Mole
Kaithe Dame
Sp00ki
Fetzen
Choking on Mud
TokyoPewPew
The Raven Calls
Sky Blue
Soldat Elf
VertigoAmunal looked upon the structure before him. It was the single largest continuous surface constructed in Brahms, and it was incredibly simple. Simply a large, flat rectangle upon which the Primarch was able to make inscriptions. For its calculations, the youth did not truly need this for its memory more than sufficed. But scribbling down a random note about axioms of governance or science here and there allowed the tribal confederation that began to worship him as a God allowed them to swiftly go from backwards savages lacking elementary things from hydrology to literacy, to one of the greatest nations of the planet in a mere generation. They understood but fractions of it, and much of that only years after it was written, but these observations were enough. Where barren land once marred one’s vision, great aqueducts poured brought water to fertile fields. Where once stone tools and animal hide dominated human industry, a standard fashion and steel came to be supreme.
The Master as they called him, rarely gave anything resembling a command. Instead a person would simply approach the giant and as meekly as they could, they would ask a question. Always they refined it as simply as they could, since for every variable the answer would become an order of magnitude longer and more complex. A whole strata of people were assembled to study the works of the Master without bothering him, a fact that he never complained about. Still, sometimes he complained about interference with his work.
Never did he ask for food or water, though it was on occasion brought to him by the adoring people. Rarely, perhaps once a season he would ask for musicians to come. These men and women would feel a great honour was bestowed on them, but they would almost always spend more time listening to the Primarch lecturing them about the mistakes they were making, the issues with their tune or timing or the maintenance of their instruments. Of course, none would even try to deny that they all became superior artists following the experience.
But as the starborne teenager had predicted years before, eventually, the realm of Ummaria would be a problem. One by one true civilizations joined the tribes that Amunal had made ascend, eager to partake of the wondrous being that lead them rather than be eclipsed by those they so recently looked down upon. But with the old Heirarch of Ummaria dead, his son saw the rise of Amunal’s people as a threat to himself, every eye watching him for any sign of a lack of resolve within his own realm and abroad.
So it was that an emissary came from Ummaria, and emissaries were the few for whom the Master was willing to step aside from his great work for. The request was simple, to bow to the Heirarch of Ummaria, recognize his supremacy. Amunal, to the surprise of all, was more than happy to accept this. The emissary that had been dispatched with little expectation of his own survival returned perplexed back to his nation. Again he was dispatched a few months later, with the terms and conditions of Ummaria’s dominion over the united tribes. Once more surprised, he returned with the Master’s signature.
The diplomat would return every few months with new demands from Ummaria, each more egregious than the past, each raising a new voice among the Master’s people that they must not accede. But each time the Master would insist peace was of far greater import. This was until at last the ambassador returned to demand that direct control of the Confederation be turned to him. “No.” was the entirety of the message he was ordered to return by Amunal. Again he returned, now with the threat of war. Amunal remained steadfast, and so the armies of Ummaria were marshalled.
Amunal treated this lightly. He had exterminated entire tribes that he found incompatible with peace and impossible to negotiate with with his bare hands. Indeed seeing himself an ethical person did this in a manner so fast most of the victims died far too fast to feel fear or pain. Though perhaps somewhat more of a challenge, one that might take a few days, he believed that he could destroy hundreds until eventually the Ummarians would retreat.
The fateful day of the first battle between Ummaria and the confederation was an uncharacteristically hot, sunny one. With just a few hundred people who had followed him in worship, Amunal stared at nearly a quarter of a million people before him. Archers, spearmen, cavalry, siege engines, cavalry, all were assembled in a great throng. Nothing present, as far as the Primarch was concerned, could even scratch his skin.
A horseman rode out from the army, offering Amunal a final attempt at surrender, which with a smile the Master denied and then reciprocated. As the horseman too denied this, he wasn’t able to turn his horse around before his skull was split in two.
In a blur the Master ran forth, scything down some thirty people with a flurry of his limbs spinning to maximize carnage, all was going exactly as he expected. Until a horn rang, and several of the carts Amunal had assumed would be full of supplies or perhaps disassembled siege engines disgorged their contents.
Beasts Amunal had never seen before ran towards him, in a few cases crushing Ummarian troops underfoot in their wild charge as they came to do battle. It took a few seconds for Amunal to recognize that these were some sort of humans twisted by unnatural means, and more of a threat than any of the mortals he had just slain.
They were soft, their flesh just as easily torn apart and their bones just as easily broken as that of the un mutated humans. But, there were two problems. First, there was simply so much more bone and flesh to destroy, and there was seemingly more than one brain, heart, and other vital organs to end their lives and even with them torn or crushed the beasts still persisted for some time.
The other issue was that they bore a strength that the same amount of humans for that weight would not be able to achieve. Such was the power of their strikes, the teenage primarch was unable to maintain his chosen appearance and had to revert to his featureless mercurial form by the time he had slain his tenth beast.
By the twentieth, his breath was ragged, and soon he tasted his own blood for the first time in his life. Soon bruises were formed, and slowly his skin split open. His breath ran ragged, some sort of concussion explaining the dizziness that was also a first time experience. He stared at his own knees, vision blurring and a ringing came in his ears that overpowered the sound of another horn. Shadows loomed over him, and he saw hundreds of humans rush forth at him. They stabbed and cut, the majority of the strikes glancing off. But a few struck the already open wounds, and while unable to break any of the flesh they moved and jerked it around to still open the wounds wider. With a roar, the Primarch dislodged each of the mortals upon him and without even wasting time killing them, ran for his life.
The war against Ummaria had very suddenly become a problem. The Master was wounded, something nobody had believed possible. Though he had already recovered from almost all of his wounds in mere hours, he had still ordered the evacuation of an entire half of the Confederation’s land. They were not at all ready for a war. Until now, the deterrent of Amunal’s mere existence had ensured that nobody would strike at the Confederation. Thus their armed forces were tiny, mere militias to respond to the few raiders brave enough to strike at their lands. Overnight, Amunal turned them into a war economy. He found this tragic, but schools he had insisted be set up were turned to small assembly lines for arrows, or places to sharpen newly smithed blades. Every so often Amunal would venture out to strike at the rampaging Ummarian army, but for the first time fearing for his own life these were limited strikes in the night and with nearby detachments of cavalry to defend him should the Ummarians release their beasts fast enough.
Eventually the day came that the Confederation was ready to strike back, and exactly as Amunal had predicted, the Ummarians would not be ready. They faced an army very suddenly larger, better equipped and better led than their own. Very swiftly they were encircled, and the force of hundreds of thousands was destroyed in entirety with a little less than half taken as captives.
An Emissary was then sent to Ummaria asking for their surrender, and once he didn’t return the Confederated army marched into Ummaria, destroying any that refused to spit on the name of the Heirarch.
The capitol was in sight, and still the Ummarians refused to surrender. The gates were breached, fighting was in the streets, and yet the Heirarch refused to give in. His palace was beset, and no order came for the royal guard to stand down. Amunal himself smashed in the gates to the Palace, roaring at the man on the throne. He sprinted through the hundreds of elite warriors assembled to stop him, a crimson slurry flying through the air as he now stood before the Heirarch. The young ruler stared at Amunal, not rising from his seat as he scratched his beard.
“Why? Why?” the Primarch demanded, tears and blood and sweat dripping off of the superhuman in equal measure.
The Heirarch shrugged, undistrubed. “It is my right to rule. To rule all. You included.”
Amunal screeched in rage upon hearing this unparalleled arrogance, eliciting a chuckle from the Heirarch.
“You are unnatural, just as the beasts I was forced to employ against you. But you may still die.” He reached in his robes, and retrieved from them what Amunal would eventually learn was a conversion beamer. With a pull of the trigger, Amunal looked down into his chest where his heart was now exposed. Durable as the young Primarch was, the weapon converted his flesh into energy and with his lab-grown countermeasures yet immature, the effect brought him to the brink of death.
Hissing in pain, Amunal still wasn’t done. The Heirarch was grinning, but this expression quickly fell and turned to a scream as Amunal took a step forwards. The ruler of Ummaria scrambled back in his throne. In desperation he took off towards one of the many secret passages in the wall. But he fell as an enormous hand pulled on his wrist, and then tore both arms off. Both legs than came off, yet to his surprise the wounded Primarch brought a torch to both wounds, intent seemingly on keeping him alive.
As much in pain as he was astounded, the Heirarch looked at Amunal incredulously trying to mouth words that wouldn’t come from the searing suffering he was experiencing. About to fall unconscious, Amunal uttered a single phrase to the Heirarch. “You are the first to break my mercy, and you will be the last.”
The years that followed eventually turned Brahms into a world with but one governance, all following the wisdom of the Master. Within Ummaria ancient technologies were recovered hidden beneath ruins and within vaults, upon the study of which many found resemblance to that which Amunal had already written of on his wall. With them compounded with the means of understanding them brought by the Primarch, a global Golden Age began, only a few worshippers of the darkest of Gods resisting this in their deserts and mountains.
But, some began to wonder how the Starlanders would react to this. Very soon, their concerns would materialize.
The Master as they called him, rarely gave anything resembling a command. Instead a person would simply approach the giant and as meekly as they could, they would ask a question. Always they refined it as simply as they could, since for every variable the answer would become an order of magnitude longer and more complex. A whole strata of people were assembled to study the works of the Master without bothering him, a fact that he never complained about. Still, sometimes he complained about interference with his work.
Never did he ask for food or water, though it was on occasion brought to him by the adoring people. Rarely, perhaps once a season he would ask for musicians to come. These men and women would feel a great honour was bestowed on them, but they would almost always spend more time listening to the Primarch lecturing them about the mistakes they were making, the issues with their tune or timing or the maintenance of their instruments. Of course, none would even try to deny that they all became superior artists following the experience.
But as the starborne teenager had predicted years before, eventually, the realm of Ummaria would be a problem. One by one true civilizations joined the tribes that Amunal had made ascend, eager to partake of the wondrous being that lead them rather than be eclipsed by those they so recently looked down upon. But with the old Heirarch of Ummaria dead, his son saw the rise of Amunal’s people as a threat to himself, every eye watching him for any sign of a lack of resolve within his own realm and abroad.
So it was that an emissary came from Ummaria, and emissaries were the few for whom the Master was willing to step aside from his great work for. The request was simple, to bow to the Heirarch of Ummaria, recognize his supremacy. Amunal, to the surprise of all, was more than happy to accept this. The emissary that had been dispatched with little expectation of his own survival returned perplexed back to his nation. Again he was dispatched a few months later, with the terms and conditions of Ummaria’s dominion over the united tribes. Once more surprised, he returned with the Master’s signature.
The diplomat would return every few months with new demands from Ummaria, each more egregious than the past, each raising a new voice among the Master’s people that they must not accede. But each time the Master would insist peace was of far greater import. This was until at last the ambassador returned to demand that direct control of the Confederation be turned to him. “No.” was the entirety of the message he was ordered to return by Amunal. Again he returned, now with the threat of war. Amunal remained steadfast, and so the armies of Ummaria were marshalled.
Amunal treated this lightly. He had exterminated entire tribes that he found incompatible with peace and impossible to negotiate with with his bare hands. Indeed seeing himself an ethical person did this in a manner so fast most of the victims died far too fast to feel fear or pain. Though perhaps somewhat more of a challenge, one that might take a few days, he believed that he could destroy hundreds until eventually the Ummarians would retreat.
The fateful day of the first battle between Ummaria and the confederation was an uncharacteristically hot, sunny one. With just a few hundred people who had followed him in worship, Amunal stared at nearly a quarter of a million people before him. Archers, spearmen, cavalry, siege engines, cavalry, all were assembled in a great throng. Nothing present, as far as the Primarch was concerned, could even scratch his skin.
A horseman rode out from the army, offering Amunal a final attempt at surrender, which with a smile the Master denied and then reciprocated. As the horseman too denied this, he wasn’t able to turn his horse around before his skull was split in two.
In a blur the Master ran forth, scything down some thirty people with a flurry of his limbs spinning to maximize carnage, all was going exactly as he expected. Until a horn rang, and several of the carts Amunal had assumed would be full of supplies or perhaps disassembled siege engines disgorged their contents.
Beasts Amunal had never seen before ran towards him, in a few cases crushing Ummarian troops underfoot in their wild charge as they came to do battle. It took a few seconds for Amunal to recognize that these were some sort of humans twisted by unnatural means, and more of a threat than any of the mortals he had just slain.
They were soft, their flesh just as easily torn apart and their bones just as easily broken as that of the un mutated humans. But, there were two problems. First, there was simply so much more bone and flesh to destroy, and there was seemingly more than one brain, heart, and other vital organs to end their lives and even with them torn or crushed the beasts still persisted for some time.
The other issue was that they bore a strength that the same amount of humans for that weight would not be able to achieve. Such was the power of their strikes, the teenage primarch was unable to maintain his chosen appearance and had to revert to his featureless mercurial form by the time he had slain his tenth beast.
By the twentieth, his breath was ragged, and soon he tasted his own blood for the first time in his life. Soon bruises were formed, and slowly his skin split open. His breath ran ragged, some sort of concussion explaining the dizziness that was also a first time experience. He stared at his own knees, vision blurring and a ringing came in his ears that overpowered the sound of another horn. Shadows loomed over him, and he saw hundreds of humans rush forth at him. They stabbed and cut, the majority of the strikes glancing off. But a few struck the already open wounds, and while unable to break any of the flesh they moved and jerked it around to still open the wounds wider. With a roar, the Primarch dislodged each of the mortals upon him and without even wasting time killing them, ran for his life.
The war against Ummaria had very suddenly become a problem. The Master was wounded, something nobody had believed possible. Though he had already recovered from almost all of his wounds in mere hours, he had still ordered the evacuation of an entire half of the Confederation’s land. They were not at all ready for a war. Until now, the deterrent of Amunal’s mere existence had ensured that nobody would strike at the Confederation. Thus their armed forces were tiny, mere militias to respond to the few raiders brave enough to strike at their lands. Overnight, Amunal turned them into a war economy. He found this tragic, but schools he had insisted be set up were turned to small assembly lines for arrows, or places to sharpen newly smithed blades. Every so often Amunal would venture out to strike at the rampaging Ummarian army, but for the first time fearing for his own life these were limited strikes in the night and with nearby detachments of cavalry to defend him should the Ummarians release their beasts fast enough.
Eventually the day came that the Confederation was ready to strike back, and exactly as Amunal had predicted, the Ummarians would not be ready. They faced an army very suddenly larger, better equipped and better led than their own. Very swiftly they were encircled, and the force of hundreds of thousands was destroyed in entirety with a little less than half taken as captives.
An Emissary was then sent to Ummaria asking for their surrender, and once he didn’t return the Confederated army marched into Ummaria, destroying any that refused to spit on the name of the Heirarch.
The capitol was in sight, and still the Ummarians refused to surrender. The gates were breached, fighting was in the streets, and yet the Heirarch refused to give in. His palace was beset, and no order came for the royal guard to stand down. Amunal himself smashed in the gates to the Palace, roaring at the man on the throne. He sprinted through the hundreds of elite warriors assembled to stop him, a crimson slurry flying through the air as he now stood before the Heirarch. The young ruler stared at Amunal, not rising from his seat as he scratched his beard.
“Why? Why?” the Primarch demanded, tears and blood and sweat dripping off of the superhuman in equal measure.
The Heirarch shrugged, undistrubed. “It is my right to rule. To rule all. You included.”
Amunal screeched in rage upon hearing this unparalleled arrogance, eliciting a chuckle from the Heirarch.
“You are unnatural, just as the beasts I was forced to employ against you. But you may still die.” He reached in his robes, and retrieved from them what Amunal would eventually learn was a conversion beamer. With a pull of the trigger, Amunal looked down into his chest where his heart was now exposed. Durable as the young Primarch was, the weapon converted his flesh into energy and with his lab-grown countermeasures yet immature, the effect brought him to the brink of death.
Hissing in pain, Amunal still wasn’t done. The Heirarch was grinning, but this expression quickly fell and turned to a scream as Amunal took a step forwards. The ruler of Ummaria scrambled back in his throne. In desperation he took off towards one of the many secret passages in the wall. But he fell as an enormous hand pulled on his wrist, and then tore both arms off. Both legs than came off, yet to his surprise the wounded Primarch brought a torch to both wounds, intent seemingly on keeping him alive.
As much in pain as he was astounded, the Heirarch looked at Amunal incredulously trying to mouth words that wouldn’t come from the searing suffering he was experiencing. About to fall unconscious, Amunal uttered a single phrase to the Heirarch. “You are the first to break my mercy, and you will be the last.”
The years that followed eventually turned Brahms into a world with but one governance, all following the wisdom of the Master. Within Ummaria ancient technologies were recovered hidden beneath ruins and within vaults, upon the study of which many found resemblance to that which Amunal had already written of on his wall. With them compounded with the means of understanding them brought by the Primarch, a global Golden Age began, only a few worshippers of the darkest of Gods resisting this in their deserts and mountains.
But, some began to wonder how the Starlanders would react to this. Very soon, their concerns would materialize.
