The vulcans are demonic soldiers from the mists of
Remember in Vein
By David Noonan
TERA's past. Today, only a few remember how to summon or control them. Follow a vulcan juggernaut as it guards the Timeless Woods on behalf of its Lokian masters, and you'll see how fragile the ability to remember can be.
I trudge. Back and forth, head down, horns in front. Trees, road, rocks. Always the same.
The cruel ones put me here. They tell me when to walk, when to stop. They smell... fresh. Sometimes I want to crush them. Consume them. But it's not allowed.
So I trudge. Like I did yesterday. And the day before? I try to remember, but... it's like trying to stare through smoke.
Two figures on the road ahead. One with armor and a pointed stick. The other in fancy clothes. Not cruel ones. They smell sharper. Blood on them. Some of it theirs, some of it from the cruel ones.
They run at me, and the pointed stick stabs my side. Arrrgggh! A swipe from my arm, and the armored one goes flying. Then the fancy-clothes one tries to light me on fire.
As I burn, my veins run red, and I start to remember.
I remember why they call me juggernaut... because I crush the puny under my iron-shod feet! One stomp, and the armored one goes careening-and he won't get up so fast this time. A century ago, I razed the entire city of Bel-Shaddar! Two mortals is hardly a challenge!
You cast flame at me, sorcerer? I, who once incinerated the mighty towers of the giants, who left scorched bootprints from ocean to ocean? I laugh at your lukewarm magic, then hurl a fireball of my own to show you how it's done. That's right, mortal. Those robes don't look so fancy when they're on fire, do they?
The lancer is back, cowering behind his shield. You want my attention? Fine, human, you shall have it. I've faced your people before. During the massacre at Theleb, the stronger humans used to push the weaker ones in front of me to slow me down. Futile!
A charge from the lancer, but I leap to the side. Yes, human, I'm faster than I look. And that leap takes me closer to your burned-but-breathing Sorcerer friend. A slam of my fist, and he breathes no more. I learned dark wizardry at the feet of the gods, mortal -- did you really think your spells could hurt me?
The lancer charges again, and his lance burrows deep into my belly. This ends now! I grab his lance, yank it out of the wound, break it in half, and cast it aside. Then I grab the human and do the same: break in half, cast aside.
No one left to fight! Perhaps those cruel ones, those Lokians, will provide a worthy challenge. I start striding toward them...
...and again, I trudge. Back and forth, head down, horns in front. Trees, roads, rocks. A broken, pointed stick on the ground. Is that new?