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<blockquote data-quote="Cheiromancer" data-source="post: 1029913" data-attributes="member: 141"><p><em>Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 08-24-2003</em></p><p></p><p><strong>Church and Steeple - Part 1</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>The chapel at Kyrtill’s Burh was a compact space, perhaps twenty-five feet in its longest dimension, which abutted the main keep. Like the rest of the castle, its exterior – recently repaired by Nwm’s efforts – was smothered in an ivy of an unusually prolific variety, which required continual management and pruning. And pruning seldom happened within the Burh.</p><p></p><p>There were two entrances to the sanctuary: a pair of stout oak double-doors which led into the courtyard, close to the archway at the base of the Steeple; and a smaller lintel, constructed of steel, which joined the portico in the keep proper. The metal door was hidden in a concave, behind the plain white arras which formed a backdrop to the altar space – raised upon a low dais reached by three shallow steps. The area below the dais was clear, except for a thick carpet some twenty feet long which stretched to the main doors, two low benches, and a dozen or so prayer cushions – some of which were extremely threadbare.</p><p></p><p>Ortwin sat in the centre of the floor, uncharacteristically tense. He disliked the chapel for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the draught – barely noticeable – which issued from beneath the floor covering: cold air from the crypt, finding its way through cracks in the flagstones. Nwm had specifically instructed the gnomes who had restored the rest of the keep’s interior to leave the chapel untouched: it was Eadric’s sanctum, and the Druid had felt that it would have been the worst breach of etiquette to engage in unapproved remodeling. Whilst Eadric appreciated the gesture, he had privately wished that Nwm <em>had</em> done something about the chapel. The austerity which had marked his earlier years had given way to a more balanced outlook, and sometimes comfort was no bad thing. Somehow, the chapel hadn’t caught up with him.</p><p></p><p>The Satyr grumbled about the cold. "Can’t we light a fire or something?" He watched as Shomei placed a <em>dimensional lock</em> in the centre of the sanctuary, barring all forms of extraplanar movement. The Infernalist had already invoked a <em>screen</em> upon the whole of Kyrtill’s Burh – it appeared as nothing more than a rugged outcrop of rock to magical scrutiny.</p><p></p><p>Eadric sighed. "Perhaps if you ask Mostin nicely, he will modify the temperature."</p><p></p><p>"Why are we here, anyway?" Ortwin continued. "Doesn’t the place need to be reconsecrated or something? I seem to recall there being a demoness of some power in here several hours ago."</p><p></p><p>"Yes," Eadric sighed, "it does. It is still the most defensible place in the keep, however."</p><p></p><p>"Consecration is highly advisable," Mostin said morbidly. "The Succubus might be tempted to turn your dead relatives into vampires."</p><p></p><p>"That is in particularly poor taste," Eadric replied nervously. "But you have a point. I will send to Morne for someone to come here as soon as possible. Probably Asser. Unless Nwm would care to do the honours*?"</p><p></p><p>"I had assumed that you would require someone of ‘true faith’ to perform the rite."</p><p></p><p>"I am more flexible in that regard than I was previously, as the definition of ‘true’ is now revealed to be somewhat ambiguous."</p><p></p><p>"Perhaps Mostin could <em>gate</em> a solar," Ortwin suggested. "It could perform the necessary magic, and would be a reassuring presence."</p><p></p><p>"For you maybe," Mostin said acidly. "And I am not sure that Gihaahia’s subsequent punitive visit here would contribute to the sanctity of the place. We are safe enough for the moment, barring Soneillon herself – and I suspect that there is <em>no</em> precaution which we could take that would bar her if she were determined."</p><p></p><p>"If you had prepared a <em>magnificent mansion</em>…" Ortwin began.</p><p></p><p>"Or if <em>you</em> had spent your time studying magic instead of fornicating and drinking firewine," Mostin snapped irritably. "We will be fine. Those hideous cohorts of Eadric are outside keeping guard. Ungrateful creatures. At least they could of thanked me for dispelling their paralysis."</p><p></p><p>"They are grateful," Eadric reassured him. "But tend to communicate little. I was surprised that Soneillon didn’t destroy them."</p><p></p><p>"She is wooing you," Nwm said wrily. "Killing celestials would make a bad impression, I’m sure."</p><p></p><p>"So is he safe?" Ortwin asked, with a wicked grin, "Or will she invade his dreams and cause him to experience impure thoughts?"</p><p></p><p>Mostin shrugged. "Good question. Technically, the <em>dimensional lock</em> should prevent a creature in dream-form from gaining ingress. I say <em>technically</em> because she may have tricks that we do not know of. And Dream is odd, to say the least."</p><p></p><p>"In ‘dream-form?’" Ortwin persisted. "You mean she may be nearby?"</p><p></p><p>"Coterminous? Why not?"</p><p></p><p>"She is not," Eadric said. "At least, not <em>very</em> near. The Eye of Palamabron would reveal her if she were."</p><p></p><p>Ortwin smiled sarcastically and scratched his haunch. "Then your thoughts will remain pure! How blessed you must feel! You must teach me the secret someday."</p><p></p><p>Eadric sighed. Ortwin was beginning to get on his nerves. He closed his eyes, and experienced the frustration. He sighed again, stood up, and walked towards the doors.</p><p></p><p>"Er, where are you going, Ed?" Ortwin asked.</p><p></p><p>"The Steeple," Eadric replied.</p><p></p><p>"Excellent idea! You have a stash of fine firewine, and…"</p><p></p><p>"Alone, Ortwin. I am going alone."</p><p></p><p>"Oh." </p><p></p><p>Mostin <em>mind blanked</em> him first.</p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>Outside, the wind had picked up and the rain had begun to fall. Nwm’s storm – as promised – had arrived, and Eadric hoped that it wouldn’t prove <em>too</em> violent. He ascended sixty of the seventy-seven steps of the Steeple, passing through a small door into the chamber situated below the open roof. </p><p></p><p>It was a comfortable space – once a round guard room, but since adapted to the function of a parlour. During the garrisoning of Kyrtill’s Burh, it had briefly enjoyed a return to its original function, although the Templars stationed there had done nothing to alter its furnishings. A single window of lead glass in the west wall admitted the remaining light of the failing day. The room, and those below it, had been those ‘rented’ by Mostin in his attempts to fabricate a plausible story following his violation of the first Injunction – before the Claviger had acquiesced to act as the guardian of the moral fibre of Wyre’s Wizards.</p><p></p><p>Eadric lit an oil-lantern – the flame of which flickered unsteadily in the draught before he closed its shutter – threw off his armour, opened a tall cabinet, and retrieved a bottle of firewine. He smiled at the fact that Ortwin knew where he kept it – and poured himself a small glass. He was mildly amused that it should still feel such an indulgence to him: he had violated so many of his vows that ignoring the precept which warned against alcohol seemed utterly trivial in comparison.</p><p></p><p>Sitting on one of the three narrow pallets which served as the room’s couches, Eadric set Lukarn down next to himself, reached into his belt-pouch, and retrieved a tiny piece of tightly-rolled parchment. He opened the lantern hood, and thrust the paper into the flame, holding it between his fingers and watching as it quickly burned to nothing.</p><p></p><p>Soon after, a <em>gate</em> opened, and Titivilus stepped through. </p><p></p><p>"Thank-you for your prompt response," Eadric said.</p><p></p><p>The Devil smiled laconically. "Hello, <em>Ahma</em>. I had hoped to run into you in Afqithan but, alas, you fled before we had a chance to speak. If you had answered my <em>sending</em> then things may have advanced at a faster pace for you."</p><p></p><p>"I was reluctant to place myself in your hands at that time," Eadric raised an eyebrow. "And who would arbitrate between the arbiter and his client?"</p><p></p><p>"I have a friend called Furcas who might volunteer in that capacity," the Duke replied caustically.</p><p></p><p>"You have friends? That surprises me."</p><p></p><p>"You are correct," Titivilus answered. "In fact, I despise him. But we are working together for the moment. This is a cosy little chamber. I almost prefer it to your study in the keep."</p><p></p><p>Eadric narrowed his eyes, unsure of whether the Devil jibed him or not. "I require advice, and perhaps mediation. If there is a price, then I would be grateful if you informed me of it prior to further communication."</p><p></p><p>"There is no price, <em>Ahma</em>," Titivilus replied easily. "Although my perspective is a little different from yours, and the advice I give may not necessarily be that which you seek. As both the voice of your conscience and your divinely ordained tempter, I have more than one agenda to maintain. I presume that your inquiry concerns the demoness Soneillon?"</p><p></p><p>Eadric sighed, and nodded.</p><p></p><p>"She is something, is she not?" Titivilus laughed. "And, I should say, she is <em>nothing</em>, if you understand my meaning. It was whispered in the narrow streets of Zelatar that she could bring a corpse to orgasm – forgive me, <em>Ahma</em>, I do not wish to offend your sense of propriety. I am sure that your interest in Graz’zt’s former concubine is purely pragmatic."</p><p></p><p>"You know her then? You have met her?"</p><p></p><p>"Perhaps. I do not recall." Titivilus replied vaguely.</p><p></p><p>"She is a potential ally," Eadric said.</p><p></p><p>"So I hear," Titivilus smiled.</p><p></p><p>"Does Graz’zt know of her interest in me?"</p><p></p><p>"Graz’zt has an extensive network of spies, but he is ultimately ill-informed and disorganized. I would hazard that he does not, but I make no assurances to that effect."</p><p></p><p>"If a confrontation occurs between the Prince and myself, I would – if possible – prefer to keep it out of Wyre and the World of Men. Do you think Afqithan would be a suitable locale?"</p><p></p><p>"It offers greatly augmented magic. Mostin – and Shomei, to whom, incidentally, you should extend my warmest regards – would benefit from this. As would Graz’zt himself, of course. I suspect that the risks would be greater, but the possibility of victory higher."</p><p></p><p>"Soneillon has powerful allies – and dangerous, it seems. She denies direct association with them, or rather seems reluctant to admit responsibility for their actions."</p><p></p><p>"This is not unusual for a Demon Queen," Titivilus replied drily.</p><p></p><p>"She subjected me to an extremely powerful compulsion. Could a <em>mind blank</em> have warded me?"</p><p></p><p>"Perhaps, although doubtless she possesses dweomers that can circumvent such magic. For a creature of her age, with her power, what can she <em>not</em> do, <em>Ahma</em>? Magic is formulaic, and in practical terms holds a finite – albeit astronomically large – set of possibilities. There might be a quintillion combinations which she is technically capable of manifesting alone. If she has unlocked merely a hundred thousand of them – the most efficient, given a certain set of circumstances – how versatile do you think that makes her?"</p><p></p><p>Eadric swallowed. The Devil’s premise was plausible. "And Graz’zt? Could the same be said?"</p><p></p><p>"To a lesser degree. He possesses more raw native power, but lacks that which Soneillon draws freely and most heavily upon – <em>unbeing</em>. I do not claim to fully understand it."</p><p></p><p>Eadric stared hard at Titivilus. "You are unusually forthcoming. I wonder which of your numerous agendas you are serving by sharing this information."</p><p></p><p>The Duke of Hell smiled.</p><p></p><p>"I have other questions," Eadric said unsurely, "and I would be interested in hearing your perspective – or the <em>Adversarial</em> perspective, if you are towing a particular line. I should also, at this point, like to seek further assurances that there are no hidden fees, contracts, compacts, reciprocal obligations or responsibilities involved." </p><p></p><p>Titivilus raised an eyebrow. "Your caution is admirable, <em>Ahma</em>, but you are somewhat over-concerned. Ask away! There is no obligation upon you."</p><p></p><p>"The Marilith Nufrut mentioned an entity named <em>Carasch</em>. Mostin was unaware of its existence. A balor which fell within the orbit of the Ancient Void, and then rose from it again. Is the name familiar to you?"</p><p></p><p>"Yes," Titivilus answered. He seemed unperturbed, but Eadric knew that gauging the Confuser’s true reaction was close to impossible.</p><p></p><p>"What distinguishes one fiend from the next, insofar as some possess the ability to withstand annihilation?"</p><p></p><p>Titivilus laughed. "That is more profound than you understand. I do not <em>know</em>, Ahma. Perhaps they are endowed with a particular strength of Will which sets them apart from their peers. Perhaps they are lucky. Perhaps they apprehend some greater Truth which allows consciousness to persist, even in the face of nonexistence."</p><p></p><p>"Such an entity," Eadric continued, "Carasch. It would be as far removed from Rurunoth as Soneillon is from a succubus of the least stature."</p><p></p><p>"That is probably a reasonable parallel."</p><p></p><p>"How many of these entities – <em>chthonics</em>, as Shomei dubbed them – would you say exist?"</p><p></p><p>"I am not privy to that information," Titivilus admitted.</p><p></p><p>Eadric scowled. "Would you even hazard a guess? A handful? Dozens? Thousands? Millions?"</p><p></p><p>"I would not know, <em>Ahma</em>. I suspect we are talking in terms of relative infinities. How many fell from grace? How many fled to the Abyss? How many were enmeshed in the Ancient’s power? Mere numbers cease to have meaning, after a certain point."</p><p></p><p>"Why is no reference made to them in texts – legitimate, heretical, magical or otherwise? I use those descriptors loosely – I do not wish to engage in a debate on the nature of heresy."</p><p></p><p>"Certain names and concepts are taboo. Unbeing, Demogorgon, existent nonexistence – this is an example of such. Before the Church of Oronthon was established, when it was still a tribal religion whose God vied with a dozen others – this was a taboo. It persisted."</p><p></p><p>"<em>Saizhan</em> addresses this issue."</p><p></p><p>"<em>Saizhan</em> claims to address many issues.’</p><p></p><p>"Is Oronthon then rewriting the past? Changing the Truth of what has gone before?"</p><p></p><p>"That is one possible interpretation. I do not doubt there are others."</p><p></p><p> </p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>Mostin sat and leered at the effigy upon the altar – an eagle rearing above a solar orb – and felt a frisson of disgust at the avian symbol.</p><p></p><p>Nearby, Shomei sat in a contemplative trance, Ortwin snored loudly, and Iua – silent as a cat – practiced with her rapier, repeating maneuvers endlessly, each time with subtle variations on a complex theme. Nwm, apparently enraptured with the Green, paid no heed to any other.</p><p></p><p>The Alienist groped within his <em>portable hole</em> and retrieved an ornate box of carved wood from among the objects stored there. Opening it, he pulled the contents – a stone slab – from its red silk wrappings, and set it upon the rug in front of him.</p><p></p><p>Mostin closed his eyes, focussed inwards, and inspected his valences: nested shells which grew outwards from a central hub, rapidly blurring into an indistinct haze where no differentiation yet existed. He placed his mind beyond the order, beyond the haze, in the swirling, chaotic morass which surrounded it.</p><p></p><p>Tiny buds of potential were burgeoning, seeking to make contact with each other and the hub of consciousness at the centre. Deliberately, he focussed upon them, drawing on his reservoir. His mind opened like a sluice, pouring its contents forth. Rapidly, the buds blossomed gloriously, and bore fruit which ripened in a heartbeat. He shook, and sweated profusely.</p><p></p><p>The Alienist turned his attention to the tablet in front of him, his eyes scanning over it, and his fingertips tracing the etchings and designs upon it. There was a sudden <em>crack</em>, as the slab shattered, and the sound of grinding stone. An eddy of wind arose, and all that was left before him – a pile of dust – was blown across the floor of the chapel.</p><p></p><p>Shomei observed him with a mixture of envy and mirth.</p><p></p><p>"Congratulations," the Infernalist said drily.</p><p></p><p>"Thank-you," Mostin replied. "How long before you…?"</p><p></p><p>"A week at most. I had hoped to beat you to it."</p><p></p><p>"Hah! No chance. This means that I am – if only for a brief while – the most potent spellcaster in Wyre, and the first in two generations to achieve this notable achievement. I don’t include Mulissu in that statement – she is not native, and doesn’t count."</p><p></p><p>Nwm smiled quietly, but said nothing. </p><p></p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p>As Mostin sat and contemplated the spell called <em>Graz’zt</em> – designed by Fillein-who-would-later-be-Jovol in the heyday of his power and influence – he shifted uncomfortably. Something was amiss. Within the perfectly executed formula which comprised the spell, there was no room for error: each component and factor was optimized for an efficiency of purpose which Mostin deeply appreciated, both functionally and aesthetically.</p><p></p><p><em>Fifty-five years. The Prince was bound for fifty-five years, if the stories are true. Why? Why was he not bound permanently? The dweomer indicates no provision for an expiry.</em></p><p></p><p>"I am uneasy," he whispered to Shomei. </p><p></p><p>"I am tired, Mostin. If you are having an episode of paranoia, then talk to Nwm."</p><p></p><p>"This is <em>important</em>," the Alienist hissed. Nearby, Ortwin grunted in response, and turned over in his sleep. Mostin resumed a quieter voice. "The spell which now resonates in my mind preoccupies me. There is an inconsistency."</p><p></p><p>Shomei yawned and gestured impatiently.</p><p></p><p>"The incarceration should have been <em>permanent</em>. Why was it not? According to tradition he was bound for fifty-five years. This leads me to three possible conclusions, none of which are particularly pleasant to entertain: One, the effect ‘wore off’ over time; two, the spell contains a flaw in its formula which I cannot perceive; or, three, he was released by someone."</p><p></p><p>Shomei raised an eyebrow. "I see your dilemma. Magic of this magnitude is enduring, and I find it hard to accept the first solution. Fillein was a perfectionist beyond compare, rendering the second answer even less likely. I would opt for the third possibility, or a fourth which you have not considered."</p><p></p><p>"Which would be?"</p><p></p><p>"I do not <em>have</em> a fourth solution, Mostin. I am merely pointing out that it would be premature to discount the possibility of its existence. I think that he was probably released."</p><p></p><p>"By whom?"</p><p></p><p>"Who can tell now, Mostin? It was three hundred years ago. A rival mage?"</p><p></p><p>"Fillein – or Jovol – was – or is – without peer. He had – or has – no rival. Was he in possession of the <em>web of motes</em> at that time? If so, surely he would have anticipated the possibility in any case."</p><p></p><p>"Then one of the cabal? Or Fillein himself, maybe, for whatever unknown reasons motivated him. This is idle speculation. We cannot <em>know</em>. They are all dead and gone."</p><p></p><p>"Hlioth remains," Mostin pointed out.</p><p></p><p>"Hlioth is deranged, but not stupid. Why would she release the Prince of Azzagrat? And if so, why did he not eliminate her afterwards?"</p><p></p><p>Nwm interrupted unexpectedly. Neither of the Wizards had been aware that he had been paying attention. "If she released Graz’zt, then I commend her actions. Such creatures have no place in this world, bound or not. Rurunoth was bad enough, but a Demon Prince?"</p><p></p><p>"Then she is most inconsistent," Mostin pointed out. "She participated in the binding of the Enforcer."</p><p></p><p>"To prevent further <em>summonings</em> in Wyre," Nwm smiled. "Didn’t that clause in Jovol’s Injunction ever strike you as odd, Mostin? Why do you think it was singled out, above and beyond the ban upon mages assaulting other mages?"</p><p></p><p>"Because of the circumstances prior to it," the Alienist replied. "There were too many <em>bindings</em>, too many <em>gates</em> opening. The possibility of too many more."</p><p></p><p>"Too many for what?" Nwm asked.</p><p></p><p>"For the established order to sustain," Mostin admitted. "But if you are somehow intimating that your Goddess insisted upon including a clause in the Injunction which would prevent further offense to her…"</p><p></p><p>"You are trapped in discursive thought – Uedii is a consciousness of what is Natural, not some other being ‘out there.’ Jovol was a Dreamer, who negotiated with Celestials, protected both Eadric and Tramst, acted in the interests of maintaining a peace, and directed the <em>binding</em> of an atavism from a previous reality. He was nothing, if not eclectic. I think you underestimate the scope of his vision."</p><p></p><p>"Hmph!" Mostin muttered. "Anyway. If we attempt to <em>bind</em> the Prince anytime soon, it will not be here. I have already given thought to it."</p><p></p><p>Shomei sighed, as Mostin proceeded to explain about permanent <em>dimensional locks</em>, pocket demiplanes and spells which foiled all perception.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>*All of Kyrtill’s Burh was consecrated by Tahl, and the chapel <em>hallowed</em>. Soneillon dispelled the effect in the chapel before dominating Eadric and the guardians. I use the ToH version of Movanic Devas (more martial, less magical), so <em>hallow</em> was not available to the celestials in order to restore the chapel.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Cheiromancer, post: 1029913, member: 141"] [i]Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 08-24-2003[/i] [B]Church and Steeple - Part 1[/B] The chapel at Kyrtill’s Burh was a compact space, perhaps twenty-five feet in its longest dimension, which abutted the main keep. Like the rest of the castle, its exterior – recently repaired by Nwm’s efforts – was smothered in an ivy of an unusually prolific variety, which required continual management and pruning. And pruning seldom happened within the Burh. There were two entrances to the sanctuary: a pair of stout oak double-doors which led into the courtyard, close to the archway at the base of the Steeple; and a smaller lintel, constructed of steel, which joined the portico in the keep proper. The metal door was hidden in a concave, behind the plain white arras which formed a backdrop to the altar space – raised upon a low dais reached by three shallow steps. The area below the dais was clear, except for a thick carpet some twenty feet long which stretched to the main doors, two low benches, and a dozen or so prayer cushions – some of which were extremely threadbare. Ortwin sat in the centre of the floor, uncharacteristically tense. He disliked the chapel for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the draught – barely noticeable – which issued from beneath the floor covering: cold air from the crypt, finding its way through cracks in the flagstones. Nwm had specifically instructed the gnomes who had restored the rest of the keep’s interior to leave the chapel untouched: it was Eadric’s sanctum, and the Druid had felt that it would have been the worst breach of etiquette to engage in unapproved remodeling. Whilst Eadric appreciated the gesture, he had privately wished that Nwm [I]had[/I] done something about the chapel. The austerity which had marked his earlier years had given way to a more balanced outlook, and sometimes comfort was no bad thing. Somehow, the chapel hadn’t caught up with him. The Satyr grumbled about the cold. "Can’t we light a fire or something?" He watched as Shomei placed a [I]dimensional lock[/I] in the centre of the sanctuary, barring all forms of extraplanar movement. The Infernalist had already invoked a [I]screen[/I] upon the whole of Kyrtill’s Burh – it appeared as nothing more than a rugged outcrop of rock to magical scrutiny. Eadric sighed. "Perhaps if you ask Mostin nicely, he will modify the temperature." "Why are we here, anyway?" Ortwin continued. "Doesn’t the place need to be reconsecrated or something? I seem to recall there being a demoness of some power in here several hours ago." "Yes," Eadric sighed, "it does. It is still the most defensible place in the keep, however." "Consecration is highly advisable," Mostin said morbidly. "The Succubus might be tempted to turn your dead relatives into vampires." "That is in particularly poor taste," Eadric replied nervously. "But you have a point. I will send to Morne for someone to come here as soon as possible. Probably Asser. Unless Nwm would care to do the honours*?" "I had assumed that you would require someone of ‘true faith’ to perform the rite." "I am more flexible in that regard than I was previously, as the definition of ‘true’ is now revealed to be somewhat ambiguous." "Perhaps Mostin could [I]gate[/I] a solar," Ortwin suggested. "It could perform the necessary magic, and would be a reassuring presence." "For you maybe," Mostin said acidly. "And I am not sure that Gihaahia’s subsequent punitive visit here would contribute to the sanctity of the place. We are safe enough for the moment, barring Soneillon herself – and I suspect that there is [I]no[/I] precaution which we could take that would bar her if she were determined." "If you had prepared a [I]magnificent mansion[/I]…" Ortwin began. "Or if [I]you[/I] had spent your time studying magic instead of fornicating and drinking firewine," Mostin snapped irritably. "We will be fine. Those hideous cohorts of Eadric are outside keeping guard. Ungrateful creatures. At least they could of thanked me for dispelling their paralysis." "They are grateful," Eadric reassured him. "But tend to communicate little. I was surprised that Soneillon didn’t destroy them." "She is wooing you," Nwm said wrily. "Killing celestials would make a bad impression, I’m sure." "So is he safe?" Ortwin asked, with a wicked grin, "Or will she invade his dreams and cause him to experience impure thoughts?" Mostin shrugged. "Good question. Technically, the [I]dimensional lock[/I] should prevent a creature in dream-form from gaining ingress. I say [I]technically[/I] because she may have tricks that we do not know of. And Dream is odd, to say the least." "In ‘dream-form?’" Ortwin persisted. "You mean she may be nearby?" "Coterminous? Why not?" "She is not," Eadric said. "At least, not [I]very[/I] near. The Eye of Palamabron would reveal her if she were." Ortwin smiled sarcastically and scratched his haunch. "Then your thoughts will remain pure! How blessed you must feel! You must teach me the secret someday." Eadric sighed. Ortwin was beginning to get on his nerves. He closed his eyes, and experienced the frustration. He sighed again, stood up, and walked towards the doors. "Er, where are you going, Ed?" Ortwin asked. "The Steeple," Eadric replied. "Excellent idea! You have a stash of fine firewine, and…" "Alone, Ortwin. I am going alone." "Oh." Mostin [I]mind blanked[/I] him first. ** Outside, the wind had picked up and the rain had begun to fall. Nwm’s storm – as promised – had arrived, and Eadric hoped that it wouldn’t prove [I]too[/I] violent. He ascended sixty of the seventy-seven steps of the Steeple, passing through a small door into the chamber situated below the open roof. It was a comfortable space – once a round guard room, but since adapted to the function of a parlour. During the garrisoning of Kyrtill’s Burh, it had briefly enjoyed a return to its original function, although the Templars stationed there had done nothing to alter its furnishings. A single window of lead glass in the west wall admitted the remaining light of the failing day. The room, and those below it, had been those ‘rented’ by Mostin in his attempts to fabricate a plausible story following his violation of the first Injunction – before the Claviger had acquiesced to act as the guardian of the moral fibre of Wyre’s Wizards. Eadric lit an oil-lantern – the flame of which flickered unsteadily in the draught before he closed its shutter – threw off his armour, opened a tall cabinet, and retrieved a bottle of firewine. He smiled at the fact that Ortwin knew where he kept it – and poured himself a small glass. He was mildly amused that it should still feel such an indulgence to him: he had violated so many of his vows that ignoring the precept which warned against alcohol seemed utterly trivial in comparison. Sitting on one of the three narrow pallets which served as the room’s couches, Eadric set Lukarn down next to himself, reached into his belt-pouch, and retrieved a tiny piece of tightly-rolled parchment. He opened the lantern hood, and thrust the paper into the flame, holding it between his fingers and watching as it quickly burned to nothing. Soon after, a [I]gate[/I] opened, and Titivilus stepped through. "Thank-you for your prompt response," Eadric said. The Devil smiled laconically. "Hello, [I]Ahma[/I]. I had hoped to run into you in Afqithan but, alas, you fled before we had a chance to speak. If you had answered my [I]sending[/I] then things may have advanced at a faster pace for you." "I was reluctant to place myself in your hands at that time," Eadric raised an eyebrow. "And who would arbitrate between the arbiter and his client?" "I have a friend called Furcas who might volunteer in that capacity," the Duke replied caustically. "You have friends? That surprises me." "You are correct," Titivilus answered. "In fact, I despise him. But we are working together for the moment. This is a cosy little chamber. I almost prefer it to your study in the keep." Eadric narrowed his eyes, unsure of whether the Devil jibed him or not. "I require advice, and perhaps mediation. If there is a price, then I would be grateful if you informed me of it prior to further communication." "There is no price, [I]Ahma[/I]," Titivilus replied easily. "Although my perspective is a little different from yours, and the advice I give may not necessarily be that which you seek. As both the voice of your conscience and your divinely ordained tempter, I have more than one agenda to maintain. I presume that your inquiry concerns the demoness Soneillon?" Eadric sighed, and nodded. "She is something, is she not?" Titivilus laughed. "And, I should say, she is [I]nothing[/I], if you understand my meaning. It was whispered in the narrow streets of Zelatar that she could bring a corpse to orgasm – forgive me, [I]Ahma[/I], I do not wish to offend your sense of propriety. I am sure that your interest in Graz’zt’s former concubine is purely pragmatic." "You know her then? You have met her?" "Perhaps. I do not recall." Titivilus replied vaguely. "She is a potential ally," Eadric said. "So I hear," Titivilus smiled. "Does Graz’zt know of her interest in me?" "Graz’zt has an extensive network of spies, but he is ultimately ill-informed and disorganized. I would hazard that he does not, but I make no assurances to that effect." "If a confrontation occurs between the Prince and myself, I would – if possible – prefer to keep it out of Wyre and the World of Men. Do you think Afqithan would be a suitable locale?" "It offers greatly augmented magic. Mostin – and Shomei, to whom, incidentally, you should extend my warmest regards – would benefit from this. As would Graz’zt himself, of course. I suspect that the risks would be greater, but the possibility of victory higher." "Soneillon has powerful allies – and dangerous, it seems. She denies direct association with them, or rather seems reluctant to admit responsibility for their actions." "This is not unusual for a Demon Queen," Titivilus replied drily. "She subjected me to an extremely powerful compulsion. Could a [I]mind blank[/I] have warded me?" "Perhaps, although doubtless she possesses dweomers that can circumvent such magic. For a creature of her age, with her power, what can she [I]not[/I] do, [I]Ahma[/I]? Magic is formulaic, and in practical terms holds a finite – albeit astronomically large – set of possibilities. There might be a quintillion combinations which she is technically capable of manifesting alone. If she has unlocked merely a hundred thousand of them – the most efficient, given a certain set of circumstances – how versatile do you think that makes her?" Eadric swallowed. The Devil’s premise was plausible. "And Graz’zt? Could the same be said?" "To a lesser degree. He possesses more raw native power, but lacks that which Soneillon draws freely and most heavily upon – [I]unbeing[/I]. I do not claim to fully understand it." Eadric stared hard at Titivilus. "You are unusually forthcoming. I wonder which of your numerous agendas you are serving by sharing this information." The Duke of Hell smiled. "I have other questions," Eadric said unsurely, "and I would be interested in hearing your perspective – or the [I]Adversarial[/I] perspective, if you are towing a particular line. I should also, at this point, like to seek further assurances that there are no hidden fees, contracts, compacts, reciprocal obligations or responsibilities involved." Titivilus raised an eyebrow. "Your caution is admirable, [I]Ahma[/I], but you are somewhat over-concerned. Ask away! There is no obligation upon you." "The Marilith Nufrut mentioned an entity named [I]Carasch[/I]. Mostin was unaware of its existence. A balor which fell within the orbit of the Ancient Void, and then rose from it again. Is the name familiar to you?" "Yes," Titivilus answered. He seemed unperturbed, but Eadric knew that gauging the Confuser’s true reaction was close to impossible. "What distinguishes one fiend from the next, insofar as some possess the ability to withstand annihilation?" Titivilus laughed. "That is more profound than you understand. I do not [I]know[/I], Ahma. Perhaps they are endowed with a particular strength of Will which sets them apart from their peers. Perhaps they are lucky. Perhaps they apprehend some greater Truth which allows consciousness to persist, even in the face of nonexistence." "Such an entity," Eadric continued, "Carasch. It would be as far removed from Rurunoth as Soneillon is from a succubus of the least stature." "That is probably a reasonable parallel." "How many of these entities – [I]chthonics[/I], as Shomei dubbed them – would you say exist?" "I am not privy to that information," Titivilus admitted. Eadric scowled. "Would you even hazard a guess? A handful? Dozens? Thousands? Millions?" "I would not know, [I]Ahma[/I]. I suspect we are talking in terms of relative infinities. How many fell from grace? How many fled to the Abyss? How many were enmeshed in the Ancient’s power? Mere numbers cease to have meaning, after a certain point." "Why is no reference made to them in texts – legitimate, heretical, magical or otherwise? I use those descriptors loosely – I do not wish to engage in a debate on the nature of heresy." "Certain names and concepts are taboo. Unbeing, Demogorgon, existent nonexistence – this is an example of such. Before the Church of Oronthon was established, when it was still a tribal religion whose God vied with a dozen others – this was a taboo. It persisted." "[I]Saizhan[/I] addresses this issue." "[I]Saizhan[/I] claims to address many issues.’ "Is Oronthon then rewriting the past? Changing the Truth of what has gone before?" "That is one possible interpretation. I do not doubt there are others." ** Mostin sat and leered at the effigy upon the altar – an eagle rearing above a solar orb – and felt a frisson of disgust at the avian symbol. Nearby, Shomei sat in a contemplative trance, Ortwin snored loudly, and Iua – silent as a cat – practiced with her rapier, repeating maneuvers endlessly, each time with subtle variations on a complex theme. Nwm, apparently enraptured with the Green, paid no heed to any other. The Alienist groped within his [I]portable hole[/I] and retrieved an ornate box of carved wood from among the objects stored there. Opening it, he pulled the contents – a stone slab – from its red silk wrappings, and set it upon the rug in front of him. Mostin closed his eyes, focussed inwards, and inspected his valences: nested shells which grew outwards from a central hub, rapidly blurring into an indistinct haze where no differentiation yet existed. He placed his mind beyond the order, beyond the haze, in the swirling, chaotic morass which surrounded it. Tiny buds of potential were burgeoning, seeking to make contact with each other and the hub of consciousness at the centre. Deliberately, he focussed upon them, drawing on his reservoir. His mind opened like a sluice, pouring its contents forth. Rapidly, the buds blossomed gloriously, and bore fruit which ripened in a heartbeat. He shook, and sweated profusely. The Alienist turned his attention to the tablet in front of him, his eyes scanning over it, and his fingertips tracing the etchings and designs upon it. There was a sudden [I]crack[/I], as the slab shattered, and the sound of grinding stone. An eddy of wind arose, and all that was left before him – a pile of dust – was blown across the floor of the chapel. Shomei observed him with a mixture of envy and mirth. "Congratulations," the Infernalist said drily. "Thank-you," Mostin replied. "How long before you…?" "A week at most. I had hoped to beat you to it." "Hah! No chance. This means that I am – if only for a brief while – the most potent spellcaster in Wyre, and the first in two generations to achieve this notable achievement. I don’t include Mulissu in that statement – she is not native, and doesn’t count." Nwm smiled quietly, but said nothing. * As Mostin sat and contemplated the spell called [I]Graz’zt[/I] – designed by Fillein-who-would-later-be-Jovol in the heyday of his power and influence – he shifted uncomfortably. Something was amiss. Within the perfectly executed formula which comprised the spell, there was no room for error: each component and factor was optimized for an efficiency of purpose which Mostin deeply appreciated, both functionally and aesthetically. [I]Fifty-five years. The Prince was bound for fifty-five years, if the stories are true. Why? Why was he not bound permanently? The dweomer indicates no provision for an expiry.[/I] "I am uneasy," he whispered to Shomei. "I am tired, Mostin. If you are having an episode of paranoia, then talk to Nwm." "This is [I]important[/I]," the Alienist hissed. Nearby, Ortwin grunted in response, and turned over in his sleep. Mostin resumed a quieter voice. "The spell which now resonates in my mind preoccupies me. There is an inconsistency." Shomei yawned and gestured impatiently. "The incarceration should have been [I]permanent[/I]. Why was it not? According to tradition he was bound for fifty-five years. This leads me to three possible conclusions, none of which are particularly pleasant to entertain: One, the effect ‘wore off’ over time; two, the spell contains a flaw in its formula which I cannot perceive; or, three, he was released by someone." Shomei raised an eyebrow. "I see your dilemma. Magic of this magnitude is enduring, and I find it hard to accept the first solution. Fillein was a perfectionist beyond compare, rendering the second answer even less likely. I would opt for the third possibility, or a fourth which you have not considered." "Which would be?" "I do not [I]have[/I] a fourth solution, Mostin. I am merely pointing out that it would be premature to discount the possibility of its existence. I think that he was probably released." "By whom?" "Who can tell now, Mostin? It was three hundred years ago. A rival mage?" "Fillein – or Jovol – was – or is – without peer. He had – or has – no rival. Was he in possession of the [I]web of motes[/I] at that time? If so, surely he would have anticipated the possibility in any case." "Then one of the cabal? Or Fillein himself, maybe, for whatever unknown reasons motivated him. This is idle speculation. We cannot [I]know[/I]. They are all dead and gone." "Hlioth remains," Mostin pointed out. "Hlioth is deranged, but not stupid. Why would she release the Prince of Azzagrat? And if so, why did he not eliminate her afterwards?" Nwm interrupted unexpectedly. Neither of the Wizards had been aware that he had been paying attention. "If she released Graz’zt, then I commend her actions. Such creatures have no place in this world, bound or not. Rurunoth was bad enough, but a Demon Prince?" "Then she is most inconsistent," Mostin pointed out. "She participated in the binding of the Enforcer." "To prevent further [I]summonings[/I] in Wyre," Nwm smiled. "Didn’t that clause in Jovol’s Injunction ever strike you as odd, Mostin? Why do you think it was singled out, above and beyond the ban upon mages assaulting other mages?" "Because of the circumstances prior to it," the Alienist replied. "There were too many [I]bindings[/I], too many [I]gates[/I] opening. The possibility of too many more." "Too many for what?" Nwm asked. "For the established order to sustain," Mostin admitted. "But if you are somehow intimating that your Goddess insisted upon including a clause in the Injunction which would prevent further offense to her…" "You are trapped in discursive thought – Uedii is a consciousness of what is Natural, not some other being ‘out there.’ Jovol was a Dreamer, who negotiated with Celestials, protected both Eadric and Tramst, acted in the interests of maintaining a peace, and directed the [I]binding[/I] of an atavism from a previous reality. He was nothing, if not eclectic. I think you underestimate the scope of his vision." "Hmph!" Mostin muttered. "Anyway. If we attempt to [I]bind[/I] the Prince anytime soon, it will not be here. I have already given thought to it." Shomei sighed, as Mostin proceeded to explain about permanent [I]dimensional locks[/I], pocket demiplanes and spells which foiled all perception. *All of Kyrtill’s Burh was consecrated by Tahl, and the chapel [I]hallowed[/I]. Soneillon dispelled the effect in the chapel before dominating Eadric and the guardians. I use the ToH version of Movanic Devas (more martial, less magical), so [I]hallow[/I] was not available to the celestials in order to restore the chapel. [/QUOTE]
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