AFTERMATH (Part 2)
Those within the Mournland who had participated in the battle and could watch the events in Xoriat via the window between the planes see the Angels stop moving, simply floating in space. Then, streams of silver light begin to flow out of their bodies, thickening into clouds of mist that blot out the scene. The clouds flow out of the portal and into Khorvaire, gradually fading into nothingness as they do so. At first, they later report, there was no other appreciable difference. At first.
* * * * *
Somewhere in the Shadow Marches, Gurr’khan sits bolt upright, sniffing the air around him. The Gatekeeper rises and strides out of the chamber, passing down a hallway. At the end, a dozen Gatekeepers, druids and warriors, who had been guarding a stone door, are staring at it in worried confusion.
Gurr’khan peremptorily gestures them aside and makes a motion, causing the door to roll aside. Ignoring the gasps and questions from the others, he steps into the chamber beyond. Before him lies a gigantic dimensional seal, floating in mid-air above a roiling pool of elemental energy.
Or what was a roiling pool. For the first time in his life, the old Gatekeeper sees the pool, simultaneously a metaphor and a concrete manifestation of the chaos that is Xoriat, completely quiescent, its surface smooth and unmoving.
Gurr’khan stares at it for a few moments and then, to the confusion of those watching, begins to laugh, great gusts of merriment shaking his frame.
* * * * *
The Chamber of the Silver Flame now lies deserted, though the rubble has been cleared away. There is no light here and no sound, other than a faint sniffling.
And then the darkness retreats, softly and slowly as the ocean’s tide, as something blooms in the darkness. A silver spark, which slowly grows into a tiny flame, no larger than that atop by a candle. It hangs in the middle of the chamber, three feet off the ground, moving slightly as if touched by an invisible wind.
Soft steps move hesitantly forward and then a small, dark hand reaches toward the flame. It stops a few inches away and then the chamber is lit more brightly, as argent fire surrounds the hand, outlining but not burning it.
“Look! Look, Skaravojen—it’s back!” says Jaela Daran, once more Keeper of the Flame. There is a thumping sound as her dragonhound companion enthusiastically smacks his tail on the floor.
Within minutes, bells begin to ring out, first from the Cathedral, then across Flamekeep, then across Thrane, and finally over all of Khorvaire, as acolytes and priests, clerics and paladins, shout and celebrate in wonder at this miracle.
* * * * *
In the Cogs below Sharn, Smith bends over the altar above the Pool of Onatar’s Tears, not in prayer, but staring at the markings that appear to have been etched into its hitherto pristine surface. His metal finger slowly, reverently, traces the silhouette of the structure in the center of the marks, one that he has not seem since he, years ago, emerged from the depths of one in a Cannith enclave in Cyre. Knowledge fills his mind that did not exist moments ago, knowledge of its workings and secrets. A creation forge!
The warforged priest looks up suddenly and then slowly nods, his mechanical eyes fixed on a spot before him where, as any observer could note, nothing stands. “To the north?” he says softly. “All right. Thank you!”
* * * * *
Some of the warriors in the army in the Mournland point upward, shouting in surprise. Above and around them, something appears that has not been seen here since the destruction of Cyre. Sunlight. Beams of sunlight begin to pierce the ceiling of the Dead-Gray Mist, as it gradually dissipates and rolls apart, like clouds driven and tattered by the wind. A circle forms and begins to widen at great speed.
Those with magical fluency swiftly realize that conditions have changed, arcane items that had been suppressed or affected by the Mournland’s strange restrictions now flaring back to normal functioning. Corven turns to a wounded Brelish soldier nearby and activates a wand. Seeing the woman’s wounds close, the artificer says, “Damn! I don’t believe it! Do you see this?” The question is Cedric, who had joined him a little earlier, after having collected the Thranish troops into a group. The paladin, who has been studying his holy symbol, looks up at the window to Xoriat, now opaque with silver mist. “I do!” he says softly, his voice unusually reverent. Mostly to himself, he mutters, “I hadn’t realized how much I missed it.”
With it becoming clear that healing magic now works here, those with such power quickly fall to helping the wounded. Though the combined Khorvairan forces have easily driven the aberrations, which fell into utter disarray with the disappearance of Antaratma, from the field, many scores lay dead in the aftermath, with even more suffering from the lack of healing here.
Evidently healing magic is not the only thing that is possible now. The three surviving dragons had drawn apart from the humanoids and clustered together around the bodies of their two slain compatriots. Now two of them speak arcane words and disappear, along with the corpses. The last, Essirise, takes wing, soaring upward and passing through the widening hole in the Mist above. Emerging above it, she takes a quick look around and then heads south, disappearing out of sight beyond the edges of the increasing gap.
Others also take advantage of the access to teleportation. King Kaius, who has been speaking to Maddox Kaminaar near the survivors of the Karrnathi contingent, says a few more words to the bone knight and then triggers a ring and disappears. Madra Sil Sarin wraps her cloak around herself and fades from view. A fading green glow marks where Titania, lady of the eladrin, stood moments ago.
At this moment, a particularly thick stream of silvery light descends from the window to Xoriat, which promptly begins to shrink. The light descends, in roiling waves, onto the ground of the Mournland and quickly resolves itself into the forms of the Guardian Angels. Gareth and Luna stand in front, their faces drawn and weary, oddly pallid, but they are much more solid than the three shapes behind them. Korm’akhan, Six and Nameless appear translucent, the landscape visible through them. A moment later, as the window above them disappears, the silvery light fades and they are gone, leaving only Luna and Gareth.
A small crowd of exceedingly odd individuals hurry to their side—a Sentinel Marshal from Sharn and an old woman from Karrnath, the general of the armies of Thrane and a Karrnathi bone knight, a former street urchin and a disgruntled beholder. Multiple voices ring out together.
“WELL?!”
* * * * *
The end of the War of the Angels led to arguably even more unprecedented changes than the end of the Last War. Instead of a magical wasteland that was blocked off from everyone, the nation of Cyre now lay open to all, a gigantic graveyard full of treasure and riches, albeit one still inhabited by all sorts of dangers and monsters.
Likely the only thing that prevented another war over its riches was the losses suffered by the various nations and the unexpected bonds forged among them in fighting Xoriat. For the first time in over a century, forces belonging to all the nations of Galifar had fought side by side, and that memory was not allowed to fade, as unexpected allies worked together to propagate the concept of unity. The Korranberg Chronicle trumpeted news of the victory and of the sacrifices of not just the Angels but all of Khorvaire for months. Thrane, buoyed at the return of the Silver Flame, threw its support squarely behind Breland’s call for greater diplomatic relations between the nations. To the surprise of many, Karrnath fully supported this move, Kaius joining Boranel and Jaela Daran in calling for the Second Council of Thronehold. Even more amazingly, the Hags of Droaam pledged their full support and were rewarded by a seat at the Second Council, with the nation of Droaam being officially recognized as a country in the Second Thronehold Accords that followed the Council. As was the Protectorate of Cyre.
Instead of another war over the land of Cyre, what followed was a peaceful influx of colonists from across Khorvaire, led by former Cyrans and aided by troops from every nation. Slowly but surely, the land was cleansed and reclaimed, and construction begun of a brand-new capital, appropriately called New Cyre.
* * * * *
Naturally, memorials of the Guardian Angels proliferated across the continent, ranging from the action figures that House Cannith created to the various monuments that were created, the greatest of them the Pillar of the Angels in New Cyre.
A much starker reminder of their activities was the mile-long scar that never disappeared from the surface of Cyre, marking where the final battle against Antaratma and Mual’Tar had begun. Nothing would ever grow there and, eventually, the Gatekeepers were given permission to grow a gigantic grove in a ring around the spot, and to guard it from the odd cultist and, more commonly, tourists who would seek to visit the place.
Various legends grew up around the Grove of the Angels, most of them almost certainly false. The only one that appeared to be true, confirmed by hundreds of watchers every year, was that a great silver dragon would descend onto the Scar at dusk on every anniversary of the battle. It would sit there silently through the night, staring at the moons and the Ring of Siberys as it revolved above, and then disappear into the sky again as dawn arose.
As for the surviving Angels, Luna and Gareth initially returned to Sharn. Both were heavily diminished by their experience on Xoriat, and nothing they could do would ever increase their power again. But they were two of the richest and best known individuals in Khorvaire and, though they did have some enemies remaining, they led a charmed life. Foes discovered that attacking them instantly led a deadly group of guardians to appear from nowhere.
As he had intended, Gareth married Lalia at the most lavish marriage seen in Sharn in living memory, with a collection of guests that no monarch could rival. Afterward, he moved to his estate outside Karrlakton, though its magical link to Sharn meant that he essentially lived in the two nations, eventually taking over as the Karrnathi ambassador to Sharn, speaking for the Silver Flame in both political and theological venues. In view of the weakening of the Silver Flame, he had much to do in both areas.
After serving simultaneously as maid of honor and master-of-ceremonies at Gareth’s wedding, Luna took over ownership (and, of course, interior decoration) of the Gray House. She also became a fixture in Sharn high society, though the resources that she possessed meant that she also spent a significant amount of time traveling. Much of the time she was in the Lhazaar Principalities, usually at the home of Prince Oargev, though rumors also claimed that she traveled to some other unnamed location in the area. Uncharacteristically, she refused to answer questions about such activities, other than sometimes saying “Aaarrr!” and winking meaningfully at interlocutors.
As for the Guardian Angels who had sacrificed their lives…
Shortly after the end of the War, a small cult grew up around Six, some of the more religious warforged seeing him as a representative of Onatar who had actually walked the ground of Khorvaire. Rumors spread that his influence had manifested in other ways, granting unusual powers to some of his chosen. Smith, the custodian of the Pool of Onatar’s Tears, denied such stories when interviewed by the Korranberg Chronicle, but the disappearance of the priest (and a number of other prominent warforged individuals) from Sharn shortly afterward only added to the rumors. Some said that he was later sighted in the Lhazaar Principalities with Luna, but there was no proof of such an event.
The active role of the Gatekeepers against the forces of Xoriat, especially in the Shadow Marches, led to a significant increase in their numbers after the War of the Angels ended. Thousands, whether young acolytes or experienced warriors, joined their ranks, swelling the Gatekeepers to numbers unseen since in a millennium. The most skilled were formed into an elite brigade, Bearers of the Blade, tasked to travel the Marches and eradicate remaining aberration forces. They wielded swords fashioned to resemble Korm’akhan’s meteoric sword, a right gained by passing a series of secret trials, rumored to be administered by a giant beholder, and took him as their model. Beyond the Marches, of course, Korm was most widely commemorated by the chain of Spice Hut restaurants that Luna talked House Ghallanda into creating.
Of Nameless nothing more was ever known.
Except to one, who sat in a silent chamber in Sharn, over a certain staff, sent back to her via Luna from Xoriat.
Though the Plane of Madness was now blocked from Khorvaire, Trillia Lelleir knew she was looking into a part of it, one last gift from Nameless allowing her to look across space and time to where those concepts had no meaning …
Nameless stood alone in the middle of nothingness, at the center of the kuch-naa. “You can enter now. I know you can go where nothing can go, because you are already here. I am already here.”
A shadow split off from Cyäegha’s form, the only one remaining beyond the barrier of the nothingness. Slowly, it seeped through the barrier toward Nameless, who smiled faintly.
“I apologize for being so slow to realize why you have aided me. No mortal regardless of their power or the manipulations of even a Daelkyr Lord could possibly have gained your attention.”
“But you do exist outside of time. ‘The Old Ones Were. The Old Ones Are and the Old Ones Shall Be.’ As it is said. You helped because I am a part of you and always have been and always shall be.”
The shadow crept over Nameless and his shape slowly dissolved, as did the vision.
* * * * *
In short, though it would be far too simplistic to say that all was well with Khorvaire, in the aftermath of the War of the Angels, the scars of the Last War were eased and the nations united as Khorvaire had not been since Galifar sundered. Scholars theorized that this could be the dawning of a new age of peace.
…until Luna’s children were born.
