The heady smell of burnt ozone mingled with that of decay. Plumes of smoke rose from the remnants of indigo flames that even in their dying throes seemed to possess a malevolence foreign to natural phenomena. Looters and those driven by grief to search in a futile attempt for the remains of loved ones were just now making their way onto the blighted plane. The devastation wrought from the experimental runic artillery had been intense wiping out both enemy and ally with blind efficiency.

Somewhere far off in a tower gilded in finely worked platinum and perpetually bathed in moonlight a Sorcerer-King weighed the pros and cons of the experimental weaponry. Finally he nodded his head - human life was a petty thing and should his own armies suffer casualties from collateral damage then it was a small price to pay for scouring his hated foes from the face of the earth.

Those unfortunates whose lot in life was eked out by scrounging through the detritus of slaughter had no idea of the malice that lurked within those distant and to them unfathomable places of magic and madness. One young waif who had been using a chipped dagger to remove digits and then subsequently the rings attacked to them from the fallen soldiers had made what was to her a thrilling discovery. One of the craters that had been rent into the soil by some form of lesser explosive gave off a glittering sheen as light caught some form of golden material.

Peering into the depression the girl gasped as she identified not one but several sources of glinting brilliance. Her grandmother casually going through the pockets of body missing much of it's upper torso immediately ceased her desecration and began hobbling towards the source of excitement. Being far more spry than her decrepit relation the granddaughter took it upon herself to slide down the craters edge to inspect the potential wealth.

What the opportunistic forager was to find however was unusual for even the twisted hell-scape of one of the arcane killing grounds. Crawling forth from the ground small constructs built to resemble scarab beetles appeared pushing their radiant bodies through the soil and into the fouled air.

Curiosity warring with fear and finally triumphing the girl reached out her hand to grasp the insectoid automaton. Tiny gears clicked and whirred within as the youth marveled in awe of the sheer perfect artifice that had gone into making such a device. A cry from her grandmother however caused her to release in shock the small mechanical wonder which proceeded to take to wing and gain distance from the inquisitive adolescent.

The source of the strange devices had become apparent though to the two watchers it brought up more questions than it answered. A immense arm covered in hieroglyphs and shelled in a plating that melded both stone and metal into something that bore properties of both. The younger of the pair starting to feel dread began to back away while the older let lose a string of profanities cursing wizards , war and her own luck for leading her to danger instead of the wealth they so desired.

The fingers of the mechanical hand creaked causing a terrible grinding within its mechanisms. As if summoned the beetle like servitors returned to the titanic limb cleaning and lubricating the joints with surprising tenderness. Now serviced the arm began to find purchase and slowly but surely the ground around it began to churn as a monolithic form started to arise from the dirt.

Others drawn by the cries of the crone had come to see what the ruckus was about and they stared down at the crater with fear and awe as the submerged form began to rise to the light for the first time in millennia.

Grubby hands dug into the dune, pulling its owner up and allowing his bedraggled hair to rise over the arch of the earth like some dingy and dilapidated sun. A tawny tangled mess surrounded a surprisingly hardened face, green gaze peering out and sweeping up over the scene of the battle field. With a sigh and a foul grumble, the scavenger seated himself atop the dune and pulled out a pipe. Lighting it and giving a few stern huffs, he watched as his fellow vultures took to turning bodies and pulling apart piles that once were ones.

"Well...****."

Pickings had been so very slim as of late and he should have expected such a rush but his contact had been certain that no one would be around to see this fight coming. The man was normally right, but this time he'd been a bit off. Couldn't win them all, could ya? Still, he let his trained gaze wander over the various figures shambling about, scrutinizing their actions and watching what they took. Ah, amateurs. Good. Means that they would be going for the less valuable things, focusing on baubles and what-not. Engrim, however, was an experienced scavenger and he knew where the the true coin came from.

One hand flipped behind him, moving into a pack that wasn't so much a bag but rather a confusing and highly optimized conglomeration of compartments. Knowing it better than he knew himself, he instantly located a set of worn yet thick leather gloves. Slipping his calloused hands into them, he made a few fists before they were on properly. Then, with a hefting sigh, he grunted and stood before slowly descending upon the job.

He, like the others, seemed to skirt around the bodies as he searched. Occasionally he'd dip down on a knee and riffle next to a body, push it around a bit to give the illusion of motion but he never actually took anything off the corpses. Oh, no. Instead, he was pulling pieces of the battered earth up, hasily shoving them into his pack. Once or twice the man grinned as he found the solidified spikes, fulgurites of pure magic induced strikes. These were the pieces that were worth a shine or two. Rival lords were always on the lookout for what magic their fellow mages were using, though they'd never stoop to asking or looking. Oh, heavens no. That would make them look like they were intimidated, like they cared. Instead, Engrim had found his way into a nice niche job of bringing back various tainted relics or items that were imbued with magic in order to sell them to the highest bidders. Sure, it wasn't what you'd call the most honorable of lives, but he made out alright and it paid for some much needed comforts when he did strike himself lucky and have time to settle in a town.

The man snickered to himself as he dug out shard of metal, the remnants of a blade that had been struck with enough raw magic to make it explode. The thing hummed with magic, the steel showing a soft ethereal blue glow. That would be a nice sample for those bastards! He quickly stuffed it down into a separate compartment, pulling the tie on it tightly closed and sealing it away. Didn't want too many of these pieces touching, or else you were liable to end up causing a reaction and ending up no more than a streak and a pile of cinders.

He was on route to his next treasure when the cry of the elderly woman reached him. In this line of work, you had to be quick to run from either **** soldiers or magic gone awry, leaving him with reflexes that would make a cat blush. Straightening up from his slightly stooped walk, he took several steps forwards before the massive hand suddenly started to pull itself upwards. Engrim had been doing this for a long while, and you saw a lot of strange things, but this one was taking the cake. While others were cautious, the man held his ground and his head tilted a little to the side, gaze locked on.

Some might have seen it for what it was, a mysterious danger that was rising from the earth. Others would be in wonder of its creation. Engrim? He was direly hoping that the thing would somehow become a walking payday.

A big one.


Three-hundred and forty-two miles to the west...


"-but I wanna work, Caine," came the nearly apathetic tone, a dry and dull chord for such a feminine voice. The cadence of it was slow but meaningful, pointedly struck like the thudding of impending war drums.

"Of course you wanna work, and I wanna get paid what that work is worth. Now, just trust me and we'll hold out a little longer. They'll show," replied a voice as deep as an ocean but as smooth as silver. "Besides, it always works out well, doesn't it? I always end up getting paid what I want and you always end up getting to do your end of the deed. Never given you reason to question me like you do, have I?" One dark brow rose as he crossed his arms, gazing down at the warrior who sat with her shoulders slouched forwards. She was always so impatient behind that placid facade, though only those who knew her so well were able to to tell.

A pale brown hue looked up to him, blinking a few times before she gave a nod. "Of course, Caine. I'm sorry." Her gaze moved slowly back to the fire, watching the small thing crack and fizzle over some green twigs that they'd scrapped together for most of the kindling. The little bramble patch they'd chosen to hold up in held little in resources, but Caine had swore it was the perfect place. Visible enough from the outside of the encampment and yet far enough to allow people to assume that they were just stopping before they'd head on their way. He'd swore it would work out, and it normally did but she had been bored to tears. There last job hadn't been for nearly a week and a half and she could feel the tension in her muscles as they ached to be tested. Still, her questioning was as far as he complaining went.

Reaching out, she moved to turn one of the piked coney carcasses. They were pitiful little things, barely a few bites on them each but they'd do while they waited and the annoying little flea bags were overpopulated in this area of 'The Waste'. A forsaken little strip of land that had once been home to notoriously violent mage wars, there were only a few inhabitable places that rested in the shadows of high hills like their current location. The rest of the land was corrupted, having been touched by magic so foul and potent that lingering lashes still erupted here and there. Some open rifts where foul things either came out or sucked the unsuspecting victims in, and others just left streaks of fire, ice, and even bolts of lightning lashing the ground around them. In all, it was an inhospitable land but not without its inhabitants who always seemed in search of someone to go fetch such-in-such or stop whats-it's-called. Thanks to that, it had become sort of a common stop for mercenaries and other sell swords who went between the more stable and fertile lands on either side of it. And that was exactly what had brought the pair there today.

The onyx haired Caine sat down by the fire, long legs cross beneath him as he settled into the dirt. They really shouldn't be much longer now. He'd given them the usual treatment, sneering at a price cut and walking his cash cow away while they wondered if they'd really made the right choice. If a few more gold coins was all it took to stand between them and their desired outcome. Usually worked on those who actually had the coin to spare but were being stingy, and these fellows stank of pinching their coppers while having a hand out as beggars. His icy gaze cut over his shoulder, looking back towards the gates.

A smile carved slowly across his features, widening into the Cheshire expression that so often graced his sharp features.

Ahhh, right on time.

"Gentleman!" he called as he pushed himself back up off the ground, flicking a bit of dirt off his black attire. Carrying back towards the familiar set of men, Caine set himself to the task of securing their negotiated price.

_________________

Once there had been nothing but the gentle current washing over his essence. Not fully aware but straddling the border of consciousness his partially formed spirit had lain motionless below the great river. Given both time and the nourishing complexity of human thoughts and emotion to bolster his being he might have performed a metamorphosis into a river spirit, demon or even a minor godling. But like so many possible futures these fates were not to be. Strong hands darkened by the sun scooped him from the morass that made up the bed of the river.

From there he was fashioned by a master craftsman into an ushabti idol – one of the small statuettes that housed an artificial soul intended to serve the dead in the afterlife. This task while being by far the most common use for such a magical device was far from the only one that made use of the effigies unique talents. Akin to sacred names imprinted into the core of golem from other lands the ushabti could act as a source of animation – literally bringing immobile substances such as clay , metal or rock to life.

This genesis was what the spirit known as Met dreamed of as the slow and inescapable march of time progressed ever on. Above his terrestrial form tonnes of earth gathered over centuries shifted in an instant as the resounding boom of arcane explosions tore the landscape to pieces. Eldritch systems flickered into action and scarab drones were released to preform repairs and maintenance. During this process several life-signs were detected above with one of the bystanders even attempting to acquire the scarab drones for study.

The sacred incantations of activation began to resound through the machine lighting hieroglyphs and sigils.

Above ground the hand braced against the soil and a golden death-mask resembling a god whose name had not been uttered in millennia shone ruby eyes across the surrounding bystanders. More and more of the automaton became visible as if plunged upwards. Another titanic arm fitted with bladed protrusions running down its wrists and a core body that looked more akin to a sarcophagus than a torso. Strong and seemingly reinforced legs completed the picture – coated as with all the rest of its chassis with a mixture of stone and metal and decorated lavishly with all manner of gems and copious working crafted of gold and silver.

Fully risen it stood eighteen feet tall and the occult markings that covered its form shone with unearthly fire. Just as several of the bystanders wondered if the construct would simply stand there like a statue a leg slowly moved and the juggernaut took a step forth causing many of the watchers to dart back in terror.

Inside the mind of the one that was Met similar thoughts of terror were playing out. Gone was the mighty city that had once stood here. Not a sign of the towering spires that had once reached for the heavens or the temples filled with the songs of devout priests. Poisonous gasses wafted through the air and the temperature though day was akin to that of the desert nights.

Was it too late?

Had the great enemy – the dragon who devoured stars already broken through the veil of reality and loosed his infernal brood upon the world?

Met needed answers.

And so his astral form reached out to one of the souls that still floated among the dead. The man had died well and bravely even though his master had been both vain and cruel and Met decided that he was to be the first to receive the precious gift that was rebirth into the mortal world.
Beneath the chest-plate of the mighty construct light began to build. Smoke that smelled of incense and papyrus wafted from the cracks and with something that was both the cry of an infant and the battle scream of a warrior triumphant the lid of the sarcophagus swung open on golden hinges spilling forth the form of a man onto the ground.

Garbed as a soldier the figure had little that would make him stand out in the modern age save perhaps for his impressive musculature and heavy two handed sword that he wore on his back. However his eyes – the bright blue of infinity spoke of anything other than the mundane when they looked up to the small crowd of observers.

The soldier spoke in the voice of one who has seen things no ordinary man would dream off.

“It brought me back from death.... I was cut down and it brought me back.”

He motioned to the hulking shape behind him.

“It wants to know where it is and what happened here. I wish I could tell it but things become so blurry when you leave your body”

The soldiers expression fixated on Engrim pleading for answers to the questions. Neither old and decrepit nor one of the orphan children that plagued such places he was the best hope for revelations.

Awe and mystery surely swirled around the massive construct as the vultures who had come to pick on the dead now stood in the presence of something so utterly unique. For Engrim, however, thousands of little thoughts were firing off as the massive metal giant freed himself from the earth. On auto-pilot as his feet shuffled forwards closer and closer to Met, his mouth hung slightly agape as he was trapped inside his head.

In all of his time since he'd procured such a strange profession, he'd only been recovering shards here and there. Petty little splinters of trinkets go awry or residue left from some lingering foulness brought forwards by yet another attempt at magic they couldn't even begin to comprehend let alone master. With the exception of one extremely bewildered chicken who had become phosphorescent thanks to a botched spell, Engrim had only been bringing back defunct and utterly lifeless little baubles. Still, despite their seemingly utter unimportance, he had been making a killing as he went from one court to the next. A neutral party when it came to his clients, he played the field as he scraped together his living and stored it away for that one day when he could finally vanish from the worn torn fields forever. That day where he would finally procure something of enough importance to someone. Enough importance to make them willing to pay an exuberant price, his price, so that he could finally laugh away into the sunset with his freedom and growing little nest egg.

And, as Engrim stood there looking up at the hulking mass that would have probably been worth the weight of the metal and the gems adorning it in the very least, he felt a pulse thud through his grimy heart.

He'd finally found his payday.

Well, potentially so. There was a good chance this thing was just like any other crazy contraption birthed from the mind of a mad mage. That meant it was probably going to explode soon, or cause a good bit of death and destruction before it finally pittered out. He'd be careful, but...still...

Those markings were unique, and he didn't have to be the most trained eye to tell nor did he ignore the way it rose from the ground. The idea of it not being a result of one of the magic users was far more alluring to them. If there was one thing the damned lords loved more than their own magic it was relics that could possibly give them more power. At the start of it all, the far corners of the worlds had nearly been knee deep with adventures stumbling over (and other time purposefully trampling) one another at the promise of the wealth they offered. A few lucky bastards had cashed in, and run off with enough gold to never be heard of again. Engrim, being most eager to join their ranks, only bolstered his courage more and continued his approach until he stopped a safe distance away. Safe in that he could get a good sprint going and dive for cover behind a dirt mound should the thing turn on him.

The glowing began to start and, instantly, he took three large steps back and reassessed his position. Glowing, in this world, was rarely a good thing. It was all shiny lights and spectacles that usually came before the not so pleasant 'boom' part. The noise that came next nearly had him on one leg, and the man flinched and was into the dirt the second the chest plate came open. Face first in the mud (and what smelled considerably not like mud but had the unfortunate occurrence of being the same coloring), he scrambled behind the dune and braced himself for yet another sprint. When no great explosion came, the wind carrying a voice instead, his brow furrowed and he twisted back around. Cautiously peaking around the side, his eyes locked on the man first before going to Met. Back once again, he finally fixed his attention onto the soldier before him and slowly stood from his position.

His unruly head tilted a little to the side. Brought him back? It...wait. He... His eyes narrowed in concentration as that concept tried to form in his head. Even the most powerful sorcerers of their time were always squabbling about the concept of willing the life back into a corpse. Necromancy, that rancid practice, had arisen from such a desire but was utterly corrupted and only good so long as you didn't mind your reincarnated friend stinking like last week's left overs and trying to gnaw on everyone's throat. This, however, was obviously different. Mostly because it worked.

One really should have felt fear wobbling inside of them, telling them that this was far beyond their mortal reach of both understanding and their ability to handle the situation. Engrim, however, just felt his heart squeal and cackle at the realization that this, if he could somehow lay claim to it, was the payday of all paydays. The one relic in the world that anyone would pay for. That they'd all be vying for, and he had been in the right place at the right time to see it arise. Just the knowledge alone (not that his greedy little mind would ever settle for that) had to be worth a great deal!

All this had zipped through his thoughts before the solider could speak again and Engrim snapped his attention fully back to the present; if he wanted to keep this thing in his 'possession' he was first and foremost going to have to find a way to keep it in his sight. With one attempt to clear his throat and a stiffening posture, Engrim attempted first to look the solider in the eyes. Realizing then that the hair on his head might start standing like its brethren on the back of his neck, he cut his gaze around them as he motioned.

"You're half a day's ride past the village of Kurm, kingdom of Urlcham. Nasty bit of a battle happened thanks to a Sorcerer-King called Relan. Far as I can figure, a bit of a magical boom must have rattled it a bit. Woke it up, if it is the sort of thing that does things like waking." None of that was very hard to figure out, and he knew it. He'd need to be a bit more specific and sound a whole hell of a lot more in charge if he wanted to keep its attention. Clearing his throat again, he stepped forwards and focused on the man in front of him, not really meeting his gaze so much as looking at his left ear.

"Not to make presumptions, but something doesn't just get stuck that far below the ground with a brush or two of wind, does it? I take it your, er...friend has been doing there for a while?" He needed to hold onto some bit of knowledge, a bit of a hook and some bait to catch the thing's ear. Er. Or whatever it heard with. Engrim ventured a smile. "Seems to me that there might be one or two things that it needs knowing about, being all curious like as it is. I'd, uh, be happy to fill in the blanks the best I could, if it would like."

His head had bowed ever so slightly, trying to seem humble just in case it had a sense of authority about itself. Judging from its size, it just might.

“Engrim Altuflo, at your- and its- service,” he added quickly with a bow of his head.

It was an unnerving attempt. Engrim, while accustomed to being rather bold in his field, had never faced something so stoic before. He had no idea what that stone face was thinking and, instead, gazed down from the mask to the man in front of him. Despite the glowing of the eyes, he supposed he could be as easy to read as any other bloke. Sure he was back from the dead, but he was still a person after all. Wasn't he? The man honestly wasn't sure but it was about the only hope he had at the moment.

_________________

The warrior whose name was Roderick felt the alien presence pulse through his mind. It was not invasive per-say but rather like having a stranger wandering the halls of a long abandoned manor. This perhaps reflected poorly on the state of Roderick's mental condition and so given this second chance at life he vowed to pursue more intellectual pursuits. After all battle was what put him into the ground into the first place.

The mandates passed from the construct and through the mouth of its chosen avatar.

"Greetings Engrim Altuflo may your efforts in assisting me reflect well in the Duat. I am known as Met - the tenth cask created by the grand sage Kaphris. It is my raison d'etre to assist humanity in fending off the threat of isfet. Though from the mind of my chosen avatar I sense that in the modern times there is no exact synonym for the concept I believe that one of your poets described it best as chaos and old night.”

In his mind Roderick's thoughts seethed with various emotions. It was clear that this person Engrim was one of those disreputable sorts that earned his keep by combing over the leavings of honest soldiers. It was as bad as those who desecrated grave sites and dug up coffins hoping to retrieve rings and necklaces from their withered occupant. Met and those in his culture most certainly had no love for those who raided tombs. However this was a fallen age and it was no surprise that people would be forced to take up such unsavoury practices to earn their keep. Indeed Met was thankful that to the best of his knowledge this man was not a ghoul who had taken up the vile act of feasting on human flesh. No necromantic energy was showing up on the great constructs arcane sensors so he pressed on.

“It is my duty to warn those in power of the coming danger and thus if you can begin to lead me to this Pharaoh- Relan then the world would owe you a debt of gratitude.”

The gaze of both the soldier and the ancient machine guiding his actions focused on Engrim. In the next few seconds the gaze of everyone who had come to witness this spectacle would also fixate upon the pragmatic procurer of magical by-products. Provided that this automaton was as benevolent as it claimed this was more entertaining than even the most outlandish of mummers plays and since someone had been either brave or foolish enough to venture his services he had become one of the star performers.