7 Quadirymir I

27.01.2024

Like pitch black tendrils the dark frozen spires of the fortress pierced in utter silence through empty space. The Dark Citadel was a colossus, several millennia in the making and a testament to extreme carefulness.

Accumulated over thousands of years it held every tool and resource a heart or task would ask for. A shipyard to build up a fleet if one had the time. Storage that offered every material in abundance. Well — all but one.

Quadirymir knew better as to keep all his carefully collected stacks of izthra together in one place. Or even reveal how much he actually had. It was much safer like this and would avoid undesired betrayals on his own side. Chaos Wizards were a kleptocannibalistic pest like that, stealing and scavenging wherever they could get their hands on.

In between the vast summoning network the Dark Citadel provided, able to create every tool or material from the bare resources and elements stashed, was one piece of equipment that was the most valuable. The only piece that even with time could not easily be replaced should it ever get lost.

It was a device, a fine piece of magic, directly taken from Mezchinhar in a heist so daring it had by now been completely scratched from Mezchinhar’s record he was sure, turning it into nothing more than a legend at best. The reality was much less flashy and more hands down scheming, betrayal and burned through minds BUT — in the end he had gotten it.

Plugged straight from the most mystical circle of Mezhenxenenovu:  Mezchinhar’s glorified garbage heap. But it was also the place where all the broken wizards went to get taken apart. As far as Quadirymir was aware, izthra wasn’t a material rare in Mezchinhar itself, but if one could say one good thing about the First Circle then it was their adherence to efficiency. With the right tool, which he had, and a wizard skillful enough, one could manage to get a clean 1 ⁄ 3 yield from every dead Part. Not great, but more than one could get without the right equipment. Of course it was of no concern in Mezchinhar but they had enough wizards that needed something to do that even things that weren’t strictly needed became highly efficient.

This device held no great value inside of Mezchinhar, but it was the most important object outside of it. Because izthra was the only material they couldn’t get in abundance because it didn’t exist in the multiverse and couldn’t be synthesised with any magic they had or knew of. And the only one they, as wizards, vitally needed to survive.

“This is ridiculous. Tell me you can see that?” Quadirymir said theatrically disappointed.

Zenozarax just grunted a dismissive grunt and, surprisingly, stayed silent on the matter. One could argue that he was focusing, using the delicate device processing the body in front of him.

Each wizard’s body contained thousands upon thousands of kilometres of izthra, however, the individual strands were merely a small fraction of a hair’s thickness. Separating them from the artificial flesh and magic surrounding them was requiring a careful attention to detail.

But Quadirymir also knew very well that Zenozarax was absolutely capable of doing more than one thing at once — especially if it was talking back to him. He could probably still do that while asleep!

Something was up with the old wizard but he didn’t yet know what that was.

After Zenozarax’ Warrior had returned after his last failure he had seemed broken. He had been quiet. The pain so clearly in the defined lines of his face. He had been beautiful like that. It had taken months to rebuild his Wizard. But even then he had been more quiet. And from what little Quadirymir had managed to coax out of him he had understood how much that defeat had cost him. The level to which he had pushed himself to make it work — just to be stopped at the last moment nevertheless. It had broken something within the old wizard that had seemed irreparable.

Now however he seemed… more mellow than usual. Downright content. Hopeful even after the last year of near lethargic melancholy. And Quadirymir hated it.

Not only that — he was wearing a most ridiculous white and red robe. Which had taken Quadirymir a while to realise how much that bugged him. He was pretty sure he hadn’t seen him wear white in all of the last two thousand years — and that was something to take notice of. It meant something. Something was off. And he didn’t know what it was. And that was irritating.

“Listen,” Quadirymir said diplomatically, waving his hand as to disperse any bad air between them. A daringly offensive gesture among wizards — but it didn’t even make Zenozarax react. This was getting ridiculous. He walked around the work area to stand straight across Zenozarax.

“This yield is pathetic. The maths doesn’t add up. This is not economical. How else do you want me to put it?“

“Relax. We still came up on top. The Warrior only needs a little patching up.”

“Oh that’s great. So all that for two and a half charred Parts of which you’ll need a good chunk to fix your other Part.” He huffed in only more pretended outrage, Zenozarax barely glanced at him, only one eyebrow raised. Yeah okay, he didn’t believe it. Quadirymir wouldn’t either, that wasn’t the point.

He actually didn’t really care about the yield. He meant all he said, it was pathetic, but in truth his irritation lay elsewhere. He sighed and turned around, leaning halfway against the workcounter.

Turning to a more sweeter, less confrontational tone he said, “I can’t put forth all the materials for all of you. You have to know that. This thing is amazing, but it can’t generate izthra from nothing. You need more parts. And you need to get over whatever problem it is you have and take all of them. Not one Part, all. That’s the only way this works long term and you know that.”

“So far it’s not been a problem.“

“No, it has. You’ve been back for not even one and a half years and already we had to rebuild you once. You don’t see it yet but things are tense out there right now especially for you. They are actively hunting you specifically. You will run into trouble, sooner rather than later. What happens if you lose one of your ships? Maybe four Parts in total? What you have right now would only be able to rebuild one of you. Maybe one and a half if you do the small ones first.”

“Then we better stay careful,” Zenozarax said, still very much unimpressed by anything Quadirymir said.

Utterly learning resistant. Very well.

Quadirymir gave a long drawn out sigh, shaking his head.

“Fine.” He bounced himself off the counter and across the room to the wall panels, after a few prompts and a quick swipe the information appeared next to Zenozarax on the work table display.

“What’s that?”

“That’s a way to really buff your ressources. If you do it right. Same deal as before. Mining rig, no escort, off the grid. Six wizards on this one.”

Quadirymir walked back over to Zenozarax, watching the old wizard taking a break from the work to really examine the information.

“How many more of those do you have?“

“Only a handful. Two others went not viable. They are obviously tightening up security, so if you want to move on this, you may want to do it soon. There’s a good window of opportunity very soon using the asteroid swarm here as cover for an approach.“

“How good is this information?”

“As of two days ago, solid,” he said with a shrug. There always were risks. Even with information one minute old.

Zenozarax grunted again, but where he sounded dismissive before, now he sounded downright displeased. It was a good target. Passing it by would only be a reasonable course of action if he would be stable resource wise. But he wasn’t. Unless he had some hidden stashes himself that Quadirymir didn’t know about. Resources that the rabble he dragged around might have gathered before his return. But that seemed very unlikely to him. They were too … soft … as to really get out there and do what it took to be really safe for a long time.

“We don’t need it. We’ll just lay low for a while.” Zenozarax said and for a split moment Quadirymir felt his face slip into utter disbelief. But he just caught it as a strange tingling in the back of his mind alerted him to watch out. It was a part of his awareness that had been honed and crafted into his persona by centuries of being an Envoy. It was the sensation of something else going on. Something that wasn’t said nor shown but underlined every word and action he witnessed. It was imperative to find out what it was if one ever wanted to make a real impact on anything really.

“Huh.” He chuckled, leaning down with his elbows now on the counter, resting his head on his hands almost coyish. “Okay. Unexpectedly, this weird sense of serenity doesn’t suit you, but fine. I get it. Lay low, get patched up, let the dust settle, focus on more important things.“

There it was. The slightest twitch, almost Zenozarax had looked up. He didn’t, but it was enough. He didn’t answer either.

Quadirymir swallowed his grin as he rose up again. “Good lords, you’re such a disappointment.“

“Careful there, I only let my mother call me that.” Zenozarax murmured, still not looking up.

“You know what, it’s almost tempting to get to Mez and find Leshodimar and tell him you said that.“

“Oh, please do. And tell me how that went.”

Quadirymir chuckled as he walked out of the room he only added,

“I’ll be waiting for you to come back grovelling at my feet, Grand Wizard. I’m looking forward to it.“

Zenozarax stayed quiet in the way he always did when he rather wanted to strangle him than indulge an answer, and as Quadirymir glanced back he was still perfectly focused on his work. The frown on his face was not by focus but irritated displeasure which Quadirymir quite liked.

He turned away with a light smile and left Zenozarax to his work.

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