Warrior Poet said:
I either missed this, or my memory is going bad (equal chance of both, I guess). Was this the event of viridity that seemed to grow around her while she was in the Abyss, or am I remembering it incorrectly?
Can you point me to what happened to her afterwards? Thanks.
Warrior Poet
Tales of Wyre: The Compiled Sepulchrave Story Hour (updated 05/15) Thanks to Cheiromancer - Page 3, Post 86
"In Morne, the Sela sat in a state of saizhan, the interaction of entities of tremendous power appearing merely as facets of the dialectic revealed to consciousness. Whether his mind reflected reality, or reality responded to his intention was unknown. Causality, synchronicity and coincidence: all were meaningless terms.
The Messenger reached an interface. A bubble of separation. Sealed, inviolable; the labour of centuries of sorcery. Even before he touched it, Rintrah knew that he could not penetrate it.
Oronthon Magnified him. He passed effortlessly through.
Pain waited beyond. It was as if all the agony in the cosmos had been distilled into this single space, mere yards across: a perfect sphere, the walls of which were graven with glyphs and runes of torment. Their power passed over the celestial, and around him, and through him, but caused less than the slightest discomfort. Rintrah's eyes, incandescent with potency now, glanced upwards to behold a semblance of a form: wracked, inchoate, stretched and twisted beyond recognition, its pattern diffuse at its margins. It seemed as if the slightest of breezes would cause it to evaporate. Its grasp on existence was tenuous.
Under the force of the Planetar's selfless Will, the quiddity of the sphere began to change, and reshaped itself according to his direction. Empty space assumed pleasing forms: a tree, a small pool with lilies, a tiny rock garden. The upper hemisphere gave off a soft, azure radiance, reminiscent of a cloudless day in late summer.
Rintrah rested briefly: the effort of creation was not insignificant. He glanced at the artificial sky, still etched with sigils of dreadful power which emanated madness and pain, before his wings lifted him gently aloft. As his hand trailed lightly over the runes, each one shattered, disjoined into its separate components. They fell like a silver dust upon the rockery, or to float upon the surface of the pool.
The formless thing, still suspended in the centre of the sphere, quivered palpably and then relaxed. For an instant, Rintrah was concerned that the sudden removal of the tension that it had experienced might cause it to dissociate. He swiftly grasped the essence and held it in his hands. Cohesion and perception returned to it. Responsive to the celestial's ministrations, it corporeated rapidly.
Rintrah laid her by the bole of the tree, hallowed the sphere, and vanished. Nehael slept for the first time in her immeasurably long existence.
The Sela shifted his position, and a single bead of sweat trickled from his temple. It had been a particularly difficult meditation."
I'm fairly certain this next part is about Nehael. 99%, but
Tales of Wyre: The Compiled Sepulchrave Story Hour (updated 05/15) Thanks to Cheiromancer - Page 3, Post 100
"She stood, and looked again at the tree for a long while.
It had an oddly compelling quality, which drew one's eyes to it and evoked a desire to run hands over soft, smooth bark. Its height and girth suggested that it was old, but it possessed a quality which seemed…youthful. Strange for a tree.
Around its base, bright flowers sprang between rocks and trailed into a pool fed by a small spring. The water moved, but she couldn't determine where it went, after it left the pool. Curious, she thought. She looked at the tree again.
Sometimes, she felt that it was watching her.
She gazed around, and wondered what else there was out there. Away from the tree. More than once, she had determined to leave – to walk away from the tree. To explore. But she never did.
Why leave the tree, after all? Whatever else there was, it couldn't be better than the tree.
She lay down against its warm bole, and it seemed to embrace her. She watched thoughts and memories pass through her mind, and wondered who had experienced them.
Bathe, she thought.
She vaguely recalled the fact that she liked to bathe. It seemed like a good idea – although she was unsure whether it had risen unbidden in her mind, or the tree had prompted the desire. She rose, walked the short distance over to the pool, and slid into the water. It was the perfect depth, and the perfect temperature. She immersed her head briefly – as that seemed the right thing to do – before leaning back and relaxing against a rock, which seemed to fit her head and neck very comfortably.
She suddenly noticed a small figure – maybe two thirds her own height – sitting on a branch of the tree, with its legs dangling freely. It wore grey hose and a leaf-green waistcoat.
"Hello," she said.
"Hello," the other replied. "Are you happy?"
"Yes," she said.
"Good," the other smiled.
"Where did you come from?" She asked. "I haven't seen you before."
"I came from the tree."
"Ahh," she nodded. She hauled herself easily from the water, and walked back towards the tree. She noticed that now she was covered in tiny flecks of silver – she rubbed them gently, but they seemed somehow part of her skin.
"They will not come off," the other said.
"What are they?' She asked.
The other smiled sadly. "The memory of a great injustice."
She cocked her head inquisitively.
"It would take too long to explain," the other said. "Nor does it matter – the injustice never really happened now. Your transition is passed at last, and you have been finally surrendered: from one Truth to another. This place is two things: a prison hallowed by an angel, and a womb which has always been here. If sometimes the Truth that you chose seems cold and indifferent, then it is Her nature. Maybe She forgot you for a while. Don't blame Her: She doesn't love you any less."
"You think too much," she laughed. "What will happen now?"
"Something nobody expects," the other replied.
"And what is that?" She asked.
"A Viridity," the other said, his eyes blazing."
Forshadowing is a sign of good writing.
Tales of Wyre: The Compiled Sepulchrave Story Hour (updated 05/15) Thanks to Cheiromancer - Page 3, Post 102
AFQITHAN: PROLOGUE (Part 1)
[Soneillon]: If you should happen to slay Ainhorr today, you should grieve for him.
[Eadric]: (Contempt.)
[Soneillon]: Arrogance! You, at least, should lament his passing. A great warrior. Ever loyal to the master he loves and despises.
[Eadric]: Loves? Love is never that ugly.
[Soneillon]: Love is often that ugly, Eadric.
[Eadric]: And if you should perish today? How should I then react?
[Soneillon]: Exult in your memory, Eadric. Because nothing will ever again compare to me.
[Eadric]: For that, at least, I will be thankful.
[Soneillon]: You will be diminished.
And this unfortunately is it as revealed so far. Go and meditate upon Saizhan.
Tales of Wyre: The Compiled Sepulchrave Story Hour (updated 05/15) Thanks to Cheiromancer - Page 3, Post 104
AFQITHAN: (Part 1)
Nwm's eyes flashed open. He had been sitting beneath a fir-tree, listening to the soft pad, pad of an arctic fox, when he heard its pattern change in response to a new stimulus. Something else was close by. He waited.
The Druid inhaled sharply as she approached. She was beautiful. And curiously familiar.
She sat down in the snow before him, unabashed by her own nakedness, and smiled. Her skin possessed a soft, silver sheen, and her eyes – no longer demonic – were green within green.
"This is an unexpected pleasure," Nwm said wrily. "I should warn you: if my conversation seems stilted or awkward, it's because I haven't spoken for several months."
"Your social ineptitude was never much of a concern," she laughed.
"Can I assume that Eadric was successful in his efforts?" Nwm asked.
"Not yet." She raised an eyebrow.
"I am unsure as to whether I should worship you or not."
"That is your choice. It makes no difference to me. What were you doing?"
"You know, Nehael, I don't really know. Waiting for you, I suppose. I don't imagine that there's a rational explanation for your presence here?"
"Certainly not."
"And what happens now?" Nwm asked.
Nehael laughed. "I asked that very question myself."
"And what answer did you receive?"
"'A Viridity,'" she replied.
"That is suitably vague," Nwm sighed.
"Strange," Nehael said drily. "I had the same reaction. There is something that I would like to share with you, Nwm. A place."
"What sort of place?" Nwm asked suspiciously.
"A sanctuary. An island of Green. An unassailable bastion. A womb."
Nwm felt a frisson of excitement as she spoke, but his voice was sceptical. "In my experience, nowhere is unassailable."
"Prepare to change your mind," Nehael smiled. She held out her hand, and he took it. Stretching forwards, she lightly touched the bark of the tree.
"Step into the tree," she said.
They dissolved into an ocean of jade, emerald and celadon. Another Tree, which was the same tree – it was, in fact, all trees – appeared.
*
Nwm quaked. His mind screamed in fear, and soared in awe. His breath became rapid and shallow. He was dumbstruck, unwilling to believe, but knowing that it was there.
"Eadric's forebears would have referred to it as the Tree-ludja," Nehael said softly, touching the Tree. "Yours would have called it Derv.**"
"What have you become?" Nwm asked her.
"You know what I am," Nehael smiled. "I am merely Nehael. But now the way is open. You first showed it to me. She remembers. That is why it is Tree, and not Lake or Storm."
Nwm swallowed. She alluded to things which made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. Gingerly, he reached out.
Tree, he knew.
He looked out from the blackthorn in the courtyard of Kyrtill's Burh; from a huge banyan in Afqithan, around which demons clashed furiously; from a hornbeam with white bark and silver leaves, beneath which a goddess meditated; from a viper-tree amid a grove in Azzagrat, where acid rained and fire burned; from a lonely olive-tree on a deserted island in Pandicule; from a celestial oak which rose, impossibly perfect, upon the Blessed Plain.
Nwm withdrew his perception, and looked at Nehael.
"How?" He asked.
This Way, she showed him.***
"Is there more?"
"Oh, yes. There is much more."
"But to look into Hell? Oronthon's Heaven? These places are not…"
"Of the Green?" She offered. "I think you need to revise your understanding, Nwm. The Viridity is a transcendental principle: it does not care for conventional labels. Green just became a lot bigger."
"Who was the goddess beneath the tree?" He asked.
"Her name is Lai," Nehael smiled. "You will meet her in due course."
"What is her rôle?" He asked dubiously.
"She is a student. Of magic. Of nature. Her world is all but dead. You will like her – which is all to the good."
Nwm gave a quizzical look.
"A student needs a teacher," Nehael explained, "and a goddess needs a priest."
