Chapter 623 - The enemy advance (Patreon)

The Empire of Stone endures forever. That is their claim, at least. It's no secret that the rock-people are a proud and stubborn people, proud of their history as one of the 'Old Races' of Pangera. They are survivors, hardy and tough, their natural advantages and the Classes that tie to their race have proven to be enough to bring them through the Cataclysm, as well as the chaos that followed.

Golgari youth are born much as human children are, indeed, they are similar in size, strength and develop at a comparable pace. The children of the Golgari are rarely seen by outsiders, particularly within the Empire. Without those who have chosen live away from the stronghold of their people, it's unlikely anyone would have ever seen the natural skin colour of their children (it's grey).

When they mature, the rock-people begin to differ more and more from a standard human. They are significantly taller and heavier. The mean height for Goglari is over seven feet, with exceptionally tall individuals standing over nine. They are physically stronger as well, their mass reaching over two hundred kilograms even without their 'true-skin', the name they give the mineral coating they wear. 

When they come of age, young golgari participate in a bonding ceremony that fuses their skin with a rock covering. A unique property of their skin allows it to form a strong bond with minerals that melds the two substances together, essentially forming a new skin. It is a misconception that the stone outer covering is a 'second layer' of skin, one that the golgari themselves usually don't bother to correct.

Their affinity to stone goes beyond their capacity to make it part of themselves. Golgari society as a whole is stratified and rigidly divided. Families are divided into Houses and Clans, each in constant competition with each other. Individuals are separated into Circles based on aptitude and Class. Due to their powerful physical properties and martial history, Warriors, those who fight with stamina and weapons, are esteemed, whilst those who manipulate mana are generally disparaged. The Crafting circle, Merchant circle, even the Growers Circle enjoy a position of higher prestige than the mages. This is a feature almost unique to the golgari in Pangera, as generally mages are venerated, or at the very least highly respected for their prowess.

Finally, the golgari affinity for working in groups, or teams of three, which they refer to as 'triads', a time honoured tradition, the origins of which cannot be determined. It is possible that not even the golgari themselves know. Only those individuals who rise to prominence in the Warriors circle are accepted to operate outside of a triad for an extended period, having proven their exceptionality. Such individuals are greatly respected and given the title of Blade. These are the Nobles, leaders of the Houses, generals and strategists of note. 

The rock-people continue to be a force to be reckoned with inside the Dungeon. Despite their stubbornness, their infighting and their somewhat archaic views, they endure against pressure better than almost any other society. 

• Excerpt      from 'Notes on the Old Races' - by Arritrea.

High Blade Balta was displeased. He had marshalled the forces of his House, called in favours and splashed coin to ensure he would lead this expedition. He had done all he could to pull in veteran Warriors and equip them with the best available gear he could find. Time had constrained him in this regard, as well as the remote location. Deeper in the core of the Empire, he would have been able to muster double the numbers with higher levels and better classes, but he'd been satisfied with what he'd managed to assemble. 

Ants, even intelligent ones, should have stood no chance against the golgari might he had brought to crush them. Yet here he stood, looking down at his nephew who knelt at his feet, reporting that the insects had pushed him back when he had attempted to claim their pathetic fort.

"I do not want to hear words of failure from your mouth, nephew. Failure is not something that we accept in our House. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

The younger golgari Blade trembled under the simmering anger of his elder that lurked just beneath the surface. He had been brash and taken his force to assault the insects without waiting for the other commanders to organise their forces. Had he been victorious, the glory would have belonged to himself alone. In failure, he received all of the shame that went with his defeat.

"Where you not of my own House, I would have expelled you from this expedition and sent you home in disgrace," High Blade Balta spat.

"Please, uncle, give me another chance!"

"You weren't given a chance! You just decided to seize one for yourself! Arrogance is only accepted when it is backed by ability! You have proven you lack both the former, and the latter!"

Real anger blazed in the eyes of the elder now. This promising youth had achieved the rank of Low Blade at a young age. The House had great expectations for him, only for the fool to grow impatient and make himself a laughing stock. Defeated in pitched battle by ants.

"A hundred of our people lie dead due to your ambition and stupidity. That is the price of your arrogance. I will give you another chance. Not to lead, but to demonstrate your ability with a sword is not as useless as your head. When the next assault goes, you will lead the charge personally."

"I hear and obey!"

Hironus Balta, on his knees before the leader of his House, tried to disguise his sigh of relief. Had the High Blade wanted he could have done far worse. He would get a chance to prove to his rivals that he deserved his rank. It would suffice.

In the East, the other half of this invasion force was progressing in their advance, though with less haste and more success. Yet Titus wasn't pleased with what he heard.

"A root of the One Tree? You're sure?" He asked.

"I've seen them before, commander. It's hard to mistake something like that."

Titus could only nod. It's true, the One Tree wasn't the sort of thing that could be described as small, or be accused of blending in.

"So what happened?"

"The target fled towards the root and burrowed itself in the soil in an obvious and slightly ridiculous way. We decided it best not to disturb the root and retreated."

"Wise," Titus acknowledged the squad leader with a nod, "take your team to the mess and get soe food in you. You'll be back out there soon enough."

With a crisp salute, the man left Titus to his thoughts.

"I don't like it Titus," Aurillia warned her commander, "a root showing up here? This isn't going to be good."

"We don't know if it's going to be active," he cautioned.

"After that idiotic creature burrowed down next to it? I'd be shocked if it didn't start sprouting tomorrow."

As much as he hated to admit it, Titus had to admit his Tribune was most likely correct. From the moment his Legion had first engaged the enemy, things had not gone according to plan. An intelligent Colony, likely a wave coming, his allies had proven untrustworthy and now this. Another variable into the mix was the last thing he needed.

Titus growled in frustration. He'd feel a lot better once he started cutting down insects. It was time he headed out on patrol. His axe was thirsty.