The World Kiln

  Six armoured figures kneel upon the ramp, silently reciting oaths to the hilts of their swords or the stocks of their projectile casters. Before them lies a portal: a shimmering field constrained within an arch of cables, enclosed incompletely within a metal frame. On either side, robed figures adjust sets of balances, oscillating springs and sparking, brass spheres distributed along the wooden consoles. One by one, they step back in satisfaction that their part of the calibration is complete, then exit the chamber in single file.   The knights stand. Their champion, stood at the front, turns and raises his blade aloft with a shout. The others match his salute, and then he turns once more and leads them into the now stabilised glow. A series of flashes: one, then two, then three, and then the chamber is empty. The clerics return again to power the mechanisms down and leave subsequently in irregular groups for their next duties. The chamber is dark and silent once more, unti...

 Within a cavern dimly lit by the first rays of dawn, the herald waited in anticipation as they watched their master for the first signs of wakefulness. In steady rhythm, the chamber echoed with the bassy snores of power cycling and the clicking of subroutine restoral as the massive, metal-skinned wvyern slumbered. The herald always woke first in preparedness for the days duties, but such was the minimum of a herald's work. The rhythm faded into a single, low tone as the Great One woke. Shutters pulled back to uncover its eye lenses, tensile cords pulled taught to stretch out its wings and gears spun to move its mighty limbs from rest.  The Great One regarded its herald with approval as it lifted from the floor, then lumbered in long strides towards the mouth of the cave. Just before reaching the entrance, it lowered its tail to the floor and waited while taking in the view beyond the mountain, creating a ramp up onto its back. The herald obliged and hurried on, securing thems...

   A solitary figure journeyed through the valley. A cerulean knight garbed in an ornate, platemail aegis whose colour had been turned pale by age, trimmed more by verdigris than gleaming metal. Gone were the monsters of old that had inhabited this land, as were the castles of recent times. Now the earth was a bed of ruin heaped upon ruin.  The venturer's travel continued for some time longer before they finally found the one they were looking for. A being clad in hulking, coal-black warplate which shared superficial similarities with their own knightly suit, but was far more brutalist in its shape and scale. Waiting motionlessly, this entity could have been mistaken for a statue carved out of the trunk of a great, fire-blackened tree from a distance, but the signs of activity became more evident closer up: the scorching breath of the armour's exhaust vents, made visible in the dust, and the low hum of the powered mechanisms behind each massive, dark-metal plate.  As...