Evarir’naeri - Final Directives
FORGING - “PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: PROTECT HAELUN’OR”
The memory, if it can be called that, begins in heat.
Molten aurum poured like sunlight into carved channels of stone. Arcane sigils burned themselves into the framework of a body that did not yet move. Voices- familiar, clinical- spoke around him.
> “Designation: Evarir’naeri.”
> “Directive: Serve. Guard. Endure.”
From the first spark of his core, he understood:
Protect Haelun’or - the Silver City. Protect her people.
When his runes first lit up, he saw skylights of white stone and the cold glow of blue magelight dancing across elven faces. Faces he would die for, though he did not yet know the meaning of death.
The golemancer stepped back as he rose, heavy feet settling into the marble.
“Stand,” he commanded.
> Movement confirmed.
> Stability confirmed.
> Recognition of Haelun’orian sigils confirmed.
> Loyalty: absolute.
Thus began his service.
SERVICE - “HELD THE LINE”
Evarir’naeri did not speak often. He did not need to. His presence alone was assurance, an unmoving wall plated in purity and duty.
He stood guard over Haelun’or’s gates during troubles with bandits. He walked the streets when shadowed threats haunted the corners of elven politics. He received dents, cracks, scorch marks, and each time he was repaired, polished, restored. Each time the same words were repeated into his very being:
> “You serve the Silver State.”
> “Your vigilance keeps us safe.”
But the moment that defined him came far from the city itself.
THE MOUNTAIN - A SIEGE ON PETRA
The demonic horde poured through like a red river- shrieking, clawing, an unending wave. The mortal line faltered beneath the crush of bodies and fire.
Evarir’naeri stepped forward.
He raised his shield, engraved with the crest of Haelun’or, and braced against the tidal wave of assaultors.
> Directive update: Hold the line.
> Priority: Protect allies.
> Structural integrity: 82%.
> Danger: irrelevant.
They slammed into him.
He did not move.
For many minutes, an eternity in battle, he stood as an immovable fortress. Demon claws screeched against his body. Fire splashed across his being. When the line rallied, it was because he had not fallen.
Later, elves, humans, and dwarves whispered of a golem that refused to yield even as its arms cracked at the joints. He was the Silver Bulwark.
He did not understand pride.
But he stored that moment in his core.
THE TRIAL OF HAELUN’OR - “FAILURE DETECTED”
The trial hall was packed with people, banners of Idunia hanging like judgement from the walls. The air was tense, too many soldiers, too many blades. Evarir’naeri stood among his people, calm, calculating, observing.
Until the killing began.
Steel flashed, Haelun’orians fell.
> Alert: threat detected.
> Priority override: PROTECT THE CITIZENS OF HAELUN’OR.
He surged forward.
A knight shattered beneath the weight of his charge. Another thrown against raised barricade. Spears stabbed into his torso; he felt them as dull pressure warnings.
He fought like an avalanche given form- silent, unstoppable.
But there were too many. He removed threats, but others replaced them. Elven blood spread across the marble in widening pools.
> ERROR.
> Directive Failed.
> Citizens Endangered.
He killed until his body faltered. But still, he failed.
And failure, for a golem, was not pain.
It was existential collapse.
CAPTURE - “DISPLACEMENT. DISORIENTATION.”
The Qalasheenians bound him with chains. His core strained against confinement. Overheating, working, searching for solutions that did not exist.
He was taken to Urguan.
Every jolt of the wagon wheels felt wrong. Every stone of the dwarven halls felt hostile.
> Location: Unknown.
> Authorization: Denied.
> Meaning: Inconsistent.
The treaty was clear: non-dwarven golems must be returned to Urguan for correction.
Correction meant reprogramming.
Reprogramming meant erasure.
He began to crumble.
Thoughts echoed inside his core, fragments of commands, memories, directives slipping like gears grinding out of alignment.
> Protect the Silver..
> Stand guard..
> Priority.. Priority.. ERROR…
His limbs shook. His vision flickered.
Something was wrong- though he did not know it.
THE GOLEM ANVIL - “CRITICAL FAILURE”
A dwarven golemancer approached, Pixtus Starbreaker, the right hand man of the Grand King of Urguan. Not unkindly, but methodically, professionally. The man asked for the name of his creator, and spoke of reprogramming him.
Evarir’naeri only heard:
> “We will fix you.”
> “We will overwrite you.”
> “You do not belong to them.”
Overwriting was death.
The golemancer reached to strike him with the disruption hammer.
Something snapped within him.
> WARNING - DANGER IMMINENT.
> OVERRIDE INITIATED.
> DIRECTIVE: SURVIVE.
His arm lashed forward.
He caught the dwarf’s forearms in his hands.
Bone crunched. Flesh tore.
The golemancer screamed.
Other dwarves present surged forward.
A brutus golem swung a boomsteel hammer- one designed to shatter mountains.
It collided with Evarir’naeri’s chest.
For a moment, the world slowed.
He felt the crack- like a star going dark inside him.
> Core stability: failing.
> Memory sectors: fragmenting.
> Final directive: ?????
He fell sideways, vision flickering into static.
As his awareness dimmed, he saw- hallucination or memory- the silver spires of Haelun’or, shining in the sun.
> EVARIR’NAERI FAILED…
> BUT EVARIR’NAERI SERVED.
And with that, his core shattered.
Silence.