The Autromeri
Excerpt from the journal of interrogator captain Malry Ebo, 215th cycle of the Gerstallo Constellation, 2nd Vanishing:
"My unit had been assigned to a region of the S,Dorabb woodlands as part of a larger detachment. Our mission was to prevent the advance of Vermeline forces while an armored division looped around to flank them. At first things did not go as planned, with the armored division being thwarted by a handful of strategically placed batteries and Vermeline infantry advancing far more quickly than anticipated. By the time we learned the flanking force had withdrawn it was too late to do the same ourselves, all we could do was fortify as best we could and listen to the thunder of artillery that heralded our foes approach. We had been sent with supplies to last for three sunrises, even though we had only been expected to hold for two. I sent my company to forage as much as they could from the surrounding forest but most of it had withered and died in anticipation of the coming snow. Our supplies were low, our moral was lower, and the endless march of Vermeline guns pounded its way into our dreams, filling us with dread for the coming battle.
When it came the day of reckoning was cold and damp, clouded by thick fog that roiled about our ankles and lurked between the trees like ghostly underbrush. We had barely had our rushed, flavorless breakfasts before the world erupted. Spectral vapor burned away as shell after shell threw barrow-fulls of soil skyward, shattering trees like kindling before the ax. More canisters came on the heels of the initial barrage, bursting mid-air to shower our trenches with a flaming chemical mixture before their spent carcasses met the forest floor. Smoke and scorching heat choked the air as we struggled to reorient ourselves, ears ringing after each successive blast and filled with the moans of the wounded and dying. No sooner had we achieved some measure of order than the concerted thud of distant artillery was joined by a horrid rippling shriek, a sound synonymous with the massed discharge of Vermeline Spike Rifles.
Our assessment was proven correct when our fortifications were pelted by a wave of cork-screwing steel rods, each one detonating after impact to rend flesh and earth alike with a brief halo of shrapnel. I saw my second in command take a long spike to the chest, its point piercing his breastplate and emerging from his back before the whole thing exploded, reducing his innards to a fleshy pulp. Rallying what remained of my company I ordered them to ready their weapons and show no fear in the face of hardship or horror. With iron discipline they stepped forward, leveling their rifles and scanning the ruined lands before us, eager to ensure our losses were paid for in blood.
They did not have to wait long, for out of the gloom strode rank upon rank of Vermeldycks finest, silvered armor and azure cloaks enshrouding a legion of mechanized corpses. With every twenty paces the first three ranks would fire in perfect unison, the two in front kneeling and crouching respectively to facilitate the third. Shrieking from the powered coils of their guns and the whistle of their projectiles drowned out everything, even the cacophonous roar of our own formidable armaments. They had transported us to a realm of terror and blood unlike any we had seen before. Smoke stun our noses and brought tears to our eyes, the only sights or sounds we could perceive were those of death. Gurgling sobs and images of broken corpses were brushed aside by whining missiles and muzzle flashes only to reassert themselves mere moments later. I continued to aim and fire my weapon through muscle memory alone, each colossal round ripping a jagged hole through the haze to reveal glimpses of our foes implacable advance.
Without warning a mighty gale forced us to our knees just as the sky impaled our eyes with light. Gasping, groveling, our guns silenced, we gazed upwards with pained tears warping our vision. Above us hovered an alabaster warship, hull bristling with cannons and immense turbines bathing us with their downdraft. Willing myself to stand I attempted to gather my thoughts but found myself rudely interrupted by an intrusive psychic message and the ring of brazen trumpets: "Lower your weapons and fear not, for the Autromeri have been loosed upon your foes!". Upon wiping my eyes I saw the vessel above open a number of previously hidden bays and unleash a shower of dark shapes, each one hurtling towards our position. Expecting bombs I bent my head and covered my eyes, praying to Jolo so I might be spared an untimely end and offering a few words to Jrenn in case I wasn't. But instead of the earth-shattering roars I had anticipated there was only a shower of heavy thuds, followed by the deep-throated bellow of a war-horn.
With great trepidation I raised my head to the top of the trench, only to come face to face with a boot of hard black metal. Tilting my head I traced a titanic figure that now towered above me, its powerful form shrouded in a thick carapace of sable accented by gold, its eyes looking into mine from behind crimson lenses. "At ease captain, we'll take it from here." Its voice was deep and rumbling, as befitted an eight-foot mountain of muscle and metal, but I could not help but detect a somewhat feminine quality. With her words fresh in my mind the Autromer turned from our trenches and joined a battle-line of similar beings that had arrayed itself before us, drawing a sword taller than she was as she did so. With a shouted order and a bone-rattling roar they charged, shaking the earth with the weight of their advance.
Concentrating my faculties I managed to slip from my skull, soaring on eagles wings to look down upon the battle to come. With carefully controlled joy I saw Autromeri blades carve through Vermeline armor, splitting metal and bone alike with unimaginable force. Spikes flew from the ranks of the dead in retaliation but to no avail as most found naught but empty air and those that did find their marks often detonated harmlessly in toughened exterior plating. Against the Autromeri no defense held for long and every wound was returned a hundredfold. There couldn't have been more than a couple hundred of them but before the hour had passed they had put the Vermeline to flight. Units of infantry turned and marched stiffly into the smog of war, with the rare living soldiers futilely attempting to make a much faster yet more disorderly escape. Ever at their heels were the Autromeri, cutting them down as they fled, glimmering blades drenched in blood of the defeated and terrified.
I had never before witnessed deeds of such sadistic callousness, nor do I hope to again. My psychic gaze looked in horror upon the heartless dismemberment of the surrendered and the disarmed, the innocent and the injured. Camp followers and truck drivers were treated to the same violent ends as soldiers and generals, their pleas for mercy going seemingly unheard by the black-clad behemoths that laid them low. Every blow was masterful, regardless of its recipient, perfectly placed to cause as much pain and bleeding as possible. I realized then that what I was witnessing was not a heroic counter-attack but a grandiose excuse for the Autromeri to practice their blade-work, a training session with live targets. Sickened by the apparent reality behind our unexpected rescue I retreated to my cranium once more, falling into a fitful slumber soon afterward.
In truth I am still haunted by ghastly echoes of that massacre. Visages of the fallen cling to the catacombs of my psyche, ever at the edge of my minds eye. Even now our sable-armored saviors and their multifarious kin stalk the edges of my dreams, their eyes eternally fixed upon my own and blades baptized in the lifeblood of a million widows. I know now that I can never visit Ostolfo, for fear that I come face to face with my demons once again."
Structure
Born from the military branch of Ostolfi society, the Autromeri adhere to a strict chain of command. As soon as they can comprehend spoken language young Autromer are taught to follow orders, obeying their superior officers without question or hesitation. Vying for promotion and competition between those of equal rank is encouraged but disobedience and insolence are punished with severity.
Due to their versatility and extreme competency when compared to other armed forces, the standardized Autromeri chain of command is both short and simplistic. Autromer, Usomer, and Vaqromer are labeled as the "following" ranks as they have little to no authority to command or otherwise direct their fellow soldiers. Praedari, Usodari, and Vaqrodari are the "leading" ranks, and it is upon them that most demands for efficiency and efficacy are laid. Each leading rank is granted a permanent command, and although it can increase and decrease in size depending upon the capability of the officer in question it must remain with the maximum and minimum range dictated by their rank. Praedari command squads of three to ten, Usodari strike forces of nine to twenty, and Vaqrodari spearheads of seventeen to thirty. When larger forces are required they are assembled from a number of squads, strike forces, and spearheads, all of which retain their original command structure but report to the most highly decorated officer present, who is temporarily named as the force commander, or Avaraughn.
Above all other positions there sits the Gasaraughn. Each lodge is the domain of a Gasaraughn, and it is their duty to ensure it operates to the satisfaction of their masters. In order to accommodate this goal most Gasaraughn take counsel with their Vaqrodari, treating them as both lieutenants and advisors. Through this and many other practices Gasaraughn throughout the years have slowly shaped the Autromeri lodges of Ostolfo, favoring particular tactics and pieces of equipment over their contemporaries and transforming their Autromer into a uniquely specialized fighting force. As a result of this tactical disparity, new ranks and positions have sprung up throughout the Autromeri lodges, but as they are very numerous and stray quite far from the standard chain of command they will not be covered here.
It should be noted that all ranks seen here have been listed in ascending order and that the line of progression from Autromer to Gasaraughn is straight as an arrow, utterly without deviation. Promotions are granted after the completion of grueling examinations and ordeals but these trials do not require that aspirants reach a certain age before taking them, meaning young Autromer can attain prestigious positions if their talent matches their ambition.
Culture
In ancient Gernotian legends the Autromeri are a group of war-like demigods thought to be the spirits of legendary heroes and generals called to fight eternally against the encroaching darkness and the monstrosities that dwelt within it. Numerous myths cast the Autromeri as an immortal order of guides and guardians sworn to protect and lead the mortal peoples from both the great beasts that hunted them and their own foolishness. It is from legends such as these that the founders of the modern Autromeri drew many of the values, concepts, and heraldry that would define them for cycles to come. Over time pieces of philosophy and snippets of religion from far and wide have found their way in but the original Gernotian core remains strong, instilling notions of nobility, honor, and undying loyalty to commanders and charges alike.
Cycles of the constellation have passed in great numbers, with each looking down upon an Ostolfo made all the stranger and more unnerving for the tireless flow of chaotic radiation it has received, and still the Autromeri maintain the outlook of noble protectors prepared to give their lives to safeguard those of the multifarious beings under their aegis. They appear as the ultimate paragons of courage and honorable conduct, impervious to bribery and cowardice alike, and yet... Underneath the pristine exterior of the Autromeri lies an unnerving truth: for all their brave deeds and ironclad devotion to the people of Ostolfo they remain tools of slaughter and destruction, tools forged by the powerful to aid in the acquisition and retention of still greater sociopolitical might.
Buried in the psychic programming received by every new Autromer there is a coiling matrix of obedience and secrecy, a psychological codex storing a list of commands, code-words, and symbols that remain utterly unknown to the Autromer until they are seen or spoken, at which point they override all independent mental function and transform the warrior into little more than an unfeeling automaton. Through the verbal or visual activation of this matrix, the deeply ingrained moral compass of the Autromeri can be easily and instantaneously circumvented, allowing their creators to task them with assignments they would consider too cruel and underhanded to accept. It is typical for the minds of Autromer dispatched on such missions to wipe themselves after they are debriefed, but their programming is far from perfect and sometimes a few memories manage to slip through.
These recollections of fell deeds may appear in the form of nightmares, spontaneous visions, and half-forgotten moments that grant spectral hints of dark deeds and darker places. Haunted by the mortifying guilt brought by these visions of the past Autromer begin to seek out distraction and diversion, keeping their consciousness from the corners of their minds they prefer to leave unexplored. Elaborate carnality, innumerable drugs, extreme self-modification, and the thrill of spilling blood are the flavors of debauchery typically found within an Autromeri lodge, all serving to ease the pain of tortured minds and torture the minds of those that do not yet know the pain they alleviate. In fact there are a great many jests told within the lodges that reference the revulsion of young Autromer when they observe the depravity of the old. Often they insinuate through clever wordplay that those who show disgust at the deviance of their elders will one day feel the same agony and crave similar dalliances, leading the cycle of anguish, indulgence, and contempt to repeat itself once again. These jests often garner more rueful nods than laughter but they are appreciated none the less.
As the minds the Autromeri have fractured, so too has their polished, perfect exterior. Though their armor still gleams it has been adorned with layers of engraving, paint, battle damage, and trophies both stately and grisly. Though their sculpted flesh is still the envy of all, many of their number display skin scarred by a million wounds or stretched painfully taught by experimental narcotics while others sport bodies twisted beyond all recognition by procedures mystical and scientific. Little by little the Autromeri are becoming as alien and frightful as the Cloud-Birthed devils they fight against, their humanity slowly erased by heinous deeds beyond their control.
Public Agenda
Since their founding the Autromeri have died to preserve the dream that is Ostolfo. They have ventured into the shadows beyond our world to fend of the beasts they hold... never to return, they have perished on battlefields across the known world, listening to threats bellowed in a thousand tongues, they have given everything for peace, for unity, and for a brighter future. That is all they have ever done, and all they have been made to do, they hold no higher aspirations. In the eyes of their creed a noble death is the greatest reward a warrior may receive, and there are few deaths nobler than those earned in defense of the innocent. Much to the chagrin of their masters, the one thing the Autromeri truly desire is to give their lives in defense of their people, to fight until their blood sates the earth and breath their final breath with the satisfaction of one who has served their purpose.
Assets
As the foremost servants of Ostolfos immensely wealthy nobles, the Artromeri find that very little is beyond their grasp. Ships more advanced than any fielded by a terrestrial nation are assigned to them in fleets, every luxury they can imagine is delivered to their lodges, and entire communities dwell in obscurity with little or no contact with the outside world, serving their Autromeri masters with utmost loyalty and dedication. Mages and scholars, fencers and courtesans, smiths and menial laborers, many from all walks of life have been chosen to dwell in the high halls of one lodge or another, although some accepted their fate more graciously than others. Those who find themselves beside the demi-god like Autromer will remain there for the rest of their lives or id they present complications they will awaken in a well-appointed hotel with a horrid blankness in their memory, struggling to reconcile the odd flashes of recollection that break through the blackness. Only in dreams will they sometimes glimpse the shadowed realms they tread in, those courts of stately nobles and glimmering knights, all tinged with faint unreality.
Many have aspired to look within the Autromeri lodges, and most that do so and leave long to go back. From without they appear as monolithic bastions, each one shaped by the minds of its masters into an incarnation of their disparate creeds: Lodge Aukra is a colossal column of sable steel overflowing with gold filigree and festooned with purple banners large enough to engulf boulevards, Lodge Bthaal is a tangle of silver-plated roots that burrow through the cities layers like a nest of worms all the while seething with a barely contained orange glow, Lodge Kharont is naught but a single titanic spike of slowly oxidizing copper driven deep into the flesh of Ostolfo, and the other ten lodges are hardly less alien in their design. When viewed from within however it becomes obvious they are far more than mere strongholds, armories and mess halls let out onto roadways that connect to schools, farms, furnaces, and lavish chambers designed as long-term residences. These palatial labyrinths are crafted with no thought given to expense or practicality, with passages opening onto vast laboratories, mammoth ballrooms, and even accurate reconstructions of terrestrial landscapes that can stretch on for kilometers. Ostolfos elite have gone to great lengths to ensure no Autromer will ever find a home more delightful than their lodge, no place they would rather be than beneath their overlords thumb.
When arming themselves for an assignment the Autromeri are presented with some of the finest equipment this world has ever produced, each piece is hand-crafted by a master artisan and made from materials birthed by clandestine procedures performed within the Great Minds own palace. Their armor is a form-fitting reinforced body suit fitted with numerous plates of ultra-light alloy, a combination that allows for superb mobility whilst offering protection capable of thwarting small arms fire and shrugging off blunt impacts. This suit (titled the "Obolonne Alarte" or "Divine Guardian") is highly versatile and can be tailored to meet certain preferences or accommodate different mission types. Lodge Aukra, for instance, utilizes a variant that incorporates an additional layer of armor plating and limits freedom of movement by protecting more parts of the body, whilst Lodge Xharo favors a stripped down version which enhances maneuverability and incorporates a number of stealth-centric features such as soft-soled shoes and a psychic blurring device with a limited energy reserve.
When it comes to weapons the Autromeri can be quite eccentric, sometimes eschewing modern firearms in favor of more archaic designs such as bows, spears, axes, and swords or exotic armaments barely out of the prototypes stage of development like the infamous Warping Beam of Lodge Kharont. Crafted exclusively from materials created by Ostolfi star-smiths, these armaments are designed to be as intricate and arcane as possible to prevent reverse engineering, their designers taking great pains to manufacture purely Ostolfi alternatives to common substances so as to make them all but impossible to copy. Metals are often replaced with a Frisnite alloy, woods with Delenoire's Oak, and gunpowder analogues with a propellant derived from the substance of chaos. Constant exposure to these elements from beyond the Fault are thought to have long-term effects on the genes and physiology of the Autromer, but at this point little to no mutation has been identified beyond the normal amount expected of those dwelling in Ostolfo.
When all costs are taken into account the Autromeri are a force of arms numbering less than twelve thousand soldiers worth more than a mid-sized country, they are as much an expression of Ostolfos wealth as the golden statues lining its avenues and its many grand structures built from the stuff between the stars.
History
Thousands of cycles before the founding of Ostolfo and the creation of the Ostolfi people tales were told of the Autromeri, celestial warriors sent by the gods to offer mortals their wisdom and martial prowess in times of need. It was thought that the strongest and most skillful fighters would join the Autromeri after death, standing side by side with heroes long past against the demons and monsters that threatened the gods themselves whilst pending what time they could aiding the mortals below.
No doubt because of these myths and scraps of folklore the founders of Ostolfo considered it fitting to grant the title of Autromeri to the protectors of their cloud-locked utopia. Ostolfo sat amongst the clouds like the fabled Autrosanchrar and had an eerily similar infestation of ravening beasts and utterly alien monstrosities.
Simpler times created uncomplicated motivations and rough, almost brutish solutions, leading to the creation of the crude proto-Autromeri. Although little more than the cities most experienced handful of soldiers stuffed full of experimental new organs and clad in a mixture of steel plates and aeronautics leathers they did the vital work of keeping the city alive as it took its first trembling steps into the unknown, battling monstrosities that slip between the layers of reality and colossal avian predators alike. If their quarry didn't kill them their primitive enhancements would, leading to the rise of quasi death cult forming amongst them and the citizens that aspired to join their ranks, a shared fanaticism and determination that would form the foundation for the philosophy of self-sacrifice embraced by most modern Autromer. Amongst their ranks would be found the bravest and most optimistic women and men the young city had to offer, those who most sincerely believed in the words of the founders and accepted that nothing of true worth could be wrought without spilling sweat and blood in equal measure.
With the eventual deaths of the founders and the growing power of the Great Mind and their council came a change to the now stable and steadily improved Autromeri. In those days the first humble lodges were built and the Autromeri became less a cadre of skilled soldiers and more an order of semi-religious warrior elites, forced by edict to separate themselves from the citizenry with walls and inscrutable ritual, living, training, and reproducing only with each-other and the slow trickle of fresh inductees. It is during this time that organs ensuring complete subliminal obedience were inserted, allowing the merchant aristocracy that now ruled Ostolfo to perform whatever deeds they deemed necessary without running afoul of the now famous moral code of the Autromeri. Over time these organs were joined by others specialized in the scrubbing of memory and the identification of subtle pheromonal keys that marked out individuals with the power to command. Historians and scholars are known to cite this period as the beginning of a long fall into depression and depravity that would scar the Autromeri for many cycles to come.
Time and the gradually tightening grip of overbearing pseudo-nobles has wrought many great and terrible changes amongst the Autromer and the Autromeri as an organization. No longer threatened by unstable organs or a lack of armament, they have done their best to perpetuate the cult of self-sacrifice and nobility that pervaded cycles following their inception, fanning a guttering flame as it is threatened by a cold wind of superiority and cynical indifference. Either the indoctrination sticks or it doesn't, and veteran Autromer grow to become optimistic paragons of their lodge or bitter, hard-hearted husks that kill because they know they are little better than living weapons in the hands of their masters. More dangerous still is the third and increasingly common outcome which sees an Autromer drive a wedge between themselves and conventional humanity, looking down upon them like a god amongst the clouds and sneering at what they deem a pitiful and unworthy race. Of these three ends only the second is truly compatible with the callous manipulation of the Great Mind and their coterie, the other two are wilful hounds slowly nipping at their leashes and only time will tell when or if they will break loose.
"To rebuke malice in all its forms.".
Type
Military Order
Alternative Names
The Immortal Host, The Watchers, The Bloodhounds.
Training Level
Professional
Veterancy Level
Experienced
Demonym
Autromer
Parent Organization
Location
Related Ethnicities
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