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<blockquote data-quote="Cheiromancer" data-source="post: 1029905" data-attributes="member: 141"><p><strong>The Web of Motes - Continued</strong></p><p></p><p><em>Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 07-24-2003</em></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>They sat outside again. At Mulissu’s command, a cool breeze had arisen.</p><p></p><p>"The dark mote that you evoked – what was it?"</p><p></p><p>"Cheshne, or her echo," Mostin answered. "At least, I think it was. Nothingness has been weighing on my mind recently. Tell me, Mulissu: is it possible for a demon to survive annihilation?"</p><p></p><p>Mulissu shrugged. "The ontological paradox holds no interest for me. Speculating about such things is pointless."</p><p></p><p>"Did you see the void beyond the void?" Mostin asked.</p><p></p><p>"Yes, Mostin, I did – and I am superstitious enough to say ‘do not speak its name in my house.’ Why does it interest you?"</p><p></p><p>"It is the key to understanding the demoness Soneillon. If I can locate the mote which represents her, and then the mote which represents Eadric, Tramst, the Prince of Azzagrat…"</p><p></p><p>"It is an exceedingly long and arduous task," Mulissu sighed, and stretched. "I have attempted the process of cross-referencing, but there are hundreds of variables, and isolating many of them is near to impossible."</p><p></p><p>"Cosmic entities are easy enough to locate, if you can find one they lead from each to the next – the Enforcer is an excellent place to begin."</p><p></p><p>Mulissu shook her head. "And if you locate Cheshne, or Astaroth, what then? Can you tell which of Shûth’s accursed gods is which, or which Arch-fiend is Belial and which Amaimon? They flicker and shift."</p><p></p><p>"How did Jovol interpret it? Did he use a spell?"</p><p></p><p>"Perhaps. Or perhaps his insight was simply far greater than either of us."</p><p></p><p><em>The bracelet</em>, Mostin thought at once, and struck his forehead with his hand.</p><p></p><p>Mulissu looked quizzical.</p><p></p><p>"I am an idiot," Mostin explained.</p><p></p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p></p><p>Shomei eyed the mephits with an expression of weary tedium on her face.</p><p></p><p>"How can you tolerate their continual antics?" She asked Mulissu. </p><p></p><p>"They are acting according to their nature," the Elementalist replied. </p><p></p><p>"They are fractious and ill-disciplined. I would choose retainers who are more reliable."</p><p></p><p>"And no doubt far duller and more serious. Mostin says that the bracelet that Jovol bequeathed to you enhances perception in certain areas."</p><p></p><p>Shomei raised an eyebrow. "Evidently he has studied it more than I gave him credit for. Or his speculation is, for once, accurate. He is correct."</p><p></p><p>"I wish to borrow it for a short while," Mulissu said impassively – a statement which verged upon a command, or at least an expectation that she would not be denied.</p><p></p><p>"In order to better interpret Jovol’s <em>web of motes</em>," Shomei nodded. "I, too, would like the opportunity to further realize my bracelet’s potential."</p><p></p><p>Mostin sighed. He saw where this argument was leading. "It seems plain to me that your respective egos – colossal and yet simultaneously fragile as they both are – would require each of you to assert your right to first use the bracelet and web in conjunction. I can offer a solution to this impasse by volunteering my services – humbly, of course – thereby sparing each of you further embarrassment. I would also like to point out that I am, by native disposition and years of rigorous training, a Diviner. The web is likely to respond favorably to my benign aura."</p><p></p><p>"That is utterly spurious," Mulissu moaned. "and I will not even deign to refute it formally. Shomei, follow me – the honour is yours. Forgive my presumption."</p><p></p><p>Mostin squinted, and traipsed behind the two witches into the dome.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Mulissu floated three inches above the marble floor, arms folded across her chest, whilst Mostin half-sulked and half-scrutinized Shomei, who stood at the centre of the <em>web of motes</em>.</p><p></p><p>Points of light wheeled around her at incredible speed. She reached out, touched motes which arose, grew, merged, separated, shifted and winked out.</p><p></p><p>"What do you see?" Mostin asked.</p><p></p><p>"Wait," the Infernalist replied. "There are more potential viewpoints than I had anticipated." She touched a mote, and it blossomed. </p><p></p><p>"Well?" Mostin grumbled impatiently.</p><p></p><p>"There are numerous space-times represented by intersecting parabolae," Shomei answered. "All cosmoi are represented here. And the sum of all possibility."</p><p></p><p>Mostin looked dubious. "Can you find <em>any</em> mote? Find Nwm’s mote."</p><p></p><p>Shomei glanced around, and interlocking systems rapidly flashed past. She touched another mote, and it assumed a central position and seemed to glow more brightly. The Infernalist laughed – predictably, it was green.</p><p></p><p>"Are you sure that’s him?" Mostin asked.</p><p></p><p>"Oh yes," she replied.</p><p></p><p>"Where is he?" </p><p></p><p>"As I already know where Nwm is – at his glade near Deorham – that would hardly be a fair trial of the web’s power."</p><p></p><p>"Let me try," Mostin said.</p><p></p><p>"I’m next," Mulissu smiled.</p><p></p><p>Mostin scowled.</p><p></p><p>After several frustrating hours, he finally got to play.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>When the Alienist engaged with the web for the second time, he drew in his breath sharply in wonder.</p><p></p><p>New levels of complexity were revealed, and others suggested or hinted at. Nuances which had eluded him entirely during his first encounter were suddenly plainly visible: possibilities, probabilities, connections on levels which he did not comprehend. Visions shared, perspectives held in common, affinities with concepts or geographical locations. Space, time and consciousness locked together in a latticework of impossible subtlety and intricacy. The <em>web of motes</em> was a true microcosm. A mirror of reality – or of many realities.</p><p></p><p><em>What can this device not do</em>? Mostin wondered to himself. <em>Who – or what – constructed it? When? How?</em></p><p></p><p>Quickly, he isolated the mote which he knew represented himself and examined it. Hundreds of connections emanated from it to other points of light: Eadric, Nwm, Shomei, Mulissu, Orolde, the Pseudonatural which he had only recently quizzed, the Horror and uncounted others.</p><p></p><p>Mostin concentrated, and the web receded. Motes flashed as time regressed, but larger patterns remained constant for long periods, as though some overriding principle – an organizing factor – was in play. When they changed, they seemed to do so sometimes slowly and deliberately, sometimes wholesale – imposing a new set of guiding rules and paradigms upon the interwoven gestalt. </p><p></p><p>Mostin observed Khu: realities collided where <em>gates</em> blazed open and celestials descended in legions. A maze of motes and taut connections which formed a huge knot with many facets. A nodality.</p><p></p><p>Mostin studied it for three hours, familiarizing himself with its patterns and undercurrents. A variety of hypothetical scenarios which had never been actualized overlapped with events as he remembered them: the death of Ainhorr, the death of himself, the successful flight of Feezuu, the failure of Mulissu to initiate the cascade. The reflection of Graz’zt – the demon’s simulacrum – surviving the assault. Mostin selected an unrealized past future where Eadric had been slain, and gingerly advanced the web into chaos.</p><p></p><p>Feezuu carving out an empire. Tens of thousands of motes in bondage or annihilated. Her lichdom – which had been so narrowly avoided. Rapid bifurcation, and incomprehensibility. </p><p></p><p>Mostin sighed, and returned to the Now. He selected Graz’zt’s mote and scrutinized it briefly – it seemed absurdly complex in its connections. It resonated closely with Eadric, with Soneillon – the demoness was now plainly visible to the Alienist – and with hundreds of fiends and powerful servitors or thralls. Another mote, which was burdened with suffering beyond the ability of any mortal flesh to endure, was tightly enmeshed with the others.</p><p></p><p>Mostin swallowed, and touched Nehael.</p><p></p><p>A plethora of cosmoi wheeled in a pattern which bore an uncanny symmetry. Like a chiaroscuro in perfect balance, Nehael’s picture revealed Rintrah, Eadric, Graz’zt, Soneillon, Nwm, Titivilus and even Mostin himself in orbit around her. She was the lynchpin, the focus of all activity, and the calm centre around whom infinities – Oronthon, the Far Realm, Unbeing, Dream, the Green, the Adversary – seemed poised through their representatives to assert their claims to reality. Her resonance with Tramst was extraordinary – like Oronthon’s proxy, her role was to reveal all accepted truths as empty. Mostin tried to advance the web, but it immediately fractured into trillions of possibilities.</p><p></p><p>"Ngaarh!" He yelled in frustration.</p><p></p><p>Mulissu stood smiling, looking at him. "It is late, Mostin. I am hungry. Will you stay for dinner?"</p><p></p><p>Dumbly, Mostin nodded.</p><p></p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p>The Alienist, Elementalist and Infernalist sat around a small hexagonal table within an airy refectory, dining on a sumptuous meal of delicacies prepared by the mephit Shrix – who, apparently possessed a degree of culinary expertise normally eclipsed by his perverse sense of humour as Mulissu’s door-ward. </p><p></p><p>"This has been most productive," Mostin said through a mouthful of exquisite pastries stuffed with figs, almonds and pistachios. "We should meet more regularly."</p><p></p><p>Mulissu looked suspicious – her intolerance for frequent interruption was well known.</p><p></p><p>"Did you determine Soneillon’s location?" Shomei asked Mostin. </p><p></p><p>The Alienist shook his head. "I became somewhat preoccupied by other matters. Why?"</p><p></p><p>"She is on the Prime," Shomei replied.</p><p></p><p>Mostin coughed. "This information would have been better shared earlier."</p><p></p><p>"I had assumed that she would be first to fall under your scrutiny," the Infernalist jibed. "I merely noticed it in passing – my attention was directed towards the Infernal realms. Incidentally, Titivilus is in Afqithan, along with Furcas and Murmur – although I didn’t pursue that line of inquiry either."</p><p></p><p>Mostin almost choked.</p><p></p><p>"What <em>did</em> you look at, Mostin?" Mulissu asked. "I spent an hour minutely inspecting the Claviger and its connections and then proceeded to examine <em>Ha’uh</em> – a primal elemental with whom I should like to make peaceable contact, if possible."</p><p></p><p>Mostin raised an eyebrow. "The meta-structure of nodalities is fascinating. If I were to direct my energies in any one direction with regard to the web, then it would be here."</p><p></p><p>Mulissu sighed. "I think the dangers here are apparent – to be drawn in, and spend the rest of one’s life observing or contemplating cosmic plans, patterns and connections. Was it productive?"</p><p></p><p>"Yes and no," Mostin replied. "I found that advancing the web beyond its current reflection of the Now to be unsatisfying. I could not project it into the future with any degree of certainty."</p><p></p><p>"Nor could I," Mulissu nodded.</p><p></p><p>"Nor I," Shomei agreed. "It may be that Jovol’s bracelet is incapable of augmenting our faculties to this extent – his own native ability must have borne the brunt of his endeavours. It might behoove one of us to develop a spell for the express purpose of interpreting the web."</p><p></p><p>"I will do so," Mostin said, "when I have time."</p><p></p><p>"If it is ritualized I could easily perfect a formula in a matter of days," Mulissu said. "And with the minimum of fuss."</p><p></p><p>"My reservoir must stay unmolested," Mostin said sourly. "I want no repeat of Gihaahia’s binding – it set me back by a month at least."</p><p></p><p>"Noted," Mulissu nodded.</p><p></p><p>"Splendid," Shomei smiled. "Then I say that we reconvene in one week to discuss our options – assuming that Mostin and I are still alive. And every month thereafter."</p><p></p><p>Mulissu scowled. "Every year would suit me better."</p><p></p><p>"Then I would suggest every quarter, as a compromise," Mostin said. "We three would form a potent triad. We are peers, and few others compare to us in power and ability. Mulissu should be our leader – the first among equals."</p><p></p><p>"Not for long, I suspect," the Witch said drily.</p><p> </p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>"She is <em>here</em>?" Eadric asked, aghast.</p><p></p><p>Mostin gave a confirmatory nod. "There is more. Before we left, I inspected the web for a third time. It would appear that certain of those others whom we encountered have also made a translation."</p><p></p><p>Eadric looked sick. "Go on."</p><p></p><p>"Nhura. The Wyrm, and the Shadow who rode with him – most likely Threxu the Nymph mentioned by Nufrut. At least a dozen of the Loquai – including the one we briefly captured. The other chthonic <em>thing</em>. Nhura is accompanied by another creature: powerful, but heretofore unknown to us."</p><p></p><p>"A demon?"</p><p></p><p>"Demons may not enter the world of men unless called. The Interdict forbids it."</p><p></p><p>"But you just said…"</p><p></p><p>"It would seem that Soneillon has a way to circumvent it. Or perhaps it no longer applies to her. I would have said that perhaps she has an ally that we do not know about. One who brought her here – it would not be the first time. But the Enforcer would have intercepted a summoner and annihilated him or her. In any case, she is here."</p><p></p><p>"Where?" Nwm asked.</p><p></p><p>"Unfortunately, I currently lack the expertise to make an accurate assessment of her position without drawing attention to myself. Not that it matters – she can travel an unlimited distance at will."</p><p></p><p>"And the others?" Ortwin asked. "The Dragon?"</p><p></p><p>"Are split into two groups. I suspect one or more of them can <em>plane shift</em>: they may have arrived in two waves."</p><p></p><p>"I thought the sidhe were capable of that feat in any case," Ortwin said.</p><p></p><p>"Not the Loquai," Shomei answered. "They are bound to Shadow. Which is fortunate for us – several hundred of them would present a significant threat."</p><p></p><p>Eadric groaned. "We cannot allow them to remain here. They will cause untold damage."</p><p></p><p>Shomei shrugged. "It is <em>you</em> they seek, <em>Ahma</em> – your mote is replete with connections to them. Many minds are extended and focused in your direction. They may take some time to arrive here – the two groups are probably several hundred miles distant – both from us and each other. I don’t think they will tarry to cause random mayhem."</p><p></p><p>"We need to intercept the Dragon," Eadric said. </p><p></p><p>Mostin nodded. "I will <em>scry</em> him shortly. But give me an hour to prepare the rest of my spells."</p><p></p><p>"An <em>hour</em>?"</p><p></p><p>"I cannot work miracles, Eadric! If I don’t give this some thought, then the chances are that we’ll all wind up dead anyway."</p><p></p><p> </p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>In the chapel at Deorham, the four devas chanted in unison as they strapped Eadric’s armour to him and girded him with his sword belt. He hefted Melimpor’s shield – perpetually burnished to an unnatural sheen – and slid Lukarn into its scabbard.</p><p></p><p>The potent runes and wards on his weapon, girdle and armour would, he knew, be of limited use to him. In an area of dead magic, their power would be suspended: he was relying in large part on skill and force alone. He recalled his own words to Hullu – that he was the greatest warrior of the age, unmatched in arms by any other in Wyre. He swallowed, and wondered if it had been an idle boast.</p><p></p><p>From his armoury, the <em>Ahma</em> had selected two powerful horn bows – one for himself, and another for Iua – together with quivers full of blue-fletched arrows. Ortwin would be using Shupthul’s bow – his own, <em>Anguish</em> – had been lost along with the rest of his equipment. Unlike the Satyr and duelist, however, Eadric would carry no further wards or augmentations.</p><p></p><p>Ortwin and Iua were highly mobile – it was expected that they would range beyond the <em>antimagic field</em>, attack, and retreat back within it again. Eadric would stay at the centre, protecting the locus of null magic – Shomei – by whatever means he could.</p><p></p><p>Eadric sighed. He could have commanded a dozen, or even a hundred of Wyre’s most stalwart Templars to accompany him, and didn’t doubt for an instant that they would have followed. But his actions now were far beyond the purview of the Temple, and dragging them off to possible death – or worse – would have weighed on his mind for the rest of his life. This was not their fight. And there was no time.</p><p></p><p>He hoped that Shomei’s assessment was accurate – that they were interested in him alone. His stomach turned. What havoc would they wreak here, in Wyre? </p><p></p><p>He closed his eyes, knelt, and prayed.</p><p></p><p>When he opened them again, he found that he could not rise. The celestials stood in unlikely poses near the altar, similarly paralyzed. Behind him, the Paladin heard gentle footsteps approaching.</p><p></p><p>A girl who was almost a woman, clad in the traditional folk costume of Trempa – a clean white dress drawn in around the waist, with brightly patterned hems – stood next to him. She leaned forward and lit an offertory candle from an oil lamp, which burned before the solar orb upon the small altar. The flame which kindled from the taper seemed to blaze with a colour that was darker than soot. Eadric’s eyes strained to see her face, oval and framed with a riot of black hair.</p><p></p><p>She knelt slightly too close for decency, her perfume a heady combination of musk and spice. She turned her head, and her breath was warm in his ear as she whispered.</p><p></p><p>"Nothing becomes."</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Cheiromancer, post: 1029905, member: 141"] [b]The Web of Motes - Continued[/b] [i]Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 07-24-2003[/i] They sat outside again. At Mulissu’s command, a cool breeze had arisen. "The dark mote that you evoked – what was it?" "Cheshne, or her echo," Mostin answered. "At least, I think it was. Nothingness has been weighing on my mind recently. Tell me, Mulissu: is it possible for a demon to survive annihilation?" Mulissu shrugged. "The ontological paradox holds no interest for me. Speculating about such things is pointless." "Did you see the void beyond the void?" Mostin asked. "Yes, Mostin, I did – and I am superstitious enough to say ‘do not speak its name in my house.’ Why does it interest you?" "It is the key to understanding the demoness Soneillon. If I can locate the mote which represents her, and then the mote which represents Eadric, Tramst, the Prince of Azzagrat…" "It is an exceedingly long and arduous task," Mulissu sighed, and stretched. "I have attempted the process of cross-referencing, but there are hundreds of variables, and isolating many of them is near to impossible." "Cosmic entities are easy enough to locate, if you can find one they lead from each to the next – the Enforcer is an excellent place to begin." Mulissu shook her head. "And if you locate Cheshne, or Astaroth, what then? Can you tell which of Shûth’s accursed gods is which, or which Arch-fiend is Belial and which Amaimon? They flicker and shift." "How did Jovol interpret it? Did he use a spell?" "Perhaps. Or perhaps his insight was simply far greater than either of us." [I]The bracelet[/I], Mostin thought at once, and struck his forehead with his hand. Mulissu looked quizzical. "I am an idiot," Mostin explained. * Shomei eyed the mephits with an expression of weary tedium on her face. "How can you tolerate their continual antics?" She asked Mulissu. "They are acting according to their nature," the Elementalist replied. "They are fractious and ill-disciplined. I would choose retainers who are more reliable." "And no doubt far duller and more serious. Mostin says that the bracelet that Jovol bequeathed to you enhances perception in certain areas." Shomei raised an eyebrow. "Evidently he has studied it more than I gave him credit for. Or his speculation is, for once, accurate. He is correct." "I wish to borrow it for a short while," Mulissu said impassively – a statement which verged upon a command, or at least an expectation that she would not be denied. "In order to better interpret Jovol’s [I]web of motes[/I]," Shomei nodded. "I, too, would like the opportunity to further realize my bracelet’s potential." Mostin sighed. He saw where this argument was leading. "It seems plain to me that your respective egos – colossal and yet simultaneously fragile as they both are – would require each of you to assert your right to first use the bracelet and web in conjunction. I can offer a solution to this impasse by volunteering my services – humbly, of course – thereby sparing each of you further embarrassment. I would also like to point out that I am, by native disposition and years of rigorous training, a Diviner. The web is likely to respond favorably to my benign aura." "That is utterly spurious," Mulissu moaned. "and I will not even deign to refute it formally. Shomei, follow me – the honour is yours. Forgive my presumption." Mostin squinted, and traipsed behind the two witches into the dome. Mulissu floated three inches above the marble floor, arms folded across her chest, whilst Mostin half-sulked and half-scrutinized Shomei, who stood at the centre of the [I]web of motes[/I]. Points of light wheeled around her at incredible speed. She reached out, touched motes which arose, grew, merged, separated, shifted and winked out. "What do you see?" Mostin asked. "Wait," the Infernalist replied. "There are more potential viewpoints than I had anticipated." She touched a mote, and it blossomed. "Well?" Mostin grumbled impatiently. "There are numerous space-times represented by intersecting parabolae," Shomei answered. "All cosmoi are represented here. And the sum of all possibility." Mostin looked dubious. "Can you find [I]any[/I] mote? Find Nwm’s mote." Shomei glanced around, and interlocking systems rapidly flashed past. She touched another mote, and it assumed a central position and seemed to glow more brightly. The Infernalist laughed – predictably, it was green. "Are you sure that’s him?" Mostin asked. "Oh yes," she replied. "Where is he?" "As I already know where Nwm is – at his glade near Deorham – that would hardly be a fair trial of the web’s power." "Let me try," Mostin said. "I’m next," Mulissu smiled. Mostin scowled. After several frustrating hours, he finally got to play. When the Alienist engaged with the web for the second time, he drew in his breath sharply in wonder. New levels of complexity were revealed, and others suggested or hinted at. Nuances which had eluded him entirely during his first encounter were suddenly plainly visible: possibilities, probabilities, connections on levels which he did not comprehend. Visions shared, perspectives held in common, affinities with concepts or geographical locations. Space, time and consciousness locked together in a latticework of impossible subtlety and intricacy. The [I]web of motes[/I] was a true microcosm. A mirror of reality – or of many realities. [I]What can this device not do[/I]? Mostin wondered to himself. [I]Who – or what – constructed it? When? How?[/I] Quickly, he isolated the mote which he knew represented himself and examined it. Hundreds of connections emanated from it to other points of light: Eadric, Nwm, Shomei, Mulissu, Orolde, the Pseudonatural which he had only recently quizzed, the Horror and uncounted others. Mostin concentrated, and the web receded. Motes flashed as time regressed, but larger patterns remained constant for long periods, as though some overriding principle – an organizing factor – was in play. When they changed, they seemed to do so sometimes slowly and deliberately, sometimes wholesale – imposing a new set of guiding rules and paradigms upon the interwoven gestalt. Mostin observed Khu: realities collided where [I]gates[/I] blazed open and celestials descended in legions. A maze of motes and taut connections which formed a huge knot with many facets. A nodality. Mostin studied it for three hours, familiarizing himself with its patterns and undercurrents. A variety of hypothetical scenarios which had never been actualized overlapped with events as he remembered them: the death of Ainhorr, the death of himself, the successful flight of Feezuu, the failure of Mulissu to initiate the cascade. The reflection of Graz’zt – the demon’s simulacrum – surviving the assault. Mostin selected an unrealized past future where Eadric had been slain, and gingerly advanced the web into chaos. Feezuu carving out an empire. Tens of thousands of motes in bondage or annihilated. Her lichdom – which had been so narrowly avoided. Rapid bifurcation, and incomprehensibility. Mostin sighed, and returned to the Now. He selected Graz’zt’s mote and scrutinized it briefly – it seemed absurdly complex in its connections. It resonated closely with Eadric, with Soneillon – the demoness was now plainly visible to the Alienist – and with hundreds of fiends and powerful servitors or thralls. Another mote, which was burdened with suffering beyond the ability of any mortal flesh to endure, was tightly enmeshed with the others. Mostin swallowed, and touched Nehael. A plethora of cosmoi wheeled in a pattern which bore an uncanny symmetry. Like a chiaroscuro in perfect balance, Nehael’s picture revealed Rintrah, Eadric, Graz’zt, Soneillon, Nwm, Titivilus and even Mostin himself in orbit around her. She was the lynchpin, the focus of all activity, and the calm centre around whom infinities – Oronthon, the Far Realm, Unbeing, Dream, the Green, the Adversary – seemed poised through their representatives to assert their claims to reality. Her resonance with Tramst was extraordinary – like Oronthon’s proxy, her role was to reveal all accepted truths as empty. Mostin tried to advance the web, but it immediately fractured into trillions of possibilities. "Ngaarh!" He yelled in frustration. Mulissu stood smiling, looking at him. "It is late, Mostin. I am hungry. Will you stay for dinner?" Dumbly, Mostin nodded. * The Alienist, Elementalist and Infernalist sat around a small hexagonal table within an airy refectory, dining on a sumptuous meal of delicacies prepared by the mephit Shrix – who, apparently possessed a degree of culinary expertise normally eclipsed by his perverse sense of humour as Mulissu’s door-ward. "This has been most productive," Mostin said through a mouthful of exquisite pastries stuffed with figs, almonds and pistachios. "We should meet more regularly." Mulissu looked suspicious – her intolerance for frequent interruption was well known. "Did you determine Soneillon’s location?" Shomei asked Mostin. The Alienist shook his head. "I became somewhat preoccupied by other matters. Why?" "She is on the Prime," Shomei replied. Mostin coughed. "This information would have been better shared earlier." "I had assumed that she would be first to fall under your scrutiny," the Infernalist jibed. "I merely noticed it in passing – my attention was directed towards the Infernal realms. Incidentally, Titivilus is in Afqithan, along with Furcas and Murmur – although I didn’t pursue that line of inquiry either." Mostin almost choked. "What [I]did[/I] you look at, Mostin?" Mulissu asked. "I spent an hour minutely inspecting the Claviger and its connections and then proceeded to examine [I]Ha’uh[/I] – a primal elemental with whom I should like to make peaceable contact, if possible." Mostin raised an eyebrow. "The meta-structure of nodalities is fascinating. If I were to direct my energies in any one direction with regard to the web, then it would be here." Mulissu sighed. "I think the dangers here are apparent – to be drawn in, and spend the rest of one’s life observing or contemplating cosmic plans, patterns and connections. Was it productive?" "Yes and no," Mostin replied. "I found that advancing the web beyond its current reflection of the Now to be unsatisfying. I could not project it into the future with any degree of certainty." "Nor could I," Mulissu nodded. "Nor I," Shomei agreed. "It may be that Jovol’s bracelet is incapable of augmenting our faculties to this extent – his own native ability must have borne the brunt of his endeavours. It might behoove one of us to develop a spell for the express purpose of interpreting the web." "I will do so," Mostin said, "when I have time." "If it is ritualized I could easily perfect a formula in a matter of days," Mulissu said. "And with the minimum of fuss." "My reservoir must stay unmolested," Mostin said sourly. "I want no repeat of Gihaahia’s binding – it set me back by a month at least." "Noted," Mulissu nodded. "Splendid," Shomei smiled. "Then I say that we reconvene in one week to discuss our options – assuming that Mostin and I are still alive. And every month thereafter." Mulissu scowled. "Every year would suit me better." "Then I would suggest every quarter, as a compromise," Mostin said. "We three would form a potent triad. We are peers, and few others compare to us in power and ability. Mulissu should be our leader – the first among equals." "Not for long, I suspect," the Witch said drily. ** "She is [I]here[/I]?" Eadric asked, aghast. Mostin gave a confirmatory nod. "There is more. Before we left, I inspected the web for a third time. It would appear that certain of those others whom we encountered have also made a translation." Eadric looked sick. "Go on." "Nhura. The Wyrm, and the Shadow who rode with him – most likely Threxu the Nymph mentioned by Nufrut. At least a dozen of the Loquai – including the one we briefly captured. The other chthonic [I]thing[/I]. Nhura is accompanied by another creature: powerful, but heretofore unknown to us." "A demon?" "Demons may not enter the world of men unless called. The Interdict forbids it." "But you just said…" "It would seem that Soneillon has a way to circumvent it. Or perhaps it no longer applies to her. I would have said that perhaps she has an ally that we do not know about. One who brought her here – it would not be the first time. But the Enforcer would have intercepted a summoner and annihilated him or her. In any case, she is here." "Where?" Nwm asked. "Unfortunately, I currently lack the expertise to make an accurate assessment of her position without drawing attention to myself. Not that it matters – she can travel an unlimited distance at will." "And the others?" Ortwin asked. "The Dragon?" "Are split into two groups. I suspect one or more of them can [I]plane shift[/I]: they may have arrived in two waves." "I thought the sidhe were capable of that feat in any case," Ortwin said. "Not the Loquai," Shomei answered. "They are bound to Shadow. Which is fortunate for us – several hundred of them would present a significant threat." Eadric groaned. "We cannot allow them to remain here. They will cause untold damage." Shomei shrugged. "It is [I]you[/I] they seek, [I]Ahma[/I] – your mote is replete with connections to them. Many minds are extended and focused in your direction. They may take some time to arrive here – the two groups are probably several hundred miles distant – both from us and each other. I don’t think they will tarry to cause random mayhem." "We need to intercept the Dragon," Eadric said. Mostin nodded. "I will [I]scry[/I] him shortly. But give me an hour to prepare the rest of my spells." "An [I]hour[/I]?" "I cannot work miracles, Eadric! If I don’t give this some thought, then the chances are that we’ll all wind up dead anyway." ** In the chapel at Deorham, the four devas chanted in unison as they strapped Eadric’s armour to him and girded him with his sword belt. He hefted Melimpor’s shield – perpetually burnished to an unnatural sheen – and slid Lukarn into its scabbard. The potent runes and wards on his weapon, girdle and armour would, he knew, be of limited use to him. In an area of dead magic, their power would be suspended: he was relying in large part on skill and force alone. He recalled his own words to Hullu – that he was the greatest warrior of the age, unmatched in arms by any other in Wyre. He swallowed, and wondered if it had been an idle boast. From his armoury, the [I]Ahma[/I] had selected two powerful horn bows – one for himself, and another for Iua – together with quivers full of blue-fletched arrows. Ortwin would be using Shupthul’s bow – his own, [I]Anguish[/I] – had been lost along with the rest of his equipment. Unlike the Satyr and duelist, however, Eadric would carry no further wards or augmentations. Ortwin and Iua were highly mobile – it was expected that they would range beyond the [I]antimagic field[/I], attack, and retreat back within it again. Eadric would stay at the centre, protecting the locus of null magic – Shomei – by whatever means he could. Eadric sighed. He could have commanded a dozen, or even a hundred of Wyre’s most stalwart Templars to accompany him, and didn’t doubt for an instant that they would have followed. But his actions now were far beyond the purview of the Temple, and dragging them off to possible death – or worse – would have weighed on his mind for the rest of his life. This was not their fight. And there was no time. He hoped that Shomei’s assessment was accurate – that they were interested in him alone. His stomach turned. What havoc would they wreak here, in Wyre? He closed his eyes, knelt, and prayed. When he opened them again, he found that he could not rise. The celestials stood in unlikely poses near the altar, similarly paralyzed. Behind him, the Paladin heard gentle footsteps approaching. A girl who was almost a woman, clad in the traditional folk costume of Trempa – a clean white dress drawn in around the waist, with brightly patterned hems – stood next to him. She leaned forward and lit an offertory candle from an oil lamp, which burned before the solar orb upon the small altar. The flame which kindled from the taper seemed to blaze with a colour that was darker than soot. Eadric’s eyes strained to see her face, oval and framed with a riot of black hair. She knelt slightly too close for decency, her perfume a heady combination of musk and spice. She turned her head, and her breath was warm in his ear as she whispered. "Nothing becomes." [/QUOTE]
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