Primordial Unleashed: Epic Progression Fantasy

A crowd of onlookers gathered around the city's bathhouse. Skippii pressed to the front; accompanying him were Cliae, Tenoris and Arius. Acolytes dressed in brown robes carried armfulls of charms and tools to their superiors inside. In many hands were incensed candles, but despite their fragrance, a stale smell permeated the entryway.

A group of legionnaires lingering around the entrance watched them approach, but gave no quarry as they entered. Skippii held his breath–it smelled like a swamp. Mould climbed the once polished walls, and moss grew from cracks in its stone. But all about, acolytes were set to work, scraping and scouring the filth away.

A large entryway boasted a large fountain at its centre, but the waters had long since grown stagnant. Gelatinous weeds sprung from its basin, dripping onto the amber stone below. Rising from the fountain were two legs, stumped at the knees. Skippii wondered what figure they had once upheld before it had been vandalised by Urkun invaders?

Around the fountain stood a ring of magi adorned in sandstone-coloured cloaks. The bald heads of each were polished, and the posture of each was immaculate, no matter their age or stature. The muscles of their forearms were tight where they linked arms, seemingly gripping one another's fingers with all their strength. Their brows were furrowed with concentration, and a prayer was shared on all their lips.

"Maysones," Tenoris whispered reverently. "These must be his chosen Coven."

Acolytes laboured to place crates of stones at their feet. He and his companeight watched as the prayer rose in volume. Soon, all the magi were shouting–voices joined as one. Then their eyes snapped open and their hands released. With a surprising vigor, they sprung upon the crates of stones. Then, climbing into the fountain's basin, they waded to the statue at its centre and climbed its podium, stretching towards the broken statue at its zenith.

Lean muscles tightened. Strong fingers clenched. With a crackle, the rocks held in their hands were crushed and pressed into the statue's feet. And then, it grew. At the stumps, a form took shape–thighs and a waist, and upwards it sprouted. The Coven of Maysones waded back and forth, choosing precisely their stones, then returning to mould their creation.

Their prayer echoed ever louder, and the stone beneath Skippii's feet trembled. The walls themselves took up the words, echoing louder, shaking the very air. The statue that was formed was of a masculine slender giant. A long mane flowed like water from head to foot. But also, there were depicted many children climbing over his form, dwarfed by his magnitude. A dozen or more clung to his arms and held onto his waist, their faces a picture of joy. Finally, as the Coven's spell neared its completion, a long arm was formed, stretching to the ceiling, palm upwards as though to receive the rains.

Tenoris gasped. "What talent. What a marvel."

"Lacustris, Rivermaster," Arius spoke. "Nobility returns to these halls."

The twelve magi climbed from the fountain and beheld their creation. Some bent and sat upon the stained stone. Acolytes rushed to their service, proffering water and clothes to wipe their sweat. The invocation had seemed to take its toll on a few younger members, but the eldest stood tall and proud. It was one of them that Skippii approached.

"Dominitus et Pantheonos," he greeted congenially.

The old magi's face turned to him, but slack jawed, he gazed beyond. "Greetings."

"I am Skippii Altay, son of Cor, acclaimed by Oyaltun. I come to pay my respects, and dispel any rumours you may have heard."

The light of cunning flickered awake in the magi's eyes. "I have heard rumours," they said plainly. Then his eyes fell upon Skippii's body, inspecting every detail of his design. Skippii fought not to flinch or cover up.

"I am glad to see you are undoing the heretic's dirty work." He extended a hand to the magi.

Now, others had gathered to witness their communion. The magi of Maysones paused for a long moment–statuesque, staring into his eyes. Just when Skippii was sure he would refuse his hand of friendship, it was taken. The old man's grip was as firm as a vice as he shook. In truth, Skippii doubted that the strength of his flames could stop him from crushing his hand to pulp if he'd wanted.

"Well me," the magus said. "You are bound to Oyaltun? Then what rumour I heard was wrong."

"She and I are bound, but not as servant and master," he corrected. "I am an ally of the pantheon's, and soldier of Auctoritas."

The magus nodded minutely, then released his grip and turned back to admire the fountain.

"That wasn't so bad," Skippii said as they exited the bathhouse.

"Did you expect all of the Covens to react the same way as Kylin's did?" Cliae asked.

"I suppose so."

"They each resemble their Gods," Arius said. "Kylin is tempest of all. But none are to be slighted."

As they exited, twelve more robed figures arrived at the steps. Their hair was long and smooth, their silken gowns thin and flowing. They strode into the bathhouse with purpose, and Skippii did not delay them.

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"Lacustris," he guessed. "They look enough like the statue."

"Come to clean the waters," Cliae said.

"It must be," Arius agreed.

Elsewhere in the city, apostles of the goddess Virelisus transformed withered and rotting pantries into vases of sweet wine and preserves. They ripened fruits at a touch and eased people's hearts with a word. He had hoped to find Thales at work amongst them, but the old philosopher was nowhere to be seen. Patiently nearby, a Coven of Hespera awaited in the shade for the sun to set, and their moonlit work to begin. Skippii introduced himself briefly to each, though whatever opinions of him they held, they kept reserved.

By mid-afternoon, he found himself just beyond the city's walls observing the hard work of the Coven of Junorix–God of the Imperium. Twelve magi dressed in red togas strode amongst hundreds of slaves. Most were light-skinned men–Urkun warriors who had surrendered. Now they worked relentlessly… mechanically. None stopped for breath, nor to stretch their backs or rub their wrists. They unloaded cartfulls of sand and shoal, taken from a thin beach nearby, spreading it upon the trampled earth to form the basis of a road. Others lay the largest stones on top. Another trail of waggons took soot from a kiln and mixed it with water and lime to form concrete. Those slaves laboured with stiff hands, coated in soot.

As he watched one tip a bucket of concrete on the road, he teetered and collapsed. Nearby, his kinsmen came to his aid. But upon dragging him from the road, they did not do him the courtesy of wiping his mouth or splashing water on his eyes. They simply left him by the roadside, splitting meekly, and dying.

Skippii and Cliae each stepped forward, but Arius raised his voice.

"Careful. These men are not as they seem."

Skippii stopped, but Cliae pressed forward, seeking to aid him. Suddenly, two slaves barred his way. Their expressions were as blank as stone.

"Move aside, civilian," one of the coven magus said. "Do not impede our work here."

"I have water I wish to give to the slaves," Cliae explained.

"Move aside," he repeated.

"Greetings," Skippii intervened. "Glory Imperium."

"Glory Imperium Junorix" The magus tilted his head in greeting. "Tell your slave not to intervene, legionnaire."

"My name is Skippii Altay," he extended a hand. "I am the son of Cor, acclaimed by Oyaltun."

The magi's eyes flickered to others within the crowd, and within moments, all twelve of the Coven had them surrounded.

"State your business," he said sharply.

Skippii's voice caught in his throat. He retracted his hand. "I have come to make your acquaintance, and dispel any unpleasant rumours about my allegiance."

"Dispel rumours?" He laughed merriless. "Why, rumours are the lifeblood of a democracy. Why dispel them, and limit discourse? What not proffer your own."

"Okay," he said hesitantly. "I am a soldier of Auctoritas. I serve the Ninth Legion-"

"From which you were banished," he interrupted.

"From which I-"

"Deserted. Besmirched. And now returned. I have heard every rumour told. You can offer nothing new. No great insight, Skippii Altay, wielder of Godless magia."

The coven magus extended his hand like a fist to punctuate his decree. But Skippii declined to shake it.

"What has happened to your slaves?" Cliae asked. "They don't seem human. One is suffering. Can't we help?"

"Oh, but they are the greatest of humans, second only to servants of the Gods." The magus smiled wickedly. "Their lives now function in service of the Imperium Auctoritas. Every breath builds the road which shall unite the world. They are ideal citizens. They are not slaves. They are liberated from incivility and selfishness."

Skippii watched them work, moving with an unspoken precision. One, whose leg was bloody and crushed, hobbled with a bucket in hand. Another, whose ribs were showing and skin was blistered by exposure to the sun, fed a mule from an abundant sack of grain.

"Join them," the magus said. "If your allegiance is true. We can make it happen for you."

Suddenly, Tenoris loomed beside him. Shield and spear in hand, he towered over the magi. But he did not cower, as bereft of emotion as his slaves.

"Have we a volunteer?"

Tenoris spoke deep and threateningly. "You have yourself a challenge accepted, if one is extended."

A terse silence followed, but the hooves of horses stole it away. Out from Legion IX's camp rode the twelve warmagi of the Coven of Kylin. Skippii caught his breath, and without meaning to, summoned his strength. Last they had met, the Coven had sought to execute him. Had they just now witnessed his confrontation and come to persecute him?

But upon approaching the gate, they rode past him, sparing only a glance. Their midnight-blue robes were pulled over their heads, but one face shone brighter than all. Kylinissa, her soft feminine features betrayed by steely, cunning eyes. She pulled on her reins and stopped before the Coven of Junorix, walking her horse close.

"Hail," she greeted; her voice possessed a low character, thick and sweet. "Skippii, I've been meaning to speak with you."

"Hail- Hello." A dozen thoughts passed through his mind–a dozen topics he wished to broach, and a few other less relevant thoughts. He found his tongue floundering to choose one.

"High priestess," Arius nodded in greeting.

"Hail," Tenoris announced. "Kylin's winds have blown more favourably of late. The city is rid of its stench. Is this your doing?"

"Indeed it is, champion legionnaire. Scribe." She nodded to Cliae. "Do you give your master leave to parley? It seems he has lost the ability to speak for himself."

"I am busy," Skippii blurted. "I am training, all today."

"I'm afraid you won't find much challenge with these bricklayers of Junorix."

All twelve of the Coven of Junorix turned to face Kylinissa atop her steed. The skinny man who had antagonised Skippii spoke. "Ahh, Kylinissa Clarivoxa. The forceful arcanus, who inserted herself into a position many leagues above her stature, or competence. We have heard of you, though the rumours of your meekness have been exaggerated."

Kylinissia's voice crackled with a subtle edge. "You may speak of meekness when you see the enemy with your own eyes, not the murmurings of your puppets, bricklayer. Return to your petty labour, before those spellbound slaves begin to remember themselves. Concern yourself no longer with these matters of war."

In unison, the Coven of Junorix bowed their heads and retreated back to their work. Again, Skippii was speechless, though there was much he wanted to say.

"Where shall your training take place?" Kylinissa asked bluntly.

"To the north, along the cliff's edge."

"Will you be there long?"

"All night, priestess."

She smiled, and turned her impatient horse about. "I shall meet you before the sun sets."

Spurring her steed, she cantered through the city's gates and beyond view.

"What do you think she wants to discuss?" Cliae said. "Your union of magia, certainly. But what else?"

"The campaign, and where we should face the incursors next," he said. "I would like to know more about how the coven operates tactically, politically. Our companeight should be performing a similar role soon."

"Do not bore her all night long with such dry pragmatism, young Skippii." Tenoris patted his back with a stupid grin. "There is always time for love in war."