Part 1
Glog lay unconscious on the large sterile plastic sheet, in a back tunnel of Tla’loc’al’s poorest zone. Alchemist Onderal was standing over him, taking notes in a small journal. He finally put the notebook away in the inside sleeve pocket of his brown robes. His simple garb only added to the diminuative impression others would have gotten of the elderly olgog. Onderal finally prodded Glog one last time with his finger saying, “You little olgog brought this on yourself. But do not feel sad. From your lapse in judgement, I will craft the finest revenge the Olgogs have ever had on the Earthers and their precious colonies. Colonies built on land stolen from our tribes. The Earthers traded for land from the K’iou and the K’iorn and the thrice-cursed Falosini. They made deals, but never did they make deals with our kind. No they took our lands and drove us out. Like animals. Like simple animals.”
Onderal lifted up a syringe filled with greenish fluid, resembling what the hammer had secreted before. He injected it directly into the base of the third arm that had grown from Glog’s side. The Arm thickened, shedding fur, and growing scales. As it began its change, Onderal flicked out a long scalpel lovingly crafted from a Manslayer mandible. It slipped easily through flesh and tendon, severing the arm completely and deftly removing the extra bones the Teardrop Hammer had grown to anchor itself in Glog.
Mag Der’al Olgogs crowded around him, reverently taking the tools as Onderal discarded them. A meter long metal cylinder was laid out to Glog’s left. As the third arm was cut off, it was uncermoniously dumped, Teardrop hammer and all, into the open hatch on the side of the cylinder. Once it was inside, the aged Alchemist closed the door and spread a little powdered krato bone over the locking mechanism. A catalyst in the form of a drop of collodial silver and a small blast of Leyas changed the lock fundamentally, sealing the arm inside hermetically. Through a viewport made of perfectly tranparent quartz, they could see the arm spasming as the hammer began oozing more and more of the green slime. It filled the cylinder, and Onderal motioned for tubes to be connected to the cylinder.
The tubes spread the fluid to five different warheads made from alchemical steel. Each was designed for a simple rocket powered by a potent alchemical chemical mixture, and each had lovingly crafted faucets allowing the warhead to spray its contents while it arched over a target at full speed. Alchemist Onderal sniffled a little. His old body was suffering, and it would not be long before he could no longer keep extending his life. The pain…the suffering would be too great. What is endless life if it is not accompanied with an end to aging, other than a living torment.
Onderal heard the sounds of approaching footsteps. His eyes darted nervously at his pet who sat next to him. It was calm, so he calmed down. He was surprised to see Mag Der’al Olgogs from Unen and Karov and Brez here.
“Speak,” he said going to back to work monitoring the hand pumps and tubes filling the warheads.
“There is attacks on our groups across the Olgog lands,” said the Mag Der’al Olgogs in a strange unison, “The Mag Daron, a tribe of Olgogs who worship all things Draconic and consider the K’iou Forgemaster Iblik of the Eyed Staff their messiah, has come back to these lands from the Falling Star Homeforge. They are using Zela axes to expose our members, and eating them.”
Onderal blinked a few times, “Repeat that last sentence.”
“They are using Zela axes and eating us,” said the Mag Der’al Olgogs, “They are so deep of belief that we are nothing before their hunger. All we have built, family, lives, killed and consumed as well.”
“Surely the leadership will not allow such brutality against their own citizens?” said Onderal surprised considering the violence his own Mag Der’al faced when they were revealed.
“In Unen the Kul Gul Rapi hunt us on every vessel leaving port. Every seaside village has become a trap for us. Luckily they have equally hunted the Mag Daron,” said the Mag Der’al, “Only Rhug’tor Town is a safe haven near Unen, and we have watched the Rhug’na’ru cut down Mag Daron in a hail of rocket fire.”
“I am surprised they didn’t turn on us when their UtR allies did,” said Onderal, “
“In Drewsport the crew of the Batavian Bat came to our aid,” said the Mag Der’al, “They trapped the Mag Daron hunting us in mud and stone and shot him with their blunderbusses until he gave up took him into custody. He currently awaits trial for the Mag Der’al family he killed.
The Unit 7756 in the feral lands has offered us aid, as well.”
“Keep the flow of food going into Drewsport to the crew of the Bat,” said Onderal, “They have done right by us, we will continue to do right by them.
I do not like the dead, but if Unit 7756 has left us alone in this time of conflict, then we will extend a similar respect to them.”
