Black Magus

Imperator Opal, the Twilight Empress.

8th Legion, the Plagues.

***

It was with unbounded reverence that we witnessed the Elven Devil's Troupe congregate- that we witnessed them wholly before their evolution. Not even the Order of Worlds received such a privilege. Not to say they were lesser. Only that the likes of Wilson Koorb, Rickley Ravenbrook, Reina Featherfall, and Leary, the Faithful were beyond their purview. They were holy, representing Amun's goodness. We were not. Thus our mirrors were to be the opposite.

The Order of Worlds sought to uplift others in the name of the World Weaver whereas the Bloodmoon Legion were the destroyers of the Culture Amun so despised. In the other jugular, the Black Plume sought to corrupt the wicked in the name of the Elven Devil whereas my Legion, the Plagues of Eotrom, sought to bring order and liberty to the places most chaotic and corrupt. So too, however, did we serve in other ways. We dwelled in the deepest depths of the Darkworld, where the immense pressure of the Mortal Plane above forced stone and iron; copper, and other such metals out of the mithral and adamantine walls to resemble an aberrant moss.

Those lesser metals- metals mortals waged wars over, were as common as dirt and stone were on the surface. The rest was placed into a so-called degenerate state, with the molecules squeezed together as if they were shoulder to shoulder. Under normal circumstances, that made it impossible to mine. But we were the Nox's Legions.

So it was that most if not all the iron, copper, electrum, gold, silver, mithral, and adamantine the Legions acquired after the Shadeforge raid came from the 8th Legion as we burrowed and expanded through the Darkworld; opening pits to the surface to guide those attuned to death and darkness to greatness.

As the acolytes above did, they were made to leap into our domain below, wherein they found themselves in a horizontal tunnel that led to the Mortal Plane's bowels. Thus they descended through the Underground on isolated paths of trail and conflict- of adversity; guided by the same gilded darkness we used to observe and assess them. Through this, they learned the importance of skill; as that was the sole thing responsible for their survival. Not even our Eternal God-Emperor was to be relied on, should they wish to live; for death was but a door for us, the skills would be learned either way. And so, alive and dead, dead and alive, they learned many skills on their journey below ground. Navigating. Tracking. Hunting. Foraging. Pottery. Sewing. First aid. Construction. Things they would need not just to survive, but thrive in the ever-present darkness, persisting between the light.

When faced with powerlessness, they pressed on and thus were granted strength and life; power- the thing that corrupted all but Amun, it seemed. Thus we used the grace of Twilight to show those young souls the benevolence and malevolence they were capable of. We showed them the good and evil found in everyone by showing them the good and evil acts done by our God. Thus they devoted themselves to committing acts of good and evil with the entirety of their being; to experience every extreme. And in doing so, begin down a path to find their true selves, and master them.

That, however, was a long road to travel. Thus they continued descending, learning, mastering their skills while their minds melded more with the ever-increasing darkness; changing their bodies so subtly, so slowly. Time became meaningless as the sleepless days turned into sleepless tendays. Thus more ground was covered, and even more when the bioluminescent bugs and mushrooms were foraged instead of those without their poisonous glow.

When they finally emerged in the Darkworld, they stepped into Twilight at last. They donned the Owl's robes, tinted with the golds, purples, and crimsons of our Legion, and took flight in the Dark Sky. Yet still, they descended.

Armed to the teeth with crossbows, spears, and talons, they swept through the land down under, fighting ceaselessly against the undead to learn the ways of war dictated by our God; and then me. Their trials soon saw them develop two of the three traits and behaviors of the 8th Legion. Their immense time in the dark saw them become craftily cunning isolationists like the deep gnomes. Their eternal war with the foul natives of the realm saw them become militant pragmatists with a slightly sadistic side like the drow were said to be. However, it wasn't until they descended further that they developed the nobly predatory nature of my Legionaries.

At last, our recruits saw the tail end of their descent as they perched in our cities within the True Darkworld. There, they were educated and learned in the ways of our culture, and through this, the seeds of intelligence were sown in the furrows of their ignorance. They had spent all this time learning of themselves, thus they grew to learn of each other, the Plume, the Legions, and its Imperators. Moreover, they learned of reality. The elements of the universe, the phases they could change into, and the compounds they became when they merged. The fundamental forces of nature. The laws of sentient minds. The Rules of Life and Death. The methods of the machine. The nature of mana.

Only then, when they came to know these things, were they given the mark of our Legion. A star, eclipsed by the face of the Owl. Only then- now, did they descend into the Underdark where we awaited. Only then did they organize themselves into corps, divisions, brigades, and so on. Only then did the most distinguished step forward to stand before me with a reverent salute.

So it was, the members of my staff were turned before any in the Plume. Turned and subsequently freed of our blood bond by virtue of the twilight seeded within them, then they were named and sent throughout the Darkworld to master their roles further.

My Technical Archmage, a half-elf named Kurdir Jassahn, went to the Dark Sky and then the Dark Clouds with my Doctoral Witch, a female goblin named Poiga. While one infused the essence of Twilight into our territories, the other went to study the many lifeforms native to the realm; and in turn developed several salves, ointments, pills, and potions tailored to befit our vampiric, undying, and shaded members. So too did they go with the leaders of the Plague Corps, a dwarf and a human named Ness Gloomthorne and Herais Um respectively. They took everything Poiga learned or created and corrupted it, turning it into blood, acid, or poison-based weapons of mass destruction that they spent all their time perfecting the use of.

Beyond our borders in the True Darkworld went Marshal Juliana Ataut and General Gulla Thorn; a Kasian human and a Ligin-born half-orc. With them went Valadan Longtooth and Seli A'oth. An unlikely pair, given the former was dwarven and the latter was elven. Regardless, they led the Unholy Army Corps with great success. So much so that when coupled with their sister corps, they were nigh unstoppable.

Led by the female human, Eunike Uxon, and the male half-orc, Morfga, the Mounted Corps centered their entire being around the divine Dusk, Night, and Dawn Aves and the draconic beasts of darkness the 11th Legion bestowed on us. It was they who pushed our borders further into the frontier. So too was it they who returned with cattle and beasts of burden and war. Spiders and serpents; rothay and crab-like things galore.

Many of those things went to the Underdark, where my Engineer ventured. Edlen Chiselfinger was a dark gnome of grizzly stature who isolated herself and his undead in mining alcoves and chambers to house our troops and made more for the farms, ranches, and industrial yards needed to make our Legion self-sufficient. Then she went above to the True Darkworld, wherein she worked with my Civil Chief and her fellow dark gnome, Boddy Boulderweight.

With his help, our comparatively small settlements grew into grandiose cities that granted each citizen a wealth of private space. Moreover, they built a veritable training ground within the city. In which our corps of spies and subterfuge specialists honed their skills, led by a female Strifling, Exbus; and a male halfling, Milyn Goodhearth.

Throughout it all, my Executor had remained by my side, running the Legion while I oversaw things in the Plume until the time of great change came upon us. Never had I seen the half-wood elf so proud as that day. Not when she first descended into the dark, nor when she was turned. She had been mellow since her first descent; when her dreary visage faded from reality. Now, however, Executor Silvia Nuyi's crimson eyes were overflowing with tears born by our God's presence.

He descended with the Exalted Gloom, half of his Troupe, and Elijah- who eased himself into the sidelines the moment they arrived in the Deep Dark. Cononthoth, on the other hand, stepped forth to lay atop her dais and watch us sing our praise to the Elven Devil while gazing upon the might of his troupe.

The cease of their steps saw silence invade the cavern, interrupted only by Pora Bora's screech and the subsequent words spoken by me. Turned, changed, and corrupted were the feathers of the Black Plume, bringing about an end to this step in our God's path and thus his evolution. Him, the God of such things.

So it was that the realm evolved alongside him.

So it was that we evolved alongside him. Thus we were not privy to the impact it had on the surface. We were only privy to the rise in mana above and how it seemed to pour off the blue-green rune-like script that transcribed itself atop Amun's head. Once formed, those runes erupted in a wave of arcane fire that saw the sclera of Amun's eyes deepen to black and blue while his draconic pupils became limned in gold or filled with silver. Blue rings etched themselves into his temples and seemed to pump something into his skin, given by the thick linear veins reaching to the back of his head, appearing moments later as radiant lines reaching from his shoulder to his fingertips before they pulsed, releasing a wave of deep blue energy into me and Elijah alike.

Although the blessing was given to me in person, I could not read the arcane words hovering before my eyes, for my eyes remained shut as my voice chanted with all of my might. And yet still, I felt the blessings bestowed onto me. I felt the blood flowing through my domain seep into my machines, factories, and vehicles; changing them into a new branch of technology; changing them into HemoTech just as I would change my Legionaries into proper plagues.

It wasn't long after when another zealous noise made us go silent. A scream born from a child's lungs- the first of our God's wicked companions. Wilson Koorb. A human child with red and white hair, accompanied by an umbral knight of adamantine and gold. In his skeletal hand of metal, he carried a book of leather and blood that documented his mutterings after the ambient Twilight seeped into him, gifting his eyes with hues of purple gold.

The second was a young halfling with silken hair and a ghastly visage. Rickley Ravenbrook. Accompanying her was a giant frog- an Uma that produced a hauntingly pleasant drum that the Plume picked up on and used as ambiance while the bard introduced herself. The richness of her skin returned in full force as she stood next to Amun, allowing the rising Twilight and more to flow into her and form a radiant ring around her cursed mana well.

The third was a deathly half-elf with a body of petrified wood accompanied by an owl of similar makeup but with undying shadows with perpetual scowls. Reina Featherfall. The first Twilight Druid. And more. Even by our standards, she appeared ghastly. Yet her disposition was the opposite. Aloof and cheerful, she was. Even as the rush of Twilight pouring off of Amun saw her wounds close and made her… floral parts more inconspicuous.

The last to appear from the rushing river of twilight was the most curious. Leary, the Faithful. A goblin with curious companions. An undead dire-cheetah with winged armor of bone and a draconic imp of darkness. Even they were tame in comparison to Leary, however. He was taller and more lithe than any goblin I had seen, standing taller than Rickley- as tall as a hobgoblin but with a humanoid posture; and all along his back were curious spines that radiated with familiar magic.

Wholly formed, Amun dictated his standards to his Troupe and ascended to Eotrom with but a single message passed onto us, the Black Plume, the Lordlings, and the Plagues; and by extension, the Legions and thus the Empire of Eotrom.

"And… let it be known. I did not consciously do any of that. It just… happened; a... result of my ascension- my step down the Eternal Path."

Change.

That moment- those words saw everything change. Those of the Plume dove into a frenzy of documentation, recording songs, scriptures, and sculptures of the events that just transpired. Those of the 11th Legion took to the lair of their Goddess while mine came to me and soon dispersed throughout the Bodhi Tree's Darkworld and Underground to search- hunt for the changes birthed by our God; and more, spread the glory of Twilight beneath every country in the Peninsula.

Everyone from the lowest acolyte to Syele herself saw change. Change imposed by themselves.

Everyone from the newly enlisted Legionaries to me saw change. Change imposed by our God.

To that end, I faced Syele for the last time in what would come to be several months- only for her to bestow me with the newest leader of the Black Plume.

"Tava," I said to the young Vampyr. "You will be accompanying me to the Deep Dark of Shujen, wherein a new sanctuary will soon bloom beneath a place called Zimysta Falls. In which, your nest will form."

"In turn, I will go to the surface," Syele said, gazing far above. "It is time I catch up with Geingurr Redstone."