Shroud of Shadows

What Remains

The Castle of Melior was a looming work of architecture, a near impregnable bastion in times of war, the slab sided barracks of the Royal Knights, and the seat of governance since the creation of Crimea. Beneath the castle, her armories, battle cages, and shrines to the legends of old are many. We all worship them in our own way, these temples of violence and honor. I knew where to find the east wing of the Royal Armory easily enough.

Now the castle stood as the palace of two mighty empires, one borec and the other laguz, united in the bonds of matrimony. The name had not changed but its occupants did. As I made my way to the forges, I passed several members of the Bird tribes who had recently taken up residence in the halls. Many were artisans, having spent their extended lifespan in the pursuit of a trade. Few found enjoyment inside the dark and heated armories, those that did were experts in the craft. I hoped that they were the ones who attended to my shattered war plate.

I pushed open the massive doors to the armory and breathed in the smell of honest labor and fire. The smell of the earth being crafted and honed to the use of mortals racked my nostrils. Unlike the medical wing, the armory was dark but it radiated warmth. As far as I could see, there was smoke and flame, ash and the taste of metal. Wizened masters of the fire tended the forges and their precious metals inside while hammer armed servants battered away at the steel.

Here, the artefacts of war were crafted and repaired.

In times of peace, these forges were used to create ploughs and tools for the fields. However, since news of Volus, the industry of bloodshed took over once more. On a large dais in the center, a division of blacksmiths filed the edges to the payloads of siege weapons while incense to sooth the individual spirits of the metal was scattered over the pieces. Upon a mighty anvil, a team of three men swung their hammers down on a sword in perfect unison.

All of this paled in comparison, however, for closest to me laid a magnificent suit of artificer armor and weapons. Their polish shined in the light of the forges, and they looked every bit like the tools I needed for my occupation of war.

It was good to see them again. It would feel even better to don them.

A tall man with a thick blond ponytail was hunched over my armor with a hammer and chisel to carve in the runes of warding into my repaired armor as well as my many battle honors. He was no blacksmith, he lacked the muscle to swing the hammers needed to shape the flesh of the earth. He was dressed in a flowing black and green robe which showed his position as an arch sage, perhaps the most acclaimed in Elincia's royal court. He is also the rumored sire of my nephew, though I do hold reservations that my older sister Lucia would let him plough her fertile fields.

He has just finished to inlay patterns of gold into the victory laurels upon my helmet. With his work done, I know that he would not mind me interrupting. "Bastian." I made my presence known and the Count rose from his work and clasped my outstretched arm in a gesture of good will.

"Nobel Knight Commander Geoffrey, as I live and breathe it is a summer's day to hear that you have fought the cold encompassing grasp of death and won." His theatrics, usually a pain in my ear to hear, were surprisingly a welcomed sound. It was good to be back in the land of the living. "I have almost finished my dutiful ministrations to your armor and instruments of war. I hope you will be pleased to hear, that like thyself, they yet live."

I have always found it strange how some individuals believed that there were spirits inside of inanimate objects such as weapons and books. Bastian had not only overseen my armor's repair, he had been soothing the individual spirits that made up the metal in my armor and blades. It seemed unusual, but then again I have seen many strange sites in my two and a half decades of life. I have seen the dead rise from the grave, an entire continent turned to nothing but stone, and a mere man slay a goddess. I suppose I should be a little more open minded about such seemingly impossible things.