Tales of Wyre

[Cheiromancer]

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 12-28-2011

Obsession – Part 2 (Inversion)


“A ludja,” Hlioth explained, “acts – or does not – according to its nature. Around each of its saplings it creates a circuit in which its own concerns are afforded precedence, but it is not willful – with the exception of the Hazel, of course: willfulness is its nature. There is nothing stopping Shomei from entering the ambit of the Blackthorn at Deorham: it will not assault her. Or, at least, it will not single her out for assault; its concerns are with all of the processes of decay. The warp which emanates from it – the corruption, if you prefer, although I am reluctant to characterize any natural process in those terms – is an unfortunate side effect. Things rot quickly there: matter, mind and space. Shomei possesses magic enough to prevent its general effects.”

“And if Shomei – or I, for that matter – were to take an axe to the scion?” Ortwine inquired.

“You would perish,” Hlioth said simply. “The manner of your passing would likely be ugly. A scion will preserve itself through reflex, and in the unlikely event that a scion is actually threatened, the ludja itself will react to protect its sapling. In the case of the Blackthorn, it might simply squash you. Or you might instantly decompose. Or it might deploy many chthonics, who roost in its branches – when they are not scuttling hither and thither in Dream. The Blackthorn can transfigure them – as it has Soneillon. They are most potent, and would flay you.”

“And Carasch is one such?”

“Carasch is Carasch,” Hlioth replied opaquely. “Cheshne looks out for him.”

Ortwine pondered. “And if, somehow, one were to destroy a scion – before it could react, so to speak. What then?”

“Another would grow in its place,” Hlioth chuckled.

“And if one were to assault the ludja directly? To destroy it at the root?”

“Another. Would grow. In its place. The Great Ludja is the root of all. And it is Reality.”

Ortwine sighed. “Is there no manner in which these things can be curtailed? Restricted? Contained? Manipulated?”

“Certainly,” Hlioth replied unexpectedly. “To assert the higher paradigm. That capacity which Nehael possesses, but will only demonstrate in compassion; which Hummaz enjoys, but has no interest in using – except to gratify his immediate urges. Which Kaalaanala cannot realize; toward which Shomei strives; which has not been revealed by the Ahma.”

“And Soneillon?”

“My eyes cannot penetrate the Void,” Hlioth smiled.

“And the Oak and the Elm – here at Galda?” Ortwine was dubious.

“They are a potent combination; they embody physical characteristics – physicality itself – or two thirds of it. The hardness and temper of the Ash is absent. But strength, resilience, pliability, resistance to decay – yes. Kaalaanala’s sight cannot penetrate the compass set by the ludjas around the scions, and they are vibrant; things which are dead will have a difficult time here, as will things which are predicated on non-Ens – which is obviously to our advantage.”

“I was denied their protection when I made an appeal. Despite Nehael’s intercession. I am less than confident in their benevolence.”

The Green Witch shook her head. “You are ascribing a quality – or a lack of it – which is inappropriate to these ludjas.”

“Then what was the obstacle to their action?”

“You are the Hazel’s bitch, Ortwine,” Hlioth sighed. “I am not privy to the internal politics of the Trees. Either way, Shomei will not forget that fact.”

“And this impenetrability to sight around the scions? It is selective. What motivates it? Deorham is invisible to me. Morne is not. Nor is here at Galda. But Jashat is. There are also other areas which are…opaque.”

“To you, maybe,” Hlioth shrugged. “But not, any longer, to the Eleos. There is no veil through which she cannot now see, except those of Cheshne herself. And you ascribe motivation to all Trees, which implies will – your perspective is too corylian. Although that is to be expected.”

“Yet the Hazel itself does not shroud the Academy?”

“It has not been so implored – or directed. Yet.” Hlioth said with narrowed eyes. “It might be construed as an overt act of aggression on the part of Shomei. The Enforcer would be less than pleased.”

“And Nehael’s perception extends to Jashat? The Temple of Cheshne?”

“The Fires of Death and all of her avatars are transparent to the Eleos, Ortwine. To Compassion. Something which Kaalaanala is likely to resent.”

“Does this make sense to you?” The sidhe asked Nwm.

“Of course,” the Preceptor replied. “What is unclear?”

“Never mind,” Ortwine sighed. “What are we now waiting to do?”

“Eadric has been gone for three days, and is unresponsive to any efforts at communication. We will make a reconnaissance,” Nwm said in a matter-of fact way. “Of Deorham and its environs. I, for one, am curious to see what transpires beneath a Blackthorn’s pall.”

“Is everybody mad?” Ortwine groaned. “Why can’t we just ask Nehael?”

“Her concerns have become more global,” Nwm replied.

“In which case,” Ortwine said drily. “She is even less use than previously.”

“You may be surprised on that count,” Nwm smiled.


**


[Daunton]: You should probably come to the Academy.

[Mostin]: Why?

[Daunton]: Just come, Mostin.

*

“As you can see,” Daunton observed, “things are rather out of hand.”

A long queue of chattering wizards had formed before a desk, behind which a scholarly devil sat. The fiend was haggling with an enchantress over the precise conditions for access to a number of obscure dweomers.

Mostin barged his way to the front of the line, over the objections of many who stood there, and shoved the wizard aside. Daunton followed uncertainly.

“Please take your place in an orderly fashion,” the devil looked up towards him.

Mostin twitched.

“I am conducting legitimate business on the part of Shomei the Infernal, as her broker,” Ugales sighed. “Her rights are protected.” He pointed – not to the Articles, but to the Academy’s own protocol guidelines.

“Bah!” Mostin turned to walk away.

“But I am also instructed to inform you that access is unrestricted in your case,” Ugales smiled.

Many voices were raised in protestation, including Daunton.

Mostin swiveled on the spot, licked his lips, and looked through the portal.

“Mostin,” Daunton tugged on his sleeve. “Mostin!”

“Oh very well. This is irregular,” Mostin nodded. “Some our punctilio with regard to brokerage may need revisiting. You should convoke the Collegium. A course of action must be decided.”

“As Chancellor of the Academy,” Ugales added, “and President of the Collegium, Daunton the Diviner is also allowed unrestricted access.”

“Oh? Really?” Daunton asked, gazing through the doorway. “Come Mostin, we must inspect these forbidden tomes, to determine if they represent a threat to our work here.”

“Quite,” Mostin agreed, as he followed him through.


**


Teppu grinned, bundling his few magical oddments – each of which was quirky, and of particular interest only to himself – into a cloak, which he tied to a gnarled oak staff.

Nehael – the Eleos – stood nearby and watched. Her expression was one of sadness.

“I will miss you,” she said. “Yet not, of course. I will miss your presence. It is comforting to me.”

He bowed smoothly.

“When you see Nehael again, she will remember you, but she will not be the same,” she looked at him. “Try to remember that. It is a relationship you will have to forge anew.”

“I have experienced something similar many times myself,” he laughed. “I’m sure she will be perfectly delightful.”

“Perhaps. But not in the way you expect; her method of ending suffering – her compassion – is particular.”

“A paradigm can absorb many paradoxes,” he shrugged.

“I’ll see you if you die.” She kissed him on the forehead. “Try not to,” she added.

The Eleos took three paces backward toward the Great Tree-ludja and smiled. “Assume an active stance, and do not compromise your truth. Give her your wisdom freely; she will need it. And do not concern yourself too much with the Aeon; it will take care of itself. Always find the Middle Way. And remember that you are much loved.”

She – and the Tree – vanished to perception. The Womb of Qinthei was closed.

Teppu sighed. All things must end.

Moments later, Nehael appeared: an avatar, emanated by the Eleos. The Image of Uedii, her eyes remained green within green, but her garb was scarlet.

“Teppu?” She asked.

“Red?” He asked, and bowed again.

“I will need a horse and a sword,” she remarked. “Where can I find these?”


**


At dusk, a shadow slid furtively through the grounds of the Academy; potent magic cloaked it from the dark exemplars which whirled beyond perception in the skies above. It crept from stock to bole to trunk, seeking to move forward, but always, somehow, vexed in its efforts. Once or twice it espied what it thought might be a light but, upon skulking toward it, seemed to lose its bearings, or become snagged in some briar.

Shomei the Infernal watched the figure silently. From its movements, it was a Naztharune, but she knew that surely Temenun was not foolish enough to send it against her: what could he hope to achieve? Its purpose must, therefore, be otherwise.

In an inkling, without word or gesture, she dispelled its wards, dominated it and drew it toward her with telekinesis. Their eyes suddenly alerted to the presence of the tigress, devas with cobalt skin and flaming swords were instantly all about her.

Shomei wrenched its thoughts from its mind and prepared to unleash a ruthless barrage of flensing upon it. She analyzed meaning and intention, paused, and instead turned it upon its head; it hovered five feet above the ground. Shomei approached so that the Naztharune’s eyes were inches away.

She held out her hand.

It reached within its vestment with backward palms, withdrew a bunch of tumid cherries – deep scarlet in color – and placed them in her grasp.

“Tell your master that I will give his offer due consideration,” she smiled. “But that, at present, I have no nuts for him.”

She righted it and released it. It slunk away into the night.

Your concern is appreciated, she spoke drily into the minds of the fallen celestials. But really, I can look after myself. You may return to your stations.

Shomei withdrew to her cottage and pondered, her mind quickly dissecting new data. Temenun’s ritual pool was not insignificant, and if he was in the process of co-opting Soneillon’s former succubi in Throile as well, then he would emerge as a major player.

She poured herself a glass of kschiff, threw off her cloak, removed her slippers, and relaxed by the fire. Shomei examined the cherries and sighed, placing them on a silver platter. The marriage of Will and Desire was the last thing that she needed; really, that was where it had all gone wrong last time.

Hours passed in contemplative reverie; finally, she roused herself and stood. With a thought, she translated to Galda, appearing before the Tabernacle.

Sercion’s hand moved to his weapon, but she presented an open palm.

“I wish to speak with the Sela,” she said.

“Come in, Shomei,” a voice said warmly from within. “You know you’re always welcome.”

She exhaled slowly, and drew the heavy curtain aside. The Sela sat in meditative posture within.

“I am not here for moral instruction,” Shomei said tersely.

“Then you are fortunate that I do not offer it,” the Sela smiled. “Shall we begin where we left off?”

Shomei nodded.


*

 

[Cheiromancer]

By its etymology, one could gloss the word "corylian" as "adopted by Hazel". That distinctively hazel-like qualities are present in the one adopted may be deduced. This word is new to me.

----

The conversation the Sela alludes to was posted by Sepulchrave II on 07/14/2003. If anyone wishes to refresh their memory, it is contained in post 76 of this thread.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 12-31-2011

Obsession – Part 3



“Your friends have arrived,” Soneillon raised an eyebrow. “In the village. They are warded against perception – poorly. Are we entertaining, tonight? Should I send Carasch to greet them?”

“You sense of humor is singular,” Eadric smiled, but his face was etched with pain, as one who has experienced great anguish. “Who is here?”

“The Uediian and the sidhe – and also Hlioth. I have killed her once already; perhaps she liked it and is returning for more. Mostin is not with them; I suspect he is avoiding me: he still owes me Graz’zt.”

“Why did they not simply issue a sending?”

Soneillon gesticulated vaguely. “I confess that a number of signals have been deflected.”

“How many?” Eadric squinted.

“I did not count. Besides, it’s better that you have company on your return to Galda. Your horse is ready; Mazikreen has taken care of him. She has become rather attached.”

“He seems to have that effect. You are a curious creature, Soneillon.”

“Yes?” She fastened a garland of black lotuses around his wrist.

“What will you do now?”

“I will brood and pine desperately, Eadric. Or perhaps I should instead fortify my position against the coming storm – which may blow from any number of directions, or from all at once. Shomei musters her devils; the Fourth Effluxion is moving – I do not relish that meeting. Dhatri’s host is marching. Desire – the Cherry – is active. And your first girlfriend has a new persona; we’ll see how that plays out. Let’s hope that you don’t like her more than me.”

“Of what do you speak?” He asked suspiciously.

“I would hate to spoil the surprise,” she replied drily.

“Shomei may still be open to dialogue,” Eadric suggested. “I have not given up on her.”

“Maybe. Or she may simply dominate you at your next encounter; she is the assertive type. Although, perhaps you’d like that too.”

“You are impossible.”

“Thank-you,” she gave a small nod. “I try not to take things too seriously.”

“You need not remain here.”

“I am not tied to this place, Eadric; I come and go as I please. But prudence demands that I strengthen a bulwark, and this one is better than most. And it would appear that Nehael – your Eleos – has been of some use after all; she has struck a delicate balance, which compromises neither my solidity here, nor your attachment to this particular plot of earth. I should ask you to thank her for me when you next pray to her, but I won’t; it would be an inauthentic request.”

“Do you care to explain?” He asked.

“You will discover when you leave. Don’t you ever like surprises, Eadric?”

“Generally, no,” he said grimly. “It would appear that the lacuna has passed. If another should arise, I will return.”

“Of course you will, Ahma.” She smiled darkly. Her eyes were fathomless voids. “And things need not always be so harrowing; your courtesy and forbearance have earned my gratitude. But I have known you in death: you are now mine. And I don’t share well.”

She pressed a scarf of black samite into his hand, and curled his fingers tightly around it.

*

Fresh snow had fallen, blanketing the courtyard; the winter sun was wan. Eadric looked upon the Blackthorn cautiously, as if his gaze alone might invoke malignancy from it, but it seemed subdued, as though its song had changed in some way. He closed the door to the keep behind him, and turned to pull a handful of dead ivy away from the wall, but green leaves had begun to shoot. He paused, confused, and lowered his hand.

Eleos, he knew, and understood Soneillon’s words.

The Ahma made his way to the gatehouse, and slowed to regard the Steeple where Carasch roosted; the demon seemed not to have moved a hair’s breadth. A shadow of darkness passed across his mind; again, the same feeling of dread and foreboding oppressed him, as he felt the chthonic’s eyes follow him. He shook it off with effort, and trudged forward.

“Nice horse,” Mazikreen handed him the reins to Narh. “Come again.”

Eadric climbed into the saddle, rode through the gate, across the bridge, and straight for Deorham. He did not look back to the Burh.

Within, Soneillon brooded.


**


“You knew,” Ortwine glared at Nwm. “And so did you.” She glared at Hlioth.

“Yes,” Nwm laughed. Beer-foam clung to his beard; the Twelve Elms was thronging with activity.

“I did not. This irks me,” Ortwine continued.

“You are attuned to darker currents, Ortwine,” Hlioth sighed. “And none of us can see everything.”

“These benches are still filthy. And why is there a hole in the ceiling?”

“Should we go to the Burh, I wonder?” Nwm mused.

“We wait,” Hlioth replied. “He will come here, or will not. She can see us.”

A short time passed, and Eadric entered.

Hlioth quickly spoke a spell, masking the Ahma from the inevitable attention – and subsequent religious hysteria – which his presence was likely to provoke.

He nodded in gratitude, and sat.

“Gods, you look terrible,” Ortwine observed. “I’d offer a quip, but even that seems inappropriate. Nice bracelet, by the way.”

Eadric shook his head.

“Did you encounter the rot? How was it?”

“Ugly.” Eadric scowled.

Ortwine sniffed her wine disapprovingly, and placed it on the table. “Nehael seems to have reversed it. But the cordon set by the ludja is still in place. We are inscrutable; although apparently not to Soneillon. Did Nehael communicate with you regarding her intervention here?”

He shook his head. “At Galda, I invoked the Eleos; I prayed for the safeguarding of Deorham – of all within the Blackthorn’s range. I must assume that she listened; or she chose to act thus anyway.”

“A goddess who listens sets a worrying precedent,” Ortwine remarked. “And if Shomei comes here now?”

“I may have to forbid it outright,” Eadric replied.

“Forbid?” Nwm asked sceptically. “One does not forbid Shomei the Infernal anything. If you set yourself up as Law; she will be forced to confront you.”

“She will not attack me. I am the Ahma.”

“Are you sure?” Nwm inquired.

“No,” Eadric admitted.

“Is there an alternative?”

“I would prefer to avoid conflict here. Attempting another dialogue with Shomei is the first step. But I will not have Soneillon assailed for no reason…”

Ortwine groaned. “You are blind, Eadric. This girl has you mixed up.”

“…other than the fact that she possesses something which Shomei wants. Yes, Ortwine? You are about to present some solid, ethical case? A sound reason why I should allow half of Trempa to perish in smoking ruins, whilst demons and devils run amok and Carasch slugs it out with a half-dozen fallen seraphim? I am sorry, but because Shomei wants is not a compelling argument to me.”

“Carasch?” Ortwine asked.

“I was coming to that. He is at the Burh. Climb up the ridge above the North Road; you will see him perched on the Steeple.”

“And he will see you,” Hlioth said. “I advise against it.”

“And Soneillon is the innocent party, here?” Ortwine spoke contemptuously. “There is no greater demon than this one, Ahma.” The religious appellative was pronounced with some derision.

“I know it well!” Eadric snapped. “He has haunted my imaginings for longer than you know; since first I heard his name. And now he is at the Burh? Do not worry, Ortwine; the irony is not lost on me. And trust me: in person he is worse than in your darkest nightmares. I do not doubt that he could extinguish all life within a hundred miles – but, as of yet, no rampage has ensued.”

“And you are confident that your psychotic inamorata is trustworthy?” Ortwine exuded pure acid. “Or even capable of containing this monster? This is where I question your judgment, Eadric.”

“Soneillon asked me one question – and one only – to which I have attached value throughout this: If not by my action, then how will you judge me?. For one who advocates repeatedly and in varied guises for Shomei’s case – and I suggest you question your own motivation in that regard – the notion of agency and its implications should strike a particular resonance.”

The sidhe smiled coldly. “Let us hope that your suspense of judgment – and your action – is vindicated.”

Nwm coughed. “You said yourself that Cheshne was awakening, Ortwine. That Soneillon is not who she was.”

“And at no point did I suggest that I trusted her,” Ortwine groaned.

“There is something else,” Hlioth spoke through gritted teeth. “Shomei seeks to woo the ritual pool offered by the Academy, and bribe leading members of the Collegium. Mostin has committed himself to protect the Articles – and curiously enough, I believed him, because he believed himself – but until the Articles are actually threatened, he will not act. Gihaahia will prompt him; she is leaning on him – and Daunton. In the meantime, he may try to reason with Shomei – he may be the only one who can slow the meteor. Or she may attempt to sway him; and she is the superior rhetorician.”

Nwm nodded. “She is smarter than Mostin. Shomei presses hard against every barrier. She tests her exemption to the limit. For what it’s worth, I don’t think she’ll strike here until Dhatri reaches the envelope of the scions at Galda. I suspect that she will force you to choose, Eadric, or split your force. And perhaps I should keep my mouth closed in future, and learn from the Ahma’s mistakes: if the wizards do find a goddess in Gihaahia, then a reign of dark magic is imminent.”

“Her parentage is mixed,” Hlioth said archly. “She is the daughter of Astaroth and the Void; it might behoove us to remember this fact – it is apt enough. Forces other than the Claviger may be seeking to manifest through her.”

“We are a muddled and incestuous pantheon,” Ortwine sighed.


**


:: Mostin ::

Begone, Vhorzhe. I have nothing to say to you.

:: Soneillon has abandoned us, Mostin ::

I don’t blame her. Now, begone!.

*

“Roses of life?” Daunton grinned broadly, brandishing a scroll. The two wizards were closeted in an obscure nook of Hell’s library. Mostin wondered if they might need a spell to find their way out again.

“I am beginning to understand Shomei’s strategy,” Mostin sighed. “We will spend the next thousand years searching for and transcribing exotic dweomers, whilst she suborns the Academy and uses it for whatever she wants. And we shall be perfectly happy. How long have we been here, anyway?

“I have no idea,” Daunton mumbled. He brushed dust off a green tome entitled The Fortification of the Skin. “It’s a shame Rimilin is gone. He’d like this one.”

“Why are we even here?” Mostin asked. “We don’t need any of this.”

“No, you don’t.” Shomei had appeared from nowhere behind them. Daunton started. She seemed inordinately calm and focused. “And you have been here for nine hours. But there are transvalents; some were struck by the Adversary. Would you care to see them?”

Mostin twitched. His heart pounded. “And you have not committed them to your armamentarium?”

“There are more than a few. Most are beyond my ability – or yours – to cast,” she smiled. She did not need to add the word yet.

“Proceed,” Daunton said enthusiastically.

“Your library persona is an agreeable one,” Mostin observed.

“This is my passion, Mostin. You know this. I am most me here; I would not have you think that a quest for raw power has blinded me to what is important for my I – which is, and remains, the pursuit of knowledge. Now, follow me.”

She led them through winding corridors, past dens and studies, between stacks of books and down flights of steep stairs. They skirted repositories and scriptoria; passed through secret panels and hidden doors. All was silent, and musty. Finally, she produced a small key and opened an iron postern at the rear of a room crammed with scrolls. They descended yet more stairs, until they reached an open space. Ahead was an area of dead magic. Shomei gestured for them to proceed; the Alienist paused uncertainly.

“I would not cut the claws from the cat and then leave him at home with the fox,” Mostin said through narrowed eyes.

“Mostin…”

He assumed his pseudonatural shape.

“Then you will have me at a disadvantage,” she sighed. “Because the cat just became a wolf.”

The hall beyond was cavernous, a hundred fathoms tall, and stretched as far as Mostin’s many eyes could see ahead of him. Their footsteps – and his slitherings – echoed within. In the vaulted ceilings, great ruddy lights glowed at intervals, illuminating the contents: countless slabs - of adamant, marble, alabaster, steel, jade and obsidian - attached by clamps to soaring cables. A vast infernal apparatus controlled the assembly above; pulleys, derricks and sheaves arranged with impossible intricacy.

They followed as Shomei made her way to a booth which contained an array of levers and switches. She initiated a complex operation; wheels span, gears ground, and a single slab – a hundred yards distant – slowly swung out into the chamber and towards them.

When it reached them, she lowered it into a waiting channel: it was a plaque of diabolic steel, three feet wide and six high. As she released its clamp, another, like a vice, contracted to grip it. It stood upright before them. Daunton gaped. Mostin reached out, and ran a pseudopod over the embossed glyphs and sigils. It was a thing of beauty.

The Irrefutable Argument, it read. It was a spell which had been in effect when the Nameless Fiend had precipitated the Fall; when unnumbered billion celestials had been seduced to his cause.

“This is Knowledge, Mostin. This is my legacy; I am the librarian of Hell.”

“Yes,” he quivered. Shomei read it as a nod.

“I am making an appeal to you.”

“I understand,” he hissed. Shomei heard it as a sigh.

*

Daunton sat within her study; Shomei poured kschiff. Mostin stood, looking at the Accord which hung above the mantlepiece.

“Temenun has offered an alliance.” She nodded toward the cherries which still rested on their plate. “He suggests that I marry the remaining Hazel scion to a Cherry which grows in Nivorn. I am reluctant to conflate Will and Desire for obvious reasons. But with his Anantam and the succubi in Throile – who bear no great love for their former mistress – I am looking at the twelve-hundredth order. I can do a lot with that.”

“But you would prefer to use the Wyrish Academy,” Mostin finished for her. “Because they are known, safer, more passive – but they also represent the body which Gihaahia is mandated to uphold.”

“Touché,” Shomei raised her glass. “I find it hard to believe that the Enforcer will censure a majority, if it comes to infraction.”

“I don’t,” Daunton grumbled. “She is a tyrant, not an elected representative.”

“I have tried the more wholesome route,” Shomei sighed. “I cannot make headway. The Ahma is stubborn and irrational, and refuses to engage with his own potential. Those who practice saizhan are difficult to inspire – except the Irrenites, who are a small minority and whom I have yet to approach. I do not feel compassion – and I am not one wont to make empty gestures. I went to see the Sela yesterday.”

Mostin groaned. “You are certainly exhausting all avenues. What is it with you and Oronthon, anyway?”

“I cannot explain. I was confused, angry and depressed. His perspective is beyond all others. There is no judgment in him.”

“And he offered a solution? Or absolution?”

“Actually, neither. He offered tea. And a mirror to look in.”

“And what did you see?” Mostin asked cynically. “Note that I do not afford much credence to his mystical posturing.”

“That my I is relational, and does not exist in a vacuum,” she shrugged.

“That is all?” Mostin scoffed. “I might have told you that.”

“But you didn’t, Mostin. That’s the point. Regardless, I need help – not compactees and servants and indentured mages, but willing partners. To retrieve the Urn. To master Hummaz. To correct the Morphic and end the Claviger-Enforcer’s tyranny. To propagate knowledge. Is this goal not worthy?”

“And you would have me play Belial to your Adversary,” Mostin said acidly. “Did the Sela also whisper in the ear of the Nameless Fiend before the Fall?”

“Actually, I think you would know my answer to that.”

“It is no surprise, then, the spell which you chose to show us,” the Alienist remarked.

“There is a certain symmetry; it is hard to deny.”

“And you would then elect yourself as the new arcane factum?” Mostin inquired drily.

“I am a librarian, Mostin. It is only natural.”


**

 

[Cheiromancer]

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 01-04-2011

Obsession – Part 4


Turel and Rumyal – two infernal seraphim – and Irel, Who Smites, passed swiftly through the skies above the frozen River Nund; three flights of dark exemplars accompanied them. Warded and augmented by Shomei, all were inscrutable to any but the most probing eyes. They flew east, and skirted the compass of the Blackthorn near Droming. Irel gyred and broke away. The mighty deva cast his gaze – unrivalled amongst celestial princes, fallen or otherwise – toward Deorham and Kyrtill’s Burh, one of Wyre’s holiest sites: the birthplace and earthly dwelling of the Ahma. It was impenetrable; his sight could not pierce the shroud which Soneillon had set about the place.

Twelve miles distant, the demoness herself stood upon the Steeple beneath the shadow of Carasch – a smoldering void which had yet to erupt to blistering rage – and stretched lazily. The great chthonic had seen them . Was Shomei baiting her, or testing the limit of her perception? Or was this a simple reconnaissance? Soneillon considered: to act would be to disclose; to ignore, to dissemble.

She chose to act.

Carasch turned his thought on them, casually smashing their protections.

Soneillon materialized within the main flight and spoke a soundless syllable, unleashing oblivion. Turel and Rumyal, Great Antagonists who had previously offered counsel to the Adversary himself, were instantly extinguished along with eighteen devas.

She disappeared.

Irel alone remained.

Soneillon reappeared, and her speed was blinding. Tendrils of void lashed the fallen prince, stripping away ens like vapor, and flinging his mace from his hands. She hissed, and drove him into the ground in a tempest, claws sinking through his throat and chest and pinning him. Ichor steamed as it poured from his massive frame, staining the snow black; his strength ebbed from him.

She paused, and smiled.

“My, but you are the pretty one,” Her eyes widened and her wings curled. “And you are unbound; without compact: I believe she likes you – how delicious! It is so tempting to steal you. Alas! My heart belongs to another. But now I am feeling tender; she may keep you. Invoke your mistress by name.”

The deva was silent.

She raised an eyebrow. “Presently, I am keeping you from dying, Irel, and it would be sad to lose one as beautiful as you. Do you trust that your spirit will fly to the winds; or will it go to the Tree-Bitch for reallocation – perhaps, as a wood-gnome or troll? Heaven is lost to you, and there is no time to show you the Void. She may save you – if she cares for you. Speak.”

“Shomei,” he choked. Ichor welled in his mouth.

She brought her face close, and her grip relaxed. She moved over him.

“Good…” She breathed softly in his ear. She lifted her head and smiled at Shomei, whose infernal perception had been drawn there.

Soneillon gently withdrew her talons, and vanished.


**


Shomei tapped her fingers. She picked up a bottle of kschiff and hurled it against a bookcase. Hellfire crawled over her.

Mostin smiled unsympathetically. “You’re in way over your head; she has fifteen billion years on you, and she enjoys this. Perhaps you are beginning to appreciate the magnitude of this task?”

“How did she see them?”

“I could not say,” Mostin replied. “Probably a transvalent. She may have allies.”

“I spent a third of my reservoir repairing Irel’s wounds. They just wouldn’t heal. His cohesion was…wrong.”

“You are fortunate she simply obliterated the others,” Mostin observed drily.

“If you were to send your Ús…”

Mostin became irritable. “Shomei, you may be exempt from the Injunction – and I say may be, because much has yet to be tested – but one thing is certain: I am not. You asked me here for advice, and I will give it to you: let this go. You are simply unprepared for this endeavor; if you do actually attack her and she survives and escapes do you really think that she will calmly forgive? Do you think Eadric – I’m sorry, the Ahma – will? Now, I am going to offer you some perspective again, because it is apparent to me that at this point that she has acted with the utmost restraint with regard to you…”

“I don’t need this, Mostin...”

“…by not already annihilating you. And if you don’t think she could have accomplished this, had she set her mind to it, then you are stupid. Perhaps Eadric has restrained her; perhaps her perspective is other than we can guess. And she let you keep your favorite toy; although what you see in those hideous, feathery monsters is beyond me.”

Shomei glared at him. “She drew first blood, Mostin, not I.”

“And I think she might cite provocation as a reasonable defense; frankly, I would be inclined to agree with her. You are the lawyer; what do you think? Perhaps we should ask Gihaahia to mediate – although Soneillon’s exemption with regard to the Injunction is not in question. Do not give her a casus belli.”

“I cannot slow now, Mostin.”

“You must!” He was exasperated.

“No; I cannot. It is what I am.”

“Then you should repair to your library,” he said grimly. “Or stay safely within the compass of the Hazel, because if you begin this and then step beyond its bounds – and are not prepared to finish what you’ve started – then she will find you and extinguish you. You will make a prison for yourself, Shomei; and that is symmetry.”

“Will you aid me?”

“I am disinclined,” he replied.

“If you were to speak to the Ahma; find out what transpired at Deorham. He has returned to Galda…”

“I will not spy for you Shomei. If you have questions for Eadric, ask them yourself.”

“Mostin. Please. Then use the Web of Motes. At least let me know what I’m dealing with that I haven’t foreseen.”

He stood and sighed. “I will contact you in one hour. Do not ask me for anything else. Here.”

He took off his hat – his favorite ochre felt, with its wide brim somewhat charred – and placed it on her head.

*

Exactly one hour later, Shomei received a sending which contained only one word: Carasch.

She sat and tapped her fingers. Time elapsed.

She translated to Galda for the final time.


**


“I see you bear your rod,” Eadric said dubiously. “Are you here to coerce me this time?”

“It is a preventative measure,” Shomei explained. “May I sit?”

He gestured toward a chair. “I am not about to assail you, Shomei. I’m glad you came. I have been considering how to approach you.”

“Ahma, I lost twenty of my best devils earlier today in an unprovoked attack by your lover.”

“Unprovoked?” He asked sceptically. “Would you like kasshiv? It’s all I have left – Nwm and Ortwine drank everything else.”

“Yes.” She raised an eyebrow at his pronunciation. “My servants were reconnoitering over Trempa; they were beyond the compass of the Blackthorn.”

“I did not realize a formal exclusion zone had been established,” he said drily, pouring a goblet for her. “Shomei, I have been pondering how to deal with this situation and I’m at a loss. I cannot seem to appeal to you; I cannot risk forbidding you for fear of provoking the Antinomos in you to an immediate response: I do not wish to come to blows with you. But you are flouting every law conceivable: Wyrish, magickal, ethical and religious. What would you have me do?”

“Enkindle your potential, Ahma. But you do not seem interested in assuming this responsibility.”

“That is a larger question which we may return to,” Eadric sighed. “In the meantime I must consider the wellbeing of those whom I am charged to protect; I am Earl Marshal of Wyre, Shomei: I must defend it, regardless.”

“You know that Carasch is aiding her, of course?”

“He is her watchdog. I have encountered him. He is terrifying. It is not germane to this discussion.”

“I lost two seraphs in her ambush, Ahma.”

“They ceased being seraphim at the beginning of the last Aeon, Shomei.”

“Yet the Ahma would place himself as a shield before this chthonic abomination?” She asked.

“No,” he groaned. “But he would place himself as a shield before the inhabitants of Trempa. There are limits on the number of devils which even you can conjure and compel, Shomei. If you send them in waves, will she be able to kill them quicker than you can call more? Or perhaps you will muster a large force, and she will entrench further: and the longer the buildup, the worse for everyone.”

Shomei looked hard at him. “Not all devils need to be compelled, Ahma. Only a key few – and then, only persuaded. I could end this all very quickly.”

His eyes flickered nervously. “I do not follow.”

“Azazel still bears the standard; two hundred legions accompany him. There is no longer a Celestial Interdict.”

A look of horror crossed his face. “You would do this? Raise that banner over Wyre?”

“I would prefer not to, but I must have the Urn, Ahma.”

“By invoking the eschaton? And you dub Soneillon psychotic?”

“She is,” Shomei smiled thinly. “I am merely determined. And the eschaton has been and gone, Ahma. We are what’s left.”

“And if I were to demand of you – command you – how would you respond?”

Shomei shook her head. “Please do not force me to make that choice, Ahma. It would not sit well with me.”

“Indeed? For one who asserts the Ahma as central to their paradigm I am sure it would cause you some discomfort.”

“I simply wish you would embrace the larger reality.”

“Then perhaps we should force the issue.” He stood grimly and drew Lukarn, gripping it below the quillons and presenting it in censure. It illuminated the interior of the tent. “By the authority…”

“Please, Ahma...”

“…vested in me as Ahma; the Breath of God manifest in the world…”

“Ahma…”

“…I hereby command…”

“Eadric. Do not…”

“…that Shomei…”

Her Flame ignited. She brought the full force of her will to bear through her rod; it was colossal, and should have overpowered him. Instead, there was a resonance, and a reflection, which Shomei experienced as a great gale blasting over her. His pavillion and its contents were gone, blown to the four winds. Both Shomei’s eyes and those of the Ahma became wide in astonishment; a cluster of lotuses in the garland which he wore on his wrist had turned to dust: Soneillon had warded him, and he hadn’t even known it.

Devas and archons appeared all around him, summoned by his thought, but her presence paralyzed them; they would not strike her, only worship her. He smote her repeatedly, but her exemption protected her. Her will recommenced, unleashing a cyclone of hellfire focused on herself which could not touch him, but which slowly burned the garland to ash.

He spoke a holy word; again, exemption sustained her.

The firestorm increased in intensity; still the lotuses burned away. The devas were incinerated.

Nwm – alerted and now present – struck her with a sonic of tremendous power, which echoed for miles. She weathered it, and her focus did not falter; she hurled the Preceptor aside with telekinesis.

The last blossom turned to soot. Finally, she gripped Eadric’s mind, and dominated him.

“I’m sorry, Ahma. It’s a preventative measure.” She wept.

Abruptly, both Shomei the Infernal and the Ahma vanished.


**
**


The goddess strode ahead impatiently.

Teppu followed, anxiously. “What should I call you?”

“It does not matter – call me what you wish.” Her manner was disconcertingly brusque.

“You were Nehael before,” he suggested.

“Then call me Nehael.”

“But you are no longer the same.”

“Then call me something different,” she sighed.

“May I choose a name?” He suggested.

“Why not?”

“Names are important.” He explained.

“Are they?” She asked.

“Yes! Stop!”

She stopped, and smiled at him. “Do you have one for me?”

“You are not so different,” Teppu laughed. “Where are you going?”

“This way,” she said.

“What is this way?”

“What I need.”

“What…”

”Good,” she said. A horse stood waiting; a varnish roan mare. Strapped to the saddle was an arming sword. A bow – with flowers tied around its limbs – was fixed around its cantle, and a quiver of red-fletched arrows hung from its skirt.

Teppu raised an eyebrow. “That bow is…”

“Yew.”

“And the arrows…”

“Hazel.”

“And the sword…”

She drew it, and it rang; runes were etched into its blade: Trúa.

“Compassion?” He asked.

She shook her head. “Pity, Teppu. One cannot slay with compassion.”

“Where are you going now?” He asked.

“South,” she smiled.

“Why…”

“The dead are there Teppu. Are you coming?”

“Certainly,” he replied uncertainly.

She climbed into the saddle, picked him up, and deposited him behind her.

Moments later, they were at Cirone. Ahead, the Pall of Dhatri loomed.



**

 

[Cheiromancer]

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 01-08-2012


Obsession – Final Part



She hung, naked and motionless in the void, gazing at the world. Behind her and beyond her, an infinite expanse of emptiness stretched.

Wyre was blanketed in snow, a heavy veil which pressed upon its wide provinces and muffled the verdancies which pulsed beneath. It ranged from gold through deep crimson, west to east, as dusk stole across the frozen landscape below.

Further south, greens prevailed; and then a great fume of corruption, surrounding a perfect circle of blackness: the Pall of Dhatri. A red dart was moving within it, like a surgeon’s knife attempting to excise some cancer, the roots of which ran too deep. Nehael, yet not. Suuratamanyu?* she considered; an obscure and ill-defined bhiti – if such it was – or merely another manifestation of Aliikaghana?

She did not care.

She turned her eyes to the Sun and observed it impassively; she understood its radiance: no longer feared it. It regarded her with disinterest, as a parent who has surrendered a child and watched it grow separate, but from a great distance. It did not offer anything, and all she had gained had been apart from it. But neither did it condemn: its judgment was suspended, as though in regret of previous choices it had made. An admission, perhaps, of its own fallibility.

It began to sink over the Western Ocean, and an intense display of color ensued; the atmosphere split the light into its component parts like some deific prism: every element of the spectrum was revealed. For the briefest moment, the rumor of an Idea: a vast wyrm – serene, yet energized; a perfect, infinite potential – coiled around the world. Then, just as suddenly, it was gone. The luminary vanished. Beyond – now free from its glare and glamour – the ruddy Eye of Cheshne pulsed.

She descended through aurorae, plunging rapidly through the thermosphere. Meteors flashed to incandescence around her; she outpaced them, dropped through noctilucent clouds and felt their crystals caress and cool her. Her plummet came to rest at an altitude of twenty miles. She cast her glance downwards.

Lights were kindling in a city: an unfolding sevenfold symmetry, spontaneous yet inevitable. Her eyes followed a thin line which ran south and west into rolling hills, apprehending an involuted knot in a deep hollow.

Then she remembered that she was a demoness, and that she was angry.

*

[Soneillon]: You have one hour to evacuate the Academy.

[Many Wizards]: !

Sendings buzzed across Wyre. Twenty minutes elapsed.

(Far to the north and west, in an obscure corner of Nizkur).

[Mostin]: This demonstration is unnecessary, Soneillon. Shomei has marginalized herself by her own actions.

[Soneillon]: Oh, there you are.

Soneillon appeared within his study, a writhing mass which pinned Mostin, spreadeagled, above the fireplace.

“Don’t try and wriggle, Mostin,” a childlike face materialized, and then a body. “Or I’ll have to hurt you. You may have more tentacles than I, but mine are far nastier.”

A tendril reached inside his robe, flipping open pouches in his belt of many pockets, and searching until it retrieved a sphere of adamant, ten inches in diameter. She shook it vigorously, until Graz’zt’s countenance appeared.

“Well, look who it is,” she smiled. An expression of horror crossed the face of the demon prince.

Her form became fully humanoid – that of a small child, which she had chosen in previous dealings with the Alienist – as she secreted the globe on her person. Mostin dropped unceremoniously onto the floor.

“Now that that’s settled,” she hopped into a chair, and dangled her legs, “you have around forty minutes to convince me not to level the estate. I will not name her, and would advise the same of you: it would draw her attention here – funny how that comes around. But she has my boyfriend, and I want him back.”

*

Mostin sighed. “Destroying her former abode would achieve nothing, Soneillon – except, perhaps, to irritate her.”

“That would seem as good a place to start as any. You are fuelling my argument, Mostin, not dissuading me. You need to think more like a demon.”

“She may also invoke the Hazel,” Mostin continued. “In which case, no effort on your part will penetrate its cordon. And do you really want an Academy unified in defense under her leadership? She has been seeking to co-opt the ritual pool; this would hand it to her on a plate. And in defense she would even receive the sanction of the Enforcer.”

“That is far more persuasive,” the demoness conceded. She issued another sending.

[Soneillon]: I’ve changed my mind.

Three hundred miles away, scores of wizards breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“Less than a minute. Not bad, Mostin.”

Mostin groaned. “You had no intention of destroying the Academy, did you?”

She shook her head.

“You tracked my sending to its source. Circumvented my obfuscations. You are a devious one.”

She hopped down, and ran over to him. Her form changed, and she threw a dozen tiny tentacles around his knees. She looked up with multiple huge, doe eyes welling with tears.

“Will you help me get Eadric back, Mostin? Please?”

“You are insufferable,” the Alienist replied.

“You are not an erotic creature, Mostin; I must adjust my tack accordingly.”

“I am no more paternal than I am erotic,” Mostin observed.

She sighed, and once again became a succubus. “Will you help me or not?”

Mostin shook his head. “She is within Hell’s library, Soneillon; it is separate – part of the prior infinity. Eadric is also there. There are two doors, and both lie within the Hazel’s ambit. You cannot touch her while she remains there. I have been inside, with her approval: she may come and go as she pleases. There is a tight net around the ‘front door’ – a cottage very close to the Hazel scion itself – the area where she performs her conjurations. The ‘back door’ – so to speak – is within the library of the Academy. Only Ugales has permission to enter and leave; he retrieves obscure spells and tomes for ambitious mages in return for outrageous pledges. The back door is currently closed anyway.”

Soneillon gave a suspicious look. “How do you know that Eadric is in the library, Mostin? Presumably your divinations cannot penetrate it.”

“A wizard does not reveal all of his means.”

“And how did you anticipate certain events in Afqithan?” She persisted.

Mostin sighed.

“Do you have a thing which helps you?”

“Yes,” he grudgingly admitted.

“Can I see it?” Soneillon smiled.

“Well…”

Soneillon raised an eyebrow, and slowly revealed Pharamne’s Urn. Mostin’s eyes rotated in his skull.

“Mostin. You have to show. No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Very well,” he produced it. “It is called the Web of Motes. Although I think every wizard in Wyre knows I have it – I’m surprised that you didn’t hear already.”

She shrugged. “I tend not to mix with wizards, Mostin. They are usually dull – present company excepted, of course. And you will help me. With this mote-thing of yours, you can determine whether or not she is in her library, am I correct?”

“Yes, but it makes no difference. How difficult is this to explain…”

“Because you can help me,” she smiled. “In fact, I believe you are the only one who can.”

“You are not listening, Soneillon.”

“Yes, I am, but you’re not. She is a devil. I cannot conjure devils, Mostin. But you can.”

“She is magnified, Soneillon. Binding such an entity is a different proposition altogether.”

“My reservoir is deep, Mostin. It is yours.”

He considered; Shomei had gone too far, there was no denying it. His mind rapidly processed transvalent algorithms, finding various solutions.

“You will not annihilate her,” the Alienist exhorted.

“Mostin, be reasonable…”

“I mean it, Soneillon. She is a colleague, and a fellow intellect. Let me handle her.”

“Oh, very well,” Soneillon sighed.

“I will need a week to devise the formula.”

“A week? Wyrish wizards are so slow.”

“And I will need the Urn,” Mostin smiled madly.

Soneillon’s eyes narrowed. “No you don’t, Mostin. We both know that.”


**


“Do you purpose to keep me here indefinitely?” Eadric raised his eyebrows. He sat easily in the posture of saizhan within a forcecage in Shomei’s study. A fire – of cut hazel logs – burned slowly and steadily in the hearth.

“Only until I have the Urn, Ahma,” Shomei was curled nearby in a comfortable chair, reading. She did not meet his eyes.

“And you still address me by the religious appellative. You are an unlikely abductress,” Eadric observed. “And an even more unlikely Adversary.”

“That moniker is defunct,” she sighed.

“Your actions would indicate otherwise. Should I officially brand you as such? I do determine doctrine, after all.”

She shifted her position, and took a sip of kschiff.

“If it would be easier for you, I will be silent. Or perhaps you could dominate me again.”

“I take no pleasure in depriving you of your will, Ahma.” She raised her head and looked at him. “Of all things, that, at least should be clear about me.”

“But you did, Shomei,” he replied.

“I must judge necessity, Ahma; for my Self, no other can.”

“And, in hindsight, was your judgment correct?”

She placed the book down, open, on the table beside her. “If you are asking whether I have experienced remorse, then the answer is yes: I am not beyond that. But what is done is done. The question of what to do next preoccupies me now. Such is my nature.”

“You would seem to be missing a moral compass, Shomei.”

She gave a small smile. “I do not need one, Ahma. My lack of kindness is perfectly balanced by my lack of malice. My temper needs some work.”

“And if jealousy and hatred come to rule you? What then?”

“Then you and I will have both failed, Ahma, but for different reasons.”

“Yet jealousy and obsession have characterized many of your actions of late.”

She stood, approached the forcecage, and knelt, drawing close. Her presence was intense, focused and calm. “Are you speaking of my reaction to your liaison with Soneillon, or to my efforts to gain the Urn?”

“You do not take well to being thwarted, Shomei. And the union of opposites is something which you yourself once gave me advice regarding.”

“Ahma, there are many hieroi gamoi. Some are fleeting; some enduring. Some take place within a paradigm; others – such as that of the Reconciliation – span infinities; others beyond infinities even into the ineffable. I do not deny your experience of Soneillon; it is, in fact, an articulation of truth far beyond Magnitude as the Urgics would understand it. But it is not ultimate in the sense that nothing is ultimate, and whether it is even enduring remains to be seen. I am pragmatic, and could only offer you a paradigm, Ahma; to shape the reality which we inhabit. To make it better.”

Eadric laughed bitterly. “Something which Azazel and his two hundred legions can help you achieve, I presume? Your argument is beginning to sound more than a little deluded, Shomei.”

“Do not interpret the transparency of my thought to you as an articulation of intent; there are other avenues which I would prefer to exhaust first. Understand that I began with the most moral from your perspective: an alliance with you. I do not practice saizhan, Ahma. My method is otherwise. It is for me, and me alone. It can be neither learned, nor taught. I must invent it myself as it evolves; at critical junctures, I have looked to others – including both you and the Sela – for help, but the solution must always be mine.”

Eadric shook his head. “Your reaction to my anathematization of you – to engulf me in hellfire and coerce me – would suggest to me that this relationship is far from clear to you. My word is Law; but you accept none but your own.”

“It is a paradox I grapple with. I do not wish to be branded your Adversary, Ahma. To become what you most hate. I strive only to realize my potential.”

“And you somehow insist that I am capable of a similar feat; this awakening of my potential to which you refer. Yet it demands embracing some harsh and violent truth for you; a willing sacrifice of your own humanity. Something which I am unprepared to make.”

“I am a fiend, Ahma,” Shomei smiled.

“But you were not always so.”

“Nor were any others. Deep down, I have always wanted to be a devil, Ahma. I think you know this. And no such sacrifice is necessary from you: you are the Ahma. One reason why seeing you confined thus saddens me.”

“Then you might release me.”

She sighed. “If you were to affirm that you would make no efforts to assail me or escape, then I might grant you exit from that box. But I would prefer not to dominate you again.”

“I will so vow. Although I am unsure if my assent is tantamount to my endorsing your actions.”

“Life is full of paradoxes, Ahma.” The forcecage vanished.

“A little freedom is a precious thing,” he stood and glanced around.

She gestured. “The library is that way, Ahma. All the devils are gone; I’m the only one left. Call me if you get lost. I will hear you.”

“I cannot help but like you, Shomei.”

“I know. It makes it difficult.”

She returned to her book.







*Wrathful Mercy


**

 

[Cheiromancer]

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 01-12-2012

Day 1 – Antiphon


Nwm and Ortwine stood waiting before the fortified gates at Galda, and watched as the rider approached from the south. She, her horse and her harness were caked in blood, ichor and entrails so thick that the muck might need to be scraped clear with a trowel rather than washed away; her visage was altogether terrifying.

As she approached, the Preceptor noticed that she carried another with her: a diminutive figure who clung desperately to her waist, barely able to remain upright in the saddle. She reined in, reached behind her, and lowered him gently to the ground. Her small companion shivered and stood unsteadily.

“Hello, Nwm,” Nehael said, “Ortwine. Teppu is tired, and I think he’d like a bath. Where is Eadric?”

Ortwine looked at Nwm and raised an eyebrow.

*

“Eadric is very popular with the ladies, these days, Nehael.” Ortwine gave a caustic smile. “And I must say, red rather suits you; I can see that it is also a practical color.”

They sat around a campfire: one of hundreds which burned in the encampment. The goddess had acquiesced to a cantrip to clean her of the foul-smelling gore which had clung to her, but which had seemed not to perturb her in any way; it was, in fact, for Ortwine’s benefit that she had agreed. Teppu was wrapped in a blanket, asleep.

“I had hoped to speak with him; to discuss the reconquest,” she threw off her boots.

Ortwine cast a sidelong glance at Nwm, who shrugged.

“Might I assume that you lack the prescience of your previous sister-avatar; now, your mother-deity?” Nwm inquired. “I am unaccustomed to explaining anything to Nehael; usually the information flows in the other direction.”

“I slay, Nwm,” she said simply. “This is the persona that you get: I make no apology for it. It is necessary. I don’t have time for magic or plots or webs. I am the counterpoint which Uedii must chant to contain the corruption; her image reflected through the Eleos: the enlightened, engaged, dynamic face of compassion. I am unsentimental, and occasionally ugly on the surface. Nor am I as Tree-ish as my former self; actually, I prefer horses.”

She lay down on her back in the wet earth and looked upwards. The Follower was soaring in the east, flickering through the smoke in the air. Some time passed before Nwm spoke again.

“You are aware that Eadric is currently being held by Shomei the Infernal?” The Preceptor queried.

“Well, I imagine I might have been, had I thought about it.” She thought about it. “I see. I suppose I could go and talk to her.”

“Could?” Ortwine gave a quizzical look.

Nehael raised her head, leant on an elbow, and smiled. “Eadric is confused, Ortwine. It is his defining feature. He gets himself into these situations; I’m not really convinced that my becoming involved at this stage would help. He should have followed my advice, and simply exercised compassion.”

“In which specific instance?” Nwm asked.

“He shouldn’t have censured Shomei, Nwm. It didn’t help. Really, he just lost his temper and became offended and pious. It’s always been an issue with him.”

“Mostin is working on a solution.”

“Yes. Mostin may aggravate the problem further,” Nehael remarked.

“And this assumes that Soneillon does not become unhinged in the interim,” Nwm added.

“Ahh, Soneillon,” she lay back down. “Another situation.”

Ortwine stared hard at her. “For an avatar of compassion, you seem very free in your criticism of those absent.”

“I would say the same to him – or her – were either here, Ortwine. As you have rightly implied, malicious gossip is incompatible with my nature. And frankly, the march of Dhatri’s host and the Embassy are of more concern to me at present than Eadric’s convoluted emotional life. I put an arrow in the latter earlier today; she knows I’m here well enough.”

“Then that is some good news.” Nwm grunted approvingly.

“She will not make the same mistake again.”

“By the Embassy, I assume you are referring to Kaalaanala’s final effluxion,” Ortwine sighed. “And each time I say that name I am nervous; in case I draw her perception to me.”

“The Trees protect you from that faculty here, Ortwine.”

The sidhe gave a stony look. “Had the Trees here been more comprehensive in their protection – and not allowed dreaming demonesses and exempt devils to penetrate their cordon - then this entire fracas might have been avoided. I think we may have placed too much faith in their effectiveness in protecting the Ahma’s moral fibre.”

“On the last count, I am inclined to agree.”

“So will you speak to Shomei?” Nwm inquired.

“Well. Are you asking for my intercession in this?”

“I don’t know,” Nwm admitted. “Should I?”

“Probably not,” Nehael replied.

“Then I suppose I won’t,” Nwm sighed. “But if I had, what would you have done?”

“Nothing,” Nehael smiled. “Which is the best that can be done at the moment. Ask me in a few days – things will probably unravel even more before they come together again. ”

“A prescience?” Nwm asked archly.

“Call it what you like,” Nehael shrugged. “I experience it as a vague notion. And today was too much for this one; he is too gentle.”

The goddess stood and removed her cloak. She folded it and placed it under Teppu’s head.


**


Eadric did not see Shomei – who had exited the cottage in order to perform conjurations, and sealed it behind her – for the entirety of the next day. After quickly becoming bored, he ventured forth to wander alone in obscure and musty corridors within the limitless repository which was Hell’s library. Ruddy candles burned with infinite slowness in deep sconces, barely illuminating the interior. It was eerily silent and – except for the occasional tome which itself exhibited some sign of sapience in addition to its malignancy – there was no question within the mind of the Ahma that he was alone.

Eadric was not a scholar; or rather, he had never had the time to pursue his scholarly interests: the art of war had demanded most of his attention throughout his life. The weight of infernal knowledge oppressed him, but more by virtue of its sheer volume than by its evil content. He considered the magnitude of Shomei’s commitment to the task of knowing the library; surely she must have read only the minutest fraction of the books contained within it. It seemed an impossible undertaking to master even its geography; to familiarize oneself with its contents would take a life’s age of the universe, or more.

It did not take him long to become lost, despite – what he had been sure – were his own meticulous precautions to the contrary regarding his bearing and distance from Shomei’s study. After a brief period of anxiety – during which he considered that his aimless wandering might, in fact, be his eternal lot – the Ahma determined that he would climb – the notion of ascent being comfortable and familiar to his inner aesthetic. Whenever a staircase – whether a narrow spiral, steep ladder, or wide companionway with sweeping balustrades – presented itself to him, he would eagerly scale it. At times, he would backtrack in frustration: his path would lead to a hidden nook, a suite of chambers or dark, diabolic cloisters with no other exit, and he would search out some new way. He entertained no notion of destination in his efforts, except up. Yet the light became no brighter; the atmosphere no less oppressive. There was no relief to be had, except in the act of ascent itself; a metaphor which struck him as particularly apt, given the nature of his hostess – or gaoler.

After what must have been many hours – all sense of time having long since left him – Eadric stumbled upon an archway within which a grate of adamant bars had been set. Dire runes were carved in warning above the threshold; symbols which, although they posed no threat to him, would have slain any devil of lesser stature who might have approached them. He looked at the bars: no keyhole or aperture of any kind was present. Peering through the grate, only darkness was present beyond. Eadric ran his fingers around the archway, searching for some secret mechanism. Nothing.

He illuminated the space beyond with daylight. A narrow tunnel, extending ahead as far as he might see.

Mustering all of his strength, he gripped the grate and tore it away from the archway, placing it ruefully against the adjacent wall, conscious that he had committed some gross act of vandalism against the integrity of the place – then berating himself for entertaining any notion of guilt in the context of his current predicament. Lighting the passageway at intervals, he proceeded for a hundred yards until he came upon another archway – this time unblocked by gate or door. A sound threatened to overwhelm, until he recognized it. Some trap had been triggered; a holy word of great power. Eadric gave an ironic half-smile; fiendish interlopers – not the Ahma – had been on the mind of whoever had set the device: a barely-visible glyph which throbbed in the keystone above.

He entered into a low chamber perhaps ten feet on a side, and illuminated it. On shelves or chained to the walls were books with tarnished covers; they had been neglected and forgotten for many epochs. Ancient books. Forbidden books. Books whispering secrets best left untold. He opened one, and thumbed its metalline pages – Meditations on Radiance; and then another – Divining the Light; and then another – The World of Men to Come. He tilted his head.

They were celestial books, penned by great devils – then seraphs and other episemes – before the Fall.

He sat, and began to read.


**


Soneillon hovered high in the skies above the Academy, beyond the compass of the Hazel-ludja, and gazed at the shifting patterns around the scion. She was hidden – more effectively, she knew, than the fallen celestials who had come to spy upon her at Deorham – but was, herself, unable to penetrate the layers around the Tree below. A nest of hemi-demiplanes, through which a tortuous path wound to Shomei’s cottage: invulnerable to her magic and sight. The concursion which was the library’s ‘front door.’

There were many devils in the skies below her; of that, there could be no doubt. But they remained invisible; their numbers and type unknown. Six more days must elapse before Mostin could complete his arcane equations; a formula which would incorporate only herself, Mulissu and Nwm: the Alienist had indicated that he trusted no other – including Ortwine, whose duty to the Hazel was suspect – to be part of it.

She scowled, and retreated to Deorham; she considered that, were she to abandon it and Shomei to locate her beyond the stronghold , that some force brought against her might overwhelm her and deprive her of the Urn. Extinction was of no particular concern to her, but being bound – by Shomei – remained a possibility, however remote. The Infernalist would need a sizeable ritual pool in order to guarantee success, and would need time herself to devise a suitable rite – and some safe location in another world, from which it could be conducted.

Mostin had elected Sisperi as his venue. But Mostin might fail, whatever his mote-thing told him.

Soneillon considered the time she had before the test came. She allowed her anger to subside, and gave thought to entrenchment: should it become necessary, it would be as well to be prepared.

The demoness began in earnest to fortify both herself and Kyrtill’s Burh with powerful spells.


**


Shomei sat by the fire, reading, when Eadric entered. His route to her study was not something he could accurately recall; there was no doubt in his mind that she had guided him back by some art.

She raised her head as he entered. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

His eyes narrowed. “I found; although I was not looking for it.”

“That is often best,” she nodded.

There was a brief silence.

“I may have caused some…structural damage,” Eadric confessed.

“Don’t worry, Ahma. I’ve already repaired it.”

She returned to her book.


*

 

[Cheiromancer]

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 01-14-2012

Day 2 – Down


“You are very small, Shomei,” Eadric observed.

“Yes, Ahma.”

“Is this an hereditary trait?”

“My flesh is infernal, Ahma.”

“But your prior incarnation – upon which your present body is based – was…slight. At least, the first one was…or… What I mean to say is that I know nothing of your ancestry. Is your lineage magical?”

She gave a quizzical look. “It was; yes, Ahma. Sorcerous, actually – although several generations removed. And aristocratic. With a dash of fey – which is never a bad thing for an arcanist, and may account for my small-ness.”

“And your parents?”

“Were devout and faithful,” Shomei said drily.

“And what became of them?”

“Devils killed them, Ahma.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I conjured the devils, Ahma,” Shomei explained.

“Oh.” A look of horror crossed his face.

“I was young,” Shomei was nonplussed. “It was an act committed without principle.”

“How young?” Eadric asked.

“Five, Ahma.”

His eyes widened. “Five? Your parents had angered you in some way?”

“They took my books away, Ahma. I wanted them back.”

“Oh,” Eadric nodded uncertainly. “Perhaps they thought your books were dangerous?”

“They were, Ahma.”

“Apparently so,” Eadric raised an eyebrow. “And after you had…well…”

“Murdered my parents?” She asked.

“Yes…”

“I got my books back, Ahma.”

“But in terms of your upbringing, Shomei.”

“My servants looked after me.”

“No other relatives? No guardian?” Eadric asked, aghast.

“I did not need them. My servants were devils, Ahma.”

*

“Yesterday, you went up; will you go down today?” Shomei inquired.

“Exactly how closely have you been monitoring my movements, Shomei? And did I stumble upon the celestial repository, or was I directed to it?”

“I did not manipulate you toward it, if that is what you are asking,” she replied. Her answer seemed genuine. “I knew of it, but have not had the leisure to investigate it. But the library has a habit of presenting certain books or collections; if you were directed, then it was not by me. As to monitoring – not in the way you might think. I am aware of where you are and where you have been, if I call you to mind. I can encourage you to take certain paths – as I did in your inbound journey yesterday when I perceived that you wanted to return – but in your explorations, you were following your own impulses. I was busy with my conjurations.”

“Would you suggest going down?”

“I make no recommendation,” Shomei answered. “You could go straight, or left, or right, or backwards; or some combination of any of these – including up and down – but these are harder to track. Only going down is an easier route to focus upon; you are new to the geography.”

“I suspect that the willful act of descent would be harder for me,” Eadric remarked.

Shomei shrugged. She exited the cottage, and sealed it.

Eadric sighed.


**


“They seethe and swell like a great, purposeful ocean of malice,” Nehael explained. “They are without number. There is nothing left for them to consume except each other; hence they must move. The greatest – Idyam and Dhatri herself, together with the Embassy – remain near to the centre. Rishih, Naatha and Prahar are closer to the periphery of the mob. They are only forty miles away – would you like to see?”

Nwm nodded grimly.

Ortwine looked sceptical. “How?”

“I can show you; Nwm knows what I mean. The experience will not be pleasant.”

“Very well.” The sidhe gave a resigned sigh.

Perception expanded to embrace reality within sixty miles. To the south, a festering tide of corruption of such magnitude that it seemed as though the World could not sustain its weight. Nwm reeled. Ortwine staggered and vomited.

“And you experience this all of the time?” Ortwine groaned. She vomited again.

Nehael smiled.

“How did you get close enough to shoot?” Ortwine asked her, regaining her breath. “Was she not alerted?”

“Yes,” Nehael nodded in a matter-of-fact way. “But she did not withdraw. She struck me with fire. Coming within a league was difficult. The press of corpses was thick; it was hard to aim…”

“Wait. You can shoot from three miles?”

“I can shoot from six, Ortwine; as long as I have a clear aim – I didn’t.”

The sidhe wiped her mouth and raised an eyebrow. “This, I have to see. I assume that your missile struck its target unerringly?”

“I shot eighteen arrows at her before she could react,” Nehael replied. “Only one found its mark.”

Ortwine looked at Nwm. “I think we’re seriously out of our depth.”

Nwm stared at Nehael. “And Teppu…how did he fare? I mean, I have never seen him so weak.”

“He died five times. It was difficult for him. And each time I brought him back as himself again – it is hard for a self-incarnate such as he.”

“Why was he even there? Could he meaningfully affect the outcome?”

“A little, perhaps. But each of us can only do a little. I do not enjoy what I do, Nwm; really, he was there for me. So I didn’t have to be alone. He is kind.” She smiled.

“And today?” Nwm asked. “You will both ride out again?”

Nehael shook her head. “I would spare him the experience.”

“If you require a consociate,” Nwm said, “I will gladly offer myself.”

“I think you should also remain,” Nehael suggested. “Teppu is here; Hlioth is nearby; Mesikammi is on her way. The Temple is all but spent of power, and the Ahma is missing. You should give thought to the defense here; a quarter of the Cheshnite host will be here within a few days.”

“Only a quarter?” Ortwine asked.

“It is more than enough to contain Galda,” Nehael explained. “The rest will bypass it altogether, and head north, straight for Wyre. And I have a companion in mind.”

The sidhe heard a soft hoof-fall, felt hot breath on her neck, and turned. Narh had approached, and was nuzzling her eagerly.

“Me?” Ortwine inquired. “Undead are not my specialty.”

“If you are willing, I could use the company.” Nehael smiled. “Besides, you said that you wanted to see me shoot.”

“Two against a million would seem to be a rather uneven match.” Ortwine observed drily.

“If it were only a million, our impact might be more significant,” Nehael replied.

“If I die, take note that I am perfectly content with this form; I do not wish to be a buckawn or a sylph.”

“Duly noted,” Nehael nodded. “Unless Hummaz snatches you first.”

Ortwine raised an eyebrow. “A joke?”

“No,” Nehael strapped her sword across her back. “It is unlikely, but it is as well to be prepared. Stay close to me; you will encounter every conceivable type of undead, and some you have never imagined. You are goddess: the deathshriekers cannot touch you, but beware the crawling heads and famine spirits; many can abide my aura, and they may bite your head off.”

“Eadric, you moron,” Ortwine muttered under her breath, and mounted the stallion.


**


Eadric descended rapidly; he leaped down staircases, over banisters and through shafts which gave to lower floors. His heart pounded, and he wondered if there was a bottom to be found; no top had been revealed to him on the previous day, but he was also certain, in his own mind, that the library was finite. It did not appear to bend – inasmuch as he did not come back to some place which he had previously visited – and it seemed sensible to him that the entrance from Shomei’s cottage should be closer to the bottom than the top, and that the bottom must, therefore, be more accessible.

But he found no root; no foundation to the library: only a dismal, perpetual declivity into measureless depths filled with books. Again, all sense of time eluded him, but he knew that his plunging into the library’s bowels had consumed him for many hours; he had descended for miles.

Eadric paused to consider his predicament: ascent might take him days; he would need Shomei’s help, this time. But to ask her for anything…the notion sat uncomfortably with him. Had she returned? Or would his whispered entreaty to her interrupt her work? And why should the notion of distracting Shomei from her purpose – to overrun Wyre with devils for the object of her own self-aggrandizement – cause him conflict, in any case?

He sat upon a stone bench within a niche in a damp wall, and cleared his mind. From his pocket, he withdrew the scarf of heavy black silk which Soneillon had bestowed on him and pondered. The magics which the demoness had placed on the garland of flowers had eluded Shomei’s perception; he wondered if the samite might hide some similar secret. He needed a dream, perhaps, and she might manifest through it; but there were no dreams here. The prior infinity in which he found himself was cut off; isolated.

Eadric replaced the scarf and stood. He would wait a little while longer. He removed a hellish candle from its pricket and willed light upon it, illuminating his surroundings with a more substantial brightness; the radiance was at odds with the general character of the place. He walked a little way, rounded a corner, and found himself looking over a balcony into a wide amphitheatre. Some kind of devilish lecture-hall or auditorium; Eadric wondered what kind of lessons might have been expounded within its circuit. After searching for some time, he found his way down and made his way to the lectern – a morbid pulpit, wrought of steel and bone – upon which a book lay open. Its language – being an archaic dialect of Infernal – was unfamiliar to him.

He thumbed its hide pages and looked at dense text interspersed with curious pictograms and symbols, wary that he might inadvertently hex himself or invoke some latent malevolence. Still, the book somehow seemed less wicked than its surroundings. Recalling Shomei’s words regarding the library’s tendency to present certain tomes, the Ahma closed the book, removed it from the lectern, and tucked it beneath his arm. He ascended several levels, found a quiet cloister and scanned its pages for some clue as to its meaning, but could determine none. Finally – and again, time seemed to have drifted by without measure or meaning – he sighed.

“Shomei,” he spoke in a clear voice.

She appeared presently, and raised an eyebrow. “You have been gone a long time, and come very deep indeed, Ahma. These collections are hardly known to me.”

Eadric held out the book.

Shomei took it, and scanned its cover. She flipped its pages; her eyes widened in incredulity.

“I felt this tome was significant,” the Ahma explained. “It was on a rostrum in a hall not too far from here.”

Shomei stared at him suspiciously. “It might be deemed an heretical codex, from a conventional diabolic perspective. Here.”

She ran a hand over the book, and returned it to him.

The Reattainment of Luminance, it read.

“There is no author,” Eadric remarked.

“No. The author had no name, Ahma.”

Eadric handed it back to her, and smiled. “Then I believe it is for you. The Sela once said to me that for you to surrender yourself to bliss would be the ultimate antinomian act. Perhaps the prior I entertained similar notions?”

She gave him a dubious look. “I will read it. But entertaining a notion and acting on it are two very different things. I confess I am weary, Ahma; if you wish to return…”

He nodded, and the scene changed abruptly: they were back in her study. As always, the fire burned; the scent of cinnamon hung in the air. It seemed familiar, comfortable, safe. Shomei placed the book on a table, threw off her robe and uncorked a flask. Eadric knew that she was exhausted; that she had emptied herself that day. He wondered if he might overwhelm her.

“Would you like kschiff?” She asked.

“No. But thank-you.” Eadric removed his shoes, sat, and entered saizhan.

When he arose, he saw that she was curled, asleep in a chair; the flask of liquor was empty and barely a dram remained in her glass. The Reattainment of Luminance was open on its last page; she had already finished it. He took it from her hand. The pages were still wet from her tears.

Eadric sighed, covered her with the robe of meteors, and returned to his meditations.


*

 

[Cheiromancer]

Nehael

[sblock]Nehael as the Red Antiphon, using a Paragon Inherent Divine Array modified by succubus racial adjustments. A spell-less ranger variant is used for extra feats. Gear value is for a 75th-level PC; actual CR is probably somewhere in the CR75-80 range. The “red” manifestation is only possible after Nehael’s ascent to Sovereignty, prompted by the actions of the Ahma with regard to Soneillon; at this point the DvR12 Eleos-Nehael can emanate a variety of avatars in the DvR6 range – including both the “red” and the original “green” Nehael.

Some distinction needs to made between “green” and Green: all of Nehael’s avatars are Green, in the sense that all stem from the Uedii-complex, but it is the first (after her migration) which is “green” in terms of her garb and appearance, and her pacifistic tendencies. The Eleos-Nehael – the DvR12 manifestation – retains this green garb and appearance but, as a paradigmatic entity, can transcend normal categorical paradoxes.

Nehael’s “red” manifestation holds a number of antithetical elements in tension. She retains the Lust portfolio, an aspect of the “green” manifestation which is only barely alluded to, but which is intensified and more explicit in the “red” second iteration. The Healing, Good and Life portfolio elements are more in accord with Nehael’s symbolism in general; the War portfolio element and domain are “appropriated” from the vanquished Visuit – the demise of the Cheshnite war-goddess might also be seen as a precondition for the appearance of the “red” avatar.

“Red” Nehael might be best understood as a “fierce compassion” – directed specifically toward ending the suffering of undead creatures (and demons, representing ignorance) – and returning chthonics to their natural state of Nonbeing, in which they are “happiest.” Notions of spontaneity, eroticism and enlightened action are emphasised.

Nehael’s total symbolism can probably be best understood in the context of the “goddess” Kuan Yin – the Chinese iteration of Avalokitesvara, the bodhisattva of compasssion and mercy – and the Tara complex of compassionate tantric deities within Vajrayana Buddhism. Red Tara symbolism is convoluted because it also draws heavily on pre-Buddhistic components: Artemis/Diana and Aphrodite/Venus elements – in terms of Western mythology – are also incorporated into her meaning.

Anyhoo…


Nehael
The Red Antiphon. Image of Uedii.

Lesser Goddess
Symbol: The Sword
Home Plane: The Primordial Tree
Alignment: Neutral Good
Portfolio: Compassion, Good, Healing, Lust, Life, War
Worshippers: Any
Domains: Good, Healing, Lust, War

Fighter 20 / Ranger 20
Medium Outsider (Good, Green, Native)
Divine Rank: 6

Hit Dice: 20d8+560 plus 20d8+560 plus 20d10+560 plus 720 (2920 hp)
Initiative: Supreme Initiative (+37)
Speed: 180ft.
Armor Class: 162 (+15 armor, +33 Dex, +25 deflection, +6 divine, +12 insight, +12 luck, +19 natural, +30 sacred), touch 128, flat-footed 129
Base Attack/Grapple: +40/+95
Attack: +120 (1d8+64/15-20, Pity) or +120 (1d8+64/19-20x3, Yew Bow)
vs. evil undead +126 (1d8+80+9d6/15-20, Pity) or +126 (1d8+80+9d6/19-20x3, Yew Bow)
Full Attack: +120/+120/+115/+110/+105, Pity or +120/+120/+120/+115/+110/+105, Yew Bow with Improved Rapid Shot
Space/Reach: 5 ft./5 ft.
Special Attacks: Spell-like abilities, Salient Divine Abilities, Favored Enemy
Special Qualities: Camouflage, divine aura (60 ft., save DC 84), divine immunities, DR 25/ epic and evil, evasion, fast healing 20, hide in plain sight, immortal, remote communication, salient divine abilities, SR 200, understand, speak and read all languages, speak directly to all beings within 6 miles, swift tracker, interplanar transport via plants, universal energy immunity, wild empathy, woodland stride.
Saves: Fort +130, Ref +135, Will +127
Abilities: Str 58, Dex 77, Con 66, Int 50, Wis 49, Cha 60
Skills: Balance +123, Bluff +109, Climb +108, Diplomacy +127, Escape Artist +117, Gather Information +109, Handle Animal +109, Heal +103, Hide +117, Intimidate +115, Jump +114, Knowledge (arcana) +104, Knowledge (geography) +104, Knowledge (nature) +110, Knowledge (nobility) +104, Knowledge (the planes) +104, Knowledge (religion) +104, Listen +103, Move Silently +117, Ride +123, Sense Motive +103, Spot +103, Survival +103, Swim +108, Tumble +123

Feats: Bounding Assault, Combat Expertise, Dodge, Endurance, Far Shot, Greater Weapon Focus (longbow), Greater Weapon Focus (longsword), Greater Weapon Specialization (longbow), Greater Weapon Specialization (longsword), Improved Critical (longbow), Improved Critical (longsword), Improved Disarm, Improved Initiative, Improved Precise Shot, Manyshot, Melee Weapon Mastery (slashing), Mobility, Mounted Archery, Mounted Combat, Point Blank Shot, Precise Shot, Ranged Weapon Mastery (piercing), Rapid Blitz, Rapid Shot, Ride-By Attack, Slashing Flurry, Spirited Charge, Spring Attack, Track, Trample, Weapon Finesse, Weapon Focus (longbow), Weapon Focus (longsword), Weapon Specialization (longbow), Weapon Specialization (longsword)

Epic Feats: Bane of Enemies, Death of Enemies, Dire Charge, Distant Shot, Epic Fortitude, Epic Reflexes, Epic Weapon Focus (longbow), Epic Weapon Focus (longsword), Epic Weapon Specialization (longbow), Epic Weapon Specialization (longsword), Epic Will, Improved Manyshot

Divine Immunities: Ability damage, ability drain, acid, banishment, cold, death-effects, disease, disintegration, electricity, energy drain, imprisonment, mind-affecting effects, paralysis, poison, sleep, stunning, transmutation, turning and rebuking.

Salient Divine Abilities: Alter Reality, Divine Dodge, Extra Domain (War), Gift of Life, Image of Uedii, Rebuttal of Death, Supreme Initiative, Viridescent Mind

Spell-Like Abilities: Nehael uses these abilities at will as an 81st-level caster. The save DCs are 56+ spell level where appropriate: aid, blade barrier, charm person, clairaudience/clairvoyance, dispel evil, divine power, flame strike, heal, holy aura, holy smite, holy word, invisibility, lesser planar ally, magic circle against evil, magic vestment, magic weapon, mass heal, power word (any), protection from evil, refuge, regenerate, scrying, spiritual weapon, summon monster IX (good), symbol of persuasion, sympathy, trap the soul

Interplanar Transport via Plants (Su): Nehael may use this ability at will. Caster Level 81st.


Other Divine Powers

As a lesser goddess, Nehael treats a 1 on an attack roll or a saving throw normally and not as an automatic failure. She is immortal.

Senses: Nehael can see, hear, touch and smell at a distance of 6 miles. As a standard action she can perceive anything within 6 miles of her worshippers, holy sites, objects or any location where her name was spoken in the last hour. She can extend her senses to up to five locations at once. She can block the sensing power of deities of her rank or lower at up to two remote locations at once for 6 hours.

Portfolio Sense: Nehael instantly detects any event which involves five hundred or more people and is related to her portfolio.

Automatic Actions: Nehael can use any skill related to her portfolio – even those she has no ranks in – as a free action, provided that the DC is 20 or less. She can perform up to five such free actions in a round.

Create Magic Items: Nehael can create magic items related to her portfolio without the requisite item creation feat provided she meets all other prerequisites for the item, and the item's market price does not exceed 30,000gp.

Divine Aura: As a free action on her turn, Nehael may choose to emanate or suppress an aura of daze, fright or resolve with a radius of 600ft. A Will saving throw (DC84) negates the effect.


Special Attacks and Qualities

Green Subtype (Ex): Nehael is always considered a native of the Prime Material plane, Faerie, Primordial Tree and the Planes of Spirit for the purposes of effects which target outsiders.

Alter Reality (SDA): Nehael can replicate any spell effect of 9th-level or lower (caster level 81st, where appropriate). Use of this ability costs 5000xp, and is drawn against a weekly cushion of 30000xp.

Image of Uedii (Unique SDA) (Ex): Animals, plant creatures, feys, magical beasts, vermin, elementals and spirits with a connection to the natural world cannot harm or be compelled to harm Nehael in any way, and the initial attitude of such creatures towards her is always one of fanatic loyalty (ELH, p.40).

Rebuttal of Death (SDA): Undead within 60ft. with 30HD or less are automatically turned by Nehael; those with 20HD or less are automatically destroyed. Undead creatures are subject to critical hits from both ranged and melee attacks by Nehael.

Viridescent Mind (Unique SDA): Nehael enjoys an effect similar to a continual commune with nature. The range of the Viridescent Mind is 60 miles (10 miles per divine rank), except Nehael's perception also extends into Faerie, and coterminous Spirit planes. She may share her perception with any number of other willing creatures within range.

Favored Enemies: Nehael gains a +10 favored enemy bonus against the Undead subtype, and a +2 bonus against Aberrations, Evil Outsiders, Chaotic Outsiders and Dragons. If she scores a critical hit against any of these types, the target must make a Fort save (DC 78) or die.


Equipment
All of Nehael’s items are major artifacts; in any case where a caster level equivalent is necessary, treat the CL of the item as 60th.

Breastplate (25M)
Nehael wears a light vest of armor, equivalent to a +10 heavy fortification universal energy immunity ironbark breastplate which grants a +10 enhancement bonus to Strength, Dexterity and Constitution and a +20 resistance bonus to Saving Throws. It incurs no armor check penalty and has no associated maximum Dexterity bonus.

Leaf Pendant (43M)
This pendant appears as a small leaf in a simple setting, attached to a thong of woven bark from the Great Tree-ludja. It conveys a +30 sacred bonus to saving throws, a +30 sacred bonus to armor class and grants Spell Resistance 200. Profane, unholy or divine damage is treated as normal energy damage for the wearer of the Leaf Pendant unless its source has 13 or more divine ranks.

Sword (30M)
Nehael’s sword, Pity, is an intelligent neutral good finessable +10 cold iron, everdancing, keen, speed, undead dread, holy power longsword. It has Int 18, Wis 40, Cha 40 and an Ego of 73. Its special purpose is to slay undead; its special purpose power is undeath to death (improved heightened to 30th level) – the Save DC to resist this ability is adjusted by the wielder’s Charisma score and divine rank: in Nehael’s case, the DC is 71

Yew Bow (22M)
Nehael carries a bow carved from a limb of the Yew-ludja, a +10 holy power, speed, undead dread, unerring accuracy composite longbow.

Quiver of Hazel Arrows (35M)
Nehael carries a quiver which contains an inexhaustible supply of arrows from the Hazel-ludja. These are greater slaying arrows; the target type is determined by Nehael at the moment the arrow is loosed. Arrows may be imbued with additional effects as Nehael sees fit; when nocking an arrow, as a move action she may also determine a specific additional effect which it will have:

• Earthshudder: No attack roll is necessary if this arrow is shot. An area within range is subject to an earthquake effect (improved heightened to 30th level), except the DC to resist specific effects is 71.
• Negate Magic: A target struck by this arrow is also subject to a superb dispelling effect (caster level 81)
• Pierce Will: If struck, a target’s Wisdom score is reduced to 1. This effect is equivalent to a bestow greater curse (improved heightened to 30th level); the target is entitled to a Will saving throw (DC 71) to resist the effect but spell resistance does not apply. This effect is permanent; it can be removed by a deity with 6 or more divine ranks.
• Ravage: This arrow acts as poison upon chaotic and evil outsiders, even if they are normally immune to such effects. Targets must make a Fortitude saving throw (DC71) or sustain 6d6 points of Dexterity damage; one round later, they must make a second save or sustain 6d6 points of Constitution damage.
• Verdigris: No attack roll is necessary if this arrow is shot. The arrow creates a sphere of verdigris with a radius of 100ft. Creatures must make a Reflex saving throw (DC71) or sustain 10d6 points of damage from the sudden plant growth and become entangled. Buildings and other structures likewise sustain 10d6 points of damage.

[/sblock]

 

[Cheiromancer]

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 01-19-2012

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


*

 

[Cheiromancer]

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 01-20-2012

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.


**

 

[Cheiromancer]

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 01-26-2012

Day 5 – Seeing



Nercamay knelt. Eadric drew her knees apart – whilst carefully avoiding her gaze – held her breast-bone, and pressed in the hollow of her back, straightening it.

“Good,” he exhaled. He stood, poured himself kschiff, and sat in a chair.

“I am not sure what this posture is designed to achieve, Ahma,” the devil looked at him. “It does not seem very practical for the purpose of pleasure. I know many others, which would serve better. Unless you simply require…”

Eadric held up his hand. “It will help you concentrate. And you being over there, and me being over here will help me concentrate. Look ahead, Nercamay, and slightly down. Not at me.”

She did so.

“Place your fingertips together, thus,” he demonstrated.

“I cannot see. I may now look at you?”

“You may glance.”

She sighed and followed his instructions.

“You need to slow your breathing, Nercamay.”

“I do not need to breathe at all, Ahma.”

“Do so anyway,” Eadric instructed.

She complied.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Not entirely,” Nercamay admitted.

“Excellent,” Eadric smiled. “A little tension is good. Let us review what we have learned to date. First, that it is hard for me to remain focused if you drape yourself over me. Second, that time is limited for me, in terms of what I need to understand. Third, that distinguishing between the points of the Septiga is very difficult for me, as the fields seem to overlap so much: the poetic and the functional I can grasp easily enough; the enigmatic I can see in theory, if not in practice as I have no experience of Hellish mysteries; but discerning the subtleties between the inflammatory, mephitic, vitiating, debasing and perfidious may be beyond me.”

“That would make eight. The mephitic is synonymous with the debasing, Ahma.”

“Precisely my point,” Eadric nodded.

“Although they are unidentical in the Noniga,” Nercamay added.

“One thing at a time, Nercamay. Now, you may continue your explication.”

“The text of The Reattainment of Luminance is very abstruse, Ahma. I am not sure where to recommence.”

“Might it help if I were to make specific inquiries?” Eadric asked.

“I think it may be the only way to proceed,” Nercamay replied.

“Let us concentrate on the functional at present; Shomei has asserted on numerous occasions that her inclination is more practical than mystical.”

“I am not sure that function and praxis can be conflated in that way, Ahma,” Nercamay opined.

“You are probably right,” Eadric nodded. “It is, however, where we will look.”

“And your purpose in this is the redemption of Shomei the Infernal?” Nercamay asked dubiously.

Eadric shook his head. “No. Shomei charts her own course. And devils do not need to be redeemed, Nercamay. They are already perfect, but are trapped in false perceptions. They simply need to see.”

Time slowed to a crawl. Eadric experienced a sensation; neither entirely a flash, nor a vibration, nor an understanding; but something of each, and a certitude.

“I…” Nercamay stopped speaking; her expression relaxed, with a hint of mild puzzlement. Her breath became slow, purposeful, rhythmic. She cast her gaze around, and her eyes came to rest on him. She was serene; impassive. Eadric sat, and waited until he judged it had passed in her.

She began to shake. He stood, walked over to her, and knelt before her.

“That was saizhan,” he spoke gently.

She was bewildered. “You also…?”

“No.” Eadric smiled. “But you experienced that you and I are not different; so in a sense, yes.”

“Then this is not your natural mode of perception?”

“Arguably, it is the natural mode of perception. But remaining there is…difficult,” Eadric said wrily, and shook his head. “The Sela always abides in perfect saizhan; perhaps Nehael – I do not know. Memory of this experience may evoke powerful emotions in you. If you wish to reflect, we may end this discourse for a while. My chambers are available if you wish for privacy.”

“Would you like to…”

“No.” He said firmly. “And that temptation is now so much crueller, yet so much easier to resist.”

“I do not understand,” she sighed.

He smiled ironically. “Our relationship has changed, Nercamay. From this point, I have a duty toward you, and a responsibility for your well-being.”

“I feel no less wicked, Ahma. Your sudden concern for me is vexing.”

He sighed. “Prior modes of perception do not vanish instantly, Nercamay. Consider whether this experience was of value to you; I would contend that it was, and that it is worth seeking to repeat it. Unless there is something more pressing, you should relax for a while.”

Nercamay considered. “The Reattainment of Luminance is many things, Ahma. An argument and counter-argument; a technique or method; an entreaty; a prophecy; a solution.”

“Concerning what?” Eadric inquired.

“I believe that the book is about Shomei. About devils. About saizhan. About you.”

He swallowed.

“Do you like fiends, Ahma?” Nercamay asked.

“Far too much,” Eadric sighed.

“You understand that I have done as Shomei bid me and have not, actually, attempted to seduce you?” She asked. “That my flirtations are meant in good humor?”

“Of course,” Eadric nodded. “I play the game well enough. I mean no disrespect Nercamay, but I have met some who would put you to shame. And consider why you feel a sudden impulse to communicate the truth to me in such comprehensible terms, Nercamay; you may find that it is not unconnected with your insight.”


**


The wind was bitter; Soneillon stood on the Steeple and scowled. Carasch had alerted her to another interloper; this time, a solitary figure north of the town of Deorham, wearing a bright yellow cloak. Its form was in the region of fey; its gender, indeterminate; its progress, circuitous and unhurried.

Tozinak, she knew. The wizard seemed completely unwarded, and apparently oblivious to the danger he was in. The demoness surmised that he must be under the Cherry’s spell, although what, exactly, that entailed was unknown to her.

She invoked a potent protection, and appeared close to his location. He was crossing a bridge over a frozen stream, plodding knee-deep through the snow which had drifted there. Upon spying her, he smiled and waved, and hurried toward her position.

Soneillon held up a hand. “Wait right there. What are you doing here, Tozinak? You’ve just decided to deliver the spell to me? Color me suspicious, but I smell cherries.”

Tozinak nodded enthusiastically. He held up a bunch of ripe, luscious fruit.

“Is there no artifice to you at all?” Soneillon asked in an exasperated voice. “You desperately need lessons in deceit and guile.”

“None. I love you, Soneillon.”

Soneillon sighed.

“Here,” Tozinak withdrew a thin plaque from within his robe, and placed it upon the snow. He set the cherries upon it.

She swallowed; there must be some hidden trap. “Would you mind withdrawing a little way, Tozinak. I am feeling shy.”

“Of course, my love.” He moved back ten yards.

She approached cautiously and inspected the plate, but touched neither it nor the cherries which sat upon it. The symbolism seemed apt; the references Urgic. But all was unrealized and unfulfilled; as though some profound absence were to be invoked.

She regarded him suspiciously. “Is this the spell which Jovol bequeathed to you?”

“My transcription may contain some creative license,” Tozinak admitted. “Or even interpretative errors. But the elegance is undeniable; I am sure you will agree. I love you, Soneillon. Will you marry me?”

“I will need time to consider, Tozinak,” she raised an eyebrow. “Currently, the Ahma is my paramour. He may not take kindly to a rival.”

Tozinak seemed mortified.

“But he I am sure he will be willing to release me,” Soneillon quickly added. “Given our particular circumstances.”

Tozinak breathed a sigh of relief.

Gingerly, Soneillon touched the plaque; a profound sense of nonentity was immediately conveyed to her.

“Thank-you, Tozinak,” she said. She lifted the tablet, and allowed the cherries to slide off, into the snow. “Have you given thought to the boon which I promised you?”

He smiled hopefully.

“I will get back to you,” she nodded. How very odd, she thought. The spell had been modified; of that she had no doubt. She would examine it upon her return to the Burh, but without question it invoked an Apparition, and not a Aeon. And it was given freely; impressed upon her, in fact.

Briefly, she wondered how? No matter. More pressing events concerned her.

*

[Soneillon]: Are you done, yet?

[Mostin]: Do not interrupt me! Now I have lost it. Almost; I am finishing the aesthetics of the auditory display.

[Soneillon]: Mostin. Time is of the essence. Such details may be omitted.

[Mostin]: They may not.

[Soneillon]: Do you foresee any problems?

[Mostin]: No. Well, perhaps Nwm. He seems unsure of his commitment. Nehael’s latest avatar may be leaning on him. He has been forced to conceal certain things from Ortwine, which also does not sit well with him.

[Soneillon]: Can we find another?

[Mostin]: I trust no other, Soneillon. Shomei has offered substantial bribes to most of the Collegium. I surmise this because many are conveniently indisposed.

[Soneillon]: Can she use their power offensively against me? Would the Enforcer intervene?

[Mostin]: I believe that she would prefer not to put it to the test quite yet. But she will draw on them to augment herself and her devils. And her dragon. Heavily.

[Soneillon]: How long do I have, Mostin?

[Mostin]: That is rather difficult to predict. Futures are becoming unstable. Eadric’s interaction with Shomei is generating new catenaries.

[Soneillon]: I see.

[Mostin]: Tomorrow is the earliest that we can attempt the rite. I have selected a suitable site in an unpopulated area of Soan, in Sisperi. I have tried to keep it brief – ten minutes or so. But we will be vulnerable during that window. Punching through her wards will take tremendous focus and power. There will be a lot of backlash; and a lot of pain.

[Soneillon]: Thank-you, Mostin. That’s very sweet of you.


**
**


Shomei set her rod upon its stand, threw off the robe of meteors, and uncorked a flask of kschiff. She sank into a chair by the fire. Eadric was on a couch, absorbed in Infernal Hermeneutics.

“Where is Nercamay?” She asked.

“She is resting,” Eadric nodded toward his chambers.

Shomei raised an eyebrow, and filled a glass. “How is Infernal Hermeneutics?”

Eadric lifted his head. “For a subject so dense, convoluted and impenetrable, it is a remarkably clear and concise exposition; it touches on frameworks with which I am familiar. I might almost believe that it was written for me.”

“Good,” Shomei nodded.

“You wrote this book.”

“Yes,” Shomei acknowledged.

“How long did it take you?”

“Not too long, Ahma. I wrote it in my head while I was putting my boots on.”

“Yet there are some dialogues in which you will not engage,” Eadric observed.

“Sometimes, the written word is easier, Ahma. And sometimes, it is necessary to begin at the beginning.”

“You believe that I should read The Reattainment of Luminance myself, then?”

“Of course,” Shomei replied. “Your experience of it will differ from mine.”

Eadric groaned. “And how do you suggest I approach this most subtle of diabolic texts, given my total ignorance in matters of infernal scripture?”

“Without prejudice, Ahma. Because the enigma may speak to you, if nothing else does.”

“Do I really have time for devilish enigmas, Shomei? How long – in your reckoning – before I need to be at Galda?”

She was silent.

Eadric nodded appreciatively. “Well this is something new. Shomei the Infernal is at a complete loss for words. She will not even dissemble.”

“I resent your implication. I do not employ deceit in my dealings with you, Ahma.”

“Very well,” Eadric said. “But let us continue this line of investigation. Given the fact that you are now making military choices for the Wyrish Crown and the Temple – and I am assuming that Prince Tagur will be appointed to command in my absence – how long before Galda is invested?”

“Two days hence. If you have not returned, Nehael can lead them in your absence.”

“Can she?” Eadric asked sourly. “Whatever her individual martial prowess is in battle, Shomei – and I’m sure it is considerable – it is not the same as coordinating fifty thousand Templars, footsoldiers, bickering aristocrats, and Ardanese hooligans. Something which I’m rather good at, even if I do say so myself. I would suggest I’m already late. In my absence, I would appoint Tagur. Perhaps you would be so kind as to communicate this to the Small Council for me?”

“I have no wish to become embroiled in politics, Ahma. My goal is the Urn.”

“Yes, Shomei. That is abundantly clear. And such arbitrary lines you draw with regard to politics, when it suits you.”

“Why are you purposely seeking to anger me, Ahma?” Shomei asked irritably.

Eadric smiled. “Well, our discourse does seem to be most productive in that climate; I need to rile you to certain point, in order to stimulate moral conflict in you. I wouldn’t be a very good Ahma otherwise, would I?”

Shomei looked at him and sighed. She picked up the kschiff and two glasses, and moved onto the couch.

“Drink,” she said, pouring.

“Kasshiv is not the answer to everything, Shomei.”

“It helps,” she said. “And your consumption has not exactly diminished. What did you do to Nercamay?”

“She experienced saizhan,” Eadric replied. “She is integrating.”

Shomei shook her head. “You are an insidious influence, Ahma. You have begun corrupting my devils.”

“We touched a little on The Reattainment of Luminance afterwards,” he added.

“I’m sure she has her own perspective,” Shomei sighed, leaned back, and closed her eyes.

Eadric observed her reaction and continued. “The notion of perfection seems to be alluded to frequently; it may also have been my choice of the word perfect in the context of her particular understanding at that moment which impelled Nercamay to saizhan.”

“Such synchronies occur.”

“Although, she understood perfected primarily in terms of Urgic dignity. The Sublime Essence of the Flame.”

Shomei remained silent.

“Will you speak to me, Shomei?”

“I would prefer not to,” she smiled.

“Perhaps I should continue speculating, then? As your eyelids are closed, I will gauge your facial expressions; as you pointed out, you do lie poorly for a devil.”

She opened her eyes and glared at him. “You are relentless. That road is closed to me, Ahma. There can be no perfection, and I had not even considered my potential in those terms until I read that accursed book; sometimes my Will drives me without my full cogniscance: I am an imperfect I.”

“What is the obstacle?” He asked.

“Would you like the poetic or the functional?”

“Whichever suits you.”

“A little of each,” she said drily. “Ansus anamik ahman nihabaída. Into me, God would not breathe.”

“I see.”

“You have made your choices, Ahma; do not repudiate mine.”

“It seems I cannot,” he sighed. “Shomei, what I feel…”

“Don’t, Ahma. What you feel is merely what you feel; what you do is what you do: and that’s the point. Here.” She handed him a goblet. “Drink.”

“You are very wise, Shomei.”

“Yes, Ahma.”

They drank.

*

“I cannot readily see a solution to this problem,” Eadric sighed.

“You have certainly made things very difficult for yourself, Ahma.” Shomei nodded. “Although, I admit, on some level I am sympathetic to your efforts. You are trying to hold three truths in balance; this is no trivial task.” With a flourish, three balls appeared within Shomei’s hand: one black, one green, and one deep indigo.

She span them with a conjurer’s finesse and handed them to him one by one “You need to find a new perspective in order to resolve your trilemma, Ahma. Then you will be able to juggle.”

He squinted. “A clever analogy, Shomei, but I foresee problems. This one,” he held up the black ball, “will stick to my palm. This one,” he showed the green, “is difficult to catch. And this one,” he presented the indigo, “is apt to pursue its own trajectory, regardless of where I throw it.”

“Then you will have to concentrate very hard, Ahma.”

He looked at her. “Are you suggesting that some kind of accommodation is possible?”

“The black ball may be less kindly disposed to view things in those terms, but yes, Ahma; Nehael’s philosophy in this regard has merit,” she shrugged.

“I am incapable of such a feat,” he shook his head.

“Your frame of reference needs to change before you can make such an accommodation, Ahma.”

“And how do you suggest that I might achieve this?” He asked.

“Sovereignty would be my solution, Ahma, with Regency as an intermediate step. If you deify yourself, you will no longer be bound by conventional mores.”

“A route which you make sound so simple, Shomei.”

“I imply nothing of the sort,” she said through narrowed eyes. “But nor can I see how you can challenge Kaalaanala without it. And think, Ahma, your romantic problems will be solved: each of your women can have an avatar, and there will be no squabbling.”

He shook his head.

“Of course, Soneillon is greedy, and will probably want three Ahmas.”

“Shomei…”

“Which, at least, might fill her needs and shut her up.” She smiled and raised her glass.

He sighed. “You can be a very wicked devil, Shomei.”

“Thank-you, Ahma.” She gestured, and a door appeared in the wall beside the fireplace.

“A new chamber?” he asked.

“Yes, Ahma.” Shomei stood and picked up the kschiff.

“May I see?” He inquired.

She raised an eyebrow. “That was the general idea, Ahma.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Shomei, I am still your prisoner.”

“Yes, Ahma. But you are drunk on kschiff; I am taking advantage of you.”

“Why now?” He asked.

“Tomorrow, I must fight, Ahma; as you said, you will need to be at Galda. It would be unprincipled for me to detain you much longer.”

“Shomei, I…”

“Don’t, Eadric. Yes or no?” She offered her hand.

He took it. The rest followed. Her tenderness astonished him.


*