Chapter 4

Froster found his new Captain strange. Not as strange as the eldritch horrors crafted from Kolys sorcery or maddened savagery of the Birchmen tribes. She was just different. It wasn’t the first time he had interacted with a soldier from another regiment, nor was it his first time interacting with another sapient that wasn’t a Dragonwolf. But being under one was an experience he wasn’t sure he was prepared for. Nonetheless, he trusted Xenophon’s and Xerxes’ judgement. He would do what was expected of a Dragonwolf.

The pair arrived at the barracks of the 6^th Platoon, his new Captain may not have noticed it but he checked to see if the front doorstep was dusted as expected of base decorum. The platoon was over a hundred voltiirs strong, with each member a seasoned veteran and a consummate soldier. The sound of the lieutenant’s boots were enough to rile everyone from whatever mundane pastime they were busy with.

“Officer on deck!” A sergeant called as every Voltiir in the room stood in attention. “I need Squad 11 outside. The rest of you as you were.” As if in synchronized clockwork, the rest of the platoon returned to their activities as the summoned squad went outside. The two waited as the small team of seventeen lined by the barrack’s wall.

“Aten. HUT” The squad produced a crisp salute at the officers, the Captain was the main source of their decorum. “Squad 11, this is now our commanding officer Captain Aster Likaya. She will be leading us throughout the duration of the mission.”

“Honored to meet you Squad 11” The Captain saluted back at the voltiirs putting them at ease. Battle Mage’s rarely held a spot in the DragonWolves, he expected some pangs of curiosity to emerge from the others but none came.

“I trust you’ve all read the briefing files?”

“YES MAM” cracked the squad. Froster noticed a light startle coming from the Captain. She truly wasn’t a Dragonwolf.

“I trust you know what to expect?”

“THE ENEMY DEAD.” The entire team had unleashed a synchronized battle cry.

“At ease, Voltiirs. As perked up as a drunk on spice cake are we?” The Captain cracked a joke, Froster was still human enough to recognize the reference. But he didn’t find it funny, and neither did the squad.

“That’s a joke by the way.” Likaya attempted to goad some laughter, Froster did so. An awkward cacophony erupted from the squad, they sensed the signal there. “Alright, as you were.” The voltiirs filed back into their barracks, as proper and as neat as they had exited.

“Is everyone in the unit as stiff as you Lieutenant?” Aster’s question was another conundrum, to Froster at least.

“Stiff mam?” he asked, a part of him hoped he hadn’t offended her while another part just wished she would stop acting outside of protocol.

“Are they all from the Agoge Valley?”

Froster cracked a smile, displaying some relief when finally understanding the question.

“Yes, mam. We were all raised in the Agoge Valley.”

“Well, I don’t doubt that. Just hope you’re all better conversation when we head to the Marshes. My armor and Gearbanes?”

The Lieutenant wasted no time leading his commanding officer towards the armory, leading her through the twists and turns of the fortress’ numerous facilities.

…

It didn’t take long for the Likaya to head back to her quarters, leaving the Lieutenant free to do whatever he pleased. Free time was mostly preceded by paperwork, but since he only ran a squad of seventeen, that was finished hours ago.

Somewhat exhilarated he heads back towards his quarters, nearly fumbling for the keys to his room.

“Lieutenant” A voice cracked from his right, a Mangani ape man stood by as he smoked a cigar. It was Jokil Theron, 1^st Lieutenant of the 5^th Platoon.

“Lieutenant” Froster replied.

“Do you have time for a question Lieutenant?” The Mangani asked.

“Of course, brother. Proceed?” Froster replied. Jokil approached Froster and offered a cigar, he declined.

“Your quarry, is she a Battle Mage? he asked, tactfully blowing away the cigar smoke away from Froster.

“Correct, she is a Battle Mage. Voltiir as well.”

“This must be part of that new initiative, you think so?” Mangani Apemen had forejaws and molar tusks.

Their eyes were shrouded in a complete singular color which matched the stone bumps that grew on their limbs. Jolik resembled his kind, but only to a slight minimum, a third of his forejaw was torn, replaced by a leather patch. His smooth black fur was singed and replaced by a myriad of white scars and burn patches. And his right hand was replaced with mekanika, the limb was a casualty of the recent border skirmish with the Eldraeci Elves.

“Nothing from the Captain, but I do believe this is it.”

“You’re opinion on the ma-- Arrggh!” Jokil growled as he grasped his mekanika hand as it sputtered, prompting the owner to adjust the hand’s cogs and gears.

Froster stood still and allowed his comrade to do what needed to be done, a Dragonwolf did not administer aid if his comrade did not need any.

Soon enough Jokil had adjusted the settings and his hand was back to normal. “Need a replacement, this will not be ideal in battle.” He grumbled.

“Your question Lieutenant?” Froster asked

“Yes, your opinion on the Battle Mage?”

Froster paused before he replied, he considered all he had read and all he had observed. Aster Likaya was a Battle Mage produced from the academies of traditional military. A commissioned officer and a veteran.

“I know she is a soldier, she’s bled for the Republic and she’s spilled blood for it as well. Her former platoon is a well experienced unit. And for her to reach Captain at such a young age is a feat. For the traditional military.” Jokil scoffed, or what passed for one among the DragonWolves. Their regiment was different from the rest. Stoic, silent and lived the bulk of their lives for battle. Their officers were young but their leaders ancient. They served only for war, nothing else.

“Has she given you trouble?” Jokil asked. Froster went back to the moment he first met Captain Likaya, other than some confusion with the terminology she used. She was not too different from the rest of the traditional military and the civilians they protected for that matter.

“Nothing too different from the culture of those outside of the regiment.” He replied.

Jokil’s expression changed a bit, an eye squinted as his posture straightened before his response. The Mangani were as tall as most humans, but wide and bulky making their expressions readable to any sharp eye. Froster felt his fellow soldier pitied him.

“Akath’s Grace be with you. You know they are different from us.” Jokil’s pale eyes squinted more as he spoke.

“Akath’s Grace was given when I became a Dragonwolf.” Froster gave Jokil a nod as he returned to his quarters, leaving Jokil to resume his solitary smoking. Abel removed his clothing and did the usual checks for his equipment for tomorrow’s mission. As a voltiir, it was expected that his gear should b ready at a moment’s notice.

There was no need to recheck his belongings but he did so. Ammunition, rations, medical equipment, weapon cleaners and a locket of encased lockets that hummed as his hands hovered above them. The air begin to stink of stone and the arcane as the runic whispers of the entrapped spirits awakened at the Dragonwolf’s presence. Earth Spirits were an unorthodox ammunition, but it always helped to keep them handy. He levitated the tiny lockets into the air, practicing a few focus spells as he pulled them into his blast rod. Which too hovered in the air.

The curved metal stick of runed magecraft and basic engineering vibrated as the stoned forms bit onto its barrel. He removed the stone spirit and returned it to its locket, summoning the lightning spirit to the blast rod.

This time the weapon spat with the wild strength of a storm. But he kept the spirit in bay, focusing its strength on the barrel. He returned the being to its locket as he pulled the last one. The plasma spirit was different from the others, as dead as a rock but as alive as fire and lightning combined. The entity was an essential core for a voltiir, their weapons shot the weakened version of the being, their cannons launched shells by the guiding rage of their power. Despite their profession’s reliance on the plasma spirit, It was tricky to control one. The stronger essences fought against the attempts to manipulate them, forcing anyone who held the spirits to bind and control them throughout the process.

As expected, the spirit bit, cracked and somewhat cursed at him as he bound it to his blast rod. The rune craft of his weapon kept the volatile being in its place. He floated the rod to his hand and tested the rod’s glass view aiming sights. Modified to highlight enemies, now he could see potential route of the plasma spirit once fired. The essence was designed to destroy autogolems, he was planning on bringing it a jungle expedition. DragonWolves were irreligious and spiritual at most. But he prayed to Akath that he was wrong.

Returning his gear to their proper bags, Able Froster now remembered why he had rushed to his quarters. He pulled a box from his shelf, revealing metal miniatures of autogolems and soldiers from history and myth. Grabbing a small brush and a vial of paints he began detailing the miniatures as he allowed the night to wind down.