312. Rooted In One’s Mind

312. Rooted In One’s Mind

312

Year 280 (continued)

Hoyia was not a young woman. She took the appearance of a regal, mature woman, and the very moment she walked into the Lord’s mansion it was clear to everyone.

Maids, butlers, soldiers, guards. They all could feel it in their souls when someone who possessed the air of holiness, and for the Lord of that Town, his opinions shifted the moment she walked through her door.

Holy.

A thousand words could not describe standing before one who speaks with the weight of divinity.

Hoyia and the priests were normal for the rest of the Valthorns. But for these folks of Twinspace, they cannot even begin to explain how unique the sensation was. The local [Lord] stood in the presence of a high leveled priestess with her powers in full swing.

Though fleeting, or momentary, a priest is an extension of their god. A priest is the conduit between reality and the powers of god as written in the system.

The Lord blinked, as the sensation hit him. For a Lord who had never met a true holy man in a world with few holy existences, it was akin to seeing for the first time. “-how?”

Hoyia did not bow or kneel, her words divine, but she may as well have been a succubus. There really was no difference at their level of power. The [Lord] wasn’t very strong, likely only level 30 to 40, and so, his resistance crumbled.

“Greetings, Town Lord. It seems Aeon saw it fit to arrange an opportunity for me to convince you of our truth. Would you like to join us in our crusade? There is a promised land for us, but it is not free. It is one that we have to earn ourselves.”

The lord was enraptured, and in a single meeting, converted. Hoyia made it look easy, and some [Lords] were ever weaker than others.

One Lord done. Hundreds more to go.

A crusade for the demonic continent would now stir the world into a frenzy. New ships would be constructed, aided by the Valtrian Order’s craftsmen.

Perhaps, Magisar should’ve used the priests to speak to the mages. The faith was far more potent and infectious than they expected.

Year 281

The Order purged all of Magisar’s demonic hives. What’s left are just small patches of demons and corrupted land. A matter of time before the world is truly devoid of demons.

The Magisarian economy hinged on food harvesting and mineral collection. Due to a lack of hard metals in their world, most of their goods were constructed and reinforced with magic. The hero-created floating towers were the primary exception.

With peace, that meant old harvesting locations and mining spots could be restored, and trade routes resurrected. Most of this didn’t need her involvement.

A great thing, and so, the Order focused its efforts on recruitment. Training mages for the next batch. New schools. Lausanne and the Order recruited some of the friendly mages, thankfully not all were stupid enough to side with the Tower Masters, and a few new schools were constructed.

Children of Magisar did not have the old biases of their parents, and they did not inherit a ‘fear’ of the land.

Like the lizardfolk, the children would experience a world so different from their parents that it was hard for them to understand. The Order’s priests would have to heavily step in to manage this generational transition.

The Order set up a total of ten new magic schools across Magisar, and unlike the Tower, the new schools were large academy style buildings replicated after the various magic schools of Treehome, but staffed with a joint team from both the Order and also the local mages. The Order didn’t have that many mages to spare, so each of the schools could only have about five to ten level 70 to 80 mages, and the rest would be Magisarian local mages.

The Magisarians used to have magical carnivals, tournaments as recorded in their historical documents, so she revived old tournaments and events between the Towers, and added these new academies into the mix as competitors.

Now that the demons are exterminated, in theory, the Order should gradually cut off the Towers and let them return to their old ways, similar to Treehome. But Aeon’s mercy left a mark on the old leadership, and none of the successors dared to lay claim to the respective leadership roles. So the Order’s mages continued to rule in place of the Tower Masters.

To make the best of what was already done, Lausanne and Blackthorn replicated the council of representatives of the Central Continent, and made each of the Towers nominate a group of five representatives, to represent their interests to the newly established Magisar Council, housed in the new city.

***

Delvegard

Crafters vanished. Tens. Hundreds.

Entire workshops somehow robbed overnight with not a sound or witness. Vaults filled with Sunsteel, Sunmetal and void weapons are all gone somehow.

A great theft of people, weapons and resources.

The Kings and rulers of Delvegard were in panic. Many wanted to comprehend what in the world happened to their nations.

Even in the greatest of Delvegard’s war machine academies, multiple masters just vanished overnight, along with all their gear.

There was a noticeable sense of dread in the Yards, that even the Forge Master of the Yards, the former King, patrolled the place extensively, along with his best warriors.

But even full security didn’t help when powerful Order operatives placed everyone in the yard to sleep.

Those that vanished were housed in a series of secret new homes in new cities, in a series of new cities throughout Delvegard. Built into old Sunmetal and Sunsteel Mines, the crafters and builders from the Order had quickly constructed new, fortified and heavily magically reinforced cities hidden from view, and in places normally inaccessible.

We called these the New Delvegardian Cities.

Carved out of old mines or dead mines. An underground path was constructed that connected these New Delvegardian Cities to the regular dwarven towns ruled and managed by Lord Sundus and his peers.

These cities were basic but functional, but what truly made them realize that they were now working with crafters who were from other worlds were the singular object placed in their heart, along with the strange crystals that surrounded them.

The Rift Gates at the heart of the Delvegardian Cities. These oval-shaped gates were massive objects of otherworldly origin, and the dwarves could tell these were not made by dwarves.

“Stolen.” The void mages explained to the dwarves. “We took them from the demon worlds. The demons used them to invade our worlds,”

An object of tremendous void magic. It was something all the Delvegardians admired. Many of the crafters often walk around it and keep trying to figure out how it’s made.

Each day, Alka convinced a little more to leave.

“Another three disappeared today?”

As the King turned mad and paranoid, that only pushed more of their valuable crafters towards Alka’s offer. Not every approach was successful, but Alka got better at understanding the types that would fold. For those where he felt it was a little risky, he approached with a disguise.

There were those he approached that did not join him.

Instead, they all confessed to the authorities, and said how they were approached by a strange man, who spoke of joining a war on other worlds, where dwarves do not fight each other, but fight demons.

The King was furious. The King knew, of course. Alka already approached the dwarven royal, but the King ignored his approach.

But his citizens were fascinated. Kings and royalty rarely faced the consequences of their pointless wars. They had the best war machines. The best equipment. The best healers and potions. Fighting for their country was thus seen as a must. A proud thing, a duty. Fights were the dwarven way of proving their strength. No Delvegardian King earned their place on the throne without war, and expansions were glorious things.

An achievement in their rule, turned into stories to be told in taverns and sung around as hymns by drunk dwarves.

The middle and lower class didn’t see it that way, but the world wouldn’t change just because they disagreed. They lacked the means to cause that change, and so the cycle of war perpetuated.

But as the dwarves who rejected the Order’s offer shared their experiences, and explained what was said, rather than inspire horror, instead, it only amplified them.

The promise of the big war came to be known as the ‘Great War’. An inspiration.

A part of me wondered whether this was a rehashed version of Valhalla and Ragnarok.

Maybe that was why the tales seemed to sell so well. Stories of wars that spanned worlds inspired grandeur and glory in the minds of young impressionable dwarves. Alka’s attempts to kidnap and sway crafters, pilots and alchemists to join the real ‘Great War’ was like the song and purpose many waited for, and so, throughout Delvegard, many smaller independent movements emerged in support of the disappeared dwarves.

***

“The tales grow more crazy by the week.” Lord Sundus explained as the tales spread far and wide, and to the smaller Delvegardian towns. Thus far, Alka and the Order’s great kidnapping mainly targeted the large workshops, academies and crafting institutions.

Then, Lord Sundus’s spies reported of a planned execution of a crafter.

The tales of one such craftsman spread so much among the populace that it caused great distress and fear to the ruling class of one of these affected Dwarven City.

The craftsman was decently talented, at around level 50, and because of family concerns he rejected the offer. But somehow, rather than rewarding the crafter for remaining loyal and rejecting the offer, the town’s lord grew increasingly suspicious of his explanations.

“This fool is spreading false stories!” The Town Lord hauled the crafter dwarf to the Town’s square, and intended to publicly execute him. “There is no Great War out there. These are lies spread by those who deserted their post and town.”

The crowd watched in horror as the Town Lord picked up the executioner’s ax. The craftsdwarf was chained to a platform, his dwarven body trapped.

“I didn’t lie, town lord! It was real! I really met a man and he told me about this story! He really wanted me to join him!”

The Dwarven Lord was frustrated, and turned to his people. “Shut your lying mouth. Now, I intend to set an example for all dwarven crafters everywhere! There is no Great War, and there is no war in the heavens. All these people who joined them are being sold a lie. They are liars! These people were consumed by the very demons that seek to destroy us!”

The people listened in fear. The crafter struggled and wept. “My lord! I did not lie! I have chosen to remain in the town out of loyalty to you, my lord! Please, do not punish me for my loyalty!”

But the Dwarven Lord did not buy it. “Speak no more, liar. These evil words merely convinced the town folks of your lie. There is no great war. This is all a plot to weaken us all!”

He lifted the ax, and then, a voice boomed in the entire town plaza. Somehow, the Town Lord found himself unable to move. A kind of paralysis or stasis magic had locked everyone in place.

“Crafter. If you are given a choice again, would you choose differently?” The voice asked.

The crafter stared at the Town Lord’s ax. There, on the execution platform, surrounded by a crowd of spectators, the choice was clear. Anything else was death. In the Dwarven Lord’s eyes was madness. Paranoia. Fear.

His loyalty was not rewarded. And so he chose differently. “Yes. Yes! I will join the great war!”

The Dwarven Lord struggled against the magic that bound him, and by sheer will, the dwarven lord broke free of the magical bindings He quickly swung his ax downwards, towards the crafter’s neck. “Shut your lying mouth!”

The ax came down with force, a dwarven lord’s strength behind it, and instead it smashed into the wooden platform. But the crafter had vanished. Instead, they saw the remnant swirl of a teleportation portal.

The Town Lord looked around in shock. He blinked, before he screamed. “Guards! They must be around here! Find them!”

A roar erupted in the plaza. The Dwarven Lord’s guards and soldiers scrambled and searched the plaza. They found nothing.

The spectating crowd were frozen, but they talked. The rumors raged like an inferno, and throughout the world, more Delvegardians saw how the ruling class was weakened by the severe disappearance of their crafters and their war machines.

***

Delvegard’s Demonic World - Darkgard

One of the great benefits of the dwarven crafters was that they were all skilled builders, and they could easily work with whatever materials available to them. On the demonic world that was linked to Delvegard, which we now referred to as Darkgard, the dwarves were quick to build fortifications from natural rocks, stone and steel.

Darkgard’s demons would invade Delvegard in a decade or two, and they were sold on a dream. A mission to stop the demons before they reach Delvegard.

The Order could handle it for them, but the dwarves would not learn. An easy win would not satisfy their inherent need for challenge and a well-earned victory.

Materials were shipped through the rift gates, and it was hard work.

But the Delvegardian dwarves were an industrial bunch, and found joy in work. There was a palpable sense of excitement in them, as dwarves from all over Delvegard now united to attack the demon world.

Once the loyalties and capabilities of these war machines are decently tested, we would start incorporating the weapons of Treehome. We have a range of weapons such as our anti-magic weaponry, our own set of crystal based weapons and wood-based weapons that could enhance their anti-demonic capabilities.