Chapter II - Braadrel Dargon

 

Chapter II – Braadrel Dargon

            In the distance, the sounds of whips and hard labor echo off of the enclosing mountain side and slowly escalate in volume. The red hot furnace is at full blast, as a multitude of workers slave in the intense heat to pull the many chains and levers that keep construction running. A lone man stands in his plate armor at the edge of one of the many steel platforms overlooking the stream of lava far below. His chest piece shifts as he sighs and he adjusts his spiked vambraces. He had just been fitted with his new armor. It was magnificent; the chest piece was fitted perfectly to cover his breast, abdomen and shoulders and came up in spiked plates to cover his neck. His vambraces were the same cold blue steel as his chest piece and formed into a spike extending past his elbows. His tattered cape flitted against his bald head in the columns of hot steam that rose from below as chains rattled and men screamed in pain, struggling to turn the gears that open the massive gate, behind which is contained the flow of molten metal.

“What is this???” screams the lone commandant as he walks back the platform from which he was standing. A bare-chested man is sprawled out on the edge of the platform, gasping for breath as he struggles to get up before the commandant reaches him.

“Do you think that you’re taking a break???” he screams. “Do you know why you’re here?” he says as he crouches beside the man, “you’re here because nobody wanted you, you’re here,” he stood up and raised his voice so the rest of the men on the pier could hear, “because the world didn’t give a damn about your life; your homes were destroyed, wives raped and murdered, and because the rest of your friends gave you up so that they could save their worthless lives, and so now you’re here.”

The man, through much effort, finally makes it back on his feet beside the commandant, only to collapse once more on his side. The commandant steps up to the man, grabbing him by the back of his neck and pulling him to his feet.

“Stand up you pitiful maggot.”

The man remains silent at the Commandant’s order, unable to speak, beaten to the point of death by the grueling labor he is forced to take part in.

“Disgusting worm,” spits the Commandant. He draws his cutlass, slitting the man’s throat and spilling his blood out across the platform. The blood sizzles as it evaporates off of the platform and the Commandant’s blade in a matter of seconds. Then he throws the limp body over the side of the platform and into the inferno of the massive furnace below.

“We have no need of those who can no longer work,” he states smoothly as he wipes and replaces his blade, “but even then we’ll still make some use of you.”

“Who’s next?!?!” the Commandant screams to the other workers who had just witnessed the “purification”, as it was called, that had just taken place. They quickly look away and return to their grueling work, not wanting to be chosen next when the Commandant walked past them as he continued down the pier.

 

            Back in his private chamber in center tower III, the Commandant gazes out over the soon to be completed city of Braadrel Dargon, pleased with the progress. The gigantic floating citadel lies in darkness save for the spurts of blue sparks and flames from the exhaust chutes, and the single lone bridge that connected it to the edge of the rock wall that encircled the entire city was barely visible from the tower. Cold metal spires rose in numerous intervals across its surface towards the sky, as well as downward that circled the outside perimeter that were used as exhaust chutes. Three main spires rose in a tri-formation in the center, each one equally spaced and then slanted outward near the top. Several other medium sized and multiple small towers populated most of the circular megalopolis, and sparks were frequently seen spouting from the opening in the tops of some. The central towers overlooked the entire spiked fortress, towering hundreds of feet above the rest of the complex.

The Commandant retreats from his inspection to his study, ordained with multitudes of books. His personal library, including spellbooks and other sources of dark and arcane knowledge, would utterly overwhelm any commoner. In the back of the room was the doorway to a separate room, and in the center of it stood the Central Control Panel, a real time magical representation of not only the city of Braadrel Dargon, but of the entire kingdom as well, allowing the Commandant to see any event going on at any given point in time in the kingdom, making it a paramount device in his master’s upcoming plans. He was stationed here to control and supervise the construction of his master’s great design and to watch over the kingdom while he was off treasure hunting for his gadgets that he so frequently went off looking for.

            The Commandant paced around the room until he stopped over a table and peered down at a piece of parchment. On it is the blueprints for the city, scratched out and revised many times, until finally laid out in front of him, his master’s ambitious dream was drawn out. At that moment, a guard enters the room, breaking him of his distant trance.

“What is it?” inquires the Commandant, not looking up from the table.

“Sir….” The guard says in a timid voice, “you might want to come see this.”

The Commandant follows him to his portal room, which is directly connected to the Central Control Panel. Each portal gives a more descriptive image of random occurring events that the Control Panel picked up. On the Center Portal, The Commandant sees a two mages battling, one clearly better than the other. Using a Duplicate spell, the stronger, more agile mage deceives the other. Using a blade of pure blue energy, he undercuts the black mage, slicing his back in two. Then the portal goes blank.

“Hmm, very interesting,” muses the Commandant, “Who do we have here…..”

Not knowing that the question was meant to be rhetorical, the servant answers, “He was a very powerful mage, whoever he was,” already realizing he made a mistake. The Commandant turns to him, blasting him to ashes with a flick of his finger.

“You have a point……” admits the Commandant to the now absent guard as his ashes floated to the ground, speaking to himself in the now empty Portal Room, his wicked mind already swirling with ways of getting an answer to his question.

Reviews

[Zanithe]

Very good job on this chapter. I like the commandant a lot. XD