Black Magus

Amun.

***

"So, you're all exceptionally strong and have reached the limits of super-powered strength and constitutions, except you," Doyle confirmed his assessment, pulling my eyes away from Etan on the approach.

"Yeah," I nodded, smirking at both him and Olga. "I'll be working on increasing my agility and dexterity as I move closer to Death's Door. As for my strength, I think I'm as strong as Toril now."

"Strong as Toril." Doyle chortled, looking somewhere far off for a moment. "Not stronger than Toril?" he then asked, looking back at me.

"Toril has had Weight Magic since our affinities were awakened. He's been fond of weight training since before then. Since he got his axe, at ten." I pointed out, then let the words hang in the air for a few puffs before I pointed my pipe at them teasingly. "How heavy do you think his clothes have been since then? His weapon?"

"Huh," Doyle huffed, slumping back in his seat. Meanwhile, Olga seemed as if she was truly pondering the question. At least until Lana and Zaraxus sat at the table.

"A paladin whom holds the power to steal storms must match a tempest giant in strength," Zaraxus said, followed by Lana.

"Makes sense to me."

"Right." Olga snickered dryly. "Well, since there are no scrying windows to show us what's what, how about one of your speeches?"

"I wouldn't call it a speech, but I get your point." I snorted, rising to address the elephant in the room and pausing from the sudden excitement shown by everyone else. Not to say I wasn't excited myself, but the anxiety of those who had fruits to eat was nearly palpable. "I'm proud to say that you all have exceeded my standards in becoming the finest explorers in all the realms," I stated, beginning my 'trademark' pacing. "In this, your station in the Legio Noctis is higher even than the Imperators of the various Legions. To you subordinate members of the Troupe." I lifted my head, peering at those my Troupe had gathered from the Bodhi Peninsula. "You, now and forevermore, hold the title of Abyssal Emissaries. Titles with pay equating to twenty-two-hundred-fifty gold a week."

Geri's relatively few subordinates almost fainted from the words, causing her to look over her shoulder in disapproval until I pressed on. "As for you lot." I gazed upon my Troupe. "You each have distinctive titles. Collectively, however, you are hereby recognized as the Abyssal Agents of Eotrom. A title that grants you diplomatic immunity, operational sovereignty, and a pay of twenty-five hundred gold per week. Three weeks in a month, times thirteen months in a year, equates to eighty-seven thousand seven hundred fifty gold in back pay for the Emissaries. And for the Agents, Ninety-seven thousand five hundred gold coins."

The matriarch herself then collapsed in a bed of frozen flowers, yet she managed to turn into her wolf form to save face and rose from her flowers moments later, snarling at anyone who dared laugh.

"You've received your vessels, enchantments, and other boons already." I continued once the laughing died down. "All that leaves are your merits. Your station." I pointed out to the many worlds scattered around my starless system. "There will come a time when your worlds will have grown into the heart of a galaxy, home to a million-billion stars. But that will only come after our many lifetimes of adventure. Our business is on the Mortal Plane; the place in which you are known as Deities. Deities though you are, you are not as immortal as one would think. Stepping through Death's Door will bring us here, or the Underworld, and it will change us.

"Deities though you are, you were not when you met the prerequisites for obtaining your classes. That was accomplished before your coming here, to Eotrom. Consequently, the Master paths that were then opened to you and laid out by me had subsequently been sprinted through during your time on your worlds and here in the Darkroom. In doing so, you have gained what even I do not have." I grinned, looking at each of them react to the fruits of their labors slowly descending on ethereal vines. "There is nothing greater I can imagine, for you chosen few, than classes as revolutionary as these - Legendary Classes. But keep in mind, this is not a gift from me. This is a gift from your past selves, paid by blood and effort for the sake of rewarding the version of you that exists in this moment. So cherish them and learn of your paths during these nights of revelry. For, when we return to the Mortal Plane, we'll have work to do."

As they dispersed into their cliques and groups to eat and evolve, I returned to sit among Etan, Doyle, and the others to dictate their stories and accomplishments across the net. Wasting no time after finding my seat, I followed everyone's gaze to the black, audibly beating heart-like fruit and noted the circuit-like veins on the skin before I began.

"I've made pacts with and blessed each member of the Troupe. I've augmented some of their bodies, upgraded their natural abilities, gave them sorcery, and tutored their minds to become the prime deities of my pantheon. They're all necromancers, albeit in differing ways. They're all Doctoral Witches. They've all meddled in the schools of wizardry and applied it with my knowledge of the natural realm to develop the imperial school of technical wizardry. They're all Engineering Artificers. And they've all plunged down the paths of the classes they've chosen. In this, they are all sorcerers, warlocks, witches, and artificers; along with their chosen classes. Masterful paths that have been used in tandem throughout their ritual.

"While all were blessed and, in some ways, cursed. The Undying Fiends are different. Not only are they undying, but they'll develop fiendish traits later on down the line. Horns. Tails. Abilities only devils have, like making deals for souls. As they are now, however, the only fiendish trait present in them is the corruption of their abilities. Rickley Ravenbrook, for example, was plagued with the shadow of death because she dwelled within Chor's city walls. It was insulated with asbestos. Thus, she had cancer, yet sought to increase her chances of bardic success rather than seek a witch. Thus, the reaper that'd been clouding her feet moved to haunt her head. Buke then stole her money, and she became maddened for revenge on the one who stole her riches. Her pact with the Owl gave her the revenge she longed for, though still, she died. Partially.

"Upon her rebirth, Rickley was given a body capable of producing music as if it were an instrument. Not to mention commune through mana and connect with our technology. Her power of music, however, was corrupted to hinder the living and help the dead. She was a Warlock - an Undying Fiend, the Soul Singer. But after graduating from the Bardic School of Passing, she learned t merge the two in the Darkroom, giving rise to the Bardic Warlock, Soul Celebrity. And yet, I blessed her to have Sorcerous Twilight; although, her Twilight is more like twilight-poison, as that's how she died. And that, she blended with her mastery of the Roguish ways of Fiendish Fencing to become a Sorcerous Rogue, Twilit Fencer."

"A fencer as in a peddler of stolen goods, or the fighting style?" Doyle asked.

"Yes." I nodded without as much as looking his way. "As the Legions' Eldest Grave Keeper, it's Rickley's job to ensure the dead rests peacefully. To bury them and build the things in which they're buried, converse with them and create the enchantments needed for others to do so, give them the means to see beyond their graves, and for mortals to see beyond the veil - an Artificer, the Eldritch Civil Engineer. To that end, she learned how to study the dead of mortals and aberrant alike, performing autopsies, and other aspects of Pathology, merged with the Eldritch aspects of Witchcraft. Thus she is an Artificing Witch, the Eldritch Mortician. More than that, though, she is Eotrom's Grave Goddess of Architecture, Funerals, and Cities."

"Wilson Koorb, on the other hand, was an amateur artificer - an accomplished alchemist and a hedge wizard to boot. He developed stronger and longer-lasting potions for the market. All while being unevolved."

"T- that's... interesting." Olga gasped. Not from the achievement - everyone in this realm and many beyond knew of Wilson Koorb - she gasped from the slop of Wilson's acorn-berry 'fruit' popping open to drip a dark sludge into his mouth. It both looked and smelled like tar; even before the thin membrane of the berry was pinched above his outstretched tongue and held there for minutes.

"Yes, but what wasn't amazing was him wanting more. Wilson blatantly asked the Owl for perpetual youth and immortality for realizing his magnum opus. He knew his habit of testing potions on himself would end badly in the long run. Thus, he sought to flee from the deathly shadow above him. The Owl, however, declined his wish. He clutched his talons into Wilson's chest, knocking him down and then out. He was given a proposal in the ensuing nightmare. His wish, in exchange for his undying service to me as the first warlock created by my sorcery. An Undying Fiend. As per our agreement, Wilson's alchemical prowess was blessed and enhanced to permit him the realization of his magnum opus - mutable potions, or those with permanent effects. This became so for the ones active within him at the time of his rebirth and is so for the ones he created thereafter; although the process is certainly difficult.

"The mutations born by the brews are everlasting until one drinks the 'antidote.' Wilson Koorb, however, is cursed. Thus, he was given an adamantine skeleton that prevents him from mutating anything other than his flesh. The last aspect of his curse was to be reversed in age from seventy-two to five years old. Then, he spent his second childhood learning how to use his Bio-alchemy to create mutated, magical, and enhanced undead and fought them in ways that combined his mutable artificing with his connection to the Shadow Realm and his anti-wizard combat training to become a Mage Slayer. Now, he wields negative mana, or anti-mana, as a Fighting Artificer, the Mutable Mage Slayer. Whether he was thankful or simply devoted to his craft made no difference to his path. He continued worshiping the ArcaTech by becoming a devoted engineer and toiling in his labs day in and day out to create marvels for the undead and devils alike - and himself. Thus he is now a Clerical Warlock, the Eldritch Engineer.

"That, however, was not the blessing I gave him. And in truth, his sorcery wasn't a blessing at all, but permission from a Sovereign of Death to become a Nox-Lich, a sorcerer who can enjoy the pleasures of life. He'll stop aging sometime between now and twenty-two years old, and will not need a fresh intake of souls to remain whole like other liches. This also gives him ties to the Shadow Realm. But he cannot combine it with his necromancy like I can. Regardless, his necromancy was combined with his studies of witchcraft and modern medicine to become a surgeon of undeath, turning him into a Sorcerous Witch, the Nox-Lich Doctor. And now, he is Eotrom's Alchemical God of Disasters, Mutations, and Anti-mana."

A sudden crack pulled us away from Wilson, finally munching on the tar of his berry and over to a particularly gruesome fruit, if it could have even been called one in the first place. It looked like a spiky orange, bone white and so hard it had to be crushed underfoot to reveal the banana-like interior. But the slim green man licked it up greedily and even crunched on the thick shell once he was done, regardless.

"Although I spotted him alongside the others, when I returned to the Mortal Plane at the beginning of this year, Etan and I found Leary at the end of a dwarven axe while I was toying with my elven abilities. He was crippled from the legs down and begged for his life when he awoke to see me and Etan. He said he'd do anything to live. So, with the Shadow of Death looming over him, the Owl proposed a pact. His acceptance saw him live on the brink of death as an Undying Fiend while his body was enhanced, augmented, and evolved into a paragon of his species while corrupting and amplifying the bone manipulation innate to all Goblinoids to work on himself, giving rise to his sorcery. Now, he is a Sorcerous Warlock, Undying Bone Emperor. He is entirely lacking the useless and negative traits of his kind. Instead, those traits have been remodeled to give him increased physical and mental capabilities. The latter he put into studying all things bones in regards to engineering, artificing, medicine, and witchcraft; then later merged his findings with the fields of Osseous Artificing and Orthopedic Surgery to become an Artificing Witch, Orthopedic Surgical Engineer.

"A truly fearsome ability, creation from the bones of the fallen," Zaraxus mentioned in his sonorous incantations. "The destruction he wrought to the Kingdom of Oim shall remain etched into the land for eons. Horizons of bone, molded into bridges and railways; battlefields and bergs."

"As is only right." I nodded. "For the charge for his boons is his undying loyalty. Faith in both himself and in me. Specifically, my wickedness. Being the Barbarian he was both born and reborn into, this saw him become a Scourge whenever he lost himself in his rage, decimating everything in sight. In Eotrom, however, his zeal strengthened him, and honed him as he mastered his fighting skills, turning him into a Fiend for Battle. In merging those classes, focused so zealously on my wickedness, he became a Barbaric Fighter, a Supervillain; as well as Eotrom's Bone God of Battle, Villainy, and Goblin Paragons.

"Like them, the others are varied and far more complicated," I said, looking over the lighter members of the Troupe with their strange mix of fruits. Namely, the mountain of steaming squash descending on the larger pack of howling wolves. "Freki was the barbarian prince of Shujen, a kingdom more knightly than the drow give them credit for. But that's neither here nor there. He killed his mother for torturing him as a child. She deemed him as weak and made him torture people and kill animals besides his 'punishments.' In getting his revenge, he killed Skoll, who didn't want to see his soul be tainted. In turn, Skoll's celestial soul was then freed to corrupt Freki's body. He would've stayed in his man-beast form with Skoll's personality had I not cursed him and his sister.

"With the curse, though, his soul merged with Skoll's, enabling him to shift between the three forms. And while his personality remains, his memories have been replaced with Skoll's. With Skoll's memories comes Skoll's ravenousness. Thus, the first thing Freki did was to hire about fifty farmers to provide him with food. He spread his curse to them, turning them into werewolves, then trained them up to his standard, paving the way for him to become a Barbaric Warlock, Patriarch of the Meteor Wolf Pack. More than that, though, he studied and toiled as a young knight should have, albeit with additions to become an artificer with a specialization in agriculture. Then, he devoted himself to fulfilling the role of the Legions' Grand Quartermaster, turning him into an Artificing Paladin, Agricultural Philanthropist.

"While the rest of his Pack became the Fruitful Four, the False Shepherds, and the Harvest Wardens who led them - Barbaric Warlocks just like him - so too did they become Sorcerous Celestials of Summer and Autumn like him. Using their innate powers and their vast harvests, they went about witchcraft in several ways. In Freki's case, he used his abilities to care for the animals on his ranch worlds and became a Sorcerous Witch, Celestial Veterinarian; as well as Eotrom's Barbaric God of Agriculture, Freight, and Logistics.

"Geri is much the same as her brother, and yet different. She was physically robust, yet sickly. Thus her father saw fit to throw her into the wilds to make her stronger and less sickly. In a way, it worked. She stole livestock from nearby ranches and brought them to nearby wolves. They took the kill and ate while she watched, until they would offer her some. And through that, she gained their trust. In other words, she's a natural ranger. But then, she killed her father the moment she had a chance. She killed Hati in the process, and received the same curse as her brother. Yet, where Freki embraced his other half and has the claws and fangs to prove it, Geri sought to calm and control her inner beast. As far as I'm aware, the only difference that made was in her less-bestial appearance, but time will tell for certain. Now that she's awoken as Eotrom's Ranging Goddess of Reconnaissance, Rescue, and Communications, however, I'm forced to think differently.

"Like the other pack, she and all of her members are all Ranging Warlocks of the Winter Wolf Conclave. Yet, her smaller, more specialized crew has more legendary classes as their cousins. All of them are Sorcerous Witches, Celestial First Responders. From there, they diverge. Katheryn, Lemeia, and Lula are Bardic Artificers," I said, pointing to the human, Strifling, and dark gnome. Then to the dwarf, human, and halfling. "Penny and Rhonda are Clerical Artificers, while Norsh is a Barbaric Artificer. As for Geri, she's a mash-up of the Celestial Aerospace Engineer and the Celestial Spell Striker. An Artificing Wizard, Celestial Spell Bomber.

"Etan." I looked to the sole being of my kind I could relate to. "You are next. Because, for all the merits found in the classes of you and your subordinates, the ones you get are more complex. Not to say theirs isn't." I needlessly assured him. "You had a class before our meeting and reached the end of it on your world. Moreover, you designed your blessing to work off of your monastic way - your Astral Ki, giving rise to your Nebulous Sorcery. Thus, with them merged, you are a Sorcerous Monk, Nebulous Lama. Yet, like Leary, our pact saw you evolve into a paragon of our kind, given the condition that I help you free our fellow drow from the Queen Demon Spider and that you train my Legions. With that, you graduated from the Bardic School of Training and became a Bardic Warlock, the Abyssal Regent - the Prime Disciplinarian and the Primary Training Instructor for all the Legions. The Eternal Champion's Champion."

"And so too have I stepped down the path of an Artificing Witch," he told me, the slightest look of disbelief written across his face. "Dreamscape Psychiatrist."

"So too are you a God." I reminded him. "Eotrom's Nebulous God of Education, Training, and Memories. A power that has been transferred to your subordinates. They are all paragons, like you. And they all have nebulous blood that synergized with the monastic teachings you gave them. They all are Monastic Sorcerers, Nebulous Gurus. Except one. Tacnan Gemeye." I looked at the humble dark gnome. "He is a Bardic Monk, of the Educational Philosophy.

"The others are… more varied. Rimoire." I pointed to the nebulous goblin. "Is a Rogue Artificer, Nebulous Cypher. Glok." I shifted to the nebulous hobgoblin. "Is a Wizardly Artificer, Spell Printer. Turr." I gestured to the nebulous bearbug paragon. "Is a Ranging Artificer, Societal Uplifter. Ginku." I nodded to the nebulous ogre paragon. "Is a Barbaric Witch, Field Therapist.

"And then…" I shifted my gaze, bringing my eyes and everyone else's to the cluster of bronze-colored fruits dangling before the mob of finely dressed women. "We have the special cases. Starting with the Orcinus Mafia."