bonesbo
certified corrupt circus creature
Dust and rust stirred in the light beaming in from a broken window. The bright sun only seemed 10 times more hot within the desert. He was beginning to regret hiding out in the middle of a sand sea. Kzerxudus (Zerks-ee-dus) shuffled his bandaged feet along the sand that filled the gaps of the rotting wood floor boards. He was getting tired of running and tired of hiding, he was tired of his so called ‘partners’ bailing on him, using him for his skills. Now he won’t need to depend on anyone else, he was alone. Alone is an understatement. In his new shack in the middle of a desert, he was desolated, and approaching eternity of isolation.
His last heist had been only in part successful. The library of Stonuge was an automated factory turned into a coveted source of knowledge all over the east of Lorstrug. Kzerxudus and his team of expertise rogues, warlocks, sorcerers, and barbarians- the Mockers- had been recruited to infiltrate the main system of the factorial part of the library and bring back the Light of Eolas, the spark of magic that creates autonomy within the Library and the machines. Each member got his share of components, and Light
The Mockers soon disbanded because of the entire eastern board looking for whoever destroyed the ancient knowledge and civilization contained within the Library; however, with the law enforcement on their tail, they had no chance to return the goods and supplies back to their employer. They became some of the most wanted criminals in the land. The team decided it was best to go on their individual paths, use their resources for discreet manners, and avoid the penalty at all costs.
Their individual peaces didn’t last for too long. After a decade, the Light corrupted with greed of knowledge, becoming supreme, blessings bountiful, filling minds with secrets of natural and mechanizations. Several members became corrupted. Then disappeared. Traces of Eolas were followed. Then disappeared.
Kzerxudus panicked, not knowing whether it was the law of the employers catching up to his past friends. Nevertheless, he fled.
It was high noon of a particularly dry and hot day. Kzerxudus sat atop his unsorted sled of mechs, wiping his brow with a moth-eaten shirt he had discovered in a ragged wardrobe of the skeleton that this place used to belong. He looked upon his sorted pile of gears and parts, then to the contained yellow light, flickering about like a little fairy contained in a glass cage.
Why be afraid? Something spoke in Kzerxudus ‘s mind. Whether it was from his own heat exhaustion or Eolas’s spirit, it seemed the only thing of reason. You can create something magnificent. Make others fear you. Others look down on you for you size, yet they undermine your intelligence, your skill, your ingenious craft. Kzerxudus looked upon the small yellow fairy light as it suddenly grew blinding, brighter than the sun.
The dwarf remained unconscious for several days. When he awoke, he was blinded, but Enlightened. Kzerxudus worked all hours of the day, feeling no need for sleep. He used the dry sun during the day and the invigorated light that came from his caged Light of Eolas. Slowly but surely, his vision restored to behold the monster he had been creating.
The limbs of something horrific laid strewn across the shacks floor boards, the hallow skull bleak but promising. Kzerxudus had the bases, now he needed the guts, the insides, the cogs and workings within. He built up a giant metal man, using ladders and breaking through the sandy roof to properly proportion the monster. However, it wasn’t sturdy enough. Kzerxudus began to dissemble his hut which he had now lived in for 20 years. Using rotted wood, furniture, any earthy, organic material to add to this beast, Kzerxudus slowly built up his own Frankenstein’s monster.
But something was missing.
Kzerxudus sat upon what remained of the roof of the shack, staring blindly into the sunset after what seemed like the last day of his creation. The head of the mech beast stuck from a hole in the roof, its inanimate eyes dusty and fogged from the glass it was built with.
Another yellow glow sparked within the shack, pulling Kzerxudus ‘s attention back in. Almost. Your golem is not finished. It does not have life; it does not have intelligence. You are a god. You can bless it and awaken the lifeless clay with fire. The fairy light blinked, floating aimlessly towards the side of the glass that was closest towards the beast, almost craving the host.
Kzerxudus walked from the makeshift stairs he created, from random dusted over books taken from the Library, towards his mech golem. With a single flick of a screw, the glass which contained the Light of Eolas was released, and immediately shot into the chest cavity of the combination of organic and metal alike.
Suddenly, the gears began to turn. Rust grinding its way clean from the cogs; lights and sparks flying. Two suns encapsulated within the foggy glasses on the face turned down towards the trembling gnome. The beast would terrify any man or create, as it terrified his own creator.
The Creature reached down with metal-skeleton hands, picked up Kzerxudus, and set him back on the roof just before the beast gently walked through the door on the hut, sad down on the sled to which its parts once were piled, and turned off.
The gnome, infuriated, leaped from the roof and began to pull apart books and old metal sheets, throwing them at the beast, screaming for it to turn back on. Only the faint yellow glow of the Light of Eolas remained on inside, protected by manufactured ribs.
Kzerxudus tired himself out and his mental stability declined. He fell asleep for near a month, overwhelmed by an apparent failure.
Unbeknownst to him, while the creature gathered sand within his gears, he collected sunlight and energy.
Kzerxudus awoke by the sound of rusted gears starting up, lights whirring and almost a symphony beginning from outside. What he saw was the creature picking himself up, along with the thrown pieces of information and metal. The creature then ate whatever it picked up, its eyes blinking and hesitating while it seemed to digest this new material. The metal golem slowly turned to view its master peeking through a window; then, it raised its hand and performed a small greeting wave.
Over the next couple years, Kzerxudus learned that the being feasted on intelligence, he thrived on being taught. So Kzerxudus only taught what he needed and what he wanted, which was protection and strength.
While Kzerxudus mentored his new protector to grow strong, Buxton, his dread was growing stronger. Buxton could sense this anxiety and did what he could to ease; compassion shown through the Light, knowing this is what he could do to help. Kzerxudus, unfortunately, didn’t want help, he wanted security. So Buxton did what he could to please; meanwhile during the night, consume intelligence to feed the Light within him.
Decades passed. Kzerxudus could only live in his diminishing hut for so long, living from whatever scarce resources he sent out Buxton to retrieve for him. Kzerxudus knew he had to get back into the game, increase his own ability, recreate his reputation as a first-class warlock.
He set out to the biggest city, riding Buxton’s shoulder across the desert. The years of sand had begun its wear on both organic and metal components, but the Light never faded from the Forged.
The duo caused chaos. The largest cities were suddenly on the look-out for The Tiny and The Golem. Banks were robbed, royalty assassinated, establishments cursed. This never seemed to bother Buxton. Buxton was created to serve and thrive for someone’s need, and Kzerxudus‘s need was for him to be strong and intimidating. Kzerxudus collected piles of gems and gold and wealth for himself while his protector remained sturdy. But years without access to knowledge had left the machine running short. Combined with the wear and tear of the sand, the mental cogs were a bit rusty.
From one particular screw-up, the duo began its breaking point. They were on a cargo train, running away as usual, when Kzerxudus decided to look through the cars for any valuables, telling Buxton to stay put as he would only draw attention with his horrendous clunking about. Without much further warning, the train began to crumple up, being obliterated by some outside force. Sirens and horns began calling from the outside, surrounding the car they were in.
Kzerxudus appeared just in time to order Buxton down and flee from the train, carrying him along. But. Someone had sold them out. They were surrounded.
“Buxton! Kill them all!” Kzerxudus ordered in a fit of fear. Buxton’s usually yellow eyes turned red, the cognitive creature no longer comprehended what his actions did, he only followed orders. His eyes turned yellow as he saw his axe-built arm drive through a skull of a humanoid officiate. He hesitated just enough by the blood staining his arms that he was given enough electricity to bring the 8-foot giant down.
Buxton powered back on within the confines of bars and chains, separated from his warlock master. Kzerxudus paced in a smaller cell nearby, muttering curses about how his great creation had begun to turn into a soft pile of hjcszal, how the Light of Eolas was a hoax, his orders no longer being followed, and now he would surely be executed for his compiled crimes.
Kzerxudus looked up as the lights of Buxton seeked him out, questioning his grumbles. Kzerxudus sneered and looked away before he remembered one last thing, how he insisted on Buxton carrying a potion to restore his spell-casting ability without rest. Kzerxudus order Buxton to toss over the vial, but Buxton over shot and the glass splattered against the bars on the outside of Kzerxudus’s cage. Kzerxudus exploded into a tantrum, cursing the vacuous robeast.
After a breath to calm himself, Kzerxudus took what droplets he could of the potion and summoned enough energy to continue with his plan.
“Buxton. I will be right back. I only have enough energy for one spell. I don’t know how long it’ll last, but I’m going to create a portal to get myself the hell outta here. I’m come back for you when I can.” Kzerxudus promised with a sly grin.
Kzerxudus created a portal, drawing a sparking circular motion with two fingers in front of him. He stepped through, then paused, “You must stay here until I retrieve you.” And that was Kzerxudus’s final command before the portal closed, and never reopened.
Buxton sat in the cell for who knows how long. The mold and mildew manifested on his organic body material, and drippings of water created an unhealthy environment for his mech parts. Not only did his body slowly wither, so did his mind. Moss and fungi grew around him, and from a drip in the ceiling splattering on his head, along with the power from the Light, created a small desert flower, originated from the fibres of dirt and sand and apparent desert seed in his material.
At one point, some cleaning robot made its way back into the cells to do an examination of the environment. It chirped when it identified Buxton and exited in a hurry. Soon, some humans wandered into the desolate jail and released the iron giant.
Apparently, the officiates that captured Kzerxudus and Buxton had dropped them off in some abandoned jail in the nearest ghost town to rot away for their crimes. When Kzerxudus left, Buxton was left without knowledge of his presence to anyone.
The humans released Buxton, giving him a quickly scrawled paper form of release. Buxton consumed the paper.
One of the leading humans squinted up at the beast when he noticed its confusion of freedom, “You got anywhere to go, buddy? Anything to do? You seem like a pretty capable if you ask me.” Buxton looked down at him, his once intimidating glare was softened by the decades of rot and loneliness.
“There’s a town over yonder that might be able to help you. I’m sure if you speak to Maire, tell her Jonus sent ya, she’ll give ya a place to- uh… Freshen up. She’s quite skilled with some uh- roboticism.” The man gave a pat to Buxtons shoulder and then receded with his crew into the jail to tear it down before rebuilding for some other purpose.
So then began Buxton’s solo journey. He went from town to town, receiving kindness from strangers despite his intimating appearance. In exchange for knowledge, he would protect and serve them in their needs. Sometimes it was gardening, sometimes fighting off whooligans from a business, going into a battle as a defence fighter, escorting a family to a new location. Anything. For centuries.
When his most recent “master” passed away, Buxton then began his journey into another town to make his rounds to help anything and anyone.
He wound up in a town with a tavern, like most others, and in that tavern he saw a paper with a job opportunity for explorers, for people looking to help.
His last heist had been only in part successful. The library of Stonuge was an automated factory turned into a coveted source of knowledge all over the east of Lorstrug. Kzerxudus and his team of expertise rogues, warlocks, sorcerers, and barbarians- the Mockers- had been recruited to infiltrate the main system of the factorial part of the library and bring back the Light of Eolas, the spark of magic that creates autonomy within the Library and the machines. Each member got his share of components, and Light
The Mockers soon disbanded because of the entire eastern board looking for whoever destroyed the ancient knowledge and civilization contained within the Library; however, with the law enforcement on their tail, they had no chance to return the goods and supplies back to their employer. They became some of the most wanted criminals in the land. The team decided it was best to go on their individual paths, use their resources for discreet manners, and avoid the penalty at all costs.
Their individual peaces didn’t last for too long. After a decade, the Light corrupted with greed of knowledge, becoming supreme, blessings bountiful, filling minds with secrets of natural and mechanizations. Several members became corrupted. Then disappeared. Traces of Eolas were followed. Then disappeared.
Kzerxudus panicked, not knowing whether it was the law of the employers catching up to his past friends. Nevertheless, he fled.
It was high noon of a particularly dry and hot day. Kzerxudus sat atop his unsorted sled of mechs, wiping his brow with a moth-eaten shirt he had discovered in a ragged wardrobe of the skeleton that this place used to belong. He looked upon his sorted pile of gears and parts, then to the contained yellow light, flickering about like a little fairy contained in a glass cage.
Why be afraid? Something spoke in Kzerxudus ‘s mind. Whether it was from his own heat exhaustion or Eolas’s spirit, it seemed the only thing of reason. You can create something magnificent. Make others fear you. Others look down on you for you size, yet they undermine your intelligence, your skill, your ingenious craft. Kzerxudus looked upon the small yellow fairy light as it suddenly grew blinding, brighter than the sun.
The dwarf remained unconscious for several days. When he awoke, he was blinded, but Enlightened. Kzerxudus worked all hours of the day, feeling no need for sleep. He used the dry sun during the day and the invigorated light that came from his caged Light of Eolas. Slowly but surely, his vision restored to behold the monster he had been creating.
The limbs of something horrific laid strewn across the shacks floor boards, the hallow skull bleak but promising. Kzerxudus had the bases, now he needed the guts, the insides, the cogs and workings within. He built up a giant metal man, using ladders and breaking through the sandy roof to properly proportion the monster. However, it wasn’t sturdy enough. Kzerxudus began to dissemble his hut which he had now lived in for 20 years. Using rotted wood, furniture, any earthy, organic material to add to this beast, Kzerxudus slowly built up his own Frankenstein’s monster.
But something was missing.
Kzerxudus sat upon what remained of the roof of the shack, staring blindly into the sunset after what seemed like the last day of his creation. The head of the mech beast stuck from a hole in the roof, its inanimate eyes dusty and fogged from the glass it was built with.
Another yellow glow sparked within the shack, pulling Kzerxudus ‘s attention back in. Almost. Your golem is not finished. It does not have life; it does not have intelligence. You are a god. You can bless it and awaken the lifeless clay with fire. The fairy light blinked, floating aimlessly towards the side of the glass that was closest towards the beast, almost craving the host.
Kzerxudus walked from the makeshift stairs he created, from random dusted over books taken from the Library, towards his mech golem. With a single flick of a screw, the glass which contained the Light of Eolas was released, and immediately shot into the chest cavity of the combination of organic and metal alike.
Suddenly, the gears began to turn. Rust grinding its way clean from the cogs; lights and sparks flying. Two suns encapsulated within the foggy glasses on the face turned down towards the trembling gnome. The beast would terrify any man or create, as it terrified his own creator.
The Creature reached down with metal-skeleton hands, picked up Kzerxudus, and set him back on the roof just before the beast gently walked through the door on the hut, sad down on the sled to which its parts once were piled, and turned off.
The gnome, infuriated, leaped from the roof and began to pull apart books and old metal sheets, throwing them at the beast, screaming for it to turn back on. Only the faint yellow glow of the Light of Eolas remained on inside, protected by manufactured ribs.
Kzerxudus tired himself out and his mental stability declined. He fell asleep for near a month, overwhelmed by an apparent failure.
Unbeknownst to him, while the creature gathered sand within his gears, he collected sunlight and energy.
Kzerxudus awoke by the sound of rusted gears starting up, lights whirring and almost a symphony beginning from outside. What he saw was the creature picking himself up, along with the thrown pieces of information and metal. The creature then ate whatever it picked up, its eyes blinking and hesitating while it seemed to digest this new material. The metal golem slowly turned to view its master peeking through a window; then, it raised its hand and performed a small greeting wave.
Over the next couple years, Kzerxudus learned that the being feasted on intelligence, he thrived on being taught. So Kzerxudus only taught what he needed and what he wanted, which was protection and strength.
While Kzerxudus mentored his new protector to grow strong, Buxton, his dread was growing stronger. Buxton could sense this anxiety and did what he could to ease; compassion shown through the Light, knowing this is what he could do to help. Kzerxudus, unfortunately, didn’t want help, he wanted security. So Buxton did what he could to please; meanwhile during the night, consume intelligence to feed the Light within him.
Decades passed. Kzerxudus could only live in his diminishing hut for so long, living from whatever scarce resources he sent out Buxton to retrieve for him. Kzerxudus knew he had to get back into the game, increase his own ability, recreate his reputation as a first-class warlock.
He set out to the biggest city, riding Buxton’s shoulder across the desert. The years of sand had begun its wear on both organic and metal components, but the Light never faded from the Forged.
The duo caused chaos. The largest cities were suddenly on the look-out for The Tiny and The Golem. Banks were robbed, royalty assassinated, establishments cursed. This never seemed to bother Buxton. Buxton was created to serve and thrive for someone’s need, and Kzerxudus‘s need was for him to be strong and intimidating. Kzerxudus collected piles of gems and gold and wealth for himself while his protector remained sturdy. But years without access to knowledge had left the machine running short. Combined with the wear and tear of the sand, the mental cogs were a bit rusty.
From one particular screw-up, the duo began its breaking point. They were on a cargo train, running away as usual, when Kzerxudus decided to look through the cars for any valuables, telling Buxton to stay put as he would only draw attention with his horrendous clunking about. Without much further warning, the train began to crumple up, being obliterated by some outside force. Sirens and horns began calling from the outside, surrounding the car they were in.
Kzerxudus appeared just in time to order Buxton down and flee from the train, carrying him along. But. Someone had sold them out. They were surrounded.
“Buxton! Kill them all!” Kzerxudus ordered in a fit of fear. Buxton’s usually yellow eyes turned red, the cognitive creature no longer comprehended what his actions did, he only followed orders. His eyes turned yellow as he saw his axe-built arm drive through a skull of a humanoid officiate. He hesitated just enough by the blood staining his arms that he was given enough electricity to bring the 8-foot giant down.
Buxton powered back on within the confines of bars and chains, separated from his warlock master. Kzerxudus paced in a smaller cell nearby, muttering curses about how his great creation had begun to turn into a soft pile of hjcszal, how the Light of Eolas was a hoax, his orders no longer being followed, and now he would surely be executed for his compiled crimes.
Kzerxudus looked up as the lights of Buxton seeked him out, questioning his grumbles. Kzerxudus sneered and looked away before he remembered one last thing, how he insisted on Buxton carrying a potion to restore his spell-casting ability without rest. Kzerxudus order Buxton to toss over the vial, but Buxton over shot and the glass splattered against the bars on the outside of Kzerxudus’s cage. Kzerxudus exploded into a tantrum, cursing the vacuous robeast.
After a breath to calm himself, Kzerxudus took what droplets he could of the potion and summoned enough energy to continue with his plan.
“Buxton. I will be right back. I only have enough energy for one spell. I don’t know how long it’ll last, but I’m going to create a portal to get myself the hell outta here. I’m come back for you when I can.” Kzerxudus promised with a sly grin.
Kzerxudus created a portal, drawing a sparking circular motion with two fingers in front of him. He stepped through, then paused, “You must stay here until I retrieve you.” And that was Kzerxudus’s final command before the portal closed, and never reopened.
Buxton sat in the cell for who knows how long. The mold and mildew manifested on his organic body material, and drippings of water created an unhealthy environment for his mech parts. Not only did his body slowly wither, so did his mind. Moss and fungi grew around him, and from a drip in the ceiling splattering on his head, along with the power from the Light, created a small desert flower, originated from the fibres of dirt and sand and apparent desert seed in his material.
At one point, some cleaning robot made its way back into the cells to do an examination of the environment. It chirped when it identified Buxton and exited in a hurry. Soon, some humans wandered into the desolate jail and released the iron giant.
Apparently, the officiates that captured Kzerxudus and Buxton had dropped them off in some abandoned jail in the nearest ghost town to rot away for their crimes. When Kzerxudus left, Buxton was left without knowledge of his presence to anyone.
The humans released Buxton, giving him a quickly scrawled paper form of release. Buxton consumed the paper.
One of the leading humans squinted up at the beast when he noticed its confusion of freedom, “You got anywhere to go, buddy? Anything to do? You seem like a pretty capable if you ask me.” Buxton looked down at him, his once intimidating glare was softened by the decades of rot and loneliness.
“There’s a town over yonder that might be able to help you. I’m sure if you speak to Maire, tell her Jonus sent ya, she’ll give ya a place to- uh… Freshen up. She’s quite skilled with some uh- roboticism.” The man gave a pat to Buxtons shoulder and then receded with his crew into the jail to tear it down before rebuilding for some other purpose.
So then began Buxton’s solo journey. He went from town to town, receiving kindness from strangers despite his intimating appearance. In exchange for knowledge, he would protect and serve them in their needs. Sometimes it was gardening, sometimes fighting off whooligans from a business, going into a battle as a defence fighter, escorting a family to a new location. Anything. For centuries.
When his most recent “master” passed away, Buxton then began his journey into another town to make his rounds to help anything and anyone.
He wound up in a town with a tavern, like most others, and in that tavern he saw a paper with a job opportunity for explorers, for people looking to help.
