Final Confessions of a Goblin Emperor 8

Chapter 7

Back to Kiemandra College we went. Two weeks left until graduation. The women folk immediately began to bemoan the idea of leaving each other, as for us men, we were itching to escape, to move onto bigger and better things.
That first night back Valian, Grayllin, Letharius and I, along with Evith, simply to give him something to do, decided that we would demonstrate how we felt about the Nobility living in their high line suites. Vengeance is so delicious, you know?
We went through several lines of approach to this, most of them were either obscene or violent. You see we weren’t exactly an artistic lot. Finally Valian made a breakthrough for us.
“All the suites run on one sewer pipe,” I remember that declaration ringing out clear as a bell.
“What was that?” asked Grayllin with a look playing across his face.
“The Noble residence houses all lay out in a row, all their chamber pots route into one long pipe that they flush once a month using magic,” said Valian mechanically.
“Does their running water work along a similar system?” asked Letharius with a smile.
“Yes sir, yes it does,” responded Valian as the plan crystallized in his mind.

An hour later the five of us were hunkered down in the narrow crawl spaces beneath the Nobility’s Residencies. Oh it was so frightfully evil, so lusciously bad. I was actually a key player, my magic was needed direly if we were to pull it off. It was up to me to staunch the flow from both pipes while Valian fitted a new set to the line that he needed. Valian obviously didn’t have a foundry available to cast new implements, so it was up to me to change the shape of the pipes for him, while keeping the pipes from spilling onto us, thus alerting those above because the water would go out. Evith kept watch above and Grayllin and Letharius helped Valian by taking measurements and hoisting him up to get at the water pipes which were too high for any of us to reach on our own.
It took three hours, but when all was said and done it was so beautiful that I wouldn’t have changed a moment of it for the world. As we crept out of the tunnels and back to our dormitory we passed a single Noble Dormitory with a fountain in front of it. It flung piss mixed with shit through its elegant marble embossing, sending up a stink so foul that I swear it might have burned your eyebrows. Oh we laughed, it was too perfect.
The next day the whole campus smelled like a sewer, and we for our own part sat and pretended like we had been asleep at nine. Classes weren’t really taxing at this point, considering the fact that exams had already passed. The few classes that still taught anything were frivolous. In upper level history we were reading about the ancient Lych War. It was so romanticized that one could barley distinguish fact from fiction. Everywhere in the text were beautiful poetic speeches by Dwarven Charioteers and Elven Generals. The creatures depicted on the paper were so monstrous and horrifying. Though there was one that captivated me, a plain faced woman in a chain mail dress, she had an ivory and ruby crown in her hair. The caption read: Asmira Asnen, Queen of the Dead, Lady of Bone. I raised my hand and asked about her. I believe it was master Pakaza who taught that class, though that was so long ago, I forget who all my teachers were.
“Master,” I asked boldly, “Who was Asmira Asnen?”
“An excellent question Lord Brashfall, there’s still a lot of debate on that today. She was the High Commander of all the undead forces during the Lych War.”
“Yes, that is apparent Master, but what else about her? Do we know anything else?”
“Of course. According to legend she was born only a few hundred years after written history began. It’s believed she was a founder of the school of Necromancy. She went on to become the first Lych in existence, though it’s believed there were creatures similar to her in existence at the time. She was a tactical genius, and apparently rather promiscuous. She also had a rather interesting artifact that turned undead souls into magical power for her.”
“What artifact master?”
“The Rib of the Ancients, or as it’s known now The Rib of Death. It’s unknown exactly how this artifact came into being, but she possessed it, and she was invincible.”
“How did she fall then?”
“Her vices. A mortal man worked his way into her bed and after they had done the deed he snatched the bone away from her. She was defeated on the spot by the Elven Queen Vespra Bella Kiemandra. She had apparently concealed herself and then assassinated her once the man in bed had served his purpose. Though it was apparently a titanic battle.”
“So what, she died?”
“You can’t kill a Lych, you know that. Her essence was bound into her Phylactery permanently, and she was locked way in an ancient Elven catacomb supposedly. And that’s the legend.”
“You seem a tad skeptical my Lord.”
“I can’t imagine how anyone could be after that story. You want to know what I honestly think?”
“Of course Master.”
“I think that Asmira Asnen is a composite of five or six major female commanders of the time and that this whole scenario is made up to entertain magicians and dreamers. Let’s move past this one, you should have taken mythology with Master Zaro if you would have liked to hear more.”
That was that, but the image did piqué my interest. Maybe it was just how she was rendered, but she seemed so beautiful in all her commonness, this Asmira Asnen, the Lady of Bone. There seemed a sense of destiny around her, I felt a connection. I decided to learn more about her, and to do so I would have to go before Master Zaro in his spare time. Not daunting by any means, one couldn’t find a kinder man than Master Foro Zaro, it was just out of the way. I did it anyway, made the long walk across campus to the Etiquette and Political training halls. There were a profusion of tiny women, all bundled n frilled pink dresses and feather muffs. Their heads were done up with elaborate wigs and gallons of make-up, pretty little ornaments all. It was a well known fact that one out of ten of these women were actually stealth agents on training from the Karkinias College of Covert Warfare. The Karkinias family had the best spies in the world, they singlehandedly turned back the tides of several major conflicts throughout world history. I know I’m throwing out common knowledge left and right, but if an ordinary man were to read this tome I would want him to be enriched because of it, I would want him to learn something about what life and government was like at this time period. I pity no one more in the whole world than the common man. My father was one, hell I was one, I still am at heart, despite all this god damned wealth and power. Yes, yes I want that recorded. Don’t sass me, you’re a scribe. You’re going to write whatever the fuck I say out loud is that clear?
Back to the grind. I found Master Zaro in his library, amusing himself with some smutty romance novel, he was a heavy old man, not massively overweight, but heavy. He had a bald head and a big curly moustache. He was a textbook image of the perfect grandfather.
“Enath Brashfall. The Sorcerer,” he said as I sat down across from him, he was very intuitive and knew I wanted to talk from the moment he saw me.
“Yes Master Zaro, it is I, unfortunately,” I responded sardonically.
“They say you’re a sarcastic one, also quick to anger, and a damn fine sorcerer at that. What can this old Elf do for you?”
“I have a few questions that relate to a certain historical figure that my History teacher wouldn’t elaborate on.”
“Well who is it?”
“Asmira Asnen Master.”
“Asmira Asnen? Truly? There’s a figure I didn’t think they still taught in school. There are books and books on her, on her Phylactery, on her lovers, her generals, her army. I could literally spend days on the topic.”
“I wish I had the days my Master. I’m sure you could just make the time fly.”
“There’s that sarcasm. You’ll want the abridged version I’m sure.”
“That would be preferable.”
“I have a hundred page book in my study on her, a colleague of my mine from Rehyobar wrote the thing. That should give you a good place to start. If you find that enjoyable you can return and I’ll lend you more books, fair enough young man?”
“Yes my Lord. Thank you very much.”
“Also, I’d like to show you something. I found it the other day while I was going through the old Library of Lore in the west wing. I’d like you to clarify a few things for me.”
“Certainly my lord, what is it?”
“I’m not all that certain. I wanted someone to tell me what it is, if I showed anything to one of the Sorcery Masters I’m sure I’d never see it again. That’s what happens with everything I lend them. It just has a habit of not coming back to me. “
“Well I would be very happy to aid you Master, where is it?”
“I have it storage son, just give me a moment.”
He shuffled out of the room and was a back in a minute or two.
“Here it is!” he boomed enthusiastically.
It was a massive book, bound in some sort of black fabric that the moths had obviously sampled. In its middle was a graven pewter animal head, of what animal I can’t say. It looked like nothing I had ever seen before.
“The illustrations herein are so bizarre, but everything is in magical terms. I can’t understand a word, could you tell me what some of them mean.”
He slid the thing across the table I was at to an open page, depicting a large cannon fused to six huge insect legs.
“Here,” I said translating what I could understand, which was most of it surprisingly, “This is an evocation symbol, Tazara, it is centered around earth energies, I’ve never actually used it. This here is Yamara, that’s a conjuration symbol, it’s mostly wind energy, it’s part of a series that creates intelligence in constructs. This is a diagram of a walking, intelligent cannon, bizarre no?
“Quite!” he said excitedly, “Have you seen something like this before?”
“No my Master, but I’m sure some of the more advanced mages have…”
Then I saw it, a skeleton in a circle.
“This is Corbula,” I said as I pointed to the symbol in dread, “It’s the symbol for Blood Necromancy.”
“What’s that?”
“Human sacrifice to extract a sizable amount of energy,” I whispered back.
“So you mean that this thing runs on human blood.”
“No, it is created using human blood though. I think this a tome of Necromantic arts.”
I thumbed through another fifteen or twenty of the thousand some pages. Every page had some sort of fleshy construct or virulent disease on it.
“This isn’t a spell book, or a treatise; it is a grimoire, a book of black magic. This book is an elder power, where did you find it.”
“I told you in the west wing, though it was in a basement, and one well abandoned at that.”
“Were there more books like this?”
“Fifty, maybe sixty, yes.”
“Would you mind if I took a look at some of these books then?”
“You’re not a Necromancer though, you couldn’t benefit from these books. Why would you want to look at evil things?”
“Because I could learn from them. All of magic, not just Necromancy has light and dark aspects. Evocation and Transmutation are my fields of interest, maybe I could learn something new about them.”
“This whole business seems rather dark to me Young Brashfall. Perhaps it would be better if I just turned these things over to the Masters of Sorcery.”
“I beg you my Master, just a few hours to look at them, I promise you I’m not going to become some kind of Dark Overlord in the course of a few hours. Just allow me to peruse a few texts, you don’t even have to be present. I’ll look around when I’m done I’ll come back here and told you if I found anything interesting. I swear to you this is purely academic.” And I smiled a big, fake smile.
It wasn’t academic, I wanted an edge for when I went to Ruda Aztar. I’ll be honest. I had no qualms about picking up a few Dark Magic tricks, after all, there hadn’t been a real dark sorcerer in almost a thousand years. I figured why not take a look. I wouldn’t be subverted or anything like that. I wasn’t going to become a warlock.
Actually I was.
Zaro showed me the library and I immediately fell in love with the methods. Using energy from others to cast a spell, or evoke a power. Why had I never thought of that before? Basing energy from your sexual instead of your emotional sphere made it hotter, making fire spells easier. It was so beautiful, so ingenious. I had to have those books!
I had to have those books.
There was only one way I could manage to keep it away from Master Zaro’s mind, and that was to blind him with the greatest magic of all, money. My Mistress Nymphonae Armoredeye was fortunately in a giving mood. Coupled with all my savings her cash gift was enough to add up to a hefty sum. I can’t for the life of me figure out why she wanted to give me all that money. Maybe she figured that for all the hard work I had done that I deserved some little reward. Maybe she really thought of me amorously, her and I had enjoyed a tryst more than once. Why not? I don’t really think of it as sex when it’s so recreational. She was footing my bills when we did it, I figured I owed her something. Whatever it was that motivated her to toss me a bag of gold, I don’t care. Master Zaro was suddenly unconcerned with the black books in his library basement. I had them, all sixty four volumes.
It was hard biding my time until I could actually practice them without the company of others to disturb me. But two weeks is a fleck of dust in the face of the true breadth of time.
I was out with my friends for the rest of the week. Feiy was as lovely as ever, she was just a river of kindness, and money now that she was married to Ichtamandor, who for his part endured his wife very well. He seemed not to mind dining with us, though in reality he hated every moment of it, he concealed it very well though. Evith and Erita were usually with us. I love my brother and sister so much, they’re just beautiful people, both of them. They never spoke unless first spoken to. Any compliment was taken graciously, any insult was put aside quickly.
At nights, after everyone was asleep I would grab one of my tomes and read it judiciously, with a passion that belied my youth. I couldn’t understand a lot of it. I spent many an hour tearing through lexicons of spell symbols, and even then a few of the very intricate ones eluded me. Gedara for instance was a symbol that I couldn’t find until the night before graduation, that’s right, it took me two weeks and five spell dictionaries to discover a basic but outdated binding spell. I substituted a Zymala after that just out of spite.
There was one book, a small one which was done up with clasps made of real bone that I never opened, though it was clearly labeled as a transmutation text. It was scary looking, I decided that after I had mastered some of the other techniques I would revisit it. I accidentally knocked it open one time, and the glimpse that I caught frightened even me. That book was entitled Ixo Batias, in ancient Elven it means Dread Book.
This is where it all begins. This is where I become history’s great villain. The Orcs hate me and so do the humans. Becoming a Warlock is a dark and lengthy process, and after my initial introduction at college I made no attempt to conceal my ambition to become one, though I didn’t advertise it either.
Being a Warlock has been so rewarding, who wants to be just a wizard? Who wants to be the good guy in the story? Honestly? It’s stupid and self righteous, and have you ever read a play? The ‘hero’ always has to suffer through trials and indignations and only finally gets his heart’s desire at the end, if he doesn’t die for his ambitions. I’m glad history’s made me the villain, at least that way I’ll always be remembered, you all know the ghouls and boogey men, but how many of you can name all seventeen of the Heroes that fought the dragon Ixinomilokoplicos in the traditional Canza Vella? You’ll remember that there were seventeen of them, maybe. But you’ll always remember that dragon with the name that I for the life of me couldn’t say again.
Magic is divided into seven subsets in the Sorcerer’s community; White, Black, Brown, Red, Yellow, Green and Blue. Each color has a different approach as to how magic should be cast. White for instance uses the power of the Heart and is typically favored by Weather Wizards because it gives the user great control over the element wind. Blue uses the power of the mind to control the element water and is a method preferred by Divination Masters. Brown is what the majority of non spell casters use day to day, it is resilient to magic and is centered around the stomach. A person who trains in its ways can be rendered perfectly immune to all but the most powerful magic. Red wields the power of speech and is preferred by Evokers and Conjurers. Green utilizes your surroundings, i.e. Nature Magic, Druidry, that garbage, though I don’t mean to condescend to Grayllin or any of the others. Yellow draws energy from the sun, there have been sun magicians for ages, it is an outdated art form, but still effective in many cases. Black was no longer used at the time period, even among the undead and ‘evil’ wizard communities. It is powered by human sexuality. What could be more powerful than that? The Black Magic Method is effective with fire especially, it seeks to subvert and control and is capable of the most powerful spells, though they come at a price, especially to the caster. I, being myself in all its grandeur, use three separate forms, White , Red and Black. When you’re forced to do magic as often as I am one can’t always use the Black Art, or you’ll pass out, I can even cast White magic from one hand and Black from another. But I shouldn’t lecture in this narrative, I’ve written several textbooks on the subject, any party interested in the topic should look into it therein, though any human or elf would be hard pressed to get their hands on a copy.
Moving right along, we were a week before graduation, I was training to be a warlock, the campus smelled like shit and the Elven armies had just passed the Niolit River, officially making the Tri-Partite Alliance the aggressors. That whipped the campus into an even greater fervor. All the other graduation ceremonies I had seen the years before weren’t to be as grand as this one.
Emperor Karkinias was to be our graduation speaker. We nearly died, At least us scholarship students. The upper class actually openly opposed the idea! They went so far as to petition King Thespasian. Now if there’s one thing that the lisping brand of faggots, like Thespasian, are good at, it’s writing a letter. The decree that returned was so beautifully poised that it turned them aside easily. Save Ichtamandor Shattersword and his wife Feiy, by corollary. The future general, for all his patriotism hated the Emperor with all his heart. Why? Who can say? Maybe it’s the fact that the Emperor was a homosexual and that offended Shattersword’s sense of religion. In all likelihood it was how he was raised, do as you will my son, so long as it’s not other boys. Drugs, alcohol, violence, promiscuity, enjoy it all, but those homos, stay away from them! I can only laugh at naivety now in my old age laugh at my own evil and the horrors I’ve inflicted. I’m old, I’m glad to be old, when I was young I was glad to be young, when I’m dead I’m sure I’ll be glad to be dead. Thus is life, a positive attitude makes for a positive experience. Homosexuality is in the body, not in the mind. It is, depending on your political stripe, which I frankly don’t give a fuck about, a disorder or a differentiating feature. It is like an arm, certainly it can be stripped away, but you are left something less if you do.
Purple! Everyone wanted to be purple in those days, purple and black. I didn’t really have the money to buy another dress robe, if I did my money chest would be cleaned out. I didn’t want to ask Nestro for one either, it was just embarrassing, you know, makes me feel diminished. So I stayed in my yellow and blue, which later became synonymous with my presence at court.
But that rich, royal color coated everything, that and Elven scarlet. I hate that color, purple, every hue, lavender to royal. It is in all likelihood because of the royals that I hate it. I saw purple as an insurmountable difference. In my youth I fancied I could make myself a lord or baron, in my youth’s decay that dream unraveled. When dreams die hatred takes their place.
Goddess, how I ramble, I’ll have to get rid of all this garbage in a revision. Maybe I won’t, remind me to have you read this shit back to me.
What was I talking about? Shattersword! Him! That’s right! He wasn’t present at graduation.
Graduation was everything that I supposed it would be, pompous, wonderful, intoxicating. Iwas glad when it was over though. Nestro sat with Erita and Evith. They both liked him, despite the relationship which I sensed Evith felt neutrally about.
We had an absolutely fabulous after party at Nestro’s palazzo. Iruna was in attendance, her and Evith disappeared for a long period of time. My brother returned a little less innocent. It’s only looking back that I realize that she wasn’t so evil in those times, just different. Feiy, Grayllin, Yathrina, Letharius, Nymphonae, Valian and Lita were all there. Yathrina was returning to her home on the plains in a few days and wanted to make the most of her time. Grayllin , who had received a scholarship for his face alone was to serve as a court page. The good thing about being a page is that it eventually, after years leads to one becoming a knight. Feiy’s plans to take further education had been curtailed by her new husband, who preferred her to study at home with tutors, she was chafing under the idea, but bearing it stoically. Letharius was joining the navy, as said earlier. Nymphonae was joining the air force as an officer. Valian was pursuing a fabulous scholarship program for a sprawling higher education plan that I can’t even begin to detail it all. Lita refused to give anything concrete, besides that her plans were taking her to Prophet’s Strait.
And for the life of me I can’t remember anymore of those school days besides that last lavish little gathering, that last conjunction of us who would change history. There we were, an Archdruid, a Goblin Emperor, a Grand Admiral, The Buffalo Queen, The Luna Moth Monarch, The Green Lady, The Serpent King, The Black Mother, Drakal Caz, Thermock the Wise, all of us on a course for greatness, and disaster.