(13) They Are Strange

“The Bachmont Demon, Testoraldis Dior,” Ramose read aloud, scrawling the title and name quickly across his slate.

The writing, which looked like carvings in the gray stone, vanished with a soft flash, the slate returning to its blank state. He sighed, glancing around at all the cataloging he had before him. Nephthys was nothing if not thorough. He expected there were libraries across the sea that would literally kill to have some of these tomes.

“Ah, it is so wonderful to be back,” came a man’s voice from the stairs.

A monstrous creature emerged, squeezing its bulk through the human-sized staircase, seemingly defying physics. It squished itself out of the staircase, bouncing back into a fleshy orb around ten feet in diameter. It had gray, hairless skin, and white bandages were draped over its body, their ends floating around as if possessed.

“Imhotep, welcome,” Ramose said flatly.

Imhotep was a glaze, a massive, floating eye within a socket of flesh. Ramose never understood why Nephthys summoned one to manage the archives, but he supposed that glazes use telekinesis to manipulate objects. Perhaps that was less likely to damage old books than hands?

“Thank you, thank you. Finally, I am rejuvenated from the centuries of stagnation and purposelessness! One cannot be an archivist without archives!” he exclaimed, a mouth filled with sharp, shark-like teeth opening to reveal a glistening eyeball larger than Ramose’s entire body.

“Yes, this must be quite the joyous reunion,” Ramose said, returning to inspecting the books.

“Indeed! Ah, the smell of ancient knowledge, crumbling pages, stretched skin! So many different ways to record knowledge, all of them precious!” he exclaimed, making sniffing motions with his body. However, Ramose was unsure where his olfactory organ actually was—if he had one.

“I will not intrude on your ceremony longer than necessary, then. I will merely complete this inventory, my lady asked—” Ramose said.

Suddenly, Imhotep was beside Ramose, his eye-mouth studying him with what he would guess was an unamused expression, though Ramose was no expert on glaze facial—bodily?—expressions.

“Our lady asked you for an inventory of the guild, yes? Logically, it would fall to individual area managers to fill those inventories and submit them to you, then,” he said, his voice low.

“Perhaps, though there was no area manager here, so I took up the task myself—” Ramose justified.

“I am here now! I will handle the inventory. Please do not touch my—Nemesis’s—books with your clumsy hands!” Imhotep shouted.

“I do not need to touch the books to—” Ramose started, frowning.

“Ramose, Imhotep, is there a problem?” Nephthys asked.

She ascended the stairs from the lowest floor, emerging with a gravitas that shook the air around her. Ramose recognized immediately what had changed. Vestiment of Fortitude adorned her body, its dark metal, black with red whorls, reflecting the glow from the flame crystals. The armor was one of the few prime relics in Nemesis’s possession, its value beyond imagining.

Incredibly, the armor formed to the person wearing it, and Nephthys’s preferred look was as intimidating as it was stunning.

Fabric like exquisite silk wrapped her torso, hugging her form down to the waist, where it disappeared into an opulent belt of shining golden metal studded with blue gems, a short skirt of the black fabric covering her waist. The neckline of the garment dipped to a low ‘V’, revealing an ornate necklace of that same golden metal encrusted with a large, oval gem of sparkling blue.

This, Ramose knew, was the true Vestiment of Fortitude. One simply donned the necklace, and the armor would envelop the body in the desired shape, creating an invisible barrier that offered real protection, regardless of the armor’s form.

Pauldrons of the black metal, trimmed in gold, rounded her shoulders. There were enormous gems seated in their apices. A harness of the same metal surrounded her upper torso, fully covering her upper back and wrapping around her ribs to stop just short of the abdominals, almost like a corsette with the front removed.

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Arm guards of black, with studded gems, covered her upper arms, stopping at the forearms. Curiously, she did not have the gauntlets that Ramose was used to, possibly due to the claws now adorning her fingers. Ornate but dangerous sabatons covered her legs, the heels covered by wicked spikes that he did not doubt could puncture armor like cloth.

Finally, a blue cape flowed down her back from the pauldrons and harness-like cuirass, extending to just above the knees. It billowed in a nonexistent wind, wisping at the edges, as if made from smoke.

Fragment of Creation adorned her right hand, covering it like a glove. It was currently shaped like a fingerless lace glove, connecting myriad silver chains, glittering over her hand and twining within her fingers. Though it looked like an elaborate piece of jewelry, Ramose knew it was formless.

The Fragment appeared as a clear crystal about the size of one’s hand naturally, but it would form to the user’s desire. Prime artifacts were exceptionally rare, but he knew that prime artifacts that shifted form were rarer still, and yet, here were two.