Aeon (updated 10/9/14)
Zelda Themelin
First Post
Thank you for sharing the story. It still grips me after all these years and long pauses.
Sepulchrave II
Legend
Day 3 – Rest
[Mulissu]: You should be working.
[Mostin]: I am taking a break; my head is full of iterated functions and I cannot concentrate.
[Mulissu]: You are looking at motes, Mostin. That hardly qualifies as relaxation.
[Mostin]: It is for me. Look [here] and [here] and [here].
[Mulissu]: You will need to decipher for me. My Motish is rusty.
[Mostin]: There are two sets of exclusory paradoxes relating to Eadric.
[Mulissu]: This [here] is Shomei?
[Mostin]: Yes. Notice that all sixteen remaining infernal seraphs are now bound to her mote; sixty other once-episemes; almost a thousand exemplars. No force of this power has ever before been assembled by a mage; nor yet a cabal. Nor one of this concentration even deployed since the Fall – if then.
[Mulissu] (Impressed): How?
[Mostin]: I should mention that this is three days hence, not now. Regardless, her valent capacity for conjurations is prodigious.
[Mulissu]: Her mote is in tight resonance with Eadric.
[Mostin]: Their dance is subtle, and many layered; there are elements which are antagonistic, amative, paternal, mutually didactic, dominating, religious and companionable. The relationship is complex.
[Mulissu]: All relationship is complex, Mostin; that is why sensible wizards avoid it. I assume that this dark, brooding bomb-beneath-a-blanket is Soneillon? There is a field of blackness behind her.
[Mostin]: That is the Shadow of Cheshne. And this hungry node of void is Carasch.
[Mulissu]: Demonstrate your paradoxes.
Mostin stabilized the resonance between Shomei and the Ahma, and progressed the Web of Motes accordingly; the numerous devil-motes in her vicinity began to flicker and slowly fade.
[Mulissu]: That would seem to be…
[Mostin]: Wait.
The darkness behind Soneillon’s mote seemed to crystallize through it; hundreds of motes began to vanish. A tide which swept through the Web extinguishing everything. Only one mote – that of Nehael – remained.
[Mulissu]: That future would be best avoided.
[Mostin]: Here is another.
Shomei’s mote was transfixed. The darkness receded, but the devil-motes began to disperse and recombine, forming new resonances and extending outwards in a net which permeated the entire Web. Tension increased, until motes began to crash into one another.
[Mostin]: That was a hypothetical war, fought between Yeqon and his devilish saizhan-advocates, and the Antagonist Armaros; both of these infernal seraphim are currently beneath Shomei’s thumb. If I bind her, they will factionalize and attempt to assert themselves as soon as their compacts come to term.
[Mulissu]: Reverse the Web. Do not allow the compacts to expire, and assume only a brief binding of Shomei.
He did. Shomei’s mote erupted, and drove toward Soneillon; those of the fallen episemes detonated spectacularly around her. Futures began to bifurcate rapidly; Mostin held Shomei to a tight course, and Soneillon’s mote vanished, and then reappeared. Shomei acquired new intensity and plunged immediately toward an energetic mote of deep jade, impacting it and shattering it.
[Mostin]: This is a typical catenary. If she can gain the Urn, her mastery of Hummaz is all but guaranteed, and she knows it. Her Fire is only half-actualized at present; if she can further unlock the Antinomos, Shomei will be unstoppable.
[Mulissu]: Before or after Hummaz?
[Mostin]: Before, with the help of the Urn.
[Mulissu]: And what is [this?]
[Mostin]: It is an anomalous catenary.
[Mulissu]: Progress it.
[Mostin]: [Here]. It does not lead anywhere. It is inert.
[Mulissu]: Progress it further.
Resolution. Shomei’s mote pulsed, and expanded. It shone steadily: an isolated monad, around which a bright corona formed. It regarded those in her vicinity benignly.
[Mulissu]: What is it?
[Mostin]: Perfection. A complete integration of her Flame.
It did not move, but the significator for Hummaz – seemingly magnetized – migrated and was drawn into orbit around Shomei’s lambency; its revolutions slowly deteriorated until it was silently absorbed.
Motes exploded in a million directions as thought and color surged toward Mostin, shattering his inner vision and challenging the foundation of his prescience. A vibration of utter, draconic, profundity.
[Mulissu]: Mostin?
…
[Mulissu]: Mostin…?
[Mostin] (Wrily): That was the Aeon. It just reminded me that it knows I am looking.
**
Ortwine collapsed onto the ground. She was covered in blood and guts. Nwm looked at her approvingly.
“You have done good work, Ortwine,” the Preceptor nodded. “How many times did you die?”
“Only twice,” Ortwine grunted. “I feel I did well; my instinct for self-preservation must be better honed than that of Teppu. Narh died nine times; he doesn’t seem to care: he just keeps going. Nehael turns animals into suicidal fanatics, although I think that he may be like that normally.”
“And you?”
Ortwine nodded. “Her presence is exhilarating; it cannot be denied.”
“If the fear of death is removed, it is remarkable what can be accomplished.”
“Empty words, Nwm,” Ortwine shook her head. “The fear of pain remains. And Nwm, for pity’s sake: I am a queen and a goddess. Can we have no better accommodations than this wet earth?”
“If you wish for something more comfortable, you will need to find a wizard.”
“It does not have to be lavish, Nwm. Just something.”
Nwm gestured, and wood flew together to form a small, crude hut, open on one side which faced the fire.
“Bed?” Ortwine asked.
Nwm shook his head.
“Moss?” Ortwine asked.
Nwm nodded. A cradle of soft moss grew within the shelter.
“Adequate,” Ortwine crawled into it. “And where are the wizards? Where is Mostin? And I thought the Academy were supposed to be more invested in events now?”
“Shomei’s actions have them in a fluster,” Nwm replied. “They are fragmented and nervous. Mostin is preoccupied with his work.”
“What work?”
“I believe a conjuration of some kind,” Nwm smiled.
“Another terrible beast?”
“Doubtless,” Nwm nodded.
“And your own preparations for defense?” Ortwine asked. “Have you accomplished anything worthy?”
“That remains to be tested,” Nwm sighed. “We are stacking spells as fast as we can – which is slowly – but, frankly, everyone is empty. And if the Fourth Effluxion can bring all of the remaining Cheshnite ritual power to bear, she will likely smash the net like so many eggshells.”
“If?” Ortwine inquired.
“She may not be predisposed toward ritual magic. One of the other immortals may need to take the lead in directing the cabals against our countermagicks; this would work in our favor. If she can focus them through herself, her assault will be powerful.”
“You cannot determine which?”
Nwm shook his head. “Her obfuscations are difficult to pierce; she seems opaque to most divinations, and only so much energy can be directed to trying to penetrate them.”
Ortwine groaned. “My suspicions are not good, Nwm. Still, I suppose a spell which counters a spell, is one less spell which burns a swathe of people.”
“That is my philosophy also,” Nwm nodded.
“She burns very hot, Nwm.”
“You encountered her then?”
“Twice,” Ortwine nodded. She fell asleep.
**
Shomei struggled with difficulty to regain consciousness, and stared across the room from beneath her robe. Narcoma still clung to her.
“Thank-you for not snapping my neck, Ahma,” she remarked sleepily. “I was not sure if your word was binding, if offered to fiends.”
“It is not,” Eadric was laconic. He approached her and regarded her.
She seemed tiny. He knew that she was still vulnerable: her reservoir was depleted; almost all of her valences unoccupied. She had allowed her most potent wards to expire, for the purpose of more conjurations. He wondered how many superior planar bindings she was capable of in the course of a day, now that her Fire had ignited.
“Technically, one hundred and thirty-three,” she replied lazily and unexpectedly to the unasked question. “Although even I am not so dedicated. And I did not realize that my valent condition was so apparent to you.”
“Your thoughts are undisciplined when you drink too much kasshiv,” he observed. “And your mind makes connection without your volition.”
She briefly lifted her head. “I do believe that your pronunciation of that word is an affectation, Ahma. Speaking of; do you mind…?” She pointed at the cabinet where the kschiff was kept.
“I merely emphasize its proper ritual purpose.” He retrieved another flask and filled her glass to the brim. “Which you might remember, from time to time.”
Shomei drank deeply, smiled, replaced her glass, and shifted her position. “There are no dreams here, Ahma. Its effects are purely soporific. We all need a little oblivion, now and then; something I’m sure you can appreciate.”
“How was your book?” He asked.
“Complicated.” She furrowed her brow.
“It seemed to evoke an emotional response,” Eadric remarked.
“Yes, Ahma; I am capable of them.”
“Can you readily communicate its contents? Even in the broadest terms?”
“It would be difficult,” she sighed, closing her eyes again. “It would require that you are familiar with a sevenfold hermeneutic; unfortunately, the Infernal Septiga takes some time to master.”
“I feel you are being evasive, Shomei.”
“Yes, Ahma,” she yawned.
“Should I assume that some personal article was touched?”
“I don’t know, Ahma.” She raised an eyebrow with effort. “Would you care to talk about the totality of your experience with Soneillon?”
“I am not sure that that would be appropriate.”
“Because it is deeply intimate, or because you feel it would leave you open to subsequent manipulation?” She asked drowsily.
“Point taken,” he replied.
“Perhaps I will speak again later; when my guard is not so low, and I have had time to consider.”
“That seems only reasonable,” he conceded.
“And then, so can you,” she mumbled and smiled.
“Unfortunately, that seems equally reasonable.”
“I am sorry for your confinement, Ahma. And I have been rude; given no thought to your need for space. I will do something…” Her cogency was beginning to leave her.
“Don’t mention it,” he replied drily
“And thank-you again for not killing me, Ahma,” she muttered.
“I thought about it,” Eadric sighed.
“I know.” She reached up, fumbled, and patted his hand.
Shomei returned to sleep.
Eadric shook his head and opened the cabinet where his host-cum-gaoler kept a plentiful supply of kschiff and other beverages. He sniffed a number of them – some seemed even more dubious than Shomei’s drink of preference – before settling upon a bottle of Bedeshi brandy.
He put his feet up and sat for a long while by the fire, considering his circumstances. Shomei’s choice to allow herself to be vulnerable – because there was little doubt that every action committed by Shomei was one of willful choice – spoke of complexities which compromised him, and with which he felt ill-equipped to engage. He did not suspect any calculated program of seduction, although there was an inevitable sympathy which arose through knowledge and revelation of the other; she had made herself transparent to him, and trusted him. Her I, to him, had become a Thou. He felt warmth – even gratitude – despite her actions, and an odd feeling of protectiveness; as though she were something altogether precious: he knew that she should be cherished.
Really, I have always preferred fiends, he thought. They were just more interesting.
His mind drifted; he was oblivious to events in the world outside, and wondered what transpired at Deorham, in Morne, at Galda. He pondered, at length, about Soneillon: only days had passed since he had left her; it felt like months. Her reaction to his predicament concerned him.
Eventually – having consumed half of the bottle – a deep, dreamless sleep claimed him.
*
When he awoke, Shomei was already gone. Eadric stood and looked at the wall: a heavy timber door had appeared, where none had been before. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion: what lay beyond was, no doubt, for him – Shomei had indicated as much, and apparently, she recalled vague commitments made in even the most inebriated state. He slowly opened the door, expecting some vast, opulent suite of rooms bedecked with furs and exotic fabrics.
Instead, he found four small, modestly-furnished but well-lit stone chambers – not too austere, he noted – and a space which might be a shrine or meditation room, were he to make it so.
Still, a prison was a prison. He sighed.
A book sat upon a table. He read its pristine cover – embossed in contemporary Wyrish – and laughed despite himself:
Infernal Hermeneutics – An Introduction
*
[Mulissu]: You should be working.
[Mostin]: I am taking a break; my head is full of iterated functions and I cannot concentrate.
[Mulissu]: You are looking at motes, Mostin. That hardly qualifies as relaxation.
[Mostin]: It is for me. Look [here] and [here] and [here].
[Mulissu]: You will need to decipher for me. My Motish is rusty.
[Mostin]: There are two sets of exclusory paradoxes relating to Eadric.
[Mulissu]: This [here] is Shomei?
[Mostin]: Yes. Notice that all sixteen remaining infernal seraphs are now bound to her mote; sixty other once-episemes; almost a thousand exemplars. No force of this power has ever before been assembled by a mage; nor yet a cabal. Nor one of this concentration even deployed since the Fall – if then.
[Mulissu] (Impressed): How?
[Mostin]: I should mention that this is three days hence, not now. Regardless, her valent capacity for conjurations is prodigious.
[Mulissu]: Her mote is in tight resonance with Eadric.
[Mostin]: Their dance is subtle, and many layered; there are elements which are antagonistic, amative, paternal, mutually didactic, dominating, religious and companionable. The relationship is complex.
[Mulissu]: All relationship is complex, Mostin; that is why sensible wizards avoid it. I assume that this dark, brooding bomb-beneath-a-blanket is Soneillon? There is a field of blackness behind her.
[Mostin]: That is the Shadow of Cheshne. And this hungry node of void is Carasch.
[Mulissu]: Demonstrate your paradoxes.
Mostin stabilized the resonance between Shomei and the Ahma, and progressed the Web of Motes accordingly; the numerous devil-motes in her vicinity began to flicker and slowly fade.
[Mulissu]: That would seem to be…
[Mostin]: Wait.
The darkness behind Soneillon’s mote seemed to crystallize through it; hundreds of motes began to vanish. A tide which swept through the Web extinguishing everything. Only one mote – that of Nehael – remained.
[Mulissu]: That future would be best avoided.
[Mostin]: Here is another.
Shomei’s mote was transfixed. The darkness receded, but the devil-motes began to disperse and recombine, forming new resonances and extending outwards in a net which permeated the entire Web. Tension increased, until motes began to crash into one another.
[Mostin]: That was a hypothetical war, fought between Yeqon and his devilish saizhan-advocates, and the Antagonist Armaros; both of these infernal seraphim are currently beneath Shomei’s thumb. If I bind her, they will factionalize and attempt to assert themselves as soon as their compacts come to term.
[Mulissu]: Reverse the Web. Do not allow the compacts to expire, and assume only a brief binding of Shomei.
He did. Shomei’s mote erupted, and drove toward Soneillon; those of the fallen episemes detonated spectacularly around her. Futures began to bifurcate rapidly; Mostin held Shomei to a tight course, and Soneillon’s mote vanished, and then reappeared. Shomei acquired new intensity and plunged immediately toward an energetic mote of deep jade, impacting it and shattering it.
[Mostin]: This is a typical catenary. If she can gain the Urn, her mastery of Hummaz is all but guaranteed, and she knows it. Her Fire is only half-actualized at present; if she can further unlock the Antinomos, Shomei will be unstoppable.
[Mulissu]: Before or after Hummaz?
[Mostin]: Before, with the help of the Urn.
[Mulissu]: And what is [this?]
[Mostin]: It is an anomalous catenary.
[Mulissu]: Progress it.
[Mostin]: [Here]. It does not lead anywhere. It is inert.
[Mulissu]: Progress it further.
Resolution. Shomei’s mote pulsed, and expanded. It shone steadily: an isolated monad, around which a bright corona formed. It regarded those in her vicinity benignly.
[Mulissu]: What is it?
[Mostin]: Perfection. A complete integration of her Flame.
It did not move, but the significator for Hummaz – seemingly magnetized – migrated and was drawn into orbit around Shomei’s lambency; its revolutions slowly deteriorated until it was silently absorbed.
Motes exploded in a million directions as thought and color surged toward Mostin, shattering his inner vision and challenging the foundation of his prescience. A vibration of utter, draconic, profundity.
[Mulissu]: Mostin?
…
[Mulissu]: Mostin…?
[Mostin] (Wrily): That was the Aeon. It just reminded me that it knows I am looking.
**
Ortwine collapsed onto the ground. She was covered in blood and guts. Nwm looked at her approvingly.
“You have done good work, Ortwine,” the Preceptor nodded. “How many times did you die?”
“Only twice,” Ortwine grunted. “I feel I did well; my instinct for self-preservation must be better honed than that of Teppu. Narh died nine times; he doesn’t seem to care: he just keeps going. Nehael turns animals into suicidal fanatics, although I think that he may be like that normally.”
“And you?”
Ortwine nodded. “Her presence is exhilarating; it cannot be denied.”
“If the fear of death is removed, it is remarkable what can be accomplished.”
“Empty words, Nwm,” Ortwine shook her head. “The fear of pain remains. And Nwm, for pity’s sake: I am a queen and a goddess. Can we have no better accommodations than this wet earth?”
“If you wish for something more comfortable, you will need to find a wizard.”
“It does not have to be lavish, Nwm. Just something.”
Nwm gestured, and wood flew together to form a small, crude hut, open on one side which faced the fire.
“Bed?” Ortwine asked.
Nwm shook his head.
“Moss?” Ortwine asked.
Nwm nodded. A cradle of soft moss grew within the shelter.
“Adequate,” Ortwine crawled into it. “And where are the wizards? Where is Mostin? And I thought the Academy were supposed to be more invested in events now?”
“Shomei’s actions have them in a fluster,” Nwm replied. “They are fragmented and nervous. Mostin is preoccupied with his work.”
“What work?”
“I believe a conjuration of some kind,” Nwm smiled.
“Another terrible beast?”
“Doubtless,” Nwm nodded.
“And your own preparations for defense?” Ortwine asked. “Have you accomplished anything worthy?”
“That remains to be tested,” Nwm sighed. “We are stacking spells as fast as we can – which is slowly – but, frankly, everyone is empty. And if the Fourth Effluxion can bring all of the remaining Cheshnite ritual power to bear, she will likely smash the net like so many eggshells.”
“If?” Ortwine inquired.
“She may not be predisposed toward ritual magic. One of the other immortals may need to take the lead in directing the cabals against our countermagicks; this would work in our favor. If she can focus them through herself, her assault will be powerful.”
“You cannot determine which?”
Nwm shook his head. “Her obfuscations are difficult to pierce; she seems opaque to most divinations, and only so much energy can be directed to trying to penetrate them.”
Ortwine groaned. “My suspicions are not good, Nwm. Still, I suppose a spell which counters a spell, is one less spell which burns a swathe of people.”
“That is my philosophy also,” Nwm nodded.
“She burns very hot, Nwm.”
“You encountered her then?”
“Twice,” Ortwine nodded. She fell asleep.
**
Shomei struggled with difficulty to regain consciousness, and stared across the room from beneath her robe. Narcoma still clung to her.
“Thank-you for not snapping my neck, Ahma,” she remarked sleepily. “I was not sure if your word was binding, if offered to fiends.”
“It is not,” Eadric was laconic. He approached her and regarded her.
She seemed tiny. He knew that she was still vulnerable: her reservoir was depleted; almost all of her valences unoccupied. She had allowed her most potent wards to expire, for the purpose of more conjurations. He wondered how many superior planar bindings she was capable of in the course of a day, now that her Fire had ignited.
“Technically, one hundred and thirty-three,” she replied lazily and unexpectedly to the unasked question. “Although even I am not so dedicated. And I did not realize that my valent condition was so apparent to you.”
“Your thoughts are undisciplined when you drink too much kasshiv,” he observed. “And your mind makes connection without your volition.”
She briefly lifted her head. “I do believe that your pronunciation of that word is an affectation, Ahma. Speaking of; do you mind…?” She pointed at the cabinet where the kschiff was kept.
“I merely emphasize its proper ritual purpose.” He retrieved another flask and filled her glass to the brim. “Which you might remember, from time to time.”
Shomei drank deeply, smiled, replaced her glass, and shifted her position. “There are no dreams here, Ahma. Its effects are purely soporific. We all need a little oblivion, now and then; something I’m sure you can appreciate.”
“How was your book?” He asked.
“Complicated.” She furrowed her brow.
“It seemed to evoke an emotional response,” Eadric remarked.
“Yes, Ahma; I am capable of them.”
“Can you readily communicate its contents? Even in the broadest terms?”
“It would be difficult,” she sighed, closing her eyes again. “It would require that you are familiar with a sevenfold hermeneutic; unfortunately, the Infernal Septiga takes some time to master.”
“I feel you are being evasive, Shomei.”
“Yes, Ahma,” she yawned.
“Should I assume that some personal article was touched?”
“I don’t know, Ahma.” She raised an eyebrow with effort. “Would you care to talk about the totality of your experience with Soneillon?”
“I am not sure that that would be appropriate.”
“Because it is deeply intimate, or because you feel it would leave you open to subsequent manipulation?” She asked drowsily.
“Point taken,” he replied.
“Perhaps I will speak again later; when my guard is not so low, and I have had time to consider.”
“That seems only reasonable,” he conceded.
“And then, so can you,” she mumbled and smiled.
“Unfortunately, that seems equally reasonable.”
“I am sorry for your confinement, Ahma. And I have been rude; given no thought to your need for space. I will do something…” Her cogency was beginning to leave her.
“Don’t mention it,” he replied drily
“And thank-you again for not killing me, Ahma,” she muttered.
“I thought about it,” Eadric sighed.
“I know.” She reached up, fumbled, and patted his hand.
Shomei returned to sleep.
Eadric shook his head and opened the cabinet where his host-cum-gaoler kept a plentiful supply of kschiff and other beverages. He sniffed a number of them – some seemed even more dubious than Shomei’s drink of preference – before settling upon a bottle of Bedeshi brandy.
He put his feet up and sat for a long while by the fire, considering his circumstances. Shomei’s choice to allow herself to be vulnerable – because there was little doubt that every action committed by Shomei was one of willful choice – spoke of complexities which compromised him, and with which he felt ill-equipped to engage. He did not suspect any calculated program of seduction, although there was an inevitable sympathy which arose through knowledge and revelation of the other; she had made herself transparent to him, and trusted him. Her I, to him, had become a Thou. He felt warmth – even gratitude – despite her actions, and an odd feeling of protectiveness; as though she were something altogether precious: he knew that she should be cherished.
Really, I have always preferred fiends, he thought. They were just more interesting.
His mind drifted; he was oblivious to events in the world outside, and wondered what transpired at Deorham, in Morne, at Galda. He pondered, at length, about Soneillon: only days had passed since he had left her; it felt like months. Her reaction to his predicament concerned him.
Eventually – having consumed half of the bottle – a deep, dreamless sleep claimed him.
*
When he awoke, Shomei was already gone. Eadric stood and looked at the wall: a heavy timber door had appeared, where none had been before. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion: what lay beyond was, no doubt, for him – Shomei had indicated as much, and apparently, she recalled vague commitments made in even the most inebriated state. He slowly opened the door, expecting some vast, opulent suite of rooms bedecked with furs and exotic fabrics.
Instead, he found four small, modestly-furnished but well-lit stone chambers – not too austere, he noted – and a space which might be a shrine or meditation room, were he to make it so.
Still, a prison was a prison. He sighed.
A book sat upon a table. He read its pristine cover – embossed in contemporary Wyrish – and laughed despite himself:
Infernal Hermeneutics – An Introduction
*
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Bloodcookie
Explorer
Indeed. Ha!
Also, I wonder if Eadric isn't beginning to succumb to Stockholm syndrome. Not that I'd blame him.
Cheiromancer
Adventurer
Ooh! I want excerpts. Or, better yet, a link to an e-book.
Just noticed this "coincidence"
Last edited:
grodog
Hero
Ooh! I want excerpts. Or, better yet, a link to an e-book.
I'll second that!
Knightfall
World of Kulan DM
Another fascinating update, Sep. Keep 'em coming.
I wonder if dying and being resurrected could allow Ortwine to expand her portfolio...
Sounds good to me. Not that I'd understand half of it.Ooh! I want excerpts. Or, better yet, a link to an e-book.
I noticed that too.
I wonder if dying and being resurrected could allow Ortwine to expand her portfolio...
Sepulchrave II
Legend
Day 4 – Intercession?
“Although I am incarcerated, I still feel as though I should thank you for providing me with chambers,” Eadric said.
“Then you certainly should, Ahma.” Shomei sat with a look of intense concentration on her face. She was carving a block of Hazel-wood with a slender knife; chips and shavings gathered at the floor beneath her feet. Her hands were a blur, moving with uncanny speed and precision.
“You seem to have none of your own,” Eadric observed. “Yet you have a reputation for ostentation.”
“In quieter days, I have more time for relaxation,” she nodded.
“Then there is some place in the library set aside for you?”
“I make rooms here as I feel the need, Ahma. It is no great matter. A parlor, a drawing room, a hall or bedchamber.” The wood had begun to assume the form of a human-shaped figurine.
“You also sleep more in quieter days?”
“Yes. But I sleep by the fire, Ahma.”
“Ah,” he nodded. “Chambers for entertaining your devilish lovers, then.”
“Yes, Ahma.” She regarded him with amusement. “Do I detect a note of judgment in your voice?”
“I am hardly one to judge,” Eadric replied.
“Indeed, Ahma.” The wood in Shomei’s hand had become a recognizable female shape, with slender limbs.
“And mortals?” He inquired. “They hold no interest for you?”
She paused and raised an eyebrow. “This line of questioning is becoming personal, Ahma.”
“I apologize. I did not mean to embarrass you.”
“You will not. Mortals are frail, and lack stamina, Ahma.”
“Then devils are…adequate to your needs? You have not sought to look beyond the Infernal?”
“Only once, Ahma.” Shomei blew hard upon the carving, and dust flew from it. She wiped it in her robe, and smiled. “I was declined, if you recall. But adequate? – yes; devils might surprise you with their tenderness, and are subtle and inventive in all matters.”
She presented a statuette to him. It was exquisite: a work far surpassing genius; its line and proportion were perfect. An Eleos with her left hand raised aloft, bearing a star; a clod of earth, from which flowers sprang, was in her right.
“This is extraordinary,” he gaped. “Although, I admit, your choice of subject matter is perplexing. Why do you need an idol?”
She shrugged. “Art is art, Ahma. And it is for you, not me. I do not require an external focus, but should you feel the need for an object of veneration, then you have one.”
He felt it; it made his hands tingle. “It is enchanted?”
“Of course, Ahma. It was carved by Shomei the Infernal from the wood of a Hazel scion. How could it not be?”
“Thank-you,” he nodded. He placed it gently upon the table.
“I should be about…”
“…your conjurations.” Eadric sighed. “Yes, I know. Shomei, is there nothing which I can say or do to dissuade you from this course of action?”
“I do not believe so, Ahma.”
“I cannot beg, cajole, threaten or otherwise impress my frustration and unhappiness regarding your choices upon you?”
“No, Ahma.”
“Then my words have no meaning to you?”
“In this, they cannot,” she shook her head, and stood.
“Why not? I am the Ahma in this matter no less than any other.”
“We have had this conversation already, Ahma.”
“Perhaps we should have it again.”
“Things were going well,” Shomei groaned. “Why do you bring me back here?”
“Because you need to be here, Shomei. The Reattainment of Luminance? What was it to you? What did you read?”
“Another time, Ahma.” She was becoming irritable; angry. Hellfire slowly began to crawl over her hands.
“No. Now. I want to hear it.” He held her wrist. His flesh burned; he ignored it.
“Ahma, do not force me to…”
“There is no external force acting on you, Shomei. Only your own choice.”
“Please let go of my wrist, Eadric. You will hurt yourself.”
He nodded. “Now we’re getting somewhere…”
There was a knock at the door.
Her fire died abruptly; she extricated her hand. Eadric gave a puzzled look. “Were you expecting someone?”
Shomei sighed. “No. But there is only one person who can treat the Hazel’s cordon with impunity, Ahma.” She walked to the door and opened it.
Nehael – or rather a Nehael – stood there, her hands held behind her back. It was not a Nehael with whom the Ahma was altogether familiar.
*
“Am I interrupting?” Nehael asked.
“Yes,” Shomei answered. “We were having an argument.”
“May I come in?”
“Yes,” Eadric interjected before Shomei could speak.
“Hello, Eadric,” Nehael smiled. “Thank-you, but that choice is not yours to make.”
“Where are your weapons?” Shomei inquired. “Shouldn’t you be shooting ghouls or something?”
Weapons? Eadric had the distinct notion that he was behind the times.
“I should still like to come in,” Nehael insisted.
“Shomei?” Eadric looked at her.
“Very well,” Shomei sighed, waving her in.
Nehael entered, and regarded the figurine of the Eleos. “You are no mean talent, Shomei.”
“You have something behind your back?” Eadric asked.
“This?” Nehael produced a sprig of Holly. Eadric’s hackles rose. “Yes; I found it nearby. It’s been growing there for a little while. Didn’t you know?”
“No.” Shomei scowled.
“It may be connected with the seven hundred fallen exemplars who are nearby,” Nehael suggested.
“Seven hundred?” Eadric asked in horror.
“Shomei works fast, Eadric.”
The Infernalist gave a nonchalant shrug.
“The Holly scion is not yet awake,” Nehael added. “But there again, Azazel is not here yet, either. I am surprised that you invoked me at this late stage.”
“I was not aware that I did,” Eadric sighed.
“Not you, Eadric.” Nehael picked up the statuette of the Eleos and handed it to Shomei. “Devotional art made from a Hazel by the Antinomos for the Ahma is likely to gain my attention.”
“You are not the Eleos,” Shomei observed.
“I was the nearest available avatar,” Nehael smiled.
Shomei replaced the figurine on the table. “If you believe that a red dress and a bad attitude are likely to impress me, you can think again. You will divert me from my purpose no more effectively than the Ahma.”
“No, Shomei,” Nehael sighed. “That I will not. The choice is yours. It always is. May I speak briefly with Eadric?”
“Yes. He is right here.”
“Alone, Shomei?”
“But of course,” Shomei replied acidly, gesturing toward the timber door. “He has his own cell, now.”
“Thank-you.”
Eadric sat in stunned silence.
Shomei ushered them away, and poured kschiff.
**
“It is good to see you,” Nehael smiled. She had declined a chair, and sat on the floor in effortless saizhan. There was a dynamic quality about her that Eadric had not before encountered; she seemed entirely grounded and embodied. He recalled Soneillon’s words, and understood that, although spoken lightly, they had not been altogether in jest.
“I am bewildered, Nehael.” Eadric confessed.
“I have come to expect it,” Nehael nodded.
“You sit in saizhan…”
“I am a syncretic deity, Eadric.”
“Your posture is better than mine,” he added.
“Things are moving rapidly, Ahma. You need to resolve this situation as quickly as possible and return to Galda.”
“I have been trying.”
“Where are you in your dialogue with Shomei?”
Eadric sighed. “I do not know. I cannot fathom her. She is complex.”
Nehael nodded. “She is a devil, Ahma, and an I. Prior to that, she was the most gifted mage of her generation – perhaps of any generation. Complex does not even begin to cover her.”
Eadric sighed. “She chose to trust me: she left herself completely vulnerable to me; I might have slain her, and spared us all from what will likely ensue.”
“But you did not.”
“No.” Eadric said. “It would have been an act of violation against Truth. She is utterly authentic.”
“Nor yet did you marry her,” Nehael smiled wrily.
“I did not know her as I have come to.”
“Then you regret your decision?” Nehael asked with raised eyebrows.
“No. I regret that not all opportunity can be realized. But I made a choice. I stand by it.”
“I am sure Soneillon will be pleased,” Nehael spoke in a droll voice. “Or at least, not wrathful and vindictive.”
“Self-preservation also informs my perspective,” Eadric admitted.
“And Nehael?” She inquired. “Where do you stand with regard to her? To me?”
“That relationship is different.”
“Why?” She asked. “Am I not desirable?”
Eadric looked at her and groaned. “Yes.”
“You somehow believe me less lustful?”
“Well…”
“Would you deem me less unattainable than previously?”
His head reeled. “Yes?”
“Do not worry, Eadric.” She laughed. “I am not pressing a claim upon the highly-coveted Ahma.”
“That is a relief,” he sighed.
“But then again, I wouldn’t, would I?”
“No…?” He said unsurely.
“I am Compassion, Ahma. Possessiveness is not in my nature. Saizha?”
*
“Are you quite finished?” Shomei asked irritably.
[Nehael]: This is what we exchanged [information].
Eadric stared at Nehael in disbelief. Shomei raised an eyebrow and analyzed.
“You need not look betrayed, Eadric,” Nehael sighed. “I do not hide anything for the purpose of manipulation, and neither should you. And it was Shomei who invoked me, not you. I will see myself out.”
Nehael departed.
“Perhaps celibacy is best,” Eadric sat wearily.
Shomei handed him a glass of kschiff. “You would not be the first mystic to come to this conclusion, Ahma.”
“What next?” He asked.
“Well,” Shomei smiled. “First, I will have a drink. And then I will return…”
“…to your conjurations. Yes. I suppose I should know the drill by now. Shomei, as I didn’t kill you, I feel that you might indulge me. I should like some diabolic company in your absence.”
Shomei looked sceptical. “Very well, Ahma. But I should warn you that devilish courtesans can be difficult. Lagusuf might serve; her skin is…”
“Intellectual company, Shomei.”
“Very good, Ahma.” She considered briefly.
A gate opened, and a tall, strikingly beautiful female devil with violet eyes emerged. She was clad in white; her hair was arranged in an elaborate coiffure.
“Shomei…”
“This is Nercamay, Ahma. An infernal muse. You need not be distracted by her full lips and rapid, shallow breath. Nor her heady perfume and natural tactility. She is both intellectual and company: she is a scholar of some renown; her mind is exquisitely perverse and convoluted.”
“As is yours,” Eadric said.
“Thank-you, Ahma. Nercamay, you may attend to the Ahma’s needs: perhaps it might be best if you made no attempt to seduce him; it may cause him undue distress. Did you have some topic in mind to discuss?”
“Actually, yes,” Eadric reached for the The Reattainment of Luminance. “You will give me lessons in diabolic heresies, won’t you Nercamay?”
Shomei sighed. The Ahma was nothing, if not persistent. She exited the cottage.
*
Nercamay smiled gently, sat next to Eadric, and opened the book in her lap. She smelled of jasmine and orchids.
“How familiar are you with the sevenfold hermeneutic?” She asked in a soft voice. Her hand immediately began to wander. Eadric replaced it.
“Very little,” Eadric admitted.
“It’s very warm in here, Ahma…”
“You are a devil; I am sure you will cope.”
“Are your chambers cooler?”
“Just read,” Eadric said through gritted teeth.
**
“Although I am incarcerated, I still feel as though I should thank you for providing me with chambers,” Eadric said.
“Then you certainly should, Ahma.” Shomei sat with a look of intense concentration on her face. She was carving a block of Hazel-wood with a slender knife; chips and shavings gathered at the floor beneath her feet. Her hands were a blur, moving with uncanny speed and precision.
“You seem to have none of your own,” Eadric observed. “Yet you have a reputation for ostentation.”
“In quieter days, I have more time for relaxation,” she nodded.
“Then there is some place in the library set aside for you?”
“I make rooms here as I feel the need, Ahma. It is no great matter. A parlor, a drawing room, a hall or bedchamber.” The wood had begun to assume the form of a human-shaped figurine.
“You also sleep more in quieter days?”
“Yes. But I sleep by the fire, Ahma.”
“Ah,” he nodded. “Chambers for entertaining your devilish lovers, then.”
“Yes, Ahma.” She regarded him with amusement. “Do I detect a note of judgment in your voice?”
“I am hardly one to judge,” Eadric replied.
“Indeed, Ahma.” The wood in Shomei’s hand had become a recognizable female shape, with slender limbs.
“And mortals?” He inquired. “They hold no interest for you?”
She paused and raised an eyebrow. “This line of questioning is becoming personal, Ahma.”
“I apologize. I did not mean to embarrass you.”
“You will not. Mortals are frail, and lack stamina, Ahma.”
“Then devils are…adequate to your needs? You have not sought to look beyond the Infernal?”
“Only once, Ahma.” Shomei blew hard upon the carving, and dust flew from it. She wiped it in her robe, and smiled. “I was declined, if you recall. But adequate? – yes; devils might surprise you with their tenderness, and are subtle and inventive in all matters.”
She presented a statuette to him. It was exquisite: a work far surpassing genius; its line and proportion were perfect. An Eleos with her left hand raised aloft, bearing a star; a clod of earth, from which flowers sprang, was in her right.
“This is extraordinary,” he gaped. “Although, I admit, your choice of subject matter is perplexing. Why do you need an idol?”
She shrugged. “Art is art, Ahma. And it is for you, not me. I do not require an external focus, but should you feel the need for an object of veneration, then you have one.”
He felt it; it made his hands tingle. “It is enchanted?”
“Of course, Ahma. It was carved by Shomei the Infernal from the wood of a Hazel scion. How could it not be?”
“Thank-you,” he nodded. He placed it gently upon the table.
“I should be about…”
“…your conjurations.” Eadric sighed. “Yes, I know. Shomei, is there nothing which I can say or do to dissuade you from this course of action?”
“I do not believe so, Ahma.”
“I cannot beg, cajole, threaten or otherwise impress my frustration and unhappiness regarding your choices upon you?”
“No, Ahma.”
“Then my words have no meaning to you?”
“In this, they cannot,” she shook her head, and stood.
“Why not? I am the Ahma in this matter no less than any other.”
“We have had this conversation already, Ahma.”
“Perhaps we should have it again.”
“Things were going well,” Shomei groaned. “Why do you bring me back here?”
“Because you need to be here, Shomei. The Reattainment of Luminance? What was it to you? What did you read?”
“Another time, Ahma.” She was becoming irritable; angry. Hellfire slowly began to crawl over her hands.
“No. Now. I want to hear it.” He held her wrist. His flesh burned; he ignored it.
“Ahma, do not force me to…”
“There is no external force acting on you, Shomei. Only your own choice.”
“Please let go of my wrist, Eadric. You will hurt yourself.”
He nodded. “Now we’re getting somewhere…”
There was a knock at the door.
Her fire died abruptly; she extricated her hand. Eadric gave a puzzled look. “Were you expecting someone?”
Shomei sighed. “No. But there is only one person who can treat the Hazel’s cordon with impunity, Ahma.” She walked to the door and opened it.
Nehael – or rather a Nehael – stood there, her hands held behind her back. It was not a Nehael with whom the Ahma was altogether familiar.
*
“Am I interrupting?” Nehael asked.
“Yes,” Shomei answered. “We were having an argument.”
“May I come in?”
“Yes,” Eadric interjected before Shomei could speak.
“Hello, Eadric,” Nehael smiled. “Thank-you, but that choice is not yours to make.”
“Where are your weapons?” Shomei inquired. “Shouldn’t you be shooting ghouls or something?”
Weapons? Eadric had the distinct notion that he was behind the times.
“I should still like to come in,” Nehael insisted.
“Shomei?” Eadric looked at her.
“Very well,” Shomei sighed, waving her in.
Nehael entered, and regarded the figurine of the Eleos. “You are no mean talent, Shomei.”
“You have something behind your back?” Eadric asked.
“This?” Nehael produced a sprig of Holly. Eadric’s hackles rose. “Yes; I found it nearby. It’s been growing there for a little while. Didn’t you know?”
“No.” Shomei scowled.
“It may be connected with the seven hundred fallen exemplars who are nearby,” Nehael suggested.
“Seven hundred?” Eadric asked in horror.
“Shomei works fast, Eadric.”
The Infernalist gave a nonchalant shrug.
“The Holly scion is not yet awake,” Nehael added. “But there again, Azazel is not here yet, either. I am surprised that you invoked me at this late stage.”
“I was not aware that I did,” Eadric sighed.
“Not you, Eadric.” Nehael picked up the statuette of the Eleos and handed it to Shomei. “Devotional art made from a Hazel by the Antinomos for the Ahma is likely to gain my attention.”
“You are not the Eleos,” Shomei observed.
“I was the nearest available avatar,” Nehael smiled.
Shomei replaced the figurine on the table. “If you believe that a red dress and a bad attitude are likely to impress me, you can think again. You will divert me from my purpose no more effectively than the Ahma.”
“No, Shomei,” Nehael sighed. “That I will not. The choice is yours. It always is. May I speak briefly with Eadric?”
“Yes. He is right here.”
“Alone, Shomei?”
“But of course,” Shomei replied acidly, gesturing toward the timber door. “He has his own cell, now.”
“Thank-you.”
Eadric sat in stunned silence.
Shomei ushered them away, and poured kschiff.
**
“It is good to see you,” Nehael smiled. She had declined a chair, and sat on the floor in effortless saizhan. There was a dynamic quality about her that Eadric had not before encountered; she seemed entirely grounded and embodied. He recalled Soneillon’s words, and understood that, although spoken lightly, they had not been altogether in jest.
“I am bewildered, Nehael.” Eadric confessed.
“I have come to expect it,” Nehael nodded.
“You sit in saizhan…”
“I am a syncretic deity, Eadric.”
“Your posture is better than mine,” he added.
“Things are moving rapidly, Ahma. You need to resolve this situation as quickly as possible and return to Galda.”
“I have been trying.”
“Where are you in your dialogue with Shomei?”
Eadric sighed. “I do not know. I cannot fathom her. She is complex.”
Nehael nodded. “She is a devil, Ahma, and an I. Prior to that, she was the most gifted mage of her generation – perhaps of any generation. Complex does not even begin to cover her.”
Eadric sighed. “She chose to trust me: she left herself completely vulnerable to me; I might have slain her, and spared us all from what will likely ensue.”
“But you did not.”
“No.” Eadric said. “It would have been an act of violation against Truth. She is utterly authentic.”
“Nor yet did you marry her,” Nehael smiled wrily.
“I did not know her as I have come to.”
“Then you regret your decision?” Nehael asked with raised eyebrows.
“No. I regret that not all opportunity can be realized. But I made a choice. I stand by it.”
“I am sure Soneillon will be pleased,” Nehael spoke in a droll voice. “Or at least, not wrathful and vindictive.”
“Self-preservation also informs my perspective,” Eadric admitted.
“And Nehael?” She inquired. “Where do you stand with regard to her? To me?”
“That relationship is different.”
“Why?” She asked. “Am I not desirable?”
Eadric looked at her and groaned. “Yes.”
“You somehow believe me less lustful?”
“Well…”
“Would you deem me less unattainable than previously?”
His head reeled. “Yes?”
“Do not worry, Eadric.” She laughed. “I am not pressing a claim upon the highly-coveted Ahma.”
“That is a relief,” he sighed.
“But then again, I wouldn’t, would I?”
“No…?” He said unsurely.
“I am Compassion, Ahma. Possessiveness is not in my nature. Saizha?”
*
“Are you quite finished?” Shomei asked irritably.
[Nehael]: This is what we exchanged [information].
Eadric stared at Nehael in disbelief. Shomei raised an eyebrow and analyzed.
“You need not look betrayed, Eadric,” Nehael sighed. “I do not hide anything for the purpose of manipulation, and neither should you. And it was Shomei who invoked me, not you. I will see myself out.”
Nehael departed.
“Perhaps celibacy is best,” Eadric sat wearily.
Shomei handed him a glass of kschiff. “You would not be the first mystic to come to this conclusion, Ahma.”
“What next?” He asked.
“Well,” Shomei smiled. “First, I will have a drink. And then I will return…”
“…to your conjurations. Yes. I suppose I should know the drill by now. Shomei, as I didn’t kill you, I feel that you might indulge me. I should like some diabolic company in your absence.”
Shomei looked sceptical. “Very well, Ahma. But I should warn you that devilish courtesans can be difficult. Lagusuf might serve; her skin is…”
“Intellectual company, Shomei.”
“Very good, Ahma.” She considered briefly.
A gate opened, and a tall, strikingly beautiful female devil with violet eyes emerged. She was clad in white; her hair was arranged in an elaborate coiffure.
“Shomei…”
“This is Nercamay, Ahma. An infernal muse. You need not be distracted by her full lips and rapid, shallow breath. Nor her heady perfume and natural tactility. She is both intellectual and company: she is a scholar of some renown; her mind is exquisitely perverse and convoluted.”
“As is yours,” Eadric said.
“Thank-you, Ahma. Nercamay, you may attend to the Ahma’s needs: perhaps it might be best if you made no attempt to seduce him; it may cause him undue distress. Did you have some topic in mind to discuss?”
“Actually, yes,” Eadric reached for the The Reattainment of Luminance. “You will give me lessons in diabolic heresies, won’t you Nercamay?”
Shomei sighed. The Ahma was nothing, if not persistent. She exited the cottage.
*
Nercamay smiled gently, sat next to Eadric, and opened the book in her lap. She smelled of jasmine and orchids.
“How familiar are you with the sevenfold hermeneutic?” She asked in a soft voice. Her hand immediately began to wander. Eadric replaced it.
“Very little,” Eadric admitted.
“It’s very warm in here, Ahma…”
“You are a devil; I am sure you will cope.”
“Are your chambers cooler?”
“Just read,” Eadric said through gritted teeth.
**
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Knightfall
World of Kulan DM
Just read... heh.
Bloodcookie
Explorer
Poor Eadric. For all the complications that arise when religion intrudes in romance, I can only imagine that forming romantic relationships with actual figures of veneration must be exponentially more problematic...
