Arascus’ Divine Armoury, located in Central Epa, built preceding the Great War. It is a dangerous place, filled with traps and defences. Every Divine bound to Arascus helped during its construction, even Olephia, of Chaos. After the Great War, we had a great debate on what to do with it. Helenna was for the Armoury’s destruction, as was Iniri and Kavaa. Alkom, Atis and Zerus remained neutral, as did I. It was one of the rare moments when Allasaria, Elassa, Fortia and Maisara agreed on something without an argument.

The foundries and forges, the armouries and technologies, the access to Kassandora’s private writings, the direct connection to the tremendous dwarven underground kingdom all were too tempting prizes to give up. I can see it, but I see Iniri’s perspective too. Not demolishing the armoury would leave a permanent blister that would always have to be maintained. The treasure within is great, and it can serve as a prison for the weapon incarnates, but it is a mere half measure.

I simply do not see it. Are we building a new world? Or are we holding the old one together?

– Excerpt from one of Leona’s scarce writings. ‘The Armoury Debate’. Kept within the White Pantheon’s Closed Library.

‘Initiate Operation Speartip.’ Iliyal poured himself a small shot of whiskey and tipped his head back as he drank it. He rarely drank before battles anymore, but it was a good return to tradition. And a shot wouldn’t slow him down too much. The whiskey burned on the way down as he looked at his team. It had been one week since he met them.

In one week, he normally assumed a drop-out rate of one in five. Anything lower than that would allow for the weak to sneak through into his army. He tried, he had honestly tried to get to that figure, but these men really were something else. Teaching them was like teaching the old warrior families of the past, whatever he threw at them, no matter how sadistic, they at first accept with cold gazes. Now they were practically smiling.

He looked over at the men, each one standing at attention fully suited up now. Armed with a large knife on the leg, a pistol strapped to the other, a rifle on their back. Black shirts and rugged black trousers, with heavy carrier vests for ammunition and grenades and a few bandages for stemming bleeding. That last one was only a morale measure, anyone who got injured in the Divine Armoury would most likely not be coming back out.

A team of Clerics had been imported from Arika. They wouldn’t be participating in the actual assault, but Clerical healing easily sped up the rate of training by at least a factor of five. Clerics stalked around Iliyal with their green cloaks and silver armour. They had changed too since the last time Iliyal had seen them, they arrived with rifles and pistols, only two still carried a sword. And the rifles were new. A K-1 model. Kafka-One, named after the lead designer’s daughter. With a shorter barrel for close combat and a thicker magazine for more bullets. Even a red-dot sight. When Iliyal saw it, he couldn’t believe how easy it was to use.

“Smoke yourselves a million.” Iliyal shouted and the unit dropped immediately. It was the last time they would go for an exercise, he saw a few men chuckle and laugh at the language. The command meant to do a million press-ups, but in actually, it was a simple test of doing it until they dropped. “One. Two. Steady.” Iliyal shouted. Some of the smaller men were pulling away compared to the brutes. “Sing me a tune too.” Anything to make it harder. “A lullaby lads! Put a babe to sleep right now!” And so, they began.

‘Mama said I’d end up here.’ Iliyal smiled at the words as he started taking long marching steps, his black coat trailing behind him and his boots making a satisfying click in time to the beat of the song. They were still pumping as if they had just started, even though they were at least twenty presses in. ‘Laughing at Divinity, smiling ear to ear.’ One of the men had made it up one day, and now the song had stuck. They were a creative bunch. ‘Hush now little baby, don’t cry here.’ A few of the men started to slow down, the larger of the lot, with more muscle on them. Those always tired out first, it was why Iliyal always preferred having wolves to bears.

‘Daddy’s got a knife and a fire in the rear.’ Iliyal smiled when he saw the largest of men struggle to push himself up. He was called Baker, originally he had chosen Jan, and his first name was Tomek, but when the men saw him start baking bread in his free time, Baker had stuck. Iliyal bent down to shout into the man’s ear. “ARE YOU OUT BAKER? DO YOU NEED A BREAK? ARE THESE ARMS JUST FOR SHOW? GIVE ME FIVE MORE!”

“YES!” Baker screamed as he pushed out another press up. “SIR!” And two. Iliyal watched him completed the five, then hold himself in a planking position.

“That’s what I want to see, good job Baker.” Iliyal said, he turned and moved down the line. Baker was always the first to go, but the others weren’t far behind him. He bullied another man and demanded five more, he saw another collapse. It wasn’t a feign, the man’s fingers and arms were trembling. One man threw up. The bears came to a stop, the wolves were still smoking through the million. Iliyal knew they could go for another hundred or two, and frankly, he didn’t have patience for it. “ARE WE TIRED?”

“No Sir!” Everyone shouted back in answer, even the men who had collapsed.

“THEN WITH CLAPS NOW!” Iliyal shouted. He returned to the team of Clerics. “Heal them up.” This was a hard exercise, and he didn’t want his men having muscle pains in a fight.

“At once Sir.” The Clerics replied with a salute and went off to heal those who had collapsed. The lean men started to push themselves off the ground, make a clap, and then fall back down. One man managed twenty three. A short fellow, muscled but not overly so, bald, and in black. The rifle on his back bounced every time he did a clap. He was called Stalker, another one that had a joke become his name. He tried pushing himself up on the twenty-fourth, his barely managed a clap, and then his face planted into the cold hard dirt. Iliyal allowed himself a little smile at the humour of it.

“Good job ladies! Everyone stand!” Everyone did stand, even stalker, he didn’t even bother to rub his bleeding nose, only licking the blood off his top lip. “Good job.” Iliyal said as he turned around and went to a box that had been prepared. It was the final part of turning this rabble of prisoners into trained soldiers, something to hold them together, something to bind them to Iliyal. Wissel and Jozef had thought they were getting a crack team of soldiers, in fact, they had given one to Iliyal.

He took a step, honestly, they deserved a speech. He gave the Clerics time to finish healing them. That was another mark of strength, most men would collapse when touched by Kavaa’s magic. These men groaned, grit their teeth, and kept standing. “Ladies no more!” Iliyal shouted once the final Cleric finished up. “Men!” Iliyal shouted.

“I am not one for speeches.” Iliyal said. “What are speeches anyway? Words on wind? What does that matter?” He got a few chuckles from the men. He knew he would. “But you, you deserve a speech. You have spent one week with me. One week!” Iliyal held up his hand with a single finger pointed up. He lowered his arm, and his tone with it.

“When I first saw you, I thought you were walking trash.” He said. “I saw people like you Baker.” Iliyal nodded to Baker and the man smiled in pride for being named directly. He would be a team leader. Iliyal made a wide posture, his arms hanging low as he spread them out and walked like a caveman. “All muscle, I thought you had exchanged it for you brain.” That got a series of laughs.

“Or you Stalker!” That was another team leader, the man was smart. “A little raccoon, I’m surprised we didn’t give you that name. Did your mother not give you milk to grow up?” Stalker grinned and the men shared another chuckle, Iliyal shook his head in exaggerated disappointment. “You could have been like Nathan here!” Iliyal extended to another of the larger men. “But I’m not your mother, so I can’t make you grow any taller, my apologies.” Laughs again.

“But you all came here.” Iliyal shouted. “As sad sacks of shit! I thought by day one, I’d have half of you leave!” There was no chance of that, day one had been rough, but it was the easiest by far, Iliyal knew how to ease men into the military life. “I expected to call Wissel and Jozef by day three!” Iliyal mimed putting a phone to his ear and pulled a silly voice. “Hello, this is Iliyal, is that the best you had?” The men all grinned as Iliyal spread his arms out.

“But you are!” He shouted. “The best Lubska and Doschia had to offer.” That was the thing with prisoners, when given proper discipline and a chance to atone, they’d make the most loyal soldiers. “Today, we are finished!” Iliyal shouted. He saw some of the men lose their smiles. It was heart-warming to see they’d miss him. Honestly, it was. Iliyal had grown to like this rabble over the past week. “Done! Training is over!”

Iliyal let the silence hold for a few seconds. “Let me give you a little behind the scenes, I’m sure we’d all that that, yes?”

“YES SIR!” Iliyal let the cheers die down for a moment.

“The deal was this. Epa had a problem. Five major sponsors have come to me to fix this problem. King Wissel of Doschia and Jozef, President of Lubska were among them.” Iliyal stopped for a minute, these men deserved to know more. “The others were Rilia, Allia and Rancais. They wanted Arascus’ weaponry.” Iliyal pulled the pistol out of his holster and held it in the air, and then put it back. “And they wanted a man in charge.” That was a lie entirely, Iliyal had forced it on them. But that didn’t matter. Kassandora had once said something was the truth because she said it, now this was the truth because he said it.

“Not a Divine, although we wouldn’t send a Divine here, of course.” Iliyal maintained a light tone. “So I was picked. I don’t know if you believed me at first, but I’m sure you do now. I am Iliyal Tremali. General of Arascus’ Eighth Legion during the Great War, one of the greatest mortal minds to walk the surface of Arda, if I can boast.” Iliyal knew he could, he was in enough history books and essays to claim that title.

“So I will lead you. I have never, nor will I never lead men to their deaths.” That was a lie, every single battle had losses, every single battle Iliyal led men to their deaths. “But some of you will die!” He shouted. “Some of you will not return! For some of you, today is the final day you will spend before falling asleep, forever.” He inspected the men’s faces. The words had the effect he wanted, they didn’t terrify or concern, they galvanized and hardened.

“Originally, the deal would have you return to prisons.” Iliyal said as he watched the men. This was the final thing soldiers needed to fight. They needed a cause. For some it could be a larger thing, like one’s country. For others, it was love. But for these men, he already knew there was something they wanted: Freedom. “I look at you now, and I can think of only one thing; what a waste!” He got a series of cheers for that.

“I WILL NOT give you up. I WILL NOT abandon you. YOU WILL NOT set foot in a prison again.” Iliyal said. “After all, a general does not abandon his men, I will be there with you, on the front lines.” And another series of cheers. “Anyone who survives tonight, you will be given a choice. You may stay here, I am sure that your conditions will improve, but you will most likely end up back in prison. Politics is a dirty game.” Iliyal only made it even dirtier. “But for those who wish to, you will return with me to Kirinyaa! The war will be won and you will serve!”

“Not as prisoners, not even as soldiers. You will serve as the founders! The founders of Iliyal Tremali’s New Legion! I will personally make sure of it!” He already Kassandora would agree, she had an eye for talent and these men where absolutely brimming with it. The men cheered again.

“But now, we have a job to do! As was done in the past, so it will be done now! I will not call you soldiers anymore but Legionnaires!” He stopped for a second. “Legionnaires! We have a job to do!” He pointed north. “In that direction lies the Divine Armoury. It is buried deep, above it is Paladin’s Headquarters of Epa! We are going to storm that Headquarters tonight!” He took a deep breath.

“Suicidal, is it not?” He asked and the men laughed. “You are the tip of the spear that will strike at Maisara’s heart. Who could ever do that?” Iliyal smiled as he saw the men smile. They were excited, and they were ready. “We can! Why? Because you are here! And because I am here! Maisara made one fatal flaw in her construction of the Headquarters, the entire White Pantheon did! Do you know what that is?”

“No Sir!”

“The Divine Armoury is filled with tunnels and traps. With defences and artefacts meant to kill and destroy. There are moving statues. There are flying swords, there is traps of Baalka’s diseases and Anassa’s sorceries. Irinika’s darkness clouds the tunnels, I will say that is one of the most fortified fortresses in all Arda.” He threw up his hands. “And I served in its construction! Legionnaires, we are not storming an enemy castle, we are kicking them out of our own!”

For once, Iliyal told the truth.

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