I believe the population was locked up so that a group of migrants could take over the fortress instead of leaving it in the hands of the workforce that didn't need to eat, drink or sleep and also had the bonus quality of removing the unskilled migrants rather than needing to train them up.
-
Thane screamed as she felt the energy of the world rushing into her, as though she was a whirlpool sucking in every piece of passing debris. It was too much for any sane person to handle, and it had to go somewhere. Fallen Angel fell to his knees in front of her. Thane studied him for a moment, bringing Ob Kat down on his head with a crunch. Artyom fell backwards, leaking fluids through the crack in his skull. Against all logic, he opened his eyes.
"It's not too late," he said in Vladimir's voice.
"It is for some people," Thane said sadly, bringing the hammer down again. The world turned grey around her as she drained it of light and life, a walking void that offered nothing but death.
"All hail your great hero," a voice said smugly.
Thane's eyes shot open, glancing around for danger. She sat up, missing the weight of Ob Kat as she looked around her cell. Still as barren as ever, nothing but the book Tarmid had given her to occupy herself with while they decided how to kill her. It was a lousy trade for the hammer that was now in his office, but it was better than nothing. A small cough outside told her that her guard was still there, unless he had been replaced by someone else. Thane hadn't bothered calling out. Even if she could smooth talk her way to freedom, there was nothing she could do after that. Leaning back against the wall, she tried to open her mind to the flow that she knew was around her. For a moment it seemed like it was there, dull, as though she was watching the world through the worn patch of a blindfold, but there nonetheless. It faded the more she concentrated on keeping it there, until she finally gave up, frustrated. Thane thumped the book that the librarian had given her on the bed in front of her, opening it to a random page without looking at the title. A section about weaponsmithing caught her eye, and she flicked it back to the start of the chapter.
Notes by the First Loremaster of St. Zane:
Promotion to the rank of Magebane traditionally carried with it the gift of a ceremonial weapon, exquisitely made by a specially trained weaponsmith. In recent years, this has been regrettably discontinued owing not only to the smith failing to train any apprentices before his untimely passing, but also to us being unable to justify such needless spending after our recent losses. With luck, we will be able to reinstate the custom once resources permit and we find a suitable smith.
Thane glanced at the cover of the book. It was easily a hundred years old, and the note at the front claimed it was a copy of an earlier text. She was nearly certain that Brenzen didn't have any weapon besides his pick in any case.
The weapons themselves are only used in battle in the direst of need in any case, for they are works of art rather than warcraft, representing the beauty that Knights strive to protect. They have proven fully functional on the few occasions that they have been used, normally due to desperation or the primary weapon of the Knight in question being unusable for any number of reasons, so much so that tales spring up every so often about the great weapons of the Magebanes that can only be used against the most dire of foes. Though it is a good thing that we can inspire such awe in those we guard from the darkness, it is best not to cultivate these tales in case it 'comes back to bite us', as the locals of my current resting place say. Fortunately, the accounts I was able to collect of these ceremonial weapons did not contain too much hearsay, mostly having been obtained from the wielders of the weapons themselves. Though the odd piece of unsubstantiated gossip has regrettably had to be removed, this chapter comes mostly 'from the horse's mouth'.
There didn't seem to be any movement outside other than the guard occasionally shifting his weight to the other foot. Thane settled down for a long night of reading.
Author
Topic: Demongate: Wrapping up the Loose Ends. (Read 698518 times)