Oath to Order

Zane Cooper.

1st Legion XO.

25th of Trescia, 1492.

Rhar Kingdoms, Rharian Mountains. Altitude: 2,605 m.

06:45.

***

I found it ironic how I had been waiting for Sir Toril's return much like back then, and yet differently.

Back then seemed like so long ago. Back then, I was not like Madame Syele or Lady Nyella. Nor was I like Geingurr Redstone or Kamosh. I was not even like Kast. I did not wish to dwell in that new domain or create a new one. I did not have hope as a slave, thus my liberation birthed no zealotry. I was not angry at my captors like the orcs or the dwarves, thus I had no reason to fight and I had no home to return to.

What I had was order. Structure. Purpose. A community. We rose to the sounds of lashing whips and ravenous beasts and then we worked until the lashings ceased and the howls silenced. That was it. That was all it ever was. Hard but ordered. A simplistic beauty that was not without reward.

When I could stand, I was made to clean and thus learned the extent of what I could do with my body. When I grew a bit stronger, I was made to dig and thus learned of the extent of what my body could do to my surroundings. When I grew a bit smarter, I learned how to make things and thus I learned what my surroundings could do for others.

That was my purpose. Working. Destroying one thing to create another. Doing things for others.

That was my purpose. Even when I thought it was not.

When the Night came, my reality shattered tenfold. Not only was I liberated but I was made to know about the infinite realms above. I learned numbers and I learned letters. I learned the languages of sapient creatures. Then I learned the 1's and 0's of the machine code. I learned history. I learned manipulation. I learned of the Eternal God and I learned of his Agents. I learned how to destroy. I learned how to create. And yet, I still had no order. Not until the Eternal Emperor ascended.

Eotrom was where I met Sir Toril. Or rather, Eotrom was where I saw and followed Sir Toril as he charged through that starry void, and I was not the only young one. Jegu. Niku. Cota. Mide. Biki. Abaka. Yeshi and Dharma. Gelek and Palmo. Alan and Olzi. Enx and Erke. We all witnessed him create his world of perpetual storms, banded across the surface like layers of rock.

Ruthica Prime had been where we remained ever since. But not on the inside of the world. Not in Eotrom. We remained high above the Mortal Plane, dwelling on the world's surface along with my peers. My community.

Under the instruction of Sir Toril's Doppelganger and the ever-increasing undead, we spent no less than seven years following in the footsteps of the Undying Tempest. We learned the laws of nature, the rules of civilization, the methods of science, and the art of war through constant challenges and trials.

We learned of the Eternal Emperor's history and that of his beloved Legions by reliving memories and witnessing past events as if we were there. We honed ourselves until our armor became like a second skin. We worked until the sacred beast of our leader saw us as one of their own. We trained until the killing tools of our Eternal Emperor became like our arms and legs. We learned the ways of our paths, of chivalry, of holy words, of monastic ways, and witch's creeds, dictated and laid out before our eyes by the Eternal Emperor himself.

The end of those seven years saw the fifteen of us acolytes emerge on the great tempestuous steppes, standing as one with hand over hand over armored heart. We gazed up to look down on the Mortal Plane and witnessed as they witnessed, the Oath of the Undying Tempest be birthed into existence.

At just past our 14th year of living, we believed our time had come, and that it did. We created the Order of the Undying Tempest. And in doing so, we were named as members of the 1st Order.

We believed that Sir Toril would return and bring us along on his adventures at that point. That he did. Unbeknownst to us, however, our training was not yet over.

What we had before were mere training saddles.  What Sir Toril returned to bestow us were proper riding saddles.

It came in three forms, the first being responsibilities born in the form of juniors. New acolytes to the Order, and thus the duty to have our clones teach them our ways just as Sir Toril did to us.

The second came in the form of our newfound liberty. At last, we could face trials and adventure at Sir Toril's side and prove, both to ourselves and to him, that we faithfully upheld the tenets of the Undying Tempest.

The third came in the form of weapons, chosen by our hands, and armor made unlike Sir Toril's.

For us knights, it was heavy plate armor bearing the likeness of a tempest griffon on the back and the mark of the Eternal Emperor on the front. Pointed boots layered with armor shrouded the feet entirely, encasing the legs up to the knees in what seemed to be a solid piece of metal, save the thin hexagonal mail at the back of the knees and other such places.

The gauntlets were fingered with sharp talons made of some glossy black metal. Our helms, featureless on their faces, were all shrouded with hoods colored in the electric blues, blacks, and whites of Sir Toril's soon-to-be Legion; leaving nothing to distinguish those of the knight caste from one another aside from our names and positions, etched onto our pauldrons.

Our armor varied for the monks, holy tempests, and dames; but in all cases, they were heavy. As it should have been, for the burdens set by the Order were not to be taken lightly. Those tenets were to be upheld without pause. Unrelenting and unyielding in our pursuits like the storm we served. And so we were.

In the mountains of Ligin, we did as Sir Toril did and acquired griffon eggs. Some were stolen, some were bargained for, and others were found fair and square. All of them were infused with our God's energy and made into tempest griffon eggs, then sent to Ruthica Prime to be hatched and raised by our clones.

Of our own volition, we did what the Order required of us, asking for neither request nor reward in our efforts to improve the lives of the Ligin highlanders. For their sake alone, we became a scourge to the bandits and tyrants of their slopes, smiting them wholly and returning their necrotic forms to those they pillaged and plundered.

In those lands, regal and knightly, yet poor and uneducated, the once-vile dead toiled to repay the sins they accumulated during their lives. They breathed fire into their mines, brought safety and security to their winding roads, returned once-looted coins and trinkets to their orphanages and churches, and constructed schools for both the young and old. They worked in their witch huts. Oversaw the transportation centers. Manned the sewage systems. Everything.

Like the undead, we had been working tirelessly. Yet our work paled in comparison to that of our God, the Undying Tempest, Sir Toril O'Connell.

While we made something more of those who unwillingly followed the scum of those slopes, Sir Toril became a strong voice for the honorable powers in the highlands, allowing them to speak to the powers existing in the lowlands in ways that made them listen.

In those lands, regal and knightly, and also cultured and honorable, Sir Toril took the leaders of the worthy highlanders and sought peace. Not by encouraging the end of their conflict. By encouraging it.

An honorable war turned into a traditional war game was what Sir Toril recommended. Sponsored by the Undying Tempest, they would fight until the death in these wars. Then rise to tell the tale once they concluded.

At this stage, both parties declined the offer. But while the battle was lost, the war had yet to be won. Sir Toril did not come to sponsor any of the two nations. Instead, he gained favor, honor, prestige, and privilege in them both. More so than he already had.

With that came a trading contract for griffon eggs, in turn creating more tempest griffons. With that came land granted to Sir Toril in the midlands and holds claimed by us in the highlands. With that came citizens. With that came a new class of acolytes; and now, with the sacred world blooming so brightly above, the time had come for the descent of the existing acolytes along with our doppelgangers.

It was humbling, to see the fruits of our labors. So too was it a powerful thing, imagining what we would become in the future.

Upon our descent to the Mortal Plane as Tempest Knights, Dames, Monks, and Priests of the First Order, upwards of 230 acolytes took our place. Now that they had proven to meet the Standards of the Order, it was time for them to descend with our Doppelgangers and for us to be introduced to our seconds.

It was their time to wear these burdens we so proudly carried. It was their turn for their Doppelgangers to rise with the nearly 3,500 new acolytes and take on the role of educators.

Conversely, it was our time.

On this, the most holy of nights, it was our time to debut the Order to the rest of the Bodhi Peninsula, witnessed by the Gods and seen by the esteemed powers of Ligin.