The Darksteel Eye

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Alone in his laboratory, Memnarch closed the latch on the arm cuff and finished strapping himself in. A giant humming construct covered by tubes and funnels crouched high over his bulbous frame.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “Everything is working properly.”

Memnarch eyed the straps and glittering lights covering the artifact.

“So much effort for something so simple,” he said. “Would it have taken so much if you had built it?”

He listened.

“I thought not.”

He cleared his throat and fingered a tiny lever. Gargantuan articulated arms on the back of the device unfolded then unfolded again. They moved with a practiced precision, a simple grace that belied their size and the bulky tubes attached. The metallic limbs enveloped Memnarch in his cushioned restraints. They buzzed with magical power.

“You see that,” he said, admiring the leather straps that held his body. “These bonds, Memnarch, endure in your name. The self-imprisonment of worship. If ever you doubted, now you know. Memnarch is a true disciple.”

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