind wandered to the ex-farmhands hulking physique, imagining him in place of an enemy Ürkün, charging towards him, full of anger with a killing intent. He shuddered. "Actually, maybe he is."

Washing in the beck, he redressed and collected a bundle of firewood Cliae had chopped while he trained. Together, they made their way from the glen, over the rocky hillside and upon a forest trail which led back towards the legion camp. But a final entry on the wax tablet remained unexplored.

"What about the, erm… What do you call them?"

"Cantrips?" Cliae said. "Minor evocations."

"Yeah. Are they not important?"

The question gave Cliae pause. Amongst the cantrips was his ability to light a fire from its ashes; to warm stones for his companions' comfort; and to light a candle by rubbing its wick, which he'd performed inside their tent that morning.

"They're small now," Cliae said. "But they could become larger. It's one way to develop as a magus… Rather than beseech the Gods for more power, you take what blessings they've given you and mould it into different shapes. It was something of a primary study of my father's."

"Oh yeah?" Skippii pressed.

"Yeah," Cliae smiled thinly. "He was great. A good father… He worked for ageing and often plateauing magi to discover new potential. He was in high demand, until illness took him."

"You were wealthy?"

"For a time," Cliae said wistfully. "He died though, and left behind a large family."

"Did no one support you?" Skippii asked. "What about his clients? Friends?"

"None," Cliae answered. "One, whom my father was close to, even claimed that his death had been the will of the Gods. There was no chair at the table for my mother and her children, no scraps thrown, or beds made. We would have lost everything, even the house, had I not sold myself."

"Wow," Skippii said simply. It was true that no slave had a pleasant tale to tell, but hearing of Cliae's sacrifice pressed on his heart. The sense of grief made him feel uncomfortable, and he shook himself to be rid of it.

"Ah well." He patted the slave on the back. "Could be worse."

"Yeah," they said solemnly, but were not so quick to shed their somber mood.

That night, he dreamed of a twinkling star, growing in brightness until it encompassed a moon. Thereupon the moon was a city of marble, stooped in dirt. Storm clouds gathered in the heaves, but would not rain upon the city and wash away its filth. The citizens begged for a storm, but none came. Then, as Skippii arrived, the first of the raindrops fell...

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A leak in their tent had sprung above his head. Unable to sleep, he rose and tended to the morning fire. That day, while the legionnaires were summoned to morning parade, the slaves dismantled their tents and packed their provisions, ready to leave. The three cohorts lined up and marched out from their camp, heading east into the dwindling mountainside. Skippii's tonnage–weakest amongst the six in Cohort II due to their casualties–was repositioned to the centre of the formation ahead of the siege carts.

The legionnaires marched stiffly, heads turned to the surrounding forests and hidden dips amongst the hills, but no ambush came. As the sky dimmed with the setting sun, the consortium found a spot at the head of the highlands and encamped for the night, with the promise of an easy downhill march the following day.

"Got any hogs meat left?" Kaesii asked as Oionis unloaded their mule.

"Sorry, no," the slave said meekly.

"Didn't last long, did it?" Drusilla grumbled.

"Never does, once the superiors get their cut," Cur said.

Just then, as though summoned by their hunger, the Gris and his mule appeared at the edge of their campfire. The old man had knotted grey hair tied down the back of his head like a beaver's tail. He glared at them through beady, uncaring eyes, hauling their cohort's rations in tow.

"Bit o' ham, eggs, loaf of bread, butter, milk." He spoke in an accent so thick and slurred that Skippii could hardly make out the words. "Pipe crackle," he nodded at Cur, but the old man met his gaze unmovingly. The Gris raised an eyebrow. "Chicken too. Don't waste."

Tossing the sack at Cur's feet, he began to move on with his pack mule, heading towards the next companeight's campfire. He wore no armour or jewellery, no weapons or trinkets. His attire was similar to the slaves–simple grey toga, trousers and a woolen cloak. The Gris could not be bribed. Anyone attempting to do so would eat poorly for as long as The Gris' memory lasted, and The Gris always had a very long memory.

The legionnaires silently leaned in to inspect the sack. Then Drusilla whistled jovially. "Wow, cheers mate. We're gonna eat like emperors tonight."

Skippii's heart skipped a beat. Drusilla had just made a grave mistake.

"Shut up," Cur growled, but it was already too late. The Gris turned around and addressed their unit. For a while, he just stared, while a silence settled over them, broken by the campfire's crackle and chatter of surrounding camps. Finally, he nodded knowingly and went on his way.

"Chrysat," Orsin cursed under his breath. "Drusilla, what have you done?"

"What?" he blurted. "You don't think so?"

"You don't go telling The Gris that," Cur groaned.

"What?" Drusilla looked around the group shocked. "What's the problem?"

"You never let him know it's enough," Skippii said, pain in his voice. "Always appear underfed, or else he'll make an adjustment, and feed you less next time."

"That's the last bleeding ham we're having this campaign," Cur said, spreading the sack's contents beside the fire.

"Better make it last," Orsin added. "Skip, did you get any salt?"

Nodding, he presented a pouch. "Yeah."

"Good. We might need it in the coming weeks."

"Are you joking?" Drusilla said. "That can't be right, just because I thanked him."

"Is that right?" Kaesii said, glancing between Orsin and Skippii. "Drusilla's ruined it for the rest of us?"

"No," Tenoris said, a latent grin on his lips. "This must be a jest, and we have fallen for it all of us." The smile died on his lips as he stared into Skippii's eyes. "Admit the truth, Skip. I am beginning to fear of months of nothing but gruel."

"Seems that way," Skippii admitted solemnly.

"Well how was I supposed to know?" Drusilla raised his voice. "Any more unspoken rules I should know about?"

"Yeah," Cur spat. "Shut up."

"You just had to go yapping," Kaesii said, shaking his head as though he'd known better. "It's so obvious. Don't you know what a Grease is?"

"Gris," Skippii corrected, for what it was worth.

"Rock-headed fool."

"What did you call me?" Drusilla challenged.

"One more word out of you," Cur said, "And you won't be getting any of this meat. You'll have none of it. Not even the bones. I'll stew the bones and give you rainwater. I'll rub the butter into my shoes before I let you have a bite. So shut your trap."

Drusilla glanced around the group for appeal, but none came to his aid. Slumping, he waited quietly while Cur cooked the meat. The slaves brought out pots and pans from their mule and assisted the old legionnaire with his task. A gust of wind wafted the scent of smoking meat, and his stomach gurgled eagerly. Once the meat was roasted, Orsin dished it out and led the prayer.

"Dominitas et Pantheonos," he said.

Skippii repeated the words quickly, his eyes on the heavens warily. Afterwards, Arius stripped and smoked the remaining meat to preserve it. Cur built up the fire, placing the bones in a pot to stew.

"Do you mind?" Skippii said, rising to make his leave.

"Of course not," Tenoris said. "Train well, young stallion."

"Shall I accompany you?" Cliae asked.

"Not tonight," Skippii said. "I may be long, and your duties are here."

"Yes, legio."

Exiting the camp, he travelled far into the rocky terrain to find a secluded copse of trees which wasn't occupied by other lodgers seeking fuel. There, Skippii meditated on his magia, drawing energy from the earth, feeling his naked flesh warm to the cold highland wind.

Focussing, he condensed the fires within himself, brightening the halo at his core. It shone solidly, as it had done ever since the night which they rescued Cliae. But reaching deeper into the source, he sensed something else there. An untapped power–raw and volatile. At the centre of his core, a dull red dot winked awake.

For hours, he floated atop its vast oceanic power. Before long, he forgot his body–his aches and hungers–and merged with the magia. His body was a single branch within the pyre, but his mind… his mind could become the whole inferno…

Voices penetrated his peace. Skippii opened his eyes and was surprised to see the morning light. He had passed the night in meditation, and felt all the fresher for it.

A disorganised stream of legionnaires climbed the hill nearby. Fear tainted his peace. Had they come in search of him? Had he burned through the night and caught the attention of an arcanus or the Coven themselves? Skippii stooped and listened for their approach. What would he do if they pointed spears at him? He had sworn to submit to the legion's directive, but that was before he better understood this magia. His magia. He would not fight them, but should he run? And leave his companeight behind… There was no fitting strategy but to hide.

But as the legionnaires climbed higher, they avoided the copse in which he hid. Intrigued, Skippii ventured after them. Their formation–if you could call it that–sprawled down the hill, some fifty or so men making the climb, with more gathered at the top.

Catching up to the nearest man, Skippii hailed him. "Bona-vera, legio. What is the commotion?"

"You can see the city from up there," he responded. "Nerithon."

"And the flags of the Fifth," another responded. "And the enemy, or so the auxiliaries told us. Battle draws near, my friend. Let us go see it together."