Tales of the Empire
HopeofDawn, fractalserpent
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Notes:
A bit of background explanation: this was originally written as an aside in a long-running crossover RPG called Multiverse Haven (now sadly defunct). Over several novel-length stories, Raziel was returned to his vampire form, visited a time period shortly after his fall, collected the remains of his clan, and has now transported them to the Ancients' era. This time is early in Nosgoth's prehistory, long before Kain's birth.
Cyrus and Ferris are both Razielim; Cyrus was badly injured and Ferris has a new fledgling. That's about all you need to know. )
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The Razielim needed but a single night to crest Nosgoth's great western mountain range. Their second morning found them within sight of their destination.
To be sure, their progress was faster than it might otherwise have been: the Hylden-built road was as smooth and finely graded amidst rocky crags and passes as it had been below, in the forested foothills. Rather than clinging close to the mountain's folds, the Hylden road cut straight through, winging over gorges on trestle arches that soared a thousand feet, penetrating fins of stone with broad-blasted tunnels. But as the air thinned, the ever-growing crowd of attending Ancients - there were perhaps a thousand now - began to fall behind, their wingbeats labored. Having sent ahead the bloodslaves and wagons, and their handlers in the early afternoon, the bulk of the Razielim were able to travel at their customary ground-eating lope. They needed no breath, after all, and were untouched by the cold.
Early in the predawn, the slope at last eased, smoothed. Passes and peaks, still snow-capped, arched far above. The scent of brine soon tainted the breeze. And then, betwixt two distant ridges, New Avalon came into view.
The city was a spire, straight and tapered as a narwhal's horn, set like a jewel against rippling black velvet sea. Lights glowed warmly from a thousand points, warring with the pale pink glow of dawn to illuminate in shades of sky-tinctured grain the weathered limestone. It was difficult to say from this distance whether the mass itself was natural and the city simply built atop it, into it, or whether the entire edifice was a construction. It stood at the throat of a deepwater harbor, and the breakers that crashed at the base seemed small as wrinkles.
Ten thousand years in the future, the seas would be higher, lapping over much of the broad plain betwixt New Avalon and the mountains' western foothills. The harbor would become the treacherous bay of Thornwall, one of Melchiah's holdings, its passages choked with limestone teeth that could tear through the hulls of even mighty vessels. Of the Ancient's city, nothing at all would remain.
But it was clear that the army could not descend from the mountains and reach that distant shore before dawn. When another long tunnel, ten paces high and twice that wide, fortuitously presented itself and was declared sound by the Razielim's only two experienced geomancers, an early halt was called. Though some modicum of privacy could be constructed by cloths hung from the domed roof, the camp setup was of necessity very compact, confining for a people both highly territorial and long accustomed to vast spaces and open skies.
At the western exit of the tunnel was a sloping clearing. The only vegetation there was wind-wracked cedars, the ground littered with scree and boulders. But it would remain shaded by the looming cliffside for most of the morning. While waiting for the slaves and supplies to arrive, a number of Razielim congregated there. At one end of the rocky field, a drill instructor led two dozen of his charges, young vampires just beginning their second centuries, through drills. Their handblades – curved crescents, wickedly sharp – blurred in the air. The weapons were small and of little use against heavily-armored opponents, but by practicing with them, the young vampires honed skills they would soon require in truth, once they developed an elder's talons.
Near a natural flue formed by a convergence of two massive boulders, two Razielim smiths – including Ferris, trailed by his fledgling who blinked in discomfort at even this filtered light - gathered materials for a fire. Without a proper forge, they could not cast steel, nor even bronze. But tin farm implements had been pillaged from the village yesterday, and these the smiths could fashion into much-needed rivets and chains.
Ferris' fledgling crouched to one side, eyes wide as he watched his sire stir the embers and tuck a crucible into the hottest part, all with his bare talons. But as Ferris set to breaking the captured tools into pieces – the better to melt plowshares into flay device components – his gaze wandered. They'd passed a number of humans, all chained together, some hours before. That much, at least, the fledgling remembered clearly. Ferris had hauled him along with an iron grip then, but now, if his sire was just going to sit and talk with that other… well then.
"Oh, for the love of… be still," Ferris growled, taloned hand lashing out to seize his fledge and drag the youngster back. "…and I'll relate to you a tale," he finished, clearly coming to the conclusion that he'd have little opportunity to sit and enjoy conversing with his brethren in any case.
Like all these newest additions to Raziel's clan, the human whose body this fledgling now wore had been dead for only a very short time before being raised – he almost certainly had retained a good understanding of the tongue his Sire used, even if he had vanishingly little inclination to use it. The fledgling hesitated, primitive calculations clicking over behind fierce gold eyes.
This was an important step – a good sign if intellectual curiosity overruled idle hunger, a poor one if not. Slowly, the fledge folded his legs beneath his body, and sunk back into place.
Ferris paused a moment, perhaps permitting the fledgling a moment of private approval. There was a pleasing familiarity in this ritual, in instructing a neonate in the ways and manners of the Clan. Perhaps it was that habitual nature of this indoctrination, or his preoccupation with his work and his fledgling both, that led Ferris to select this particular tale. It was one very familiar to him; every clan told variations on the story. But no Razielim - save perhaps a weary, worried, and much-harried sire, too focused on the immediate task - would have dared to tell it now.
"Sit close, then, and I will recount a tale of Kain and his powers. Now you have heard – or will hear," Ferris amended, glancing to his progeny, and thereby missing the other smith's wince, the way he looked around in worry, watchful of any listening too closely, "of Vorador, and his rivalries with Kain. A thousand years did he haunt the Emperor's steps, thieving his kills by stealth and by cunning, foiling his aims. Far and wide did Vorador search for adepts versed in the magics of severing, with which to withhold from a magician his magical energies for a time. Again and again, Vorador tried to turn these spells upon the Emperor, though to no avail.
"Kain, knowing in his cold heart the threat Vorador might one day pose him, crafted a ring of bone by which to contain a portion of his powers, proof against an effort to cleave from him his magic. He kept it always close, and all thought it naught but a signet. The world turned on in the lathe of time, the ages sped bewinged, and – harken close, mine own – even Kain grew careless. He removed the ring, leaving it amongst other jeweled treasures while he took ablution. But, secure in his might, Kain had neglected – as you must never neglect, mine own – the slaves.
"In crept a chambermaid, with dusting cloth and rag, her eyes not quite always downcast, but rather glancing over the riches of her Lords. Those impertinent eyes fell upon the open casket of jewels – amidst which was a single plain ring of bone. Surely, thought the human, even Kain's gaze would not notice one or two things missing; and yet the worth of even the least gem was enough to buy her liberty, many a time over. And so, with the dumb animal avarice of her kind, the mortal took up a jewel, and put it in her mouth, and swallowed it, that she might creep with it past the guards on an errand of pretext, her prizes secure in her belly. One, two, three, four she swallowed, before the sound of stirring caused her to flee.
"Now, this human was a lowly creature, and bore not the mark of the House of Kain." Ferris frowned, worrying at a finger-thick chunk of tin, his talons locked in the metal. "Thus, mine own, scarce had this foulsome human entered the marketplace, her basket in hand and heart in her mouth, when…"
Cyrus, his unit well-settled and his own assigned duties long since accomplished, found himself at loose ends. His Sire had settled himself well within the tunnel, surrounded by both Razielim and Ancient mages as they continued to learn the secrets of the blood-fountains. And while Cyrus knew Oberon would spare little thought for his wayward offspring when such knowledge was within his grasp, the knowledge of his Sire's disfavor was enough to keep him at a distance. As was the prospect of more of the Ancients' ... attentions, especially as they pertained to his infirmity or his clothing!
Thus, wandering without purpose into the glare of the unfiltered sun, he overheard the beginnings of Ferris' tale. His own Sire had told it to him, once-and a certain secret melancholy guided his steps to the tumbled rock where the smiths had begun their work. Ferris paused in his tale, glancing upward at the new arrival-but returned to his work without comment as Cyrus merely settled himself upon a nearby flat-topped rock, his eyes turned away to trace the white road as it wound itself downward, towards the distant spire.
Ferris' fledgling, on the other hand, inspected this new arrival with a wary sort of interest. He was old enough to recognize other Razielim as kin, at least; although an elder vampire was always a nascent threat, kin or not.
As Cyrus made no aggressive move towards him, the fledgling's caution turned to speculation. He eyed particularly the ginger way the far elder vampire sat, careful not to bend or jar one leg.
Ferris continued. "...when she was swept up by the drivers of slaves. Scream and struggle as she might, she was driven in chains to the slaveblock. And who should be amongst the bidders?"
The fledgling frowned, distracted from his bloody-minded contemplations, wriggling a little when it was clear that his Sire desired a verbal answer before he would continue. "Vorador?" the neonate hazarded, at last, voice rough with disuse but reasonably clear and understandable, as if the young vampire had simply lost interest in the use of language for a time, the ability now to be regained by fragments.
"Well done," Ferris nodded, praising the effort, if not the answer. "But not quite, for even Vorador, fearsome though he was, could not have entered a city held within the Emperor's grasp. But men allied with Vorador were there, seeking out fresh meat for their Lord's divinations. They bought this chambermaid straightaway, and tossed her over the withers of a warhorse, and returned to their realm. Now, the rites of divination are as many as the leaves in autumn, and of these you may someday learn. But the oldest is the art of reading the future from entrails. Vorador was well practiced, and when he cut open his prisoner – here… and here…" Ferris leaned back, drew the smooth back of one fire-warmed talon demonstratively over his fledgling's soft-skinned belly, "he found indeed his future laid out before him. For there amidst the purple and taupe of viscera glinted gold, emerald, ruby… and a circlet of bone.
"So great was the magic stored in this ring, mine own, that already it had begun to work its warp upon its surroundings, there in the hot catalytic womb of viscera. And as Vorador plucked each jewel in turn from the slave's heaving belly, it melted, changed. A folded golden pin twisted upon itself, flowered, became a tiny trumpet played nobly by breath no man could sense. The emerald broach cupped into a boat, sprouting a tiny, perfect sail of glass and fine oars of silver. And from the great ruby hatched a chick with strange amber plumage. This last was the only wonder to survive beyond the day, for within hours the trumpet cracked and fell to pieces, and the emerald ship set sail at sunset, rowing away through the air; but the bird fled, and grew swiftly, and later started a conflagration which destroyed all of Coorhagen, bathing itself in those flames. Thus, of all four treasures, the plain bone ring alone was immutable. Thereby did Vorador know of the powers Kain had woven into the ring: leadership, and the shapeshifting of swift journey, and mastery of fire."
Ferris paused, frowning as he worried at a particularly recalcitrant bit of metal. Cyrus watched out of the corner or his eye for several long moments-then, as the fledgling began to squirm, gave up the pretense of his lack of attention.
"As it was told to me, Vorador was a canny creature-he knew full well that even with this newfound power, he could not attack Kain directly," he offered diffidently, knowing that this tale, like many others, had changed as it had spread between Clans. "The Emperor would know soon enough that a portion of his power had escaped him, and would seek its return. Thus Vorador seized the ring, and bore it to a secret altar where with searing water and fire and ancient magic he reforged it-twisting the power within until it served his purposes. Kain's power now fuelled Vorador's snare, and should the Emperor take up the ring again, as he inevitably would, it would be his undoing."
At the mention of fire and water Ferris' fledgling twitched, and looked uneasy-but he did not move from his place, even though he did not seem to know quite what to make of the strange vampire that had taken up the thread of Ferris' story.
Ferris tossed a contaminating nugget of half-worked bronze away, where it clinked amongst the stones. The workmanship of these farm implements was abysmal, an assortment of scrap metals hammered together with no particular regard to melting points or strength. He turned to sort through his nearby leather haversack, and withdrew a cloth-wrapped brick of black-steel molds, each one indented in patterns. Softer metal could be poured into those grooves, enabling a smith to rapidly produce large numbers of gears or bolts.
"Just so, Cyrus," he agreed, selecting two molds, then handing the rest to his fellow smith. The other vampire, still nervous, frowned as he picked through the heavy plates. "And when the Emperor discovered his artifact missing, his wrath was terrible indeed. But even so long ago, fledgling, Kain's eyes and ears were everywhere, inescapable. It was not long before he ascertained who now held the ring."
The sound of Ferris' voice drew his fledgling's attention inescapably, leading him momentarily to ignore Cyrus, who - rather confusingly, the fledgling thought - smelled both of power and latent threat... and of a prey's weakness. The fledgling did his best to weigh the possibility that he'd be beaten again if he attacked and devoured the newcomer, this 'Cyrus.' Perhaps if he *shared* his kill with his Sire this time... fortunately, Ferris spoke again.
"That very evening, Kain set off towards Termongent forest. He traveled alone, upon foot, for the magics to raise an army at a whim, or to ghost unseen over land and sea, had been bound up in the ring. He'd only gone so far as Charringham when he came upon a very dreadful sight. A thick copse of trees was burning steadily, fierce flames lapping every part of it. The smoke was thick, black and bitter. Timber crackled, groaned, as if crying out at the unnatural torment – for the wood was not consumed. Had he his powers, mine own, Kain might have simply bid the flames to cease... but without the ring, what was he to do?"
The fledgling frowned, obviously struggling with the question. Precocious he might be, but strategy was still beyond the grasp of a mind that was concerned only with the needs of the moment. After a moment, when it was obvious his Sire still awaited an answer, he tentatively answered, "...burn?"
Cyrus smiled a little. "The Emperor has no fear of fire, child," he said, though there was no way of knowing if that was the truth. All Razielim had thought Kain proof against all harm, once ... but now, well, their god, their world, had changed. That thought brought to Cyrus the uneasy realization that perhaps this was not the best tale to tell among an exiled Razielim-but a glance at Ferris showed no hesitation on the part of the elder vampire.
"Kain knew his way lay forward, through the flames. And so he turned the power of the earth against his stolen fire-by his command, the very ground beneath the trees reared upward, toppling the forest to either side as he progressed, showering earth and stone upon the creeping flame," Cyrus continued carefully. "The forest giants had no choice but to give way, falling upon one another as their roots were bared to the sky."
Ferris, absorbed in lifting his crucible and the cherry-red pool of glowing metal within via long tongs, could not contain a soft snort of amusement at his progeny's unwitting heresy. "Thus, my kindred," he added, "do the strengths of foreplanning and of smothering prevail against the short-lived might of flames. Remember that, mine own, when your foes mass against you, when they leap like the tongues of an inferno, from all sides. Turn their sources upon one another, let them asphyxiate themselves, and victory will be yours, too."
The molten tin hissed as it hit the steel, Ferris concentrating on filling the molds to precisely the correct depth. "The emperor advanced upon his path. But before long," he continued, "Kain came upon a broad river, flowing swiftly, far too wide to leap. A human lay, near insensate, upon the shore, at the verge of death. She had been fed upon, most unneatly. As Kain stepped close to the water's edge, however, another woman – or something like a woman – rose half-up out off the water, hissing. Her body was scaled like the fishes, her skin gray and dappled. Her hair was a corona of spiny gray fins. Her flat lidless eyes seemed to fix upon Kain, her mouth gaped with the serrations of a fish's bony teeth. Then she twisted over and plunged back into the water... which churned with the fins of more such creatures, uncountable beneath the murky liquid.
"'What hath transpired here?' The Emperor demanded of the dying slave."
"The slave, rendered courageous perhaps by the shadow of death that lay over her, stared up at Kain's visage. 'A foulsome spell,' she gasped, blood tinting her pale lips. 'My village ... lived upon the fish of the river. But one day, the waters turned dark. One by one, those who went to the water's edge to fish disappeared, and were seen no more.'
She was seized by a paroxysm of coughing, and for a moment, it seemed as if she would expire before she gave Kain the answers he sought. But she recovered, and said, her eyes glassy, 'We tried to stay away, but ... without the river, there was little to eat, and no tithes to give. A-and then we saw them ... they came upon the shore ...'"
Ferris' fledgling wriggled in excitement, enrapt, and his Sire exchanged faint smiles with Cyrus. Little could claim a fledgling's attention quite like the description of downed prey. "'Saw who? What?' the Emperor demanded," Ferris continued, "but the peasant was too direly injured, and could not answer. Thus was Kain forced to observe carefully - just as you must always examine your surroundings carefully - to discover what had happened."
When the fledgling looked confused, Cyrus picked up the thread of the tale. "It was obvious that other vampires had been there, for evidence of their feeding lay upon the beach," he hinted. "And since the appearance of the monsters coincided with the villagers' disappearance..." he trailed off, prompting.
The fledgling nodded firmly. And looked blank.
Ferris snapped off a few more pieces of tin tools, sinking them into the blackened crucible. "Kain therefore knew that this spell, far from being foulsome as the mortal imagined, was in fact transforming the local villagers into creatures better suited for their major occupation - that is, for travel in water. But cast by an unpracticed hand, the transformation had caused unexpected consequences.
"Now doubly determined to wrest from Vorador his ill-gotten prize - for if this magic were allowed to spread, how would the vampires seize their prey? - Kain still had a great river to cross. And how do you imagine he managed this?"
The fledgling considered. "Swimming," he said.
Cyrus blinked, and arched an ironic eyebrow. Ferris sighed and picked up his tongs. "Not quite, mine own," he said patiently. "For his power to transform into a shape that might cross the water safely was bound in the ring. Remember? And for all his strengths, the Emperor is a vampire, just as I... or you." Raising a fledgling, frankly, was at least as much exasperation as pleasure. "But I shall tell you what he did: Kain bent down, and gathered up the mortal. He bore her most carefully to where the river was narrowest, and there cast her screaming in. All along the waterway, the men-fish converged, long teeth snapping at the prospect of fresh meat, swarming thickly in the heaving water. Kain watched closely, then - with the speed and agility that you too shall someday learn - leapt. His boots struck flesh, one upon a scaly back, then a fish-bloated belly, then a monsterous and yowling upturned face, and then he was across, safe upon dry land."
"Eat fish?" the fledgling asked unprompted, his gaze avid. Cyrus grimaced at the thought, and Ferris shook his head. The question was to be expected, he supposed-fledglings tended to chew upon most everything they encountered for a time, until they grew into the understanding that only human blood would satisfy.
"No-Kain would never sully himself with the corrupted blood of such twisted creatures. He continued on, determined to search out his stolen power, and wrest it from Vorador's talons himself if need be."
"Leaving the river behind, the Emperor continued on. In time, the trees changed, becoming twisted and grotesque, canopied with hanging moss, heralding the trackless swamps in which the ancient Vorador laid his lair. Once, he would have simply flown upon a thousand wings to the manor secreted within-but now, he was forced to wind his way afoot through quicksand and water like any other petitioner. Any other would swiftly have become lost as the swamp closed about them; but the Emperor knew well the territory of his enemy, and proceeded apace to his goal.
"The outer walls of the mansion had just become visible when an eerie keening reverberated off the water and the trees. The ever-present fog had thickened, stinging the eyes and the skin, and glowed with virulent purple light."
"Something gripped Kain's ankle, and from out of the murk arose the wavering, skeletal claws of Vorador's ghasts. Now, swamp ghouls are common in the Termongent forest, but they are drab and solitary scavengers; never had there been a force such as this. Hundreds, nay, even thousands of the creatures clawed their spectral way up from the murk, casting off the decay of the ages, their half-insubstantial bodies white as bleached bone, blue as the flesh of a hanged man.
"The Emperor broke the chill, energy-stealing clasp of the hand upon him, cleaving it from him with a swipe of the Reaver. But there were more ghasts, and Kain stepped back, boots splashing and sinking in the spongy wet soil. How was he to fight a multitude of swift undead amidst so much water? Lest that all-pervasive, acidic fluid warp and mis-channel the magic, Kain could not even split the skies to call down his bolts of lightning. It seemed as if he would be overwhelmed in a moment, driven into the treacherous pools."
The fledgling shivered, eyes wide. Ferris paused for effect, using a short rod of very fine steel to stir the melting tin. "But just then, mine own, above the howls of the gathering horde, Kain heard something: the distant sobs and cries of bloodslaves, penned close by the manor house for Vorador's delication."
"The Emperor made his decision swiftly-and he ran, leaping from one mossy hillock to the next. Not away from the battle, you must understand," Ferris admonished quickly as the fledgling began to frown, "Indeed, for even as he closed upon his goal, a host of the ghast fell prey to the Reaver's eternal thirst. But the ghast were countless in number, and for every one that fell, a score more took their place.
"Soon Kain came upon Vorador's slave-pens, surrounded by water to keep marauding vampires at bay. With a wave of his hand, the steel gates of the prison were ripped asunder, and the humans contained therein came rushing outward, seeking their freedom. The first of them plunged into the moat-then screamed in fear as they saw the ghast, who had scented the living blood before them and left the Emperor for fresher, easier prey. Perching upon a broken pillar, Kain waited until the ghast had entangled themselves amongst the humans, killing indiscriminately on land and water alike. Then, he called down the lightning from the heavens."
Cyrus shivered. He had seen the Emperor summon lightning only once-but the result was not one any creature would ever forget.
"The lightning came down, and danced upon the water, killing the ghast and their prey alike as it leapt from creature to creature, channeled by the metal of the humans' slave-manacles and the water upon their bodies. Great gouts of steam obscured the air as they died, and soon the few remaining ghast fled, newly fearful of the Emperor's wrath.
Thus, mine own, do the wise learn the utility of distraction, of using a foes' desires against them." Ferris paused, and leveled a serious look at his wayward spawn.
Cyrus waited, and when Ferris did not continue immediately, cleared his throat. "And thus does a wise Razielim learn to control his own desires, lest his foes turn these upon him," he added, cautiously. "As... as I was told the tale..."
Ferris glanced to the crippled Razielim a moment. It was not unusual, exactly, for several elders to offer a fledgling instruction - but Cyrus was of a different linesire, and despite his elevated birth, was not so highly ranked as Ferris. On the other hand, Ferris was peripherally aware of some of the circumstances surrounding Cyrus' slide from grace. While far from the most experienced of Sires, Ferris had strong opinions regarding how to treat a fledgling, and how not to treat one, regardless of the progeny's age. He nodded faintly, well enough pleased to be able to pay a little more attention to his work.
"...when Kain approached the mansion, he found the great front doors ajar upon their hinges. He walked up boldly, the Reaver in one hand, knowing Vorador would be awaiting him within. The ancient vampire's manse was labyrinthine, full of rotting decadence from the age of-" And then Cyrus was brought up short by his own belated realization that the long-forgotten ages to which the tale referred ... were the very same that the Razielim now inhabited. Those 'decadent' and long-dead Ancients, and their wonders, were the same as the soft, blue-skinned creatures that had carried him into the sky. They had traversed more time than the entire span of the Empire, or any human fief before it-more time than even Lord Raziel himself had seen.
It sounded blasphemous, even in the silence of his mind-but it was true. A cold shudder channeled down his spine, and the verdant world about him for a moment seemed alien and threatening.
The fledgling, knowing nothing of any such deeper concerns, watched him with eager golden eyes, waiting. "...From ages long past," Cyrus continued slowly. "The great hall was draped with tattered silks and velvets, lavish with gold and silver ornamentation. Derelict armors fanciful and magical stood watch along the walls, their empty helms thick with dust. The Emperor could detect Vorador's odious presence; the ancient vampire was somewhere in residence. But where?
"As Kain entered, he found the intemperate luxury layered so thick, it took him a moment to recognize the debris of a great feast - the drained pleasure slaves lying heaped and insensate, the bottles of bloodwine scattered upon frayed cushions. Verily, Vorador's spawn had reveled in their debauchery so much that they now slept, secure in their Master's home."
"The Emperor, however, only walked silently past the sleeping spawn, the Reaver bare and hungry in his hand. For to kill them all would serve no purpose save to raise even more alarm, and while Vorador was undoubtedly already aware of his presence, Kain saw no purpose in butchering his way through an entire household. These debauched creatures would die soon enough, he knew, for they had none of the strength of the Clans, and none of the blood of Kain to preserve them."
Downward he walked, down twisting stairs and hidden halls. Silks and gold vanished, to be replaced by weathered stone and worn carvings, until he could feel the heat of Vorador's forges beating at his skin. Here, metal adorned the halls: weapons strong enough to split stone, with an edge fine enough to split a butterfly's wing. There was armor inscribed with magicks, that gave a warrior the strength of a plated leviathan. Even lesser creations by other smiths were cast aside in piles of metal, copper and brass, iron and steel, to be reforged at Vorador's leisure." Ferris had taken up the thread of the tale at this point, and his tone was frankly admiring-for all of the vilification of Vorador, his prowess was legendary among all the bladesmiths and armorers of the Clans. None had ever been able to match his skill-one could only look at the Reaver to know it to be so.
The forge glowed like the very mouth of Hell, yet Kain did not hesitate. He entered, and there found Vorador awaiting him upon an ebon throne, the stolen ring laid upon the anvil before him like an offering to an ancient god."
Ferris left the crucible alone for a moment, and turned instead to the hardened metal in the molds. Setting his claws into notches - grooves worn smooth by countless clawed talons - he twisted. The thick steel came apart into two cleverly jointed pieces, permitting Ferris to pry loose the small tin gears. They still radiated heat, and steamed a little as they rang upon the frost-bedewed stones. Without seeming concern, Ferris picked one up, and with more delicacy than his talons might suggest, he started clipping and smoothing the burrs from the newly-minted parts. "'Degenerate thief,' Kain growled, there in the flame-lit darkness. 'I have returned for what is mine.' The Emperor strode to the anvil, and lifted his hand, to reclaim his prize."
Ferris' fledgling gasped, clearly and furiously trying to remember something, his brow furrowed. "Wrong magic!" he said, as if his warning might avert the danger posed to Kain.
