Master of the Metal Mountain
“Haaahh!” bellowed the naked, tawny-haired savage as he whirled suddenly, swinging his massive fist at the startled guard’s face. The blow connected with a sickening crunch and the guard’s nose exploded in a grisly fountain of blood and bone. The soldier staggered back, clutching at his face with both hands, his now-forgotten longsword clattering to the ground at his feet. With a single fluid motion, the wild prisoner stooped to grab the weapon, straightened, and pounced on his captor, burying the sword almost hilt-deep in the guard’s chest. A scream began to escape the dying man’s throat, abruptly shifting to a pitiful gurgle as he sunk to his knees and fell senseless to the ground. As the savage began to wrench the sword free of his enemy’s corpse, another guard crept cautiously up on him from behind.
As the desperate battle continued, the flickering lights of multiple torches danced about the metallic chamber, revealing several strangely shaped mechanical devices jutting from the smooth walls. Two thin men in richly-embroidered robes sat in plush velvet chairs against the back wall of the chamber and observed the violent scene unfolding in front of them with detached expressions of disgust and annoyance. The taller of the two robed men casually raised his hand to signal the hulking, half-ogre guard captain standing at attention next to him and spoke in a high, nasal voice.
“Grendar. End this.”
“Aye, Lord Syranis,” rumbled Grendar as he lurched into motion, readying his maul and wading directly into the middle of the fray.
Syranis sighed wearily and drew forth a small steel cylinder from one of the many inner pockets of his robe. With a sharp twist he popped open the cylinder and brought it up against his right nostril, inhaling a prodigious amount of the glowing, milky-white liquid within. The effect was immediate: his eyes fluttered briefly as a glazed, dreamy smile crept across his face. He turned slightly in his chair to offer the cylinder to Aldagar, his colleague and partner for this particular project, but the shorter, balding man declined the invitation with a curt wave of his bejeweled hand.
“We’re behind schedule enough as it is,” he snapped to Syranis. “Assuming we can ever actually corral this animal and place him in the pod, we’re going to want to have a clear head to interpret and record the results.”
Syranis shook his head from side to side as he became fully cognizant of his surroundings again. His vision cleared just in time to see Captain Grendar subdue the crazed prisoner, shoving him forcefully through a hinged door into a large metallic tube set into the far wall, and slamming the door shut. A hiss of pressurized air escaped from the edges of the tube door, and the blinking red light on the handle turned a steady, glowing green. The corners of Syranis’s mouth twitched upwards into a smirk of satisfaction as he gestured towards the tube and spoke to Aldagar.
“There, you see? We are ready to proceed. Assuming the wretch survives his session in the pod, we should be able to determine once and for all if it is safe for the Sovereign to undergo the process. After all, they are kin to one another—and have our previous experiments not already proved that those of like blood have a nearly identical chance of survival?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” replied Aldagar tersely. “But I feel compelled to remind you that the survivors thus far have been of very limited use in providing specific insight into what the gods-damned pod’s exact purpose is . . . and how it even works!”
“We know enough,” Syranis countered defensively. “The ciphers we have decoded in this section of the Silver Mount clearly state that the pod ‘grants great knowledge and power’ to those who use it. You heard for yourself what that peasant girl muttered to us when she first stumbled out of it, in those precious few seconds before her brains dripped and dribbled out her ears. Why, she told us the access ciphers to three new chambers that had been completely sealed off from us! How could she have possibly known them without the pod telling her so?”
“She couldn’t have,” Aldagar conceded, sitting up straight in his chair and pulling up the hood of his robes to cover his head. “Although she could have at least had the decency to babble out the cipher to turn on the heat and lights in here. The drafts are giving me a chill and I’m growing weary of working by torchlight.”
“Quite so, Aldagar, quite so. But what is progress without sacrifice? And speaking of sacrifice, it looks as if the pod has begun its work on the Sovereign’s cousin. Care to wager on how long it will take this time?”
The balding arcanist turned away from his colleague, rose from his seat, and strode over to the door of the pod, studying the man trapped inside through the clear window. The savage’s eyes were half-closed, and an eerie look of calm touched his face as the mysterious machine went about its unknown purpose.
Aldagar snorted derisively. “Him? A primitive simpleton from a nothing little village in the middle of nowhere? Mark my words—it will be done with the likes of him in time for our supper.”
***********************************
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
>>subjectk indigenousvhumanhKovun-Kul
>>geneticmmatchhtodsubject a Kevoth-Kul l 98.3%
>>begin8physicalhscan . . . . . superiorahealthkand imuscleamassvdetected
>>beginhpreliminarykpsychologicalnprofile
>>synapticlinterfacei accessingvmemories
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
Kovun-Kul struggled to comprehend the sensations he felt as the machine took hold of his thoughts and began methodically sifting through his memories like so many grains of sand. His disembodied consciousness floated nearby, watching it all happen—the young barbarian recoiled in mental horror as the realization sunk home that he had become naught but a ghost in his own mind . . . .
Kovun lays on horsehair blankets with Senara in their secret spot, the mouth of a small cave hidden in the hills outside the village of Rendek . Bundled against the chill night air, she tenderly strokes his hair as they gaze up at the stars.
“When do you leave?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Two days hence. The League messenger from cousin Kevoth was quite clear. I am to meet the escort at Bear Creek and accompany them to the palace at Starfall without delay.”
“Are you sure you want to go?”
“Want? It is my duty to the clan, so I must. It tears at my heart to leave you, but how can I refuse? Kevoth has come so far, sacrificed so much to become ruler of all Numeria! We had never been close as boys, but of all our kin he sends for me? He is our Sovereign, so I obey.”
“I know . . . promise me you’ll come back?”
“Of course! I swear on Gorum’s blade I will return as soon as I can. Will you wait for me?”
“Until my dying breath, my love. We are moon and stars, you and I.”
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
After an exhausting journey, Kovun stands in the opulent courtyard of the Black Sovereign’s palace, an imposing structure in the equally imposing city of Starfall. His half-ogre escort approaches one of the many alcoves and pulls on a thick rope, ringing a large brass bell overhead. A tall, thin man in ornate robes appears at the window of the closest tower and shouts down at them.
“Ah, Captain Grendar. I see you have him. Get him washed and in a clean uniform straight away. His training begins immediately.”
“Excuse me—when do I see my cousin?”
“See your . . .” The tall man betrays the briefest of smiles before his sober expression returns. “The Black Sovereign will summon you for audience when you have proved your worth as a loyal soldier of the Technic League, my boy. You may have been sent for at his request, but do not expect to be given what you have not earned.”
“This way,” the massive Captain growls.
“But I thought . . .” The protest dies in his throat as Grendar’s beefy hand clasps his shoulder and steers him towards the barracks.
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
Kovun watches in grim silence as the light fades from the old man’s eyes. The dead farmer slides free of the sword and hits the ground with a dull thud. For the first time today, Kovun notices the blood—coating his weapon, staining his uniform. Blood that is not his own. Once again he feels more like a thug than a soldier.
And then that damnable voice, rumbling like thunder. “Over here, men! The last of the rebels flee! Run them down, Kovun!” Grendar. Always Grendar.
Will this horrible test ever end? How much blood must be spilled? How many more times must he swallow his honor to prove him worthy of his cousin’s favor?
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
Kovun waits nervously down the hall from the throne room, smoothing his uniform for what seems like the hundredth time. Lord Syranis suddenly emerges from a nearby doorway and beckons for him to follow. Together they walk, Grendar shadowing them from several paces back.
“I imagine you’ve been waiting for this moment for quite some time, haven’t you?” chuckles Lord Syranis. “Rest assured, the Sovereign has been apprised of your progress every step of the way and is quite looking forward to seeing you.”
Oddly, the pair passes right by the throne room without entering. The young soldier glances quickly through the doorway as they pass and is surprised to see not only that no one is there, but that the throne itself looks tarnished and somewhat neglected.
Through the palace they go, eventually arriving outside the Sovereign’s bedchamber. Syranis closes his hand on the doorknob, turning to stare Kovun in the eye, and in that instant the Lord’s friendly demeanor hardens to granite. He jerks the door open and swiftly ushers Kovun through.
“Kovun-Kul, I present to you Kevoth-Kul—Black Sovereign of Numeria.” With those words, Syranis gestures to the large bed in the center of the room and studies Kovun’s face carefully, fully savoring the young soldier’s shocked disbelief.
The bleary-eyed, disheveled mess of a man struggling to free himself from the tangle of slumbering women sprawled about the bed is nothing like the proud, regal warrior Kovun expected to see. With a weary grunt, the Black Sovereign sits upright and stares at Kovun blankly. Recognition slowly dawns, and the man speaks in a haggard voice.
“I think I know you. This is the one, Syranis? Why is he here?”
“If you remember, Sire, he is here to volunteer his services and test the mind pod for you. To see if it is safe for you to use yourself.”
Kovun whirls around to glare at Syranis. All of the barbarian’s unspoken fears and suspicions rise up and compel him to act, yet he resists the urge to draw steel and leap at the arcanist. Instead, he turns back to face the Sovereign again.
“Cousin Kevoth! I am only here because you asked me to come! I know nothing about any test, save the constant tests of my loyalty to you these past few months. And I have passed them all! Please tell Lord Syranis that there has been some mistake . . . release me so that I may return to Rendek and help protect our clan instead.”
For the briefest of moments, Kevoth-Kull pauses as if in thought. In those scant few seconds, Kovun dares believe that his desperate plea has pierced the stupor that seems to have taken control of his kin.
“Syranis?” the Sovereign says at last.
“Yes, sire?”
“This man troubles me. Take him to the pod chamber.”
“Of course, sire. Right away.”
Stunned and shattered to his core, Kovun’s broad shoulders slump in defeat. He does not even notice Grendar moving up behind him until it is too late. A giant hand covers Kovun’s mouth as he is jerked up off of his feet and removed from the room.
“Oh, and Syranis?”mumbles the Sovereign, staring vacantly at the pile of empty metal cylinders lying on the table next to his bed.
“Yes, Sire?
“I’m all out of the White—could you bring me some more?”
“As you wish my Lord,” replies Syranis with a condescending smirk. “You will have as much White as you desire. Good day.”
Kovun struggles to break Grendar’s iron grip, but it is no use. The most he can do as he is roughly carried downstairs is to make a silent vow to himself.
“Numeria is broken, and so is its King. I will fix this, cousin. And one way or another I will fix you and these corrupted arcanists as well.”
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
>>psychologicalkprofilevcomplete
>>suggestedvpsionatemplateiclass3-Aevvesselemasterhrepairdtechnician
>> psionatemplatevuploaded
>> procedurekcompletemsubjecthreleased
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
***********************************
Kovun’s eyes snapped open as he felt himself regain control of his body. His mind roused quickly from its state of half-dreaming—in fact, he was surprised to find that he was able to focus his thoughts with razor-sharp clarity. Immediately he realized that his mind had been . . . changed somehow. There was something else inside him now, a presence in his head that he could sense but not “touch” with his thoughts.
He instinctively shut his eyes and concentrated. The presence took shape in his mind’s eye as a locked steel chest. He “felt” around the edges of it, looking for a way inside, and suddenly noticed a group of strange symbols engraved on the top. Oblivious to what they meant or even how he knew to translate them, Kovun quietly mouthed the odd-sounding words that those symbols represented.
A faint “click” caught his attention as his restraints opened. Then a large panel in the back of the pod slid silently open, allowing him access to the narrow space between the rear of the machine and the chamber wall. A quick glance through the front window of the pod confirmed that the two arcanists were currently dining, consumed in a spirited discussion of some sort while their servants attended them. That bastard Grendar was nowhere to be seen . . . now was the perfect time to get the hell out of the Silver Mount.
With the patience of an experienced game hunter, Kovun quietly slipped out of the pod and inched along the wall towards what he hoped was freedom. There looked to be three separate doorways set into this wall, none of them open. Try as he might, he could not remember which one they had used to bring him here. To make matters worse, he was nearing the edge of the machine—and there was nothing but twenty or so feet of empty space between that edge and the nearest doorway. With no other options apparent, he uttered a silent prayer to Gorum and slowly stepped into the open.
No one saw him at first. He was nearly there, just seven or eight paces from the doorway, when the crash of a wineglass shattering on the floor and then the startled cry from the servant who spotted him cut the arcanist’s conversation short and drew all eyes to Kovun. The barbarian switched instantly from stealth to speed and sprinted ahead to the doorway. Once there, he brought his bulk to bear on the door itself, only to bounce harmlessly off of the sturdy steel. A frantic examination revealed no handle or latch of any kind.
Syranis and Aldagar cautiously advanced on him, shouting threats and waving their hands in an ominous manner. Kovun did his best to ignore them and let his instincts guide him again, shutting his eyes and appealing in desperation to the presence in his mind. He visualized the steel chest and saw that now there were different symbols engraved on the outer lid. Without hesitation he spoke the foreign words aloud and the door split open in the middle, each half disappearing into the wall on either side. The arcanists stopped dead in their tracks, their angered expressions changing to gawks of complete astonishment.
“You . . . how did you . . . that was sealed!” gasped Syranis. “No one has ever been able to open it before! It leads to a wholly unexplored section of the Mount! Don’t go in there—we need you to tell us what the pod has revealed to you! We must know!”
Kovun looked the flustered wizard straight in the eye as he backed through the doorway. A menacing smile formed on the barbarian’s face as he replied, “it has shown me that you had best make peace with your gods, vile corruptor, and soon—I am coming back for you! But first I think I shall explore this metal mountain on my own before I leave.”
With those fateful words, Korvun-Kul repeated the mysterious phrase he had unlocked from his own mind and disappeared from view as the giant doors slammed shut.
“No!” shouted Syranis in blind fury. But it was too late. The ultimate prize—a living, breathing, skeleton key for perhaps the whole of the Silver Mount—had just slipped through his fingers.
For now, he swore to himself. Just for now. “You enjoy yourself while you can, savage,” he spoke aloud, his voice dripping venom. “For I will turn over all of Golarion to find you. And then, boy, we will see who laughs last.”
***********************************
Character Notes: Kovun-Kul
· Kovun has a younger brother and two older sisters. His father was killed in a border skirmish with a neighboring clan six years ago, and his mother is a well-respected healer in the tiny village of Rendek.
· The “pod” in the Silver Mount is a psionic surgery unit used to re-wire the synapses of sentient organic life forms and provide them with the skills and abilities needed to maintain and operate the colossal spacecraft known on Golarion as the Silver Mount. Based on Kovun’s strength, stamina, and personality traits (especially his overwhelmingly strong desire to “fix” the corruption of the Technic League), the unit selected and implanted the complete “Master Repair Technician” psionic template into his mind.
· Kovun was the first human placed into one of these units that met the minimum genetic and psychological requirements for the template—therefore he is the only human to have survived the process intact. He has only begun to tap into the full potential of his altered brain, but it has already started to affect him in several ways.
· The psionic powers he currently has (and the ones he can “unlock” as he levels up) are part of the mental “toolkit” that all psionic repair technicians need. One of the most useful abilities that he has already mastered is the Autohypnosis skill. Among other things, it can be used for perfect memorization of detailed maps and multiple pages of text. This has recently allowed Kovun to find work as a secure, “paperless” courier, transporting important messages and documents by memorizing them, destroying them if necessary, and then reciting or recreating them when he has reached his destination. One such message was delivered to Professor Lorrimore in Ravengro, and the professor was so intrigued by Kovun’s unique ability that he offered him a job on the spot! Kovun was returning to Ravengro from one such job when he found out that his employer had suddenly passed away . . . . .
“Haaahh!” bellowed the naked, tawny-haired savage as he whirled suddenly, swinging his massive fist at the startled guard’s face. The blow connected with a sickening crunch and the guard’s nose exploded in a grisly fountain of blood and bone. The soldier staggered back, clutching at his face with both hands, his now-forgotten longsword clattering to the ground at his feet. With a single fluid motion, the wild prisoner stooped to grab the weapon, straightened, and pounced on his captor, burying the sword almost hilt-deep in the guard’s chest. A scream began to escape the dying man’s throat, abruptly shifting to a pitiful gurgle as he sunk to his knees and fell senseless to the ground. As the savage began to wrench the sword free of his enemy’s corpse, another guard crept cautiously up on him from behind.
As the desperate battle continued, the flickering lights of multiple torches danced about the metallic chamber, revealing several strangely shaped mechanical devices jutting from the smooth walls. Two thin men in richly-embroidered robes sat in plush velvet chairs against the back wall of the chamber and observed the violent scene unfolding in front of them with detached expressions of disgust and annoyance. The taller of the two robed men casually raised his hand to signal the hulking, half-ogre guard captain standing at attention next to him and spoke in a high, nasal voice.
“Grendar. End this.”
“Aye, Lord Syranis,” rumbled Grendar as he lurched into motion, readying his maul and wading directly into the middle of the fray.
Syranis sighed wearily and drew forth a small steel cylinder from one of the many inner pockets of his robe. With a sharp twist he popped open the cylinder and brought it up against his right nostril, inhaling a prodigious amount of the glowing, milky-white liquid within. The effect was immediate: his eyes fluttered briefly as a glazed, dreamy smile crept across his face. He turned slightly in his chair to offer the cylinder to Aldagar, his colleague and partner for this particular project, but the shorter, balding man declined the invitation with a curt wave of his bejeweled hand.
“We’re behind schedule enough as it is,” he snapped to Syranis. “Assuming we can ever actually corral this animal and place him in the pod, we’re going to want to have a clear head to interpret and record the results.”
Syranis shook his head from side to side as he became fully cognizant of his surroundings again. His vision cleared just in time to see Captain Grendar subdue the crazed prisoner, shoving him forcefully through a hinged door into a large metallic tube set into the far wall, and slamming the door shut. A hiss of pressurized air escaped from the edges of the tube door, and the blinking red light on the handle turned a steady, glowing green. The corners of Syranis’s mouth twitched upwards into a smirk of satisfaction as he gestured towards the tube and spoke to Aldagar.
“There, you see? We are ready to proceed. Assuming the wretch survives his session in the pod, we should be able to determine once and for all if it is safe for the Sovereign to undergo the process. After all, they are kin to one another—and have our previous experiments not already proved that those of like blood have a nearly identical chance of survival?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” replied Aldagar tersely. “But I feel compelled to remind you that the survivors thus far have been of very limited use in providing specific insight into what the gods-damned pod’s exact purpose is . . . and how it even works!”
“We know enough,” Syranis countered defensively. “The ciphers we have decoded in this section of the Silver Mount clearly state that the pod ‘grants great knowledge and power’ to those who use it. You heard for yourself what that peasant girl muttered to us when she first stumbled out of it, in those precious few seconds before her brains dripped and dribbled out her ears. Why, she told us the access ciphers to three new chambers that had been completely sealed off from us! How could she have possibly known them without the pod telling her so?”
“She couldn’t have,” Aldagar conceded, sitting up straight in his chair and pulling up the hood of his robes to cover his head. “Although she could have at least had the decency to babble out the cipher to turn on the heat and lights in here. The drafts are giving me a chill and I’m growing weary of working by torchlight.”
“Quite so, Aldagar, quite so. But what is progress without sacrifice? And speaking of sacrifice, it looks as if the pod has begun its work on the Sovereign’s cousin. Care to wager on how long it will take this time?”
The balding arcanist turned away from his colleague, rose from his seat, and strode over to the door of the pod, studying the man trapped inside through the clear window. The savage’s eyes were half-closed, and an eerie look of calm touched his face as the mysterious machine went about its unknown purpose.
Aldagar snorted derisively. “Him? A primitive simpleton from a nothing little village in the middle of nowhere? Mark my words—it will be done with the likes of him in time for our supper.”
***********************************
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
>>subjectk indigenousvhumanhKovun-Kul
>>geneticmmatchhtodsubject a Kevoth-Kul l 98.3%
>>begin8physicalhscan . . . . . superiorahealthkand imuscleamassvdetected
>>beginhpreliminarykpsychologicalnprofile
>>synapticlinterfacei accessingvmemories
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
Kovun-Kul struggled to comprehend the sensations he felt as the machine took hold of his thoughts and began methodically sifting through his memories like so many grains of sand. His disembodied consciousness floated nearby, watching it all happen—the young barbarian recoiled in mental horror as the realization sunk home that he had become naught but a ghost in his own mind . . . .
Kovun lays on horsehair blankets with Senara in their secret spot, the mouth of a small cave hidden in the hills outside the village of Rendek . Bundled against the chill night air, she tenderly strokes his hair as they gaze up at the stars.
“When do you leave?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Two days hence. The League messenger from cousin Kevoth was quite clear. I am to meet the escort at Bear Creek and accompany them to the palace at Starfall without delay.”
“Are you sure you want to go?”
“Want? It is my duty to the clan, so I must. It tears at my heart to leave you, but how can I refuse? Kevoth has come so far, sacrificed so much to become ruler of all Numeria! We had never been close as boys, but of all our kin he sends for me? He is our Sovereign, so I obey.”
“I know . . . promise me you’ll come back?”
“Of course! I swear on Gorum’s blade I will return as soon as I can. Will you wait for me?”
“Until my dying breath, my love. We are moon and stars, you and I.”
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
After an exhausting journey, Kovun stands in the opulent courtyard of the Black Sovereign’s palace, an imposing structure in the equally imposing city of Starfall. His half-ogre escort approaches one of the many alcoves and pulls on a thick rope, ringing a large brass bell overhead. A tall, thin man in ornate robes appears at the window of the closest tower and shouts down at them.
“Ah, Captain Grendar. I see you have him. Get him washed and in a clean uniform straight away. His training begins immediately.”
“Excuse me—when do I see my cousin?”
“See your . . .” The tall man betrays the briefest of smiles before his sober expression returns. “The Black Sovereign will summon you for audience when you have proved your worth as a loyal soldier of the Technic League, my boy. You may have been sent for at his request, but do not expect to be given what you have not earned.”
“This way,” the massive Captain growls.
“But I thought . . .” The protest dies in his throat as Grendar’s beefy hand clasps his shoulder and steers him towards the barracks.
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
Kovun watches in grim silence as the light fades from the old man’s eyes. The dead farmer slides free of the sword and hits the ground with a dull thud. For the first time today, Kovun notices the blood—coating his weapon, staining his uniform. Blood that is not his own. Once again he feels more like a thug than a soldier.
And then that damnable voice, rumbling like thunder. “Over here, men! The last of the rebels flee! Run them down, Kovun!” Grendar. Always Grendar.
Will this horrible test ever end? How much blood must be spilled? How many more times must he swallow his honor to prove him worthy of his cousin’s favor?
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
Kovun waits nervously down the hall from the throne room, smoothing his uniform for what seems like the hundredth time. Lord Syranis suddenly emerges from a nearby doorway and beckons for him to follow. Together they walk, Grendar shadowing them from several paces back.
“I imagine you’ve been waiting for this moment for quite some time, haven’t you?” chuckles Lord Syranis. “Rest assured, the Sovereign has been apprised of your progress every step of the way and is quite looking forward to seeing you.”
Oddly, the pair passes right by the throne room without entering. The young soldier glances quickly through the doorway as they pass and is surprised to see not only that no one is there, but that the throne itself looks tarnished and somewhat neglected.
Through the palace they go, eventually arriving outside the Sovereign’s bedchamber. Syranis closes his hand on the doorknob, turning to stare Kovun in the eye, and in that instant the Lord’s friendly demeanor hardens to granite. He jerks the door open and swiftly ushers Kovun through.
“Kovun-Kul, I present to you Kevoth-Kul—Black Sovereign of Numeria.” With those words, Syranis gestures to the large bed in the center of the room and studies Kovun’s face carefully, fully savoring the young soldier’s shocked disbelief.
The bleary-eyed, disheveled mess of a man struggling to free himself from the tangle of slumbering women sprawled about the bed is nothing like the proud, regal warrior Kovun expected to see. With a weary grunt, the Black Sovereign sits upright and stares at Kovun blankly. Recognition slowly dawns, and the man speaks in a haggard voice.
“I think I know you. This is the one, Syranis? Why is he here?”
“If you remember, Sire, he is here to volunteer his services and test the mind pod for you. To see if it is safe for you to use yourself.”
Kovun whirls around to glare at Syranis. All of the barbarian’s unspoken fears and suspicions rise up and compel him to act, yet he resists the urge to draw steel and leap at the arcanist. Instead, he turns back to face the Sovereign again.
“Cousin Kevoth! I am only here because you asked me to come! I know nothing about any test, save the constant tests of my loyalty to you these past few months. And I have passed them all! Please tell Lord Syranis that there has been some mistake . . . release me so that I may return to Rendek and help protect our clan instead.”
For the briefest of moments, Kevoth-Kull pauses as if in thought. In those scant few seconds, Kovun dares believe that his desperate plea has pierced the stupor that seems to have taken control of his kin.
“Syranis?” the Sovereign says at last.
“Yes, sire?”
“This man troubles me. Take him to the pod chamber.”
“Of course, sire. Right away.”
Stunned and shattered to his core, Kovun’s broad shoulders slump in defeat. He does not even notice Grendar moving up behind him until it is too late. A giant hand covers Kovun’s mouth as he is jerked up off of his feet and removed from the room.
“Oh, and Syranis?”mumbles the Sovereign, staring vacantly at the pile of empty metal cylinders lying on the table next to his bed.
“Yes, Sire?
“I’m all out of the White—could you bring me some more?”
“As you wish my Lord,” replies Syranis with a condescending smirk. “You will have as much White as you desire. Good day.”
Kovun struggles to break Grendar’s iron grip, but it is no use. The most he can do as he is roughly carried downstairs is to make a silent vow to himself.
“Numeria is broken, and so is its King. I will fix this, cousin. And one way or another I will fix you and these corrupted arcanists as well.”
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
>>psychologicalkprofilevcomplete
>>suggestedvpsionatemplateiclass3-Aevvesselemasterhrepairdtechnician
>> psionatemplatevuploaded
>> procedurekcompletemsubjecthreleased
hake8fhs;vhaklsafheifhevhnmd
***********************************
Kovun’s eyes snapped open as he felt himself regain control of his body. His mind roused quickly from its state of half-dreaming—in fact, he was surprised to find that he was able to focus his thoughts with razor-sharp clarity. Immediately he realized that his mind had been . . . changed somehow. There was something else inside him now, a presence in his head that he could sense but not “touch” with his thoughts.
He instinctively shut his eyes and concentrated. The presence took shape in his mind’s eye as a locked steel chest. He “felt” around the edges of it, looking for a way inside, and suddenly noticed a group of strange symbols engraved on the top. Oblivious to what they meant or even how he knew to translate them, Kovun quietly mouthed the odd-sounding words that those symbols represented.
A faint “click” caught his attention as his restraints opened. Then a large panel in the back of the pod slid silently open, allowing him access to the narrow space between the rear of the machine and the chamber wall. A quick glance through the front window of the pod confirmed that the two arcanists were currently dining, consumed in a spirited discussion of some sort while their servants attended them. That bastard Grendar was nowhere to be seen . . . now was the perfect time to get the hell out of the Silver Mount.
With the patience of an experienced game hunter, Kovun quietly slipped out of the pod and inched along the wall towards what he hoped was freedom. There looked to be three separate doorways set into this wall, none of them open. Try as he might, he could not remember which one they had used to bring him here. To make matters worse, he was nearing the edge of the machine—and there was nothing but twenty or so feet of empty space between that edge and the nearest doorway. With no other options apparent, he uttered a silent prayer to Gorum and slowly stepped into the open.
No one saw him at first. He was nearly there, just seven or eight paces from the doorway, when the crash of a wineglass shattering on the floor and then the startled cry from the servant who spotted him cut the arcanist’s conversation short and drew all eyes to Kovun. The barbarian switched instantly from stealth to speed and sprinted ahead to the doorway. Once there, he brought his bulk to bear on the door itself, only to bounce harmlessly off of the sturdy steel. A frantic examination revealed no handle or latch of any kind.
Syranis and Aldagar cautiously advanced on him, shouting threats and waving their hands in an ominous manner. Kovun did his best to ignore them and let his instincts guide him again, shutting his eyes and appealing in desperation to the presence in his mind. He visualized the steel chest and saw that now there were different symbols engraved on the outer lid. Without hesitation he spoke the foreign words aloud and the door split open in the middle, each half disappearing into the wall on either side. The arcanists stopped dead in their tracks, their angered expressions changing to gawks of complete astonishment.
“You . . . how did you . . . that was sealed!” gasped Syranis. “No one has ever been able to open it before! It leads to a wholly unexplored section of the Mount! Don’t go in there—we need you to tell us what the pod has revealed to you! We must know!”
Kovun looked the flustered wizard straight in the eye as he backed through the doorway. A menacing smile formed on the barbarian’s face as he replied, “it has shown me that you had best make peace with your gods, vile corruptor, and soon—I am coming back for you! But first I think I shall explore this metal mountain on my own before I leave.”
With those fateful words, Korvun-Kul repeated the mysterious phrase he had unlocked from his own mind and disappeared from view as the giant doors slammed shut.
“No!” shouted Syranis in blind fury. But it was too late. The ultimate prize—a living, breathing, skeleton key for perhaps the whole of the Silver Mount—had just slipped through his fingers.
For now, he swore to himself. Just for now. “You enjoy yourself while you can, savage,” he spoke aloud, his voice dripping venom. “For I will turn over all of Golarion to find you. And then, boy, we will see who laughs last.”
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Character Notes: Kovun-Kul
· Kovun has a younger brother and two older sisters. His father was killed in a border skirmish with a neighboring clan six years ago, and his mother is a well-respected healer in the tiny village of Rendek.
· The “pod” in the Silver Mount is a psionic surgery unit used to re-wire the synapses of sentient organic life forms and provide them with the skills and abilities needed to maintain and operate the colossal spacecraft known on Golarion as the Silver Mount. Based on Kovun’s strength, stamina, and personality traits (especially his overwhelmingly strong desire to “fix” the corruption of the Technic League), the unit selected and implanted the complete “Master Repair Technician” psionic template into his mind.
· Kovun was the first human placed into one of these units that met the minimum genetic and psychological requirements for the template—therefore he is the only human to have survived the process intact. He has only begun to tap into the full potential of his altered brain, but it has already started to affect him in several ways.
· The psionic powers he currently has (and the ones he can “unlock” as he levels up) are part of the mental “toolkit” that all psionic repair technicians need. One of the most useful abilities that he has already mastered is the Autohypnosis skill. Among other things, it can be used for perfect memorization of detailed maps and multiple pages of text. This has recently allowed Kovun to find work as a secure, “paperless” courier, transporting important messages and documents by memorizing them, destroying them if necessary, and then reciting or recreating them when he has reached his destination. One such message was delivered to Professor Lorrimore in Ravengro, and the professor was so intrigued by Kovun’s unique ability that he offered him a job on the spot! Kovun was returning to Ravengro from one such job when he found out that his employer had suddenly passed away . . . . .