Fiction:Sanguine Promenade

Fraternal Matters
It was the early spring of 32 NA. No such thing as seasons, however existed in the harsh plains of Abyssus. Great heat and great cold ravaged this part of the world in equal hands throughout the year, and only red light that peered through its black clouds marked the time of day and its time of night. It was the dominion of the Legion of Shiarchon; ancient and immense, masters of the entire forsaken land. That particular kind of day, however, was reaching noon. The northwestern reaches of Abyssus was always cooler than the rest of the region; bringing some relief to those who walked its sands and rock. It was also a place of great work and rumour, as the fallen tower of Avkhamasaarkon was now a place of reconstruction. It was a tower built out of darkstone which once pierced the blackness of space, and now laid scattered across the area and carved the earth inwards with every impact of the shattered tower; great segments of the fortress, nine hundred metres wide at the remaining diameter of the tower's base, remained jutting out of Abyssus' deep red earth after hundreds of millennia in silence.

Avkhamasaarkon's reconstruction was overseen by a Praetor of the Shiarchon ilk - his name was Arcturus Franciscus Hadrianus Everardus, a considerably aged Shiarchon known for his indomitable intelligence and perception, and more notably the brother of Praetor Julianus, who was sometimes considered the exact opposite; a Praetor who enjoyed the simpler fruits of life amongst a violent spectrum to say the least. Arcturus' role as a Praetor, so titled by the Imperator, bestowed upon him great wealth which allowed him to conduct any action he would seem fit. He was also in command of over seventy one thousand of his own kind and innumerable ranks of others, and his title earned him a seat in the Imperator's council whenever it was called. He was regarded, rather correctly as an individual of almost immeasurable sway as part of the royal hierarchy, and that he by some fortunate coercion had been allowed to reconstruct Avkhamasaarkon into a fortress of his own design and purpose. Arcturus had already constructed a palatial fortress, free of charge as it was customary to do so upon becoming a Praetor (one of seventy fortresses for each of the seventy Praetors), though this fortress would establish himself as an individual almost as revered as, if not more loved as Valentinianus seemed almost to be a combination of both cunning and brutality beyond that of comfort.

Arcturus, for the past few months had stationed himself at Avkhamasaarkon, along with four hundred of his men and had given the rest of them leave. To aid in his reconstruction of the great tower, now a colossal heap of foundations marked foot-by-foot with scaffolding reaching every possible part of its remaining wall, Arcturus had employed thirty thousand labourers, all of them of lesser mind, such as goblins and trolls to make for a more efficient work force. Arcturus in his seemingly limitless intelligence of Abyssus knew of the risks that he would take employing such a large number at once, and thus divided them and marked them with body paint so that they were segregated into smaller numbers when not working, as well as dividing the trolls and goblins apart to prevent the common, mindless and violent disputes between the two kinds. There was, of course still similar disputes among their own divisions, and for that reason was why he had four hundred of his men to overlook the thirty thousand. It was nearing noon, and, in its considerable heat, perhaps similar to that of the tropics but far drier.

Arcturus did not wear his praetorian armour during this stay, but instead wore the staple ceremonial wear which all Shiarchon males would use commonly outside of military service. This was usually represented as rolls upon rolls of fabrics of conscientious design, a wine-red in Arcturus' case lined with gold, that covered every single portion of his Shiarchon body from head to toe (in a practiced manner) as a form of underwear. The second layer was a system of coats and robes which thickened Arcturus' form, mainly layered clothing with a similar colour scheme, sometimes deviating with blue. The third layer was a light sequence of segmented armour that covered his arms and hands, chest and legs and feet, as well as a face mask that represented something like an 's face. It, and the rest of the ceremonial armour was coloured black which gave off an emerald sheen in light, and the mask was held to his face with an angular head scarf which was soaked in black. The rest of his wear also included a belt which bore the Sigil of. The mask however, did not cover the striking horror of Arcturus' infernal red eyes, which perhaps could have been seen for miles away, even through the thickest of sandstorms. It was something that Arcturus used to his advantage when he wished for something to go exactly how he wished it to go, and it never failed to yield results.

Arcturus was far too important, and too feared to even think of doing any work for himself other than planning the construction of the fortress, and his inferiors knew it. He was not above violent action either, in fact he made a habit of it in order to frighten his employed workforce into obedience. It even warded the Shiarchon population into not angering him, especially keeping mind that he was the brother of Praetor Julianus - who, in reasons beyond Arcturus' trail of thought had been sighted approaching Avkhamasaarkon's site that very afternoon. Arcturus was looking out at the road ahead of him, sitting in a bone-craft throne, some of it metal and wood, with a chalice of conspicuous and strange nature containing blood of an unknown kind, as it was the only thing that the Shiarchon could drink under their disfigurement. He saw his brother approach, also wearing formal attire, though notably of darker hue. His horse, a Cataphractus was draped in the same colours, as he reached the first outpost of the site. They took little time in observing the Praetor as they instantly recognised him in a bout of terror, and the gates swung open faster for Julianus that day then they had did for Arcturus for many months.

Julianus stowed his horse near the gate, even from the distance of which Arcturus was watching (from his own stately outpost), Julianus' tremulous and coarse voice could be heard aggressively telling Arcturus' men to tend to the steed with care. Julianus was a man not to be disobeyed; not by anyone - he used his brute force and tactics of fear as cunningly and as efficiently as Arcturus used his own stratagem, and such words and rumours about him rang out among the Shiarchon population. Regardless, Julianus and Arcturus shared a fraternal bond much like any other fraternal bond in the rest of the world, and was affirmed when Arcturus stood out up and out of his chair to meet his brother in an aggressive and familiar embrace. Arcturus would have been smiling under his helm if it were not for the lack of a face, and Julianus also.


 * Arcturus - It has been some time, brother. Sit, I will bring us a drink.
 * Julianus - Did you not station men of smarter mind at the outpost? I could have sworn that he knew not my face.

Julianus let out a hoarse laughter, whilst Arcturus, even though he knew his brother for years longer than civilisations had existed, saw little humour in it. Juilianus was a Shiarchon of strange and aggressive humour, and it only was ever met with a laugh from his inferiors. Being his brother, Arcturus was free of many constraints one would have considered fearful. Julianus then sat in another chair, lesser in stature than Arcturus' throne-like seat, though it supported his weight nonetheless. A small table next to him was pushed against the chair by a goblin; no taller than three feet in height as it clumsily placed another chalice on the table and a heavy terracotta jug of the same liquid that Arcturus drunk. It was odd in practice; the Shiarchon were determined to perfect the storage and cultivate the consumption of blood, and even had many different qualities of it across their territory. Arcturus was a Praetor of acquired taste and only had the finest qualities of blood. It was custom for the Shiarchon to pour their own drinks, and thus the goblin bowed to the two lords and hurried out of the platform as fast as he could, not wishing to ire Julianus any further than just breathing next to him. Julianus took the jug in one hand and the chalice in another as he carefully poured it in.


 * Julianus - I will always have to ask of your decisions to employ the lesser ilk. Goblins, trolls. What good are they if they cannot even walk properly?
 * Arcturus - They present less challenges...monetarily, as compared to humans. I only need to remember few details on a daily basis so that my operations proceed according to plan.

Arcturus took his chalice in hand, before continuing;


 * Arcturus - A horn is blown at sunrise. They are sent to work. A short break in the afternoon, and then the horn is blown again at sunset. The only issues of the matter is assuring that they do not kill each other, and that they are fed properly. Somehow they provide their own source of entertainment. Humans are...crafty. They wish for money. Thirty thousand men employed to reconstruct Avkhamasaarkon. What a scandalous act among them if I were to pay them the usual wage.
 * Julianus - That is when you use force. Besides, I somewhat understand your reasoning. Humans. A kind of which conscience and thought is wasted upon. There is not enough material in this world to satisfy them.

He then took a sip from his chalice, as he watched his brother do the same. Julianus was neither a man of subtlety. His face mask (of which all face masks allowed a slim passage to the mouth) was in the shape of a skull rather than that of a fair visage, and was complimented by his equally bright eyes that met Arcturus'. Julianus, though he was not as smart as his brother, realised that his impromptu arrival had bothered him slightly. Arcturus did not expect Julianus to arrive, though he was nonetheless pleased to see his brother anyway.


 * Julianus - I know that look in your eyes, brother. You wish to know why I have come.
 * Arcturus - Oh, I know that there is a purpose behind your arrival here. But I wish to hear that later. Come. I will show you what I have in store for Avkhamasaarkon.

During Arcturus' stay here, a great mound was built around the tower, appearing so that the tower looked as if it were in a crater. Much of the exterior fortress that Arcturus had ordered the construction of - mainly constructed from bones, wood and metal much like the furniture in thicker scaffolding than that of the scaffolding on the tower itself had lined its way across the mound, and the walkways on top of these scaffoldings marked outpost to outpost, with Arcturus' main place of residence being at the closest end to the entrance, as well as the largest tower. It overlooked, on the far side, thousands upon thousands of tents made by the goblins among numerous other features, as the trolls took to living in pits that they had dug out of the ground and covered with skin roofs supplied to them. Arcturus almost had his own civilisation at work here - not to mention the particularly large tents the Shiarchon had constructed some distance away. Arcturus himself had a large scroll in his hands, unfurled and held to show his brother of the plans to turn Avkhamasaarkon into a fortress of his own. Much of it was written in the cursive script of their own tongue, so that no goblin, none of which could speak Dark Elvish with any fluency could understand it.

By the time Arcturus had finished explaining, they returned to their two seats at the end of the walls. A goblin, much to both of their chagrin was waiting for them with a nervous expression on its face and shuddering where it was standing. Arcturus and his brother sat down as Julianus said nothing, wishing to see how his brother would handle the situation.


 * Arcturus - Is there something you would wish to tell me, goblin?

The goblin fell to his knees and laid prostrate before the Praetor, as it started quivering out words in the Shiarchon's tongue, though broken and difficult to understand.


 * Goblin - Scaffold! Broken! Collapsed! Many dead! North face!
 * Arcturus - Are you telling me that the ropes were not secured enough in order for you to work upon it?

The goblin let out a loud wail as it remained in place. Arcturus stood to his feet, towering over the goblin by at least thrice the creature's own height.


 * Arcturus - And that you continued to work on there without the proper inspection? Do you know how much of a hindrance this is?
 * Goblin - Me sorry! We all sorry! We work harder! Much harder!
 * Arcturus - Silence. Go.

The small creature rose to his feet, and bowed before the Praetor as he struggled to look up at his face. The goblin turned, though Arcturus, as strategic and thoughtful as he was, was not without punishment. In a single hand he clasped on to the goblin as it screamed helplessly, as the shrill scream caught the attention of the many thousands of workers working on the south face of the tower's broken wall. They all turned to see the goblin fly through the sky as Arcturus hurled him off the outpost, and sent crashing towards his death as it collided with the ground with sickening impact. The goblins all shrieked as they saw their fellow worker mangled on the floor, and then up to Arcturus who bellowed at the top of his voice;


 * Arcturus - Let him be an example to you. You will not rest today in order to compensate for that mess on the north face. Rebuild the scaffolding. If our goal is not met by sunset, then you will be at the mercy of my men's swords. You have been warned.

The goblins and trolls listening all began to work at an increased pace as Arcturus' words filled the air. Not only was he an intelligent individual, he was one who carried out his promises and threats to the very end. Julianus, on the other hand was laughing at the instance of the goblin falling to his death, and clapped his hands in admiration for his brother.


 * Julianus - Excellent! So you are not a Praetor who stays just to words and writing. If only Valentinianus saw that. It would give reason for him to fear you before Avkhamasaarkon was reconstructed.
 * Arcturus - I am a man of promises. If this fortress is not completed by the start of winter, then the Imperator will be wondering what I have been doing for the past year.
 * Julianus - That would...bring me to the reason for my arrival.

Arcturus turned to face his brother as his eyes were lit with intrigue.


 * Arcturus - The Imperator commands me of something?
 * Julianus - He commands both of us of something. All of us. The council is to convene.
 * Arcturus - And you know of the reason, do you not?
 * Julianus - I forget that you are of a mind as great of that as the Imperator...

Julianus stood. He was a Shiarchon of incredible musculature, and stood marginally taller than his brother.


 * Julianus - It was Valentinianus that sent me here, brother. It seems as if this may be a council to determine war on the outside world.
 * Arcturus - And what of it? And what of my plans here?
 * Julianus - That will be decided at the council, I believe.
 * Arcturus - And when does our Imperator wish us to arrive at Sangua Mons?
 * Julianus - The day after tomorrow.
 * Arcturus - A short notice. That means we must leave at the break of dawn tomorrow morning.

Arcturus sat down in his throne, slumped with contemplation.


 * Arcturus - Very well. I will have to see to it that someone is placed in supervision in my stead. The Imperator's will is...absolute, after all.
 * Julianus - Good. Now, let us have more of that drink. I wish to be informed of your ventures since our last meeting.