Chapter 270 Back from patrol 1 (1/2)

'The Civilised Races' is a term often bandied about casually in scholars.h.i.+p, yet many people remain ignorant of it's true meaning and origins. The lines that become drawn between the races are often no so clear cut as 'these races are civilised, therefore safe, and these are not'. The so called 'Civilised' are just as p.r.o.ne to greed, violence and short sighted action as the creatures of the Dungeon at times, as history as proven many times.

Others simply don't understand the lines drawn between those races who existed before the Descent of the System (often referred to as 'The First Born') and those who came after (somewhat derogatorily referred to as 'The New Blood').

Before the Time of Rending, mana began to infuse the surface, giving rise to magic and many other wonders. At the same time that mana concentrated in certain places and within some things, a process that only accelerated as the Dungeon opened and the surface became flooded with mana at levels that have never been seen again.

This mana injection changed the surface of Pangera forever, not only due to the monsters that devastated its surface but also by giving rise to new races, such as the Bruanchii, a race of sentient tree like creatures that appeared from a single tree in the southern wilds. Or the Brathian, the aquatic creatures who developed from Lake Bratha after it become flooded with mana during the Rending when a Dungeon opening connected to the Lake.

The Elder races have not always welcomed these newcomers peacefully and when the Dungeon monsters receded, a new wave of conflict began when Old Blood began to mix with New. Eventually peace was established and cooperation began. After all, the System does not recognise the 'Civilised Races' as monsters, therefore it would be unnatural to fight against each other, at least that is what the Church of the Path has always preached. Others, such as the Sophos, were not so lucky. Branded as monsters by the system they were first excluded and then hunted, causing them to conceal their underground settlements and withdraw from contact with those they had fought beside during the Rending.

Excerpt from 'Ruminating on the Races' by scholar Fuandri'll of the Kaarmodo.

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Myrrin was exhausted. Her body ached from top to toe and she had a sneaking suspicion one of those toes was broken. The mental fatigue may have been the worst of it. She hadn't slept in what felt like three days. Why the h.e.l.l did she let herself get talked into this rubbish?

”Donnelan, remind me why I let you talk me into this rubbish?” she asked irritably.

Her equally exhausted yet strangely animated fellow legionary turned back to her and she swore she could see the light of madness dancing in his eyes.

”After two weeks on the Bulwark, you want to spend our precious leave sleeping?! I am going to eat and drink until I'm sick, then do it again!” he declared and continued threading his way through the crowd.

Mirryn had to admit the idea held some appeal. The things she'd seen, done and been made to understand since her baptism had obliterated her understanding of how the world worked.

Only now did she understand what an underdeveloped and ignored pocket of the world Liria truly had been.

The trainees hadn't been given any time to question or absorb their new circ.u.mstances before being thrown into gruelling training. The commander himself tirelessly drilled them. Two days of practice in the living rock suits known as Abyssal armour and they had been thrown into live combat patrols. Three days after that and they'd been broken up and sent to various forts that formed part of the 'Bulwark', the network of defences that locked a bubble of Dungeon off from the lower levels.

”Time you find out the sort of the thing the Legion really does down here” the commander had informed them gruffly, and find out they had. He'd taken the group on an extended tour of the Bulwark, inspecting the forts and dropping the trainees off as they went.

Deep down, Mirryn had always felt as if she were tough, as if she were made of stern stuff. Nothing like the commander obviously, but still, tough. The Legionaries she had met at her fort were so d.a.m.n tough she felt they didn't need Abyssal Armour at all, the monsters would snap in half when they tried to bite them.

She'd reported to her new Centurion on arrival, a grizzled veteran named Tannar, and been shocked at the man's age. If he was a day under sixty she'd have been shocked. Thin and wiry, the tendons in his neck plain to see, Tannar had very quickly eliminated any concerns about age from her mind.

The man fought like an angry bear and sounded like one too. His Legionaries hung of every word that came of out his mouth and Mirryn learned rapidly to do the same. This man knew the business of killing monsters and business was good.

Too good.