Laws of Emroy
"If your death is given to Emroy, then your life shall not have been in vain." – Laws of Emroy
There are many gods. But Emroy is her god, her patron, and he is a manifold god. He is the god of darkness, the lord of midnight, and the master of shadows. He is the god of war, of battle, violence and slaughter. He is the sponsor of soldiers, criminals, and executioners, and caretaker of those who die in battle or meet violent ends. He was the lord of madness, and the benefactor of the insane. Sometimes she wondered if her life would be simpler if she was the apostle of a less diverse god.
Rory Mercury sat atop a lonely hill…waiting. "What do you think Lord Emroy? They say the Empire has marched a grand army to the holy gate at Almus. It was defeated, a hundred thousand men shattered, and even now the stragglers route and turn to banditry. What shall your apostle do? Shall I punish them for their failure? Hunt them to the last straggler who fled? Or shall I rally them under your black banner and lead them back to the front? Shall I turn my gaze to the soldiers who defeated them? Praise and acknowledge their prowess and valor for defeating the soldiers of the Empire? This humble apostle knows not your will, please great Emroy, give me a sign!"
Then she settled in to wait. Emroy always answered her in some fashion. Although gods didn't regard time the same way mortals or demigods did. He would give her an answer; she just had to be patient for it.
On the first day she was still. Silent. She could have made a statue jealous. On the second day she occasionally shifted her legs, drummed her fingers, and her eyebrow developed a notable twitch. On the fourth day she polished her axe twelve times. On the seventh day she murdered any bird that dared to land on the hilltop she'd claimed. On the eleventh day she screamed every foul word, curse, and insult she's learned in nine and a half centuries of life at Emory and his brass throne. By day sixteen she'd resorted to outright begging… but Emroy answered.
Not in words. No, Emroy of the thousand shadows was far too cruel to give her a straightforward answer. Her answer arrived in twos and threes as men slunk beneath her hill from the surrounding countryside. Soldiers have a certain look, it isn't the weapons and armor, but a certain discipline. A pride and confidence… something wolf like. These men wore armor, and carried weapons. They bore uniforms and had the look of men from the empire's various tributaries. There were men from Italica, Elbe, the League Principality, even the distant Alguna Kingdom, southern Toumaren, and even a man from the goblin lands far to the west. But these weren't soldiers. They were not wolves. These were dogs, wet and beaten. Their shoulders slumped, their uniforms and appearance ragged and unkempt, and they had a paranoid hunted look about them. A sickness of fear and terror had engulfed them, robbing them of martial discipline and leaving… wretched things. She was tempted to slay them immediately upon seeing them in such a state but curiosity stayed her hand.
Rory Mercury normally preferred being visible, she liked people to see her, to notice her, to recognize her. But sometimes stealth was useful. Sometimes an ounce of discretion and observation could provide more insight than a bucket full of violence or intimidation. So she wreathed herself in shadows, hiding from mortal eyes only steps away from the heart of their camp, and she listened.
She heard them whisper. Hushed voices speaking of the Gate and the dread armies that had appeared from the other side.
"It wasn't normal magecraft," one of the men said, "magecraft at least leaves a body to be buried. These green men shattered hills with their fire and thunder. Whole cohorts so mangled you couldn't find all the pieces. The blood ran like rivers down those hills."
"What do we do? We can't go back to Elbe."
"What happened to the king?"
"He died, during the night raid."
"Did you see him die?"
"No, it was dark until those sun spells started going off, then I couldn't see anything."
"I heard he was alive and his guards took him to Italica… he was pretty mangled though."
"No way he lived through that, he was right at the front, nobody on the front survived."
Having heard enough, Rory Mercury decided to leave. From the sound of it these men hadn't deserted per say... instead it seemed they survived the destruction of their entire command structure. Of course they'd flee. While Emroy demanded victory or death, Rory had walked the world long enough to understand that men were willing to risk their lives, but asking them to face certain death in battle was a challenge few men could answer without great cause… so as long as they avoided outright cowardice Rory would stay her hand. Moreover, she had never been a talented general, so while she could rally these survivors, she wasn't certain she could lead them to victory against these green men and their new magic. At least not until she knew more. She would travel to Almus and see these green men for herself.
"It seems the whole of Coda Village is on the run." A voice said, cutting through the idle chatter. The Apostle halted mid step, and began to walk back to the group. Shadows swirled to conceal her from the group.
"This is a good opportunity."
"Do we have enough men? There's only a few dozen of us."
"We can find more. There are over forty thousand stragglers and deserters between Almus and Italica."
"Get enough of them and we could take entire towns, maybe even become lords!"
"Ha! Wouldn't that be something! Imagine-" He did not finish his statement. Rory's Grand Grimcleaver decapitated him in a single swing. His comrades gasped in fright as the shadow wreathe fell from her, and his head rolled to his lap. She laughed.
"Gentlemen," She cooed, "Thank you very much for tonight. I am Rory Mercury, Apostle to the Dark God Emroy. Thank you so much for giving your lives so selflessly fighting at Almus. My father Emroy is very pleased, and he now requests your presence." Her Grimcleaver raised and she slew them. They shouted, begged, and pleaded. But she ignored them. While she was occasionally called Rory the Reaper, and perhaps she even deserved the title… she did not find the last words of dregs such as this terribly interesting.
"No, No, you must not run." She chastised chasing after the stragglers. "Find your courage, draw your blades, Fight! Slay me if you can, spill my lifeblood, prove your worth to Emroy!"
Emroy was the god of darkness, madness, and war. He was a god of battles, and war, and conflict. He did not consider murder a sin. Nor did Emroy cast judgement on any profession, even being a bandit. But Rory saw no glory in a band of soldiers turning to petty thuggery. Yes, better to grant them the mercy of a splendid death here, rather than have them dying on some farmer's pitchfork over a few copper coins.
While the would be bandits likely thought her blindingly fast, she held much of her speed and strength in reserve. If she'd wanted she could have killed them all in moments. But killing them wasn't enough; they deserved to die on their feet, blades in hand, a battlecry on their lips.
"Rejoice! Rejoice!" Rory cried, her axe cleaving a man in twain and sending his crimson blood fountaining into the air. "Emroy waits for you, beyond the sea of blood, on the mountain of bone, atop his throne of brass. Your brothers, all the warriors who came before you wait, they cry your name and bid you join them!"
Only one left. She swung a lazy swing, and he dodged. Twice, four times, seven. Each swing drawing closer and closer. After the eighth attack the soldier realized his impending doom… and embraced it. He gave up any pretense of defense, focusing all his efforts on one perfect strike. She stepped forward, into the blade, allowing herself to be impaled on the imperial steel, giving him one brief moment of triumph before sliding the sharpened tip of her grimcleaver into his throat.
"He-He-He-He-He!" She laughed as both her blood and his spilled, laughed as he fell to the ground, and laughed as he died. She ripped the sword from her midriff. "Beautiful! Splendid! A perfect end! Everyone should die as well!"
Slowly she reached down, and closed the man's eyes. Then she gathered her axe, her grand grimcleaver. Her wound already closing, and ravens already circling. It was time to leave this place.
When people talked about demigods, they often spoke of their overwhelming power. The sheer disparity in strength and speed was incredibly easy to notice. Rory could lift thousands of pounds, shatter rock, and leap higher than a building. She could dash faster than a horse could run, go days without sleep or eating, she was so graceful she could walk across a clothesline, so dexterous she could juggle a score of balls if the mood struck her. But because the physical differences were so obvious, people rarely bothered to look at the other, less readily apparent advantages that came with being a demi-god.
Most humans, even without paying attention, tended to be aware of things within a few yards of them. That is, unless something was incredibly tiny or actively hiding, most people were aware of pretty much everything happening within a couple of yards. For instance, it is no great skill to notice how many people are in a room. Even if you are reading a book, or watching television, you still possess a vague awareness of people entering or leaving the room. And this was just passive perception. People could focus, notice things far beyond their immediate surroundings. Rory extended that passive range to over a dozen yards, easily hearing conversations in neighboring rooms or buildings…and she could focus her enhanced senses to notice things from a long way out.
There in the distance, still miles away, a caravan of wagons lumbered through the hills, moving at a snail's pace. Normally something Rory would avoid. Hers was not a god of beggers, refugees, and suffering families. However three strange vehicles at the front of the caravan drew her gaze. Iron, lacking any type of beast or sail to move it… now that was something interesting. Not unique, she'd seen bizarre magical war machines before, but in context definitely interesting. Who would waste three rare and powerful constructs guiding a group of peasants evacuating from a village out in the boonies? She could have run the distance, arriving at the front of the caravan in minutes. But she settled down to wait and watch, She wanted to see these war machines, and observe what was happening before they realized she was there.
They moved no faster than the horse drawn wagons, and it took nearly an hour and a half for the caravan to reach her position. Two men emerged from the vehicles and approached her.
"You must be the Green Men," Rory Mercury said, admiring their strange green garb and bizarre weapons. They had the handles and triggers of crossbows, but lacked the cord to propel an arrow. A rather curious sort of weapon. She'd always been of two minds on crossbows. Useful weapons for peasants or conscripts, they were easy to learn and a well-placed shot could pierce even a heavy breastplate. But the sheer time it took to reload and the difficulty in the manufacture often made them seem lackluster compared to bows in the hands of better trained fighters.
The two men began to speak, a strange language, vastly different from the score of languages she already knew. It wasn't the guttural and rough languages of the west, nor the rapid staccato languages of the east, and it bore no resemblance to the common Imperial Tongue that she could detect. The two gestured wildly, trying to convey some message. Some demigods had a gift for languages and could decipher new languages from only hearing a handful of phrases. Rory had never acquired that particular knack, and felt no real regret at not understanding the green men. Her eyes turned to the masses of the convoy. Just because she couldn't understand them didn't mean there wasn't someone here who could translate for her. She moved past the two green men and headed to the first vehicle in convoy.
"It's an Apostle!" A child cried in glee as a half dozen spilled out of the strange iron vehicle to race up the street to meet her. Rory smiled. She was fond of children. They had a hardiness to them that often far surpassed the adults around them. Even now, destitute and homeless, fleeing down a road bound for destinations unknown, they could find joy and play games.
"Hello children," she said, "now what do we have here? Who are these strange people?"
"They're really nice!" One child exclaimed.
"They warned us about the Dragon!"
"They're letting us ride in their metal carts!"
"Oh?" Rory said, effortlessly deciphering the group of children all taking over each other. "So they aren't holding you hear against your will?" Not that she had a problem with soldiers forcing peasants to do things, but the fact that they weren't dragging this group to slavery or some kind of labor camp was interesting.
She didn't pay much attention to their response. Their faces told enough. There was no fear here. No pain or suffering. They didn't feel any sort of duress around the green men.
"You say the iron cart is really comfortable?" She asked approaching the window. A green man looked out and started to speak his gibberish.
She froze, eyes wide in shock and surprise. His face was plain, ultimately forgettable. But… there was a magic about him. Not the paltry magics of mortals. Throwing balls of fire or levitating carts. No this was a primal sort of magic. A thing of Fate, of Destiny itself. This man had a role to play, somehow this simple man in green was going fulfill some monumental role in the fate of the world. More importantly she could see the string of her own future tying around his. Her fate, intertwined with his until his task was complete. This… is not what she wanted.
Somewhere far, far away, she thought she could hear Emroy laughing.
AN:
A strange beginning. Laws of Emroy is a story that largely focuses on an area that I feel Gate often leaves lacking. On the gods, demigods, and how they react to the JSDF's arrival, and the religious, spiritual, and metaphysical differences between the two worlds. Given the lack of information we have so far on this part of Gate's world, this story will likely veer quickly into an Alternate Universe.
Rory Mercury is going to be the protagonist for the vast majority of this story; while she is an important character in the Anime and Manga… she's also something of an outsider. Everyone knows she's super powerful, but she provides very few answers to questions about the world and never really tries to influence events other than occasionally helping the party kill things. Oddly enough despite being one of the four main characters you could remove her entirely from the manga or anime without changing any major plot point. Yes the party has a harder time killing things but none of the major decisions the group makes is changed by her absence… and I don't think that's fair.
Anyway, thanks for reading, and I look forward to doing more soon.
Oh, sorry, I almost forgot: Grand Grimcleaver: Years ago white wolf publishing released a game called exalted. This tabletop rpg was based (basically) on the concept of playing a demigod in a fantasy world. With a full array of bizarre and over the top powers and vastly oversized magical weapons and armor. Rather than call Rory's weapon a big axe, I decided to use the exalted name.