Clan Doomsteady Presents:
The Brass Golems
~A Banescale Subspecies~
The Brass Golems
~A Banescale Subspecies~
"From Undeath, I Give You... Life!"
Forged of metal and flame, gemstones and ash, the original two Brass Golems were constructed to be great hulking sentinels: protectors of clan Doomstead. Guardians of gates, sunderers of tresspassers, these mechanical behemoths know no fear, no pain, and no hunger--only singleminded loyalty to their masters.
The original design was constructed in a workshop beneath a crumbling cathedral, in a ruin of a town called Doomstead Hollow. Tasked with protecting their creator, the two sentinels were stationed at the clan's inner perimeter, crystal-cut eyes tracking the slightest of movements within their field of view. Should anything unfamiliar draw too close, their jaws would snap open with the speed of a pistol shrimp's claw, spewing fiery jets of molten rock aimed with the accuracy of a chameleon's tongue.
Frightening. Indefatigable.
Needless to say, it didn't take long after their installation for the cathedral's immediate vicinity to become a ring of blackened earth, punctuated by the occasional half-melted skull. They were the perfect protection against ne'er-do-wells and those who would bring light and healing into the clan's domain. Their creator was pleased.
An Undead known as Darkstar was their inventor: a frighteningly intelligent dragon, whose long sleep beneath the Bone Pile seemed not to have robbed him of much, besides his sense of empathy. Soon after establishing his clan, he realised they would need protecting. The clan was young, fragile, and unlike himself most of his underlings were not yet trained in the arts of warfare. Despite their undead nature, they were not impervious to having their heads severed, or their bodies chopped up and buried several thousands of miles apart. Such things can be rather inconvenient to immortal beings, you see.
And so, being the megalomaniacal genius that he is, Darkstar wove the same Plague and Shadow magicks he used on his clan to quicken his Golems with sentience, imbuing them with a glimmer of individualism, of intelligence and forethought, elevating them beyond mere lifeless machines. It was enough to guide their actions and allow them to formulate plans of defense.
It was his hope that they would be self-guided and self-repairing, requiring little oversight while he attended to more pressing clan matters.
But he might have made a small miscalculation in his incantations...
When not being watched, they became preoccupied with some secretive task. Gears whirred, cogs span, and valves hissed with steam, until suddenly a hidden compartment in the belly of Andra swung open, and out rolled a metallic sphere, like a large brass egg. Almost immediately, the object began unfolding itself, self-assembling into an almost perfect copy of the original.
Somehow, they had bred.
Sensing their master would not approve of this unsanctioned replication, the 'parents' sent this psuedo-offspring away from the clan territory, fearing it would be scrapped to reclaim the materials. Seemingly undiscovered, however, they have decided to continue replicating in secret, finding themselves irrationally compelled to increase their number.
And so it has come to be that the products of this clandestine activity have found themselves roaming the lands without purpose, without masters; dirt and sand clogging their joints, a singular driving thought repeating ad nauseum in their artificial minds:
Purpose. Purpose. Purpose.
