Looks like the forum won't let me post the entire update in one. So here it is in two segments:
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Finally, Gurr’khan lifts his head from his hands, takes a deep breath, and says, “All right. Is there anything else I should know? Maybe there’s some other good news you forgot?” Clearly, the elderly druid is trying to be sarcastic, but just as obviously, he’s too perturbed to really concentrate on it. Luna begins to giggle at the tone and then cuts it off at a glare from Gurr’khan, pretending to be busy looking at her nails.
“Actually,” says Nameless slowly, “There is one more thing. I need to tell you,” he glances at his companions, “All of you, why the seed is probably in the Mournland.”
The other Angels look at his curiously. Gareth frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“Cyäegha told me why the seed has probably implanted itself there. It was linked to me, and its chosen location is the place where I gained my powers and became what – who – I am.”
“All right,” says Gareth, still frowning, “But what’s new about that? We know you walked out of the Mournland with strange abilities and your memory missing. And I thought you didn’t know what happened there.”
“I didn’t. But now I do. And I have for some time.”
“What?! Why didn’t y…”
Exasperated, Nameless snaps, “If you shut up, I can explain!” Gareth opens his mouth to snap back, but is quickly shushed by a comment of, “Yeah, Gareth – shut it! I want to hear this,” from Korm, followed by Luna’s, “Me too. So don’t make me sit on you – again!” The paladin subsides unwillingly.
Nameless takes a deep breath and begins, “This is what happened….” As he continues, those around him listen raptly. Even Edgar climbs out of the pouch where he normally resides and squats on the alienist’s thigh, spidery legs curled under him and rocky carapace slightly angled, as if tilted to hear better.
Over the next half an hour, the alienist relates everything about his past that he has not told the others, beginning with his capture by cultists of the Dragon Below while serving in the Cyran military. He describes the sacrifice that he and his compatriots had been part of, tied to a dimensional seal and drained by a crystal Key one cultist wielded, similar to the one the Angels had found on the island and which now rests inside a volcano in the Demon Wastes, and the ensuing explosion. He talks about the feeling of having a daelkyr lord – Antaratma, the Nameless One – enter his mind through the weakened seal, and the explosion as the Key exploded, killing all in the chamber but him. He describes, though words fail him here, the snapping shut of the seal and the wrenching as the contact was broken. He shares his opinions about the imprint on his psyche the contact with Antaratma left in his mind, how he thinks that it is akin to a footprint left behind in a soft surface, warping the area around it, and how it is the source of his detection as an aberration, his instinctive ability to activate the Key, his interest in (and affinity towards) Xoriat, and in all likelihood his spellcasting abilities. He describes how he stumbled his way from the cave, seeing what would later be called the Dead-Gray Mists pouring from it, and made his way out across the Mournland. And finally, he explains how he eventually came to regain his memory, first through flashes and glimpses of his past, finally and fully through the not so tender ministrations of the mind flayer Naxaliyen in the halls of Yarkuun Draal.
Nameless finally comes to the end of his narration and falls silent, looking around at those around him and the varied expressions they wear. Though the alienist is no longer subject to quite the same emotions as most of humanity, he feels a slight trepidation about how they will view him now.
Not so surprisingly, it transpires that nothing has really changed. Gareth is the first to speak, his face darker and frown deeper than before. “So you are the one who created the Mournland?”
Nameless actually feels mild relief at the predictability of the paladin even as he replies dryly, “Don’t you ever listen? I had no choice in the matter, and I’ve been doing all I can to prevent the information from getting out. If the situation was any less dire, I would never have mentioned this at all. Speaking of which,” he pauses to look around the group, “If any of you ever disclose this information to anyone, I will drag you off to Xoriat myself. Gareth, this includes the Archierophant. And Lalia. And everyone else. Are we clear?”
There is not the faintest humor or lack of certainty in Nameless’ gaze, and the others all nod. After a few moments of silence, Korm asks, “So that guy who said he recognized you was right? You are the person he said you are?”
“No,” says the alienist firmly. “I was. But now I am Nameless. Just as you are no longer the child your mother gave birth to. Things change. And for me, there is no going back.” Not if I can do anything about it.
“So why didn’t you tell us?” persists Gareth.
Nameless sighs. “Can you give me one good reason why increasing the number of people who know how the Mournland was created would be a good thing? You know exactly how many people would absolutely love to get their hands on that information, and not for academic interest.”
“Yeah, yeah,” says Luna, more interested in something else. “This daelkyr is inside your head?”
“No. It’s difficult to explain, but an imprint or a wound is the closest I can get. His contact with me has left an impression, with some tiny elements of the daelkyr, but it is not the daelkyr itself.”
“Okay. But maybe I can cure this wound. Let me try.” Luna lifts a hand, but before she can begin casting, Nameless’ tentacle lashes out and around her wrist. “NO!” says the alienist firmly. “I don’t know if it can be healed and if it can, I do NOT want it to be.”
“Huh? Why not?”
Six, who has been sitting and listening silently thus far, is the one who answers. “Because doing so might cause Nameless to lose the things that make him what he is, that make him different and special.”
“What? That makes no sense,” says Gareth. “If I had some crazy aberration’s wound in my head, I’d want it out of me whatever…”
“Really?” says Six, his voice turning more metallic, the warforged’s equivalent of using a drier tone. He concentrates and the tendrils of shadow appear around him from his harness, shrouding him in an armor of darkness. “You don’t at all understand the concept of appreciating something that gives you power, even if it is strange or aberrant or not what is acceptable for your species?” Six’s glowing eyes, the only original part of him clearly visible through the shadowy armor, gaze pointedly at Gareth’s metal hand, and then flicker to Luna and Korm.
Nameless laughs, as Gareth grumbles, “It’s not exactly the same thing,” and subsides. “Well put, Six,” the alienist says before turning to look at Luna and Korm too. “As I said, I do not want to be ‘cured.’ I’m not sure, but I think a heal might reverse the effect. So please don’t use that spell on me. Ever!”
“Aah!” says Luna, enlightenment dawning, “So that’s why you didn’t want me to use it during the battle in Q’barra.”
Nameless nods, and then Korm says, “Actually, I used a heal on you to revive you when your buddy from Xoriat was getting personal with Gareth. You’re still able to use your spells, right? So maybe it isn’t a problem. On the other hand, I did feel a little resistance before it took effect.”
Nameless frowns at the news. “Yes, my spells and abilities are still intact. But since I don’t know for sure what could happen, let’s hold off on using that spell on me for now.”
“Okay,” says Korm. Then he asks, “So is this a, um, spiritual or mental ‘wound’ rather than a physical one?” The alienist considers the question and then shakes his head. “Truly, I don’t know. Why?”
“Well,” says Korm, beginning to grin, “As Six said, we’re all pretty changed from what we were, right? And that gives us many options that we don’t have. So I was thinking about checking it, without actually using magic. After all, if it’s not physical, we can probably heal you when you need it to save your life in battle, and not worry about turning you into Edgar Thorn.”
“What did you have in …oh!” Nameless stops as he realizes what the Gatekeeper meant.
“Exactly!” Korm chortles at Nameless’ expression and then focuses. His gray skin darkens slightly and the lower part of his mouth lengthens, the mouth moving downwards and sliding under his chin, from which tentacles begin to sprout. Above them, his eyes change, the nose flattens and sinks until only small holes are left, and, a few seconds later, Korm’s face is a rough facsimile for an illithid’s. “You did say a mind flayer found out your memories for you, so…”
“Okay,” says Luna, a disgusted look on her face. “That’s just wrong.”
“Says the woman with two symbionts inside her!” scoffs Korm, his voice slightly muffled by his mouth’s new position and the tentacles hanging over it.
“They’re not real aberrations!” protests Luna. “And they’re cute!” She turns and looks at Gurr’khan, who has sat wordlessly through Nameless’ story and the byplay between the Angels afterwards. “Don’t you think this is wrong?”
The old orc, who had lowered his head, raises it and looks at Luna. His face is grayer than it normally is, lined with wrinkles which somehow seem deeper than they did a few minutes ago, and he looks terribly old. Luna suddenly feels sorry for him, seeing a combination of tiredness, fear and despair in his face. “This is beyond me,” he says quietly. “Do what you will. Once you are done, we can make some plans, for what it’s worth.”
Nameless, who has been carefully considering Korm’s suggestion, says, “All right. But be careful. Luna, you should probably stay close with a healing spell in case this damages me.”
“This should be instructive,” says Korm and walks over to Nameless. The alienist rises and the taller orc bends slightly. Two of his tentacles grasp either side of Nameless’ head and the other two snake their way into and up his nostrils. Nameless shudders involuntarily at the sensation as his nasal orifices are painfully distended. “Don’t move,” grumbles Korm, “You don’t want me to slip. Maybe I should knock you out first.”
“No,” mumbles Nameless, his words muffled by the situation, “Just get on with it. Luna – I need that healing now.”
Luna complies, channeling healing energy into Nameless as Korm’s tentacles snake over the surface of his brain, probing and feeling, trying to do as little damage as possible. Even so, there is significant pain for the alienist. Nevertheless, he holds himself as still as he can while the Gatekeeper burrows around in his head.
Then Korm says, “This is funny.” Nameless grits through clenched teeth, “I’m not laughing.” Korm begins to shake his head and then stops hastily, before continuing, “Not amusing funny. Strange funny. When I put my tentacles here, I can read your surface thoughts. Think of something.” Then he adds, “Hey – that’s rude!”
“I’ll be ruder if you don’t get on with it,” says Nameless.
“Fine, fine! Spoilsport,” Korm says, before continuing. After a few seconds, he grimaces and then retracts his tentacles with a nauseatingly glutinous sound. Nameless sways as he does so, and Luna quickly catches him. Korm nods. “There’s definitely something there which shouldn’t be. Physically, I mean. Near the back of your brain, just above where the spine meets your skull. I’m not sure what it is and I definitely don’t know what one could do about it – if you wanted something done, I mean.”
While Luna casts another healing spell on Nameless for good measure, Gareth turns to Gurr’khan. “All right. What would you have us do?”
“As I said, this is beyond me. I cannot give you appropriate counsel. You should talk to Saala, as I had planned for you to do.” He adds darkly, “Though not with this kind of news.”
* * *
Some two hours later, the Angels and Gurr’khan are a thousand miles from Sharn, sitting across from Saala Torrn. The leader of the Gatekeepers looks as she did when they first met her three months ago, having used her druidic abilities to appear as an elderly half-orc female even though Luna had reincarnated her as a young human.
After having heard the group’s tale and pondered it for a while, she says, “As you’re already aware, this is much darker news than we’ve heard in, well, as far back as I have been among the Gatekeepers. And if Xoriat is truly to return, then such news has not been heard in millennia. But I would like to be certain this is the case. As your experiences with the rakshasas showed, all is not necessarily what it seems.” Her eyes flicker to Nameless for a moment, but she expresses no verbal doubt of what he has said of his condition only a few minutes earlier.
“However,” she continues, “I will not waste time either. I shall spread the word among the Gatekeepers, or at least some of them. Knowing of this situation unless we’re certain will not help most of them, since they cannot do anything about it. What do you plan to do?”
“Enter the Mournland and try to stop the seed from coming to fruit, which will probably involve killing this daelkyr,” says Nameless simply.
“You will battle a daelkyr lord yourselves?” Saala’s tone would have been appropriate if she had been asking if they were planning to transport Sharn to the Shadow Marches.
Nameless smiles thinly. “Do we have a choice?”
Saala nods and says, “All right. I shall aid you in any way I can. Before you enter the Mournland, however, I have a suggestion.”
“Certainly.”
“Let us examine the dimensional seals and see if there is any change to them. Xoriat cannot return to our world as long as the seals are intact – this much we know. So if it is to return, the seals will have to be destroyed. I hope we will be able to detect something before it occurs, assuming it will. Besides the seals that we guard, we also know of other places which have links to Xoriat. Usually, groups of aberrations are drawn to and dwell in such areas, which is why we do not venture there. It may be worthwhile for you to examine such a location and see if any manifestation of Xoriat or indication of impending proximity is present. I will try to think of an appropriate place and use my sources to gain what information I can before asking you to do so.” She rises. “You will return to Sharn now, I presume?”
“Yes, we have some things to do there.”
“Very well. Please contact me via a sending daily, so that I can tell you what I have learned.”
“All right.”
